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TWO KNAPSACKS:

A Novel of Canadian Summer Life.

by

J. CAWDOR BELL.







Toronto
The Williamson Book Co., Ltd.
Entered, according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in
the year eighteen hundred and ninety-two, by the Williamson Book
Company, Limited, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture.





PUBLISHERS' NOTE.


The Publishers have extreme pleasure in placing this novel, by a new and
promising native author, before the reading public of Canada. They will
be greatly disappointed if it does not at once take its place among the
best products of Canadian writers. While the work has peculiar interest
for Torontonians and dwellers in the districts so graphically described,
its admirable character drawings of many "sorts and conditions" of our
people--its extremely clever dialect, representing Irish, Scotch,
English, Canadian, French, Southern and Negro speech, and the working
out of its story, which is done in such a way as would credit an
experienced romancer--should insure the book a welcome in very many
homes. The literary flavour is all that can be desired; the author
evidencing a quite remarkable acquaintance with English Literature,
especially with Wordsworth, the Poet of the Lake Country.




TWO KNAPSACKS:

A Novel of Canadian Summer Life.

by

J. CAWDOR BELL.




CHAPTER I.

     The Friends--The Knapsacks--The Queen's Wharf--The Northern
     Railway--Belle Ewart--The _Susan Thomas_, Captain and Crew--Musical
     Performance--The Sly Dog--Misunderstanding--Kempenfeldt Bay.


Eugene Coristine and Farquhar Wilkinson were youngish bachelors and
fellow members of the Victoria and Albert Literary Society. Thither, on
Wednesday evenings, when respectable church-members were wending their
way to weekly service, they hastened regularly, to meet with a band of
like-minded young men, and spend a literary hour or two. In various
degrees of fluency they debated the questions of the day; they read
essays with a wide range of style and topic; they gave readings from
popular authors, and contributed airy creations in prose and in verse to
the Society's manuscript magazine. Wilkinson, the older and more sedate
of the two, who wore a tightly-buttoned blue frock coat and an eyeglass,
was a schoolmaster, pretty well up in the Toronto Public Schools.
Coristine was a lawyer in full practice, but his name did not appear on
the card of the firm which profited by his services. He was taller than
his friend, more jauntily dressed, and was of a more mercurial
temperament than the schoolmaster, for whom, however, he entertained a
profound respect. Different as they were, they were linked together by
an ardent love of literature, especially poetry, by scientific pursuits,
Coristine as a botanist, and Wilkinson as a dabbler in geology, and by
a firm determination to resist, or rather to shun, the allurements of
female society. Many lady teachers wielded the pointer in rooms not far
removed from those in which Mr. Wilkinson held sway, but he did not
condescend to be on terms even of bowing acquaintance with any one of
them. There were several young lady typewriters of respectable city
connections in the offices of Messrs. Tyler, Woodruff and White, but the
young Irish lawyer passed them by without a glance. These bachelors were
of the opinion that women were bringing the dignity of law and education
to the dogs.

It was a Wednesday evening in the beginning of July, and the heat was
still great in the city. Few people ventured out to the evening
services, and fewer still found their way to the Victoria and Albert
hall; in fact, there was not a quorum, and, as the constitution stated
that, in such a case, the meeting should be adjourned, it was adjourned
accordingly. Coristine lit a cigar in the porch, and Wilkinson, who did
not smoke, but said he liked the odour of good tobacco, took his arm for
a walk along the well-lit streets. They agreed that it was time to be
out of town. Coristine said: "Let us go together; I'll see one of the
old duffers and get a fortnight's leave." Wilkinson had his holidays, so
he eagerly answered: "Done! but where shall we go? Oh, not to any female
fashion resort." At this Coristine put on the best misanthropic air he
could call up, with a cigar between his lips, and then, as if struck by
a happy thought, dug his elbow into his companion's side and ejaculated:
"Some quiet country place where there's good fishing." Wilkinson
demurred, for he was no fisherman. The sound of a military band stopped
the conversation. It came into sight, the bandsmen with torches in their
headgear, and, after it, surrounded and accompanied by all the small
boys and shop-girls in the town, came the Royals, in heavy marching
order. The friends stood in a shop doorway until the crowd passed by,
and then, just as soon as a voice could be distinctly heard, the
schoolmaster clapped his companion on the shoulder and cried, "Eureka!"
Coristine thought the music had been too much for his usually staid and
deliberate friend. "Well, old Archimedes, and what is it you've found?
Not any new geometrical problems, I hope." "Listen to me," said the
dominie, in a tone of accustomed authority, and the lawyer listened.

"You've heard Napoleon or somebody else say that every soldier of France
carries a marshal's baton in his knapsack?"

"Never heard the gentleman in my life, and don't believe it, either."

"Well, well, never mind about that; but I got my idea out of a
knapsack."

"Now, what's the use of your saying that, when its myself knows that you
haven't got such a thing to bless yourself with?"

"I got it out of a soldier's--a volunteer's knapsack, man."

"O, you thief of the world! And where have you got it hid away?"

"In my head."

"O rubbish and nonsense--a knapsack in your head!"

"No, but the idea."

"And where's the knapsack?"

"On the grenadier's back."

"Then the grenadier has the knapsack, and you the idea: I thought you
said the idea was in the knapsack."

"So it was; but I took it out, don't you see? My idea is the idea of a
knapsack on a man's back--on two men's backs--on your back and on mine."

"With a marshal's baton inside?"

"No; with an extra flannel shirt inside--and some socks, and a flask,
and some little book to read by the way; that's what I want."

"It'll be mortal heavy and hot this boiling weather."

"Not a bit. You can make one out of cardboard and patent cloth, just as
light as a feather, and costing you next to nothing."

"And where will you be going with your knapsack? Will it be parading
through the streets with the volunteers you would be after?"

"Go? We will go on a pedestrian tour through the finest scenery
available." This was said correctly and with great dignity. It had the
effect of sobering the incredulous Coristine, who said: "I tell ye,
Farquhar, my boy, that's a fine idea of yours, barring the heat; but I
suppose we can rest where we like and go when we like, and, if the
knapsacks get to be a nuisance, express 'em through, C.O.D. Well, I'll
sleep over it, and let you know to-morrow when I can get away." So the
pair separated, to retire for the night and dream a knapsack nightmare.

Coristine's leave did not come till the following Tuesday, so that
Friday, Saturday and Monday--or parts of them, at least--could be
devoted to the work of preparation. Good, strong, but not too heavy,
tweed walking suits were ordered, and a couple of elegant flannel shirts
that would not show the dirt were laid in; a pair of stout, easy boots
was picked out, and a comfortable felt hat, with brim enough to keep off
the sun. Then the lawyer bought his cardboard and his patent cloth and
straps, and spent Saturday evening with his friend and a sharp penknife,
bringing the knapsacks into shape. The scientists made a mistake in
producing black and shiny articles, well calculated to attract the heat.
White canvas would have been far better. But Wilkinson had taken his
model from the military, hence it had to be black. The folded ends of
the patent cloth, which looked like leather, were next to the wearer's
back, so that what was visible to the general public was a very
respectable looking flat surface, fastened round the shoulders with
becoming straps, equally dark in hue. "Sure, Farquhar, it's pack-men the
ignorant hayseeds will be taking us for," said Coristine, when the
prospective pedestrians had strapped on their shiny baggage holders. "I
do not agree with you there," replied the schoolmaster; "Oxford and
Cambridgemen, and the best _litterateurs_ of England, do Wales and
Cornwall, the Lakes and the Trossachs, to say nothing of Europe, dressed
just as we are." "All right, old man, but I'm thinking I'll add a
bandanna handkerchief and a blackthorn. They'll come in handy to carry
the fossils over your shoulder. There now, I've forgot the printers'
paper and the strap flower press for my specimens. True, there's Monday
for that; but I'm afraid I'll have to shave the boards of the flower
press down, or it'll be a sorry burden for a poor, tired botanist. Good
night to you, my bouchal boy, and it's a pack you might throw into a
corner of your sack." "Cards!" replied Wilkinson; "no sir, but my
pocket chess box will be at your service." "Chess be hanged," said the
lawyer; "but, see here, are they checkers when you turn them upside
down? If they are, it's I'm your man."

On Tuesday morning, about eight o'clock, there appeared at the Brock
Street Station of the Northern Railway, two well-dressed men with shiny
knapsacks on their shoulders. They had no blackthorns, for Wilkinson had
said it would be much more romantic to cut their own sticks in the bush,
to which Coristine had replied that, if the bush was as full of
mosquitos as one he had known, he would cut his stick fast enough. They
were the astonishment, rather than the admiration, of all beholders, who
regarded them as agents, and characterized the way in which they carried
their samples as the latest thing from the States. For a commencement,
this was humiliating, so that the jaunty lawyer twisted his moustache
fiercely, and felt inclined to quarrel with the self-possessed,
clean-shaven space between Wilkinson's elaborate side-whiskers. But the
pedagogue, in his suavest manner, remarked that Cicero, in his _De
Natura Deorum_, makes Cotta call the common herd both fools and
lunatics, whose opinion is of no moment whatever. "Why, then," he asked,
"should we trouble our minds with what it pleases them to think? It is
for us to educate public opinion--to enlighten the darkness of the
masses. Besides, if you look about, you will see that those who are
doing the giggling are girls, sir, positively girls."

"Your hand on that, Farquhar, my boy; if it keeps the hussies off, I'll
wear a knapsack every day of my life."

Coristine did not know where he was going, being subject to the superior
wisdom and topographical knowledge of his companion, who appeared in the
row that besieged the window of the ticket office. "Two for Belle
Ewart," he demanded, when his turn came.

"Trains don't run to Belle Ewart now; you had better take Lefroy, the
nearest point."

"All right; two for Lefroy."

The ticket agent looked at the attire of the speaker, and was about to
produce the cardboard slips, then hesitated as he glanced at the straps
and the top of the black erection on Wilkinson's shoulders, and
enquired, "Second class, eh?" The dominie was angry, his face
crimsoned, his hand shook with indignation. Being a moral man, he would
not use bad language, but he roared in his most stentorian academic
tone, a tone which appalled the young agent with rapid visions of
unfortunate school days, "Second Tom-cats! Does the company put you
there to insult gentlemen?" It was the agent's turn to redden, and then
to apologize, as he mildly laid the tickets down, without the usual
slap, and fumbled over their money. The feminine giggling redoubled, and
Coristine, who had regained his equilibrium, met his friend with a
hearty laugh, and the loud greeting, "O Lord, Wilks, didn't I tell you
the fools would be taking us for bagmen?" But Wilkinson's irritation was
deep, and he marched to the incoming train, ejaculating, "Fool, idiot,
puppy; I shall report him for incivility, according to the printed
invitation of the company. Second! ach! I was never so insulted in my
life."

There was room enough inside the car to give the travellers a double
seat, half for themselves and the other for their knapsacks. These
impedimenta being removed the occupants of the carriage became aware
that they were in the company of two good-looking men, of refined
features, and in plain but gentlemanly attire. The lady passengers
glanced at them, from time to time, with approbation not unmingled with
amusement, but no responsive glance came from the bachelors. Wilkinson
had opened his knapsack, and had taken out his pocket Wordsworth, the
true poet, he said, for an excursion. Coristine had a volume of Browning
in his kit, but left it there, and went into the smoking-car for an
after breakfast whiff. The car had been swept out that morning by the
joint efforts of a brakesman and the newsagent, so that it was less
hideously repulsive than at a later stage in the day, when tobacco
juice, orange peel, and scraps of newspapers made it unfit for a decent
pig. The lawyer took out his plug, more easily carried than cut tobacco,
and whittled it down with his knife to fill his handsome Turk's head
meerschaum. When all was ready, he discovered, to his infinite disgust,
that he had no matches nor pipe-lights of any description. The news
agent, Frank, a well-known character on the road, supplied him with a
box of Eddy's manufacture, for which he declined to receive payment.
However, he pressed his wares upon the grateful Coristine, recommending
warmly the Samantha books and Frank Stockton's stories. "Are there any
women in them?" asked the smoker. "Full of them," replied Frank; "Why,
Samantha is a woman." "Take them away, and bring me something
different." The news agent returned with a volume made up of cartoons
and other illustrations from _Puck_, and soon the Irishman was shaking
his sides over the adventures of Brudder Sunrise Waterbury and similar
fictitious characters. So absorbed was he in this trivial literature
that he failed to notice the entrance of an old man, respectably dressed
who took a seat on the opposite side of the aisle, and was preparing to
smoke his three inches of clay. He was aroused by the salutation and
request:--

"Good marnin', Sor, an' moight Oi be afther thrubblin' yeez for a loight
to my poipe?"

"Certainly, with pleasure; glad to be of any use to a fellow
countryman," replied Coristine, looking up, and perceiving that his new
acquaintance, though old and stooped, had a soldierly air. "You have
been in service?" he continued.

"Troth I have, puff, puff, now she's goin' aisy. Oi was in the Furren
Laygion in South Ameriky, an' my cornel was the foinest man you iver
see. It was Frinch he was by his anshesters, an' his name it was
Jewplesshy. Wan toime we was foightin' wid the Spanyerds an' the poor
deluded haythen Injuns, when a shpint bullet rickyshayed an' jumped into
my mouth, knockin' out the toot' ye'll percaive is missin' here. Will,
now, the cornel he was lookin' at me, an', fwhen Oi shput out the bullet
and the broken toot' on the ground, he roides up to me, and says, says
he, 'It's a brave bhoy, yeez are, Moikle Terry, an' here's a' suverin to
get a new toot' put in whin the war is over, says he. Oh, that suverin
wint to kape company wid a lot more that Oi'd be proud to see the face
av in my owld age. But, sorra a toot' did the dintist put in for me, for
fwhere wud the nate hole for the poipe have been thin, till me that,
now?"

Mr. Coristine failed to answer this conundrum, but continued the
conversation with the old soldier. He learnt that Michael had
accompanied his colonel to Canada, and, after serving him faithfully for
many years, had wept over his grave. One of the old man's sons was a
sergeant in the Royal Artillery, and his daughter was married to a
Scotch farmer named Carruthers, up in the County of Grey.

"She was a good gyurl, as nate an' swate as a picter, whin she lift the
cornel's lady's sarvice, an' wint an' tuk up wid Carruthers, a foine man
an' a sponsible, not a bit loike the common Scotch. Carruthers and her,
they axed me wud Oi go an' pay thim a visit, an' say to the comfort av
her young lady on the way."

"What young lady?" asked Coristine, and immediately repented the
question.

"Miss Jewplesshy, to be sure, the cornel's darter, and an illigant wan
she is, av she has to make her livin' by the wroitin'."

At this juncture, the lawyer, with lively satisfaction, hailed the
arrival of Frank, who came straight towards him.

"Are you Mr. Coristine, the lawyer?" he half whispered. "Yes; that's my
name," his victim replied, thinking that Wilkinson had sent him a
message.

"Well, there's a lady in the rear car wanted to know, and I said I'd
find out."

"Fwhat's that you'll be sayin' av a lady in the rare car, my lad?"
questioned the old soldier, who had overheard part of the conversation.

"It's the tall girl in the travelling duster and the blue ribbons that
wants to know if Mr. Coristine is here."

"Fwhat? my own dare young mishtress, Miss Ceshile Jewplesshy; shure it's
her that do have the blue ribbins, an' the dushter. Do yeez know that
swate young crathur, Sor?"

"I do not," replied Coristine abruptly, and added, _sotto voce_, "thank
goodness!" Then he relit his pipe, and buried his head in the Puck book,
from the contemplation of which the Irish veteran was too polite to seek
to withdraw his attention. In a few minutes, the door opened and closed
with a slam, and Wilkinson, pale and trembling, stood before him.

"Eugene, my dear friend," he stammered, "I'll never forgive myself for
leading you and me into a trap, a confounded, diabolical, deep-laid
trap, sir, a gin, a snare, a woman's wile. Let us get off anywhere, at
Aurora, Newmarket, Holland Landing, Scanlans, anywhere to escape these
harpies."

"What's the matter, old man?" enquired Coristine, with a poor attempt at
calmness.

"Matter!" replied Wilkinson, "it's this matter, that they have found us
out, and the girl with the cream coloured ribbons and crimson wrapper
has asked that villainous news-agent if my name is not Wilkinson, and if
I don't teach in the Sacheverell Street School. The rascal says her name
is Miss Marjorie Carmichael, the daughter of old Dr. Carmichael, that
was member for Vaughan, and that her friend, the long girl with the blue
ribbons, knows you. O, my dear friend, this is awful. Better be back in
Toronto than shut up in a railway car with two unblushing women."

"Stay here," said Coristine, making way for his friend, "they'll never
dare come into this car after us." Yet his eye followed the retreating
form of the South American warrior with apprehension. What if he should
bring his 'dare young misthress' and her friend into the atmosphere of
stale tobacco after their lawful game? Wilkinson sat down despairingly
and coughed. "I feel very like the least little nip," he said faintly,
"but it's in my knapsack, and I will not enter that car of foul
conspiracy again for all the knapsacks and flasks in the world."

Now, Coristine had smoked two big pipes, and felt that it was dry work,
but loyalty to his friend made him braver than any personal necessity
would have done. "It's sick you're looking, Farquhar, my dear," he said,
"and it's no friend of your's I'd be, and leave you without comfort in
such a time of trouble. Here's for the knapsack, and woe betide the man
or woman that stops me." So up he rose, and strode out of the car,
glowering fiercely at the second-class passengers and all the rest, till
he reached the vacated seats, from which he silently, and in deep inward
wrath, gathered up the creations of cardboard and patent cloth, and
retreated, grinding his teeth as he heard the veteran call out behind
him, "Would yeez moind comin' this way a bit, Mishter?" He paid no
attention to that officious old man, but hurried back to the
smoking-car, where he extracted Wilkinson's flask from its flannel
surroundings, removed the metal cup, poured out a stiff horn, and
diluted it at the filter. "Take this, old man," he said sternly,
pressing it to the lips of the sufferer, "it'll set you up like a new
pin." So the schoolmaster drank and was comforted, and Coristine took a
nip also, and they felt better, and laughed and joked, and said
simultaneously, "It's really too absurd about these girls, ha, ha!"

Apprehension made the time seem long to the travellers, who gazed out of
the windows upon a fine agricultural country, with rolling fields of
grain, well-kept orchards and substantial houses and barns. They admired
the church on the hill at Holland Landing, and the schoolmaster told his
friend of a big anchor that had got stuck fast there on its way to the
Georgian Bay in 1812. "I bet you the sailors wouldn't have left it
behind if it had been an anchor of Hollands," said Coristine, whereupon
Wilkinson remarked that his puns were intolerable. At Bradford the track
crossed the Holland River, hardly flowing between its flat, marshy banks
towards Lake Simcoe. "This," said the schoolmaster, "is early
Tennysonian scenery, a Canadian edition of the fens of Lincolnshire,"
but he regretted uttering the words when the lawyer agreed with him that
it was an of-fens-ive looking scene. But Lake Simcoe began to show up in
the distance to the right, and soon the gentlemanly conductor took their
tickets. "Leefroy," shouted the brakesman. They gathered up their
knapsacks, dropped off the smoker, and sped inside the station, out of
the windows of which they peered cautiously to see that no attempt at a
pursuit was made by the ladies and their military protector. The train
sped on its way northward, and feeling that, for a time, they were safe,
the pedestrians faced each other with a deep-drawn sigh of relief. The
station-master told them to walk back along the track till they met the
old side-line that used to go to Belle Ewart. So they helped each other
to strap on their knapsacks, and virtually began their pedestrian tour.
The station-master would have liked to detain them for explanations, but
they were unwilling to expose themselves to further misunderstanding.
Walking on a railway track is never very pleasant exercise, but this
old Belle Ewart track was an abomination of sand and broken rails and
irregular sleepers. Coristine tried to step in time over the rotting
cedar and hemlock ties, but, at the seventh step, stumbled and slid down
the gravel bank of the road-bed. "Where did the seven sleepers do their
sleeping, Wilks?" he enquired. "At Ephesus," was the curt reply. "Well,
if they didn't efface us both, they nearly did for one of us."
"Coristine, if you are going to talk in that childlish way, we had
better take opposite ends of the track; there are limits, sir."

"That's just what's troubling me; there are far too many limits. If this
is what you call pedestrianizing, I say, give me a good sidewalk or the
loan of an uneven pair of legs. It's dislocation of the hip or
inflammatory rheumatism of the knee-joint I'll be getting with this hop
and carry one navigation." Wilkinson plodded on in dignified silence,
till the sawmills of the deserted village came in sight, and, beyond it,
the blue green waters of Lake Simcoe. "Now," he said, "we shall take to
the water." "What?" enquired Coristine, "on our knapsacks?" to which his
companion answered, "No, on the excellent steamer _Emily May_."

There was no excellent steamer _Emily May_; there had not been for a
long time; it was a memory of the past. The railway had ruined
navigation. What was to be done? It would never do to retrace their
steps over the railroad ties, and the roads about Belle Ewart led
nowhere, while to track it along the hot lake shore was not to be
thought of. Wilkinson's plans had broken down; so Coristine left him at
the village hostelry, and sallied forth on exploration bent. In the
course of his wanderings he came to a lumber wharf, alongside which lay
an ancient schooner.

"Schooner ahoy!" he shouted, when a shock-headed man of uncertain middle
age poked his head up through a hatchway, and answered: "Ahoy yourself,
and see how you like it." This was discouraging, but not to a limb of
the law. Coristine half removed his wide awake, and said: "I have the
pleasure of addressing the captain of the ship _Susan Thomas_," the name
he had seen painted in gold letters on the stern.

"Not adzackly," replied the shock headed mariner, much mollified; "he's
my mate, and he'll be along as soon as he's made up his bundle. I'm
waitin' for him to sail this yere schooner."

"Where is the _Susan Thomas_ bound for?"

"For Kempenfeldt Bay, leastways Barrie."

"Could you take a couple of passengers, willing to pay properly for
their passage?"

"Dassent; it's agin the law; not but what I'd like to have yer, fer its
lonesome, times. Here comes the old man hisself; try him."

A stout grizzled man of between fifty and sixty came walking along the
wharf, with his bundle over his shoulder, and Coristine tried him. The
Captain was a man of few words, so, when the situation was explained, he
remarked: "Law don't allow freight boats to take money off passengers,
but law don't say how many hands I have to have, nor what I'm to pay 'em
or not to pay 'em. If you and your friend want to ship for the trip to
Barrie, you'd better hurry up, for we're going to start right away."

Coristine was filled with the wildest enthusiasm. He dashed back to the
hotel, the bar of which was covered with maps and old guide-books,
partly the property of Wilkinson, partly of mine host, who was lazily
helping him to lay out a route. "Hurry, hurry!" cried the excited
lawyer, as he swept the maps into his friend's open knapsack. Then he
yelled "hurroo!" and sang:--

     For the ship, it is ready, and the wind is fair,
     And I am bound for the sea, Mary Ann.

Like a whirlwind he swept Wilkinson and the two knapsacks out of the
hotel door, along the sawdust paths and on to the wharf just in time to
see the first sail set. "What in the name of common sense is the meaning
of this conduct?" asked the amazed schoolmaster as soon as he got his
breath.

"Meaning! why, we're indentured, you and I, as apprentice mariners on
board the good ship _Susan Thomas_, bound for Kempenfeldt Bay.

     Brave Kempenfeldt is gone,
     His victories are o'er;
     And he and his eight hundred
     Shall plough the waves no more.

But we'll plough them, Wilks, my boy. We'll splice the spanker boom,
and port the helm to starboard, and ship the taffrail on to the lee
scuppers of the after hatch, and dance hornpipes on the mizzen peak.
Hulloa, captain, here's my mate, up to all sorts of sea larks; he can
box the compass and do logarithm sums, and work navigation by single or
double entry." The schoolmaster blushed for his companion, at whose
exuberant spirits the sedate captain smiled, while the shock-headed man,
whom Coristine named The Crew, displayed a large set of fairly preserved
yellowish teeth, and guffawed loud and long.

"Do I understand, Captain, that you are willing to take us to Barrie in
your--ah--vessel?" asked Wilkinson, politely.

"Aye, aye, my man," answered the ancient mariner, "get your leg aboard,
for we're going to sail right away. Hi, you, Sylvanus there, give
another haul on them halliards afore you're too mighty ready to belay,
with your stupid cackle."

So the indentured apprentices and their knapsacks got on board, while
Sylvanus, _alias_ The Crew, stopped laughing, and put a pound or two
extra on to the halliards. "Wilks," said Coristine, "it'll puzzle the
women to find us out on our ocean home."

Wilkinson saw the captain hauling at the halliards of the after-mainsail
and went to his assistance, while Coristine, doffing his coat, lent a
hand to The Crew, when, by their combined efforts, the sails were all
hoisted and the schooner floated away from the pier. The lawyer walked
over the deck with a nautical air, picking up all loose ends of rope and
coiling them neatly over his left arm. The coils he deposited carefully
about the feet of the masts, to the astonishment of Wilkinson, who
regarded his friend as a born seaman, and to the admiration of the
captain and The Crew. The schoolmaster felt that Wordsworth was not the
thing for the water; he should have brought Falconer or Byron. So he
stuck to the captain, who was a very intelligent man of his class, and
discussed with him the perils and advantages of lake navigation. They
neither of them smoked, nor, said the captain, did he often drink; when
he did, he liked to have it good. Thereupon Wilkinson produced what
remained in his flask, which his commanding officer took down neat at a
gulp, signifying, as he ruefully gazed upon the depleted vessel, that a
man might go long before he'd get such stuff as that. Then the
conversation turned on the prohibitory Scott Act, which opened the vials
of the old man's wrath, for making "the biggest lot of hypocrites and
law-breakers and unlicensed shebeens and drunkards the country had ever
seen." The schoolmaster, as in duty bound, tried to defend the Act, but
all in vain, so he was glad to change the subject and discuss the crops,
politics, and education. This conversation took place at what the
captain called "the hellum", against the tiller of which he occasionally
allowed his apprentice to lean his back while he attended to other work.
Wilkinson was proud. This was genuine navigation, this steering a large
vessel with your back; any mere landsman, he now saw, could coil up
ropes like Coristine. The subject of this reflection was quite happy in
the bow, chumming with The Crew. Smoking their pipes together, Sylvanus
confided to his apprentice that a sailor's life was the lonesomest life
out of jail, when the cap'n was that quiet and stand off like as one he
knowed that wasn't far away, nuther. Coristine sympathized with him.
"The bossest time that ever was on this yere old _Susan Thomas_," he
continued, "was last summer wonst when the cap'n's niece, she come along
fer a trip. There was another gal along with her, a regular stunner, she
was. Wot her name was I raley can't tell, 'cos that old owl of a cap'n,
whenever he'd speak to her, allers said Miss Do Please. I reckon that's
what she used to say to him, coaxin' like, and he kep' it up on her.
Well, we was becalmed three days right out on the lake, and I had to row
the blessed dingy in the bilin' sun over to Snake Island to get bread
and meat from the Snakes."

"From the snakes!" ejaculated Coristine, "why this beats Elijah's ravens
all to nothing."

"Oh, the Snakes is Injuns, and Miss Carmichael, that's the cap'n's gal,
says their rale name is Kinapick."

"Look here, Sylvanus, what did you say the captain's name is?"

"Oh, the old pill's name is Thomas, like the schooner, but, you see, he
married one of the pretty Carruthers gals, and a good match it was; for,
I tell ye, them Carruthers gals hold their heads mighty high. Why, the
ansomest of them married Dr. Carmichael that was member, and, of they
did say he married below him, there wasn't a prouder nor a handsomer
woman in all the country. There's a brother of the Carruthers gals lives
on a farm out in Grey, and he took up with a good lookin' Irish gal that
was lady's maid or some such truck. That's marryin' below yourself ef
you like, but, bless you, Miss Carmichael don't bear him no spite for
it. She goes and stays with him times in the holidays, just like she
does along o' the old man here. My! what a three days o' singin' and fun
it was when them two gals was aboard; never see nothing like it afore
nor sence."

"By George!" groaned the lawyer.

"What's up, Mister? turned sick, eh? smell o' the tar too much fer your
narves? It do make some city folks a bit squarmish. Wish I'd a drop o'
stuff for you, but we don't carry none; wouldn't do, you know."
Coristine was touched by the good fellow's kindness, and opened his
flask for their joint benefit, after which he felt better, and The Crew
said it made him like a four-year-old.

"Hi, Sylvanus, come aft here to your dog watch," cried the captain, and
The Crew retired, while his superior officer and Wilkinson came forward.
The former went down into the hold, leaving the dominie free for
conversation with his friend. "It's all up again, Wilks," said Coristine
sadly; "those two girls were on board this very schooner, no later than
last summer, and the one that spotted you is the captain's niece."

"I know," groaned Wilkinson; "did he not tell me that he had a niece, a
wonderfully fine girl, if he did say it, in the public schools, and made
me promise to look her up when I go back to town! This kind of thing
will be the death of me, Corry. Tell me, is your friend at the helm
another uncle?"

"Oh, no," laughed Coristine, "he's a simple-hearted, humble sort of
creature, who worships the boards these girls trod upon. He has a
tremendous respect for the Carmichaels. What a lucky thing it is they
didn't come on board at Belle Ewart! Do you think they'll be on hand at
Barrie?"

"I shouldn't wonder."

"Then, Wilks, I tell you what it is, we must slope. When it gets dark,
I'll slip over the stern into the dingy and bring her round to the side
for you; then we'll sail away for parts unknown."

"Corry, I am ashamed of you for imagining that I would lend myself to
base treachery, and robbery, or piracy rather, on the high seas, laying
us open, as you, a lawyer, must know, to penalties that would blast our
reputations and ruin our lives. No, sir, we must face our misfortune
like men. In the meanwhile, I will find out, from the captain, where his
niece and her friend are likely to be."

Coristine walked aft to The Crew, and served his apprenticeship to
sitting on the tiller and propelling the rudder thereby in the desired
direction. When he went wrong, while The Crew was lighting his pipe, the
flapping of the sails warned him to back the tiller to its proper place.
When hauling at the halliards, he had sung to his admiring companion in
toil the "Sailor's Shanty":--

     My Polly said she'd marry me when I came home,
       Yo hee, yo ho, haul all together;
     But when I came I found she'd been and took my messmate Tom,
       Yo hee, yo ho, haul all together.

Now, therefore, The Crew was urgent for a song to cheer up the
lonesomeness a bit, and the lawyer, nothing loath, sang with genuine
pathos:--

                A baby was sleeping;
                Its mother was weeping.
     For her husband was far on the wide rolling sea.

When he came to the sea-ee-ee-ee-ee at the end of the third line, The
Crew, who had been keeping time with one foot on the deck and with one
hand on the tiller, aided him in rolling it forth, and, when the singing
was over, he characterized it as "pooty and suitin' like," by which he
meant that the references to the howling tempest and the raging billow
were appropriate to the present nautical circumstances. After much
persuasion The Crew was induced to add to the harmony of the evening.
His voice was strong, but, like many strong things, under imperfect
control; his tune was nowhere, and his intended pathetic unction was
simply maudlin. Coristine could recall but little of the long ballad to
which he listened, the story of a niggardly and irate father, who
followed and fought with the young knight that had carried off his
daughter. Two verses, however, could not escape his memory, on account
of the disinterested and filial light in which they made the young lady
appear:--

     "O stay your hand," the old man cried,
     A-lying on the ground,
     "And you shall have my daughter,
     And twenty thousand pound."

     "Don't let him up, dear sweetheart,
     The portion is too small."
     "O stay your hand," the old man said,
       "And you shall have it all."

The lawyer was loud in his admiration of this classical piece, and what
he afterwards found was The Crew's original and only tune. "That was the
kind of wife for a poor man," remarked Sylvanus, meditatively; "but she
was mighty hard on her old dad."

"They're a poor lot, the whole pack of them," said the lawyer, savagely,
thinking of the quandary in which he and his friend were placed.

"Who is?" asked The Crew.

"Why, the women, to be sure."

"Look here, Mister, my name may be Sylvanus, but I know I'm pretty
rough, for all that. But, rough as I am, I don't sit quiet and let any
man, no, not as good friends as you and me has been, say a word agin the
wimmen. When I think o' these yere gals as was in this blessed schooner
last summer, I feel it my juty, bein' I'm one o' them as helped to sail
her then, to stand up fer all wimmen kind, and, no offence meant. I
guess your own mother's one o' the good sort, now wasn't she?"

"I should say she is," replied Coristine; "there are splendid women in
the world, but they're all married."

"That don't stand to reason, nohow," said The Crew, with gravity, "'cos
there was a time wonst when they wasn't married, and if they was good
arter they was good afore. And, moreover, what was, is, and ever shall
be, Amen!"

"All right, Sylvanus, we won't quarrel over them, and to show I bear no
malice, I'll sing a song about the sex," whereupon he trolled out:
"Here's to the Maiden of Bashful Fifteen." Wilkinson came running aft
when he heard the strain, and cried: "Good heavens! Coristine, whatever
has got into you, are you mad or intoxicated?"

"I'll bet you your boots and your bottom dollar that he ain't that,
Mister," interposed The Crew, "fer you couldn't scare up liquor enough
on this yere _Susan Thomas_ to turn the head of a canary."

"We are exchanging musical treats," said Coristine in defence. "Sylvanus
here favoured me with an old ballad, not in the Percy collection, and I
have been giving him one of the songs from the dramatists."

"But about women!" protested the dominie.

"There ain't no songs that ain't got somethin' about women in 'em that's
wuth a cent," indignantly replied The Crew, and Wilkinson sullenly
retired to the bow.

When the captain emerged from the hold he was hardly recognizable.
Instead of his common sleeved waist coat and overalls, he was attired in
a dark blue suit of broadcloth, the vest and frock coat of which were
resplendent with gilt buttons. These clothes, with a befitting peaked
cap and a pair of polished boots, had evidently come out of the large
bundle he had brought from Belle Ewart, where the garments had probably
done Sunday duty, for a smaller bundle, which he now threw upon the
deck, contained his discarded working dress. Wilkinson was confirmed, by
the spectacle presented, in his dire suspicion that the captain's niece
would appear at Barrie, and, then and there, begin an acquaintance with
him that might have the most disastrous consequences. But hope springs
eternal in the human breast, as the poet says, so the schoolmaster
tackled the commander, congratulated him on his fine appearance, and
began to pump him as to the whereabouts of Miss Carmichael. The old
gentleman, for such he looked now, was somewhat vain in an off-hand sort
of way, and felt that he was quite the dominie's equal. He was cheerful,
even jovial, in spite of the contrary assertions of The Crew, as he
replied to Wilkinson's interrogations.

"Ah, you sly young dog," he said, "I see what you're at now. You'd like
to hear that the pair of them are waiting for us at Barrie; but they're
not. They've gone to stay with my brother-in-law, Carruthers, in the
County of Grey, where I'll go and see their pretty faces myself in a few
days."

Wilkinson swallowed the "sly young dog" for the sake of the
consolation, and, hurriedly making his way aft, communicated the joyful
news to Coristine. That gentleman much amused The Crew by throwing an
arm round the schoolmaster's waist and waltzing his unwilling partner
over the deck. All went merry as a marriage bell till the waltzers
struck a rope coil, when, owing to the dominie's struggles, they went
down together. Recovering themselves, they sat on deck glaring at each
other.

"You're a perfect idiot, Coristine."

"You're a regular old muff, Wilkinson."

The Crew, thinking this was a special pantomime got up impromptu for his
benefit, roared with laughter, and applauded on the tiller. He was about
to execute a hoedown within tiller limits to testify his sympathy with
the fun, when the captain appeared in all his Sunday finery.

"Let her away, you laughing hyena," he yelled to the unlucky Sylvanus,
who regained his mental balance and laid his back to the tiller the
other way.

"Sorry I've no chairs for you gentlemen," he remarked to the seated
travellers; "but I guess the deck's as soft as the wooden kind."

"Don't mention it, my dear captain," said Coristine, as he sprang to his
feet; "we were only taking the latitude and longitude, but it's hard
work on the bones."

"You allow yourself too much latitude, sir, both in your actions and in
your unjustifiable remarks," muttered the pedagogue, more slowly
assuming the perpendicular.

"Now, captain," cried the lawyer, "I leave it you, sir, as a judge of
language, good and bad. What is the worst thing to call a man, a muff or
an idiot!"

The captain toyed with the lanyard of his tortoise shell rimmed glasses,
then put them deliberately across his nose, coughed judiciously, and
gave his opinion:--

"An ijit is a man that's born without sense and can't keep himself, d'ye
see? But a muff is that stupid, like Sylvanus here, that he can't use
the sense he's got. That being the case, a muff is worse than an ijit."

"Mr. Wilkinson, I bow, as in duty bound, to the verdict of the court,
and humbly apologize for having called you something worse than an
idiot. In my poor opinion, sir, you are not worse than the unfortunate
creature thus described."

Wilkinson was about to retort, when The Crew called out that the
schooner was in the Bay, and that the lights of Barrie could be seen in
the distance.

"Keep to your helm, Sylvanus," growled the captain; "there's three pair
of eyes here as good as yourn, and I hope with more sense abaft 'em."

Sylvanus relapsed into silence of a modified kind, merely whistling in a
soft way his original copyright tune. As the travellers had never seen
Kempenfeldt Bay before, they admired it very much, and forgot their
little misunderstanding, while arm in arm they leaned over the bulwarks,
and quoted little snatches of poetry in one another's ears. The
twinkling lights of the town upon the cliffs suggested many a pleasing
passage, so that Wilkinson told his dear Corry he was more than repaid
for the trouble incident on their expedition by the sweet satisfaction
of gazing on such a scene in company with a kindred spirit of poesy. To
this his comrade replied, "Wilks, my dear boy, next to my mother you're
the best friend I ever hope to have."

"Let us cherish these sentiments for one another, kind friend, and the
cloud on the horizon of our tour will never rise to darken its happy
future," after which the learned dominie recited the words of Ducis:--

"_Noble et tendre amitié, je te chante en mes vers_."

"Murder!" cried Coristine, "Do you know that that Miss Jewplesshy, or Do
Please, or whatever her name is, is French?"

"O, Corry, Corry, how could you break in upon a scene of purest
friendship and nature worship like this with your wretched misses? O,
Corry, be a man!"

"The anchor's agoin' out," remarked The Crew, as he passed by; so the
travellers rushed to the capstan and got hold of the spikes. Out went
the cable, as Coristine sang:--

     Do! my Johnny Boker,
     I'm a poo-er sailor,
     Do! my Johnny Boker,
                     Do!!!

The ship made fast, the captain said, "Sylvanus will take you gentlemen
ashore in the dingy. It only holds three, so I'll wait till he comes
back." The pedestrians protested, but in vain. Sylvanus should take them
ashore first. So they bade the captain good-bye with many thanks and
good wishes, and tumbled down into the dingy, which The Crew brought
round. The captain shouted from the bulwarks in an insinuating way,
"I'll keep my eye on you, Mr Wilkinson, trying to steal an old man's
niece away from him," at which the victim shuddered. Away went the dingy
some fifty yards or more, when Coristine called out, "Have you got the
knapsacks, Farquhar, my dear?"

"Why, bless me, no," he answered. "I thought you had them." "Row back
for your life, Sylvanus, to get the blessed knapsacks;" and Sylvanus,
patient creature, did as he was told. The captain threw them over the
side with another farewell speech, and then the dingy made for the bank,
while Coristine sang in a rich voice:--

     Pull for the shore, sailor,
       Pull for the shore.

They landed, and, much against The Crew's will, he was compelled to
receive a dollar from each of his passengers.

"I'll see you again," he said, as he rowed back for the captain. "I'll
see you again up in Grey, along of the old man and the gals, mark my
word if I don't."

"Glad to see you, Sylvy, old fresh (he was going to say 'old salt,' but
corrected himself in time), glad to see you anywhere," bawled the
lawyer, "but we've made a vow to dispense with female society in our
travels. Ta, ta!"




CHAPTER II.

     Barrie--Next of Kin--Nightmare--On the Road--Strawberries and
     Botany--Poetry and Sentiment--The Virago--Luncheon and
     Wordsworth--Waterplants, Leeches and Verse--Cutting Sticks--Rain,
     Muggins and Rawdon.


The travellers carried their knapsacks in their hands by the straps, to
the nearest hotel, where, after brief delay, a special supper was set
for them. Having discussed the frugal meal, they repaired to the
combined reading and smoking room, separate from the roughish crowd at
the bar. Wilkinson glanced over a Toronto paper, while his companion,
professing an interest in local news, picked up an organ of the town and
read it through, advertisements and all, in which painstaking effort he
was helped by his pipe. Suddenly he grasped the paper, and, holding it
away from his face, exclaimed, "Is it possible that they are the same?"

"Who, who?" ejaculated Wilkinson; "do not tell me that the captain was
mistaken, that they are really here."

"Do you know old Carmichael's initials, the doctor's, that was member
for Vaughan?" his friend asked, paying no attention to the
schoolmaster's question.

"James D.," replied that authority; "I remember, because I once made the
boys get up the members' names along with their constituencies, so as to
give the latter a living interest."

"Now, listen to this: 'Next of kin; information wanted concerning the
whereabouts of James Douglas Carmichael, or his heirs at law. He left
the University of Edinburgh, where he was in attendance on the Faculty
of Medicine, in the spring of 1848, being at the time twenty-one years
of age. The only trace of his farther life is a fragment of a letter
written by him to a friend two years later, when he was serving as a
soldier in the military station of Barrief, Upper Canada. Reward offered
for the same by P.R. MacSmaill, W.S., 19 Clavers Row, Edinburgh.' If
James Douglas Carmichael, ex-medical student, wasn't the member and the
father of that girl of yours, I'm a Dutchman."

"Mr. Coristine, I insist, sir, before another word passes between us,
that you withdraw and apologize for the deeply offensive expression,
which must surely have escaped your lips unperceived, 'that girl of
yours.'"

"Oh, there, now, I'm always putting my foot in it. I meant the girl you
are interested in--no, it isn't that other--the girl that's interested
in you--oh, wirra wisha! it's not that at all--it's the girl the captain
was joking you about."

"A joke from a comparatively illiterate man like the captain of the
schooner, to whom we were under travelling obligations, and a joke from
my equal, a scholar and a gentleman, are two distinct things. I wish the
expression, 'that girl of yours,' absolutely and forever withdrawn."

"Well, well, I consent to withdraw it absolutely and apologize for
saying it, but that 'forever' clause goes against my legal judgment. If
the late Dr. Carmichael's heiress comes in for a fortune, we might
repent that 'forever.'"

"What has that to do with me, sir, fortune or no fortune? Your
insinuations are even more insulting than your open charges of
infidelity to our solemn compact."

It was Coristine's turn to be angry. He rose from the table at which he
had been sitting, with the paper still in his hand, and said: "You make
mountains out of molehills, Wilkinson. I've made you a fair and full
apology, and shall do no more, if you sulk your head off." So saying, he
stalked out of the room, and Wilkinson was too much angered to try to
stop him.

The lawyer asked the landlord if he would spare him the newspaper for an
hour and supply him with pen and ink and a few sheets of paper. Then he
took his lamp and retired to his room. "Poor old Farquhar," he
soliloquized, as he arranged his writing materials; "he'll feel mighty
bad at being left all alone, but it's good for his health, and business
is business. Let me see, now. Barrie was never a military station,
besides the letter had Barrief on it, a name that doesn't exist. But the
letter was torn there, or the corner worn away in a man's pocket. By the
powers, it's Barriefield at Kingston, and there's the military station
for you. I'll write our correspondent there, and I'll set one of the
juniors to work up Dr. Carmichael's record in Vaughan County, and I'll
notify MacSmaill, W.S., that I am on the track, and--shall I write the
girl, there's the rub?" The three letters were written with great care
and circumspection, but not the fourth. When carefully sealed, directed
and stamped, he carried them to the post-office and personally deposited
them in the slit for drop-letters. Returning to the hotel, he restored
the newspaper to the table of the reading-room, minus the clipped
advertisement to the next of kin, which he stowed away in his
pocketbook. This late work filled the lawyer with a satisfaction that
crowned the pleasures of the day, and he longed to communicate some of
it to his friend, but that gentleman, the landlord said, had retired for
the night, looking a bit put out--he hoped supper had been to his
liking. Coristine said the supper was good. "What was the number of Mr.
Wilkinson's room?"

Mine host replied that it was No. 32, the next to his own. Before
retiring, Coristine looked at the fanlight over the door of No. 32; it
was dark. Nevertheless he knocked, but failed to evoke a response.
"Farquhar, my dear," he whispered in an audible tone, but still there
was no answer. So he heaved a sigh, and, returning to his apartment,
read a few words out of his pocket prayer-book, and went to bed. There
he had an awful dream, of the old captain leading Wilkinson by the
collar and tail of his coat up to the altar, where Miss Carmichael
stood, resplendent in pearls and diamonds, betokening untold wealth; of
an attempt at rescue by himself and The Crew, which was nipped in the
bud by the advent of the veteran, his daughter and Miss Jewplesshy. The
daughter laid violent hands upon The Crew and waltzed him out of the
church door, while the veteran took Coristine's palsied arm and placed
that of his young mistress upon it, ordering them, with military words
of command, to accompany the victims, as bridesmaid and groomsman. When
the dreamer recovered sufficiently to look the officiating clergyman
full in the face, he saw that this personage was no other than Frank,
the news-agent, whereupon he laughed immediately and awoke.

"Corry, Corry, my dear fellow, are you able to get up, or shall I break
the door in?" were the words that greeted his ear on awaking.

"The omadhaun!" he said to himself under the bedclothes; "it would be a
good thing to serve him with the sauce of silence, as he did me last
night." But better counsels prevailed in his warm Irish heart, and he
arose to unlock the door, when suddenly it flew open, and Wilkinson,
with nothing but a pair of trousers added to his night attire, fell
backwards into his arms. It was broad daylight as each looked into the
other's face for explanations.

"But you're strong, Wilks!" said the lawyer with admiration.

"Corry, when I heard you groan that way, I was sure you were in a fit."

"Oh, it was nothing," replied his friend, who found it hard to keep from
laughing, "only a bad nightmare."

"What were you dreaming about to bring it on?"

Now, this was just what Coristine dared not tell, for the truth would
bring up all last night's misunderstanding. So he made up a story of
Wilkinson's teaching The Crew navigation and the use of the globes, when
the captain interfered and threatened to kick master and pupil
overboard. Then he, Coristine, interposed, and the captain fell upon
him. "And you know, Wilks, he's a heavy man."

"Well, I am heartily glad it is no worse. Get a wash and get your
clothes on, and come down to breakfast, like a good boy, for I hear the
bell ringing."

Over their coffee and toast, eggs and sausages, the two were as kind and
attentive to one another's wants, as if no dispute had ever marred their
friendship. The dominie got out his sketch map of a route and opened it
between them. "We shall start straight for the bush road into the north,
if that suits you," he said, "and travel by easy stages towards
Collingwood, where we shall again behold one of our inland seas. But, as
it may be sometime before we reach a house of entertainment, it may be
as well to fill the odd corners of our knapsacks with provisions for the
way."

"I say amen to that idea," replied the lawyer, and the travellers arose,
paid their bill, including the price of the door-lock, seized their
knapsacks by the straps and sallied forth. They laid in a small stock of
captain's biscuits, a piece of good cheese, and some gingersnaps for
Wilkinson's sweet tooth; they also had their flask refilled, and
Coristine invested in some pipe-lights. Then they sallied forth, not
into the north as Wilkinson had said, it being a phrase he was fond of,
but, at first, in a westerly, and, on the whole, in a north-westerly
direction.

When the last house on the outskirts was left behind them, they helped
each other on with their knapsacks, and felt like real pedestrians. The
bush enclosed them on either side of the sandy road, so that they had
shade whenever they wanted it. Occasionally a wayfarer would pass them
with a curt "good morning," or a team would rattle by, its driver
bestowing a similar salutation. The surface of the country was flat, but
this did not hinder Wilkinson reciting:--

     Mount slowly, sun! and may our journey lie
     Awhile within the shadow of this hill,
     This friendly hill, a shelter from thy beams!

"That reminds me," said Coristine, "of a fellow we had in the office
once, whose name was Hill. He was a black-faced, solemn-looking genius,
and the look of him would sink the spirits of a skylark down to zero.
'What's come over you?' said Woodruff to me one fine afternoon, when I
was feeling a bit bilious. 'Oh,' said I, 'I've been within the shadow of
this Hill,' and he laughed till he was black in the face."

"Corry, if I were not ashamed of making a pun, or, as we say in academic
circles, being guilty of antanaclasis, I would say that you are
in-corri-gible."

Coristine laughed, and then remarked seriously, "Here am I, with a
strap-press full of printing paper in my knapsack, and paying no
attention to science at all. We must begin to take life in airnest now,
Wilks, my boy, and keep our eyes skinned for specimens. Sorry I am I
didn't call and pay my respects to my botanical friend at the Barrie
High School. He could have given us a pointer or two about the flowers
that grow round here."

"Flowers are scarce in July," said the schoolmaster, "they seem to take
a rest in the hot weather. The spring is their best time. Of course you
know that song about the flowers in spring?"

"Never heard it in my life; sing it to us, Farquhar, like a darlin'."

Now, the dominie was not given to singing, but thus adjured, and the
road being clear, he sang in a very fair voice:--

     We are the flowers,
     The fair young flowers
     That come with the voice of Spring,
             Tra la la, la la la, la la,
                            Tra la, tra la a a a.

Coristine revelled in the chorus, which, at the "a a a," went up to the
extreme higher compass of the human voice and beyond it. He made his
friend repeat the performance, called him a daisy, and tra la la'd to
his heart's content. Then he sat down on a grassy bank by the wayside
and laughed loud and long. "Oh, it's a nice pair of fair young flowers
we are, coming with the voice of spring; but we're not hayseeds,
anyway." When the lawyer turned himself round to rise, Wilkinson asked
seriously, "Did you hurt yourself then, Corry?"

"Never a bit, except that I'm weak with the laughing; and for why?"

"Because there is some red on your trousers, and I thought it might be
blood--that you had sat down on some sharp thing."

"It'll be strawberry blite, I'll wager, _Blitum capitatum_, and a fine
thing it is. Mrs. Marsh, that keeps our boarding house, has a garden
where it grows wild in among the peas. She wanted some colouring for the
icing of a cake, and hadn't a bit of cochineal or anything of the kind
in the house. She was telling me her trouble, for it was a holiday and
the shops were shut, and she's always that friendly with me; when, says
I, 'There is no trouble about that.' So I went to the garden and got two
lovely stalks of _Blitum capitatum_. 'Is it poison?' said she. 'Poison!'
said I; 'and it belonging to the _Chenopodiaceæ_, the order that owns
beets and spinach, and all the rest of them. Trust a botanist, ma'am,' I
said. It made the sweetest pink icing you ever saw, and Mrs. Marsh is
for ever deeply grateful, and rears that _Blitum_ with fond and anxious
care."

"I would like to see that plant," said Wilkinson. So they retraced
their steps to the bank, over which Coristine leaned tenderly, picking
something which he put into his mouth. "Come on, Wilks," he cried; "it
isn't blite, but something better. It's wild strawberries themselves,
and lashings of them. Sure any fool might have known them by the leaves,
even if he was a herald, the worst fool of all, and only knew them from
a duke's coronet."

For a time there was silence, for the berries were numerous, and,
although small, sweet and of delicate flavour.

"Corry, they are luscious; this is Arcadia and Elysium."

"Foine, Wilks, foine," mumbled the lawyer, with his mouth full of
berries.

"This folly of mine, sitting down on the blessings of
Providence--turning my back upon them, so to speak," he remarked, after
the first hunger was over, "reminds me of a man who took the gold medal
in natural science. He had got his botany off by rote, so, when he was
travelling between Toronto and Hamilton, a friend that was sitting
beside him said, 'Johnson, what's in that field out there?' Johnson
looked a bit put out, but said boldly, 'It's turnips.' There was an old
farmer in the seat behind him, and he spoke up and said, 'Turmuts!' said
he, 'them's hoats--ha, ha, ha!'"

As they tramped along, the botanist found some specimens: two lilies,
the orange and the Turk's cap; the willow herb, the showy ladies'
slipper, and three kinds of milkweed. He opened his knapsack, took out
the strap press, and carefully bestowed his floral treasures between
sheets of unglazed printers' paper. Wilkinson took a friendly interest
in these proceedings, and insisted on being furnished with the botanical
names of all the specimens.

"That willow-herb, now, _Epilobium angustifolium_, is called fire-weed,"
said the botanist, "and is an awful nuisance on burnt ground. There was
a Scotchman out here once, about this time of the year, and he thought
it was such a pretty pink flower that he would take some home with him.
So, when the downy-winged seeds came, he gathered a lot, and, when he
got back to Scotland, planted them. Lord! the whole country about Perth
got full of the stuff, till the farmers cursed him for introducing the
American Saugh."

"The American what?" demanded Wilkinson.

"Saugh; it's an old Scotch word for willow, and comes from the French
_saule_, I suppose."

"I am not sorry for them," said Wilkinson; "they say that pest, the
Canada thistle, came from the Old Country."

"Yes, that's true; and so did Pusley, which Warner compares with
original sin; and a host of other plants. Why, on part of the Hamilton
mountain you won't find a single native plant. It is perfectly covered,
from top to bottom, with dusty, unwholesome-looking weeds from Europe
and the Southern States. But we paid them back."

"How was that?"

"You know, a good many years ago, sailing vessels began to go from the
Toronto harbour across the Atlantic to British ports. There's a little
water-plant that grows in Ashbridge's Bay, called the Anacharis, and
this little weed got on to the bottom of the ocean vessels. Salt water
didn't kill it, but it lived till the ships got to the Severn, and there
it fell off and took root, and blocked up the canals with a solid mass
of subaqueous vegetation that made the English canal men dredge night
and day to get rid of it. I tell you we've got some pretty hardy things
out here in Canada."

"Do you not think," asked Wilkinson, "that our talk is getting too like
that of Charles and his learned father in Gosse's 'Canadian
Naturalist'?"

"All right, my boy, I'll oppress you no longer with a tender father's
scientific lore, but, with your favourite poet, say:--

     "To me the meanest flower that blows can give
     Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."

"That is because of their associations, a merely relative reason," said
the dominie.

"It isn't though, at least not altogether. Listen, now, to what Tennyson
says, or to something like what he says:--

     Little flower in the crannied wall,
     Peeping out of the crannies,
     I hold you, root and all, in my hand;
     Little flower, if I could understand
     What you are, root and all, and all in all,
     I should know what God and man is.

There's no association nor relation in that; the flower brings you at
once face to face with infinite life. Do you know what these
strawberries brought to me?"

"A pleasant feast I should say."

"No, they made me think how much better it would have been if I had had
somebody to gather them for; I don't say a woman, because that's tabooed
between us, but say a child, a little boy or girl. There's no
association or relation there at all; the strawberries called up love,
which is better than a pleasant feast."

"According to Wordsworth, the flower in the crannied wall and the
strawberry teach the same lesson, for does he not say:--

     That life is love and immortality.

          *     *     *     *     *

     Life, I repeat, is energy of love,
     Divine or human, exercised in pain,
     In strife and tribulation, and ordained,
     If so approved and sanctified, to pass
     Through shades and silent rest, to endless joy?

At any rate, that is what he puts into his Parson's lips.

"Farquhar, my boy, I think we'd better stop, for I'm weakening fast.
It's sentimental the flowers and the fruit are making me. I mind, when I
was a little fellow in the old sod, my mother gathering wild flowers
from the hedges and putting them all round the ribbon of my straw hat. I
can't pay her the debt of that mark of love the same way, but I feel I
should pay it to somebody. You never told me about your mother."

"No, because she is dead and gone long ago, and my father married again,
and brought a vixen, with two trollops of girls, to take the place of an
angel. These three women turned my stomach at all the sex. Look, there's
a pretty woman for you!"

They had reached a clearing in the bush, consisting of a corn patch and
a potato field, in which a woman, with a man's hat on her head and a
pair of top-boots upon her nether extremities, looking a veritable guy,
was sprinkling the potato plants with well-diluted Paris green. The
shanty pertaining to the clearing was some little distance from the
road, and, hoping to get a drink of water there, Coristine prepared to
jump the rail fence and make his way towards it. The woman, seeing what
he was about, called: 'Hi, Jack, Jack!' and immediately a big mongrel
bull-dog came tearing towards the travellers, barking as he ran.

"Come back, Corry, for heaven's sake, or he'll bite you!" cried
Wilkinson.

"Never a fear," answered the lately sentimental botanist; "barking dogs
don't bite as a rule." So he jumped the fence in earnest, and said
soothingly, as if he were an old friend: "Hullo, Jack, good dog!"
whereupon the perfidious Jack grovelled at his feet and then jumped up
for a caress. But the woman came striding along, picking up a grubbing
hoe by the way to take the place of the treacherous defender of the
house.

"Hi, git out o' that, quick as yer legs'll take yer; git out now! we
don't want no seeds, ner fruit trees, ner sewin' machines, ner fambly
Bibles. My man's jist down in the next patch, an' if yer don't git, I'll
set him on yer."

"Madam," said Coristine, lifting his hat, "permit me to explain--"

"Go 'long, I tell yer; that's the way they all begin, with yer madam an'
explainin'; I'll explain this hoe on yer if yer take another step."

"We are not agents, nor tramps, nor tract distributors, nor collectors
for missions," cried Coristine, as soon as he had a chance to speak. "My
friend, here, is a gentleman engaged in education, and I am a lawyer,
and all we want is a glass of water."

"A liyer, eh?" said the Amazon, in a very much reduced tone; "Why didn't
yer say so at wonst, an' not have me settin' that good for nuthin' brute
on yer? I never see liyers with a pack on their backs afore. Ef yer
wants a drink, why don't yer both come on to the house?"

Wilkinson, at this not too cordial invitation, vaulted over the fence
beside his companion, and they walked housewards, the woman striding on
ahead, and the dog sniffing at Wilkinson's heels in the rear. A rather
pretty red-haired girl of about fifteen was washing dishes, evidently
in preparation for the mid-day meal. Her the woman addressed as Anna
Maria, and ordered her to go and get a pail of fresh water for the
gentlemen. But Wilkinson, who felt he must do something to restore his
credit, offered to get the water if Anna Maria would show him the well
or pump that contained it. The girl gave him a tin pail, and he
accompanied her to the back of the house, where the well and a bucket
with a rope were. In vain he tried to sink that bucket; it would not
sink. At last the girl took it out of his hands, turned the bucket
upside down, and, letting it fall with a vicious splash, brought it up
full of deliciously cool water, which she transferred to the pail.

"You are very clever to do that the first time," remarked the
schoolmaster, wishing to be polite to the girl, who looked quite
pleasant and comely, in spite of her bare feet and arms.

"There ain't no cleverness about it," she replied, with a harsh nasal
accent; "any fool most could do as much." Wilkinson carried the tin pail
to the shanty disillusioned, took his drink out of a cup that seemed
clean enough, joined his friend in thanking mother and daughter for
their hospitality, and retired to the road.

"Do you find your respect for the fair sex rising?" he asked Coristine,
cynically.

"The mother's an awful old harridan--"

"Yes, and when the daughter is her age she will be a harridan, too, the
gentle rustic beauties have gone out of date, like the old poets. The
schoolmaster is much needed here to teach young women not to compare
gentlemen even if they are pedestrianizing, to 'any fool most.'"

"Oh, Wilks, is that where you're hit? I thought you and she were long
enough over that water business for a case of Jacob and Rachel at the
well, ha, ha!"

"Come, cease this folly, Coristine, and let us get along."

Sentiment had received a rude shock. It met with a second when Coristine
remarked "I'm hungry." Still, he kept on for another mile or so, when
the travellers sighted a little brook of clear water rippling over
stones. A short distance to the left of the road it was shaded by trees
and tall bushes, not too close together, but presenting, here and
there, little patches of grass and the leaves of woodland flowers.
Selecting one of these patches, they unstrapped their knapsacks, and
extracted from them a sufficiency of biscuits and cheese for luncheon.
Then one of the packs, as they had irreverently been called, was turned
over to make a table. The biscuits and cheese were moistened with small
portions from the contents of the flasks, diluted with the cool water of
the brook. The meal ended, Wilkinson took to nibbling ginger snaps and
reading Wordsworth. The day was hot, so that a passing cloud which came
over the face of the sun was grateful, but it was grateful to beast as
well as to man, for immediately a swarm of mosquitoes and other flies
came forth to do battle with the reposing pedestrians. Coristine's pipe
kept them from attacking him in force, but Wilkinson got all the more in
consequence. He struck savagely at them with Wordsworth, anathematized
them in choice but not profane language, and, at last, rose to his feet,
switching his pocket handkerchief fiercely about his head. Coristine
picked up the deserted Wordsworth, and laughed till the smoke of his
pipe choked him and the tears came into his eyes.

"I see no cause for levity in the sufferings of a fellow creature," said
the schoolmaster, curtly.

"Wilks, my darling boy, it's not you I'm laughing at; it's that old
omadhaun of a Wordsworth. Hark to this, now:--

     He said, ''Tis now the hour of deepest noon.
     At this still season of repose and peace,
     This hour, when all things which are not at rest
     Are cheerful; while this multitude of flies
     Is filling all the air with melody;
     Why should a tear be in an old man's eye?'

O Wilks, but this beats cock-fighting; 'Why should a tear be in an old
man's eye?' Sorra a bit do I know, barring it's the multitude of flies.
O Wordy, Wordy, bard of Rydal Mount, it's sick with laughing you'll be
making me. All things not at rest are cheerful. Dad, if he means the
flies, they're cheerful enough, but if it's my dear friend, Farquhar
Wilkinson, it's a mistake the old gentleman is making. See, this is more
like it, at the very beginning of 'The Excursion':--

              Nor could my weak arm disperse
     The host of insects gathering round my face,
     And ever with me as I paced along.

That's you, Wilks, you to a dot. What a grand thing poetic instinct is,
that looks away seventy years into the future and across the Atlantic
Ocean, to find a humble admirer in the wilds of Canada, and tell how he
looked among the flies. 'Why should a tear be in an old man's eye?' O,
holy Moses, that's the finest line I've sighted in a dog's age. Cheer
up, old man, and wipe that tear away, for I see the clouds have rolled
by, Jenny."

"Man, clod, profaner of the shrine of poesy, cease your ignorant
cackle," cried the irate dominie. Silently they bathed faces and hands
in the brook, donned their knapsacks, and took to the road once more.

The clouds had not all passed by as the pedestrians found to their cost,
for, where there are clouds over the bush in July, there also are
mosquitoes. Physically as well as psychically, Wilkinson was
thin-skinned, and afforded a ready and appetizing feast to the
blood-suckers. His companion still smoked his pipe in defence, but for a
long time in silence. "The multitude of flies" made him gurgle
occasionally, as he gazed upon the schoolmaster, whose blue and yellow
silk handkerchief was spread over the back of his head and tied under
his chin. To quote Wordsworth then would have been like putting a match
to a powder magazine. The flies were worst on the margin of a pond
formed by the extension of a sluggish black stream. "Go on, Wilks, my
boy, out of the pests, while I add some water plants to my collection;"
but this, Wilkinson's chivalrous notions of friendship would not allow
him to do. He broke off a leafy branch from a young maple, and slashed
it about him, while the botanist ran along the edge of the pond looking
for flowers within reach. As usual, they were just out of reach and no
more. So he had to take off shoes and socks, turn up the legs of his
trousers, and wade in after them. "Look at that now!" he said with pride
as he returned with his booty, "Nymphæa odorata, Nuphar advena, and
Brasenia peltata; aren't they beauties?"

"What is that black object on your leg?" the dominie managed to gasp.

"I'm thankful to you for saying that, my kind friend, for it's a
murdering leech."

"Salt is the only thing to take them off with," remarked Wilkinson
really interested; "and that is just what we are deficient in."

"I say, Wilks, try a drop of the crater on him; don't waste the
blessings of Providence, but just let the least particle fall on his
nose, while I scrape him off."

The surgical operation succeeded, and the schoolmaster half forgot his
own troubles in doing good to his friend. While the latter was
reclothing his feet, and pressing his specimens, the maple branch ceased
working, and its owner finely apostrophized the field of white and
yellow blossoms.

     There sits the water lily like a sovereign,
     Her little empire is a fairy world,
     The purple dragon-fly above it hovering,
     As when her fragile ivory uncurled,
         A thousand years ago.

"Bravo, Wilks, if you are poaching on my preserves; but I wish that same
purple dragon-fly would hover round here in thousands for a minute. It's
a pleasure to see them sail along and gobble up the mosquitoes."

The dominie continued:--

     To-day I saw the dragon-fly
     Come from the wells where he did lie.

     An inner impulse rent the veil
     Of his old husk; from head to tail
     Came out clear plates of sapphire mail.

     He dried his wings: like gauze they grew,
     Thro' crofts and pastures wet with dew
     A living flash of light he flew.

"Hurroo!" cried Coristine, as with knapsack readjusted, he took his
companion by the arm and resumed the journey; "Hurroo again, I say, it's
into the very heart of nature we're getting now. Bless the mosquito and
the leech for opening the well of English undefiled."

Wilkinson was wound up to go, and repeated with fine conversational
effect:--

     But now, perplexed by what th' old man had said,
     My question eagerly did I renew
     How is it that you live, and what is it you do?

     He, with a smile, did then his words repeat;
     And said, that, gathering leeches far and wide,
     He travell'd; stirring thus about his feet
     The waters of the ponds where they abide.
     "Once I could meet with them on every side;
     But they have dwindled long by slow decay;
     Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may."

"Dad, if the old man had been here, he might have made his fortune by
this time. 'Stirring thus about his feet the waters of the ponds where
they abide' may be fine employment, but the law's good enough for me,
seeing they're bound to dwindle long by slow decay. You don't happen to
have a scrap on a botanist, do you?"

"Yes," replied the schoolmaster, "and on a blind one, too:--

     And he knows all shapes of flowers: the heath, the fox-glove with
         its bells,
     The palmy fern's green elegance, fanned in soft woodland smells;
     The milkwort on the mossy turf his nice touch fingers trace,
     And the eye-bright, though he sees it not, he finds it in its place."

"A blind botanist, and in the Old Country, too; well that's strange!
True, a blind man could know the lovely wallflowers and hyacinths and
violets and all these sweet-scented things by their smell. But to know
the little blue milkwort and the Euphrasia by touch, bangs me. If it was
our fine, big pitcher plant, or the ladies' slipper, or the
giant-fringed orchis, or the May apple, I could understand it; but
perhaps he knew the flowers before he got to be blind. I think I could
find my way blindfolded to some spots about Toronto where special plants
grow. I believe, Wilks, that a man couldn't name a subject you wouldn't
have a quotation for; you're wonderful!"

Wilkinson was delighted. This flattery was meat and drink to him.
Holding the arm of his admiring friend, he poured out his soul in verse,
allowing his companion, from time to time, the opportunity of
contributing a little to the poetic feast. The two virtually forgot to
notice the level, sandy road and tame scenery, the clouded sun, the
troublesome flies. For the time being, they were everything, the one to
the other. By their own spirits were they deified, or thought they were,
at the moment.

Though the schoolmaster was revelling in the appreciation of his friend,
he could not fail to perceive that he limped a little. "You have hurt
your foot, Corry, my dear fellow, and never told me."

"Oh, it's nothing," replied the light-hearted lawyer; "I trod on a stick
in that pond where I got the Brasenia and things, and my big toe's a bit
sore, that's all."

"Corry, we have forgotten the blackthorns. Now, in this calm hour,
sacred to friendship, let us present each other with nature's staff, a
walking-stick cut from the bush, humble tokens of our mutual esteem."

Coristine agreed, and the result was a separation and careful scrutiny
of the underbrush on both sides of the road, which ended in the finding
of a dogwood by the lawyer, and of a striped maple by the dominie--both
straight above and curled at the root. These, having removed from the
bush, they brought into shape with their pocket-knives. Then Coristine
carved "F.W." on the handle of his, while Wilkinson engraved "E.C." on
the one he carried. This being done, each presented his fellow with
"this utterly inadequate expression of sincere friendship," which was
accepted "not for its intrinsic worth, but because of the generous
spirit which prompted the gift." "Whenever my eye rests on these letters
by friendship traced," said the dominie, "my pleasant companion of this
happy day will be held in remembrance."

"And when my fingers feel 'E.C.' on the handle," retorted the lawyer,
"I'll be wishing that my dear friend's lot, that gave it me, may be easy
too. Faith but that's a hard pun on an Irishman."

"Seriously, now, Corry, does it give you any satisfaction to be guilty
of these--ah--rhetorical figures?"

"All the delight in the world, Wilks, my boy."

"But it lowers the tone of your conversation; it puts you on a level
with common men; it grieves me."

"If that last is the case, Farquhar, I'll do my best to fight against my
besetting sin. You'll admit I've been very tender of your feelings with
them."

"How's your foot now?"

"Oh, splendid! This stick of yours is a powerful help to it.

     Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,
       And merrily hent the stile-a:
     A merry heart goes all the day,
       Your sad tires in a mile-a.

Shakespeare's songs remind me of young Witherspoon. There was a party at
old Tylor's, and a lady was singing 'Tell me where is fancy bred?' when
young Witherspoon comes up to the piano in a hurry, and says: 'Why,
don't you know?--at Nasmith's and Webb's.'

"Lord! how savage old Tylor was! I thought he would have kicked the
young ass out."

"That is just what we lovers of literature have to endure from the
Philistines. But, Corry, my dear fellow, here is the rain!"

The rain fell, at first drop by drop, but afterwards more smartly,
forcing the pedestrians to take refuge under some leafy pines. There
they sat quietly for a time, till their interest was excited by a deep
growl, which seemed to come round a jog in the road just ahead.

"Is that a bear or a wolf, Corry?" the dominie asked in a whisper.

"More like a wild cat or a lynx," cheerfully responded his friend.

The growl was repeated, and then a human like voice was heard which
quieted the ferocious animal.

"Whatever it is, it's got a keeper," whispered Coristine, "so we needn't
be afraid."

Then the sun shone forth brightly and a rainbow spanned the sky.

"The rainbow comes and goes," said the lawyer, which gave the
schoolmaster occasion to recite:--

     My heart leaps up when I behold
       A rainbow in the sky.
     So was it when my life began;
     So is it now I am a man;
       So be it when I shall grow old
       Or let me die!
     The child is father of the man;
     And I could wish my days to be
     Bound each to each by natural piety.

"Brayvo, well done, ancore!" cried a cheery and cheeky voice coming
round the jog; "oo'd a thought of meetin' a play hactor 'ere in the
bush! Down, Muggins, down," the latter to a largish and wiry-looking
terrier, the author of the ominous growls.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Wilkinson with dignity, "I have nothing
to do with the stage, beyond admiring the ancient ornaments of the
English drama."

"Hall right, no hoffence meant and none taken, I 'ope. But you did it
well, sir, devilish well, I tell you. My name is Rawdon, and I'm a
workin' geologist and minerologist hon the tramp."

The stranger, who had thus introduced himself, was short, about five
feet five, fairly stout, with a large head covered with curly reddish
hair, his whiskers and goatee of the same hue, his eyes pale grayish,
his nose retroussé, and his mouth like a half-moon lying on its back. He
was dressed in a tweed suit of a very broad check; his head was crowned
with a pith hat, almost too large even for it; and he wore gaiters. But,
what endeared him to the pedestrians was his knapsack made of some kind
of ribbed brown waterproof cloth.

"Either of you gents take any hinterest in science?" he asked affably,
whereupon the schoolmaster took it upon himself to reply.

"I, as an educationist, dabble a little in geology, mineralogy, and
palæontology. My friend is a botanist. You are Mr. Rawdon. Allow me, Mr.
Rawdon, to introduce my friend Mr. Eugene Coristine, of Osgood Hall,
Barrister, and my humble self, Farquhar Wilkinson, of the Toronto
Schools."

Mr. Rawdon bowed and shook hands, then threw himself into a stage
attitude, and said: "His it possible that I am face to face with
Farquhar Wilkinson, the describer of a hentirely new species of
Favosites? Sir, this is a perroud day for a workin' geologist. Your
servant, Dr. Coristine!"

"I'm no doctor, Mr. Rawdon," replied the lawyer, a bit angrily; "I
passed all my examinations in the regular way."

"Hif it's a fair question, gents, ware are you a goin'"? asked the
working geologist.

"We intend, if nothing intervenes, to spend the night at the village of
Peskiwanchow," answered Wilkinson, whose heart warmed to the knapsack
man that knew his great discovery.

"Beastly 'ole!" remarked Mr. Rawdon; "but, as I'm a long way hoff
Barrie, I'll go there with you, if Mr. Currystone is hagreeable. I don't
want to miss the hopportunity of making your better hacquaintance, Dr.
Wilkinson."

"I am sure that my friend and I will be charmed with your excellent
society, as a man, a fellow pedestrian and a lover of science," the
dominie effusively replied.

"Well, Muggins, we're a-goin' back, hold dog, along o' two gents as
haint above keepin' company wi' you and me," whereat Muggins barked and
sought to make friends with his new companions. Coristine liked Muggins,
but he did not love Muggins' master. Sotto voce, he said: "A cheeky
little cad!"

Mr. Rawdon and Wilkinson forged on ahead. Coristine and Muggins brought
up the rear.

"What are you working at now, Mr. Rawdon?" asked the schoolmaster.

"I'm workin' hup the Trenton and Utica, the Udson River and Medina
formations. They hall crop hup between 'ere and Collin'wood. It's the
limestone I'm hafter, you know," he said, sinking his voice to a
whisper, "the limestone grits, dolomites, and all that sort of thing.
Wen I can get a good grinstun quarry, I'll be a made man."

"Grinstun?" queried Wilkinson, helplessly.

"Yes, you know, g, r, i, n, d, s, t, o, n, e, grinstun, for sharpenin'
tools on; turn 'em with a handle and pour water on top. Now, sir, hevery
farm 'ouse 'as got to 'ave a grinstun, and there's 'ow many farm 'ouses
in Canidy? wy, 'undreds of thousands. You see, there's money in it. Let
me find a grinstun quarry and I'm a made man. And wot's more, I've found
the grinstun quarry."

"You have? Where?" asked the dominie.

The working geologist drew off, and playfully planted the forefinger of
his right hand on the side of his upturned nose, saying "Walker!" Then
he relented, and, reapproaching his companion, said: "Honour bright,
now, you're no workin' geologist, lookin' out for the blunt? You're a
collector of Favosites Wilkinsoma, Stenopora fibrosa, Asaphus
Canadensis, Ambonychia radiata, Heliopora fragilis, and all that rot,
ain't you now?"

"I certainly seek to make no money out of science, and am a lover of the
fossil records of ancient life in our planet, but, above all, I assure
you that I would no more think of betraying your confidence than of
picking your pocket. If you have any doubts, do not make me your
confidant."

"Hall right, hold cock, I mean, my dear sir. You're safe has a church.
There's a 'undred hacre lot hup in the township of Flanders, has full
of grinstuns as a hegg's full of meat. It belongs to a Miss Do
Please-us, but who the dooce she is, I dunno. That's just wot I'm
a-goin' to find hout. If she hain't paid her taxes, bein' hon the
non-resident roll, I maybe hable to pick hup the land for less than ten
dollars, and it'll bring me hin tens of thousands. Then I'll skip back
to hold Hingland and cut it fat."

Coristine was not so taken up with Muggins that he failed to overhear
the conversation. He did not catch it all, but he learned that a lady, a
maiden lady, whose name mediated between Jewplesshy and Do Please, owned
valuable mineral lands, of which the working geologist intended to
deprive her by unfair means. Miss Do-Please-us was nothing to him, but
justice was something, and the man Rawdon was an unutterable cad. How
Wilkinson could take any pleasure in his society he could not
understand. He had a good mind to chuck the dominie's stick into the
next creek and let it float to Jericho. He did throw it away along the
road, but Muggins brought it back. Deserted by his bosom friend for a
common, low down cad like that; Oh, by Jove! He strode along in silence,
while Muggins, his only friend, came and rubbed himself against his leg.
No, he would not give in to fate in the shape of a Rawdon. He had
important secrets regarding the welfare of two women, that Providence
seemed to have thrown in his way, in his possession. If Wilks turned
traitor, he could break the pact, and make one of these women happy.
Pity he wasn't a Turk to take care of the pair of them. Night had
fallen, but the moon shone out and the stars, and it was very pleasant
walking, if only Wilkinson would give the least hint that he was
conscious of his friend's existence. But the schoolmaster was happy with
the mining adventurer, who knew his man well enough to mix a few fossils
with the grinstuns.




CHAPTER III.

     Peskiwanchow Tavern--Bad Water--A Scrimmage and Timotheus--The
     Wigglers--Pure Water and Philosophy--Archæology and Muggins--Mrs.
     Thomas and Marjorie--Dromore--Rawdon's Insolence and Checks--On the
     Road and Tramp's Song--Maguffin and the Pole-cart.


"Ere's this beastly 'ole of a Peskiwanchow," said Mr. Rawdon as the
pedestrians came to a rather larger clearing than usual, prominent in
which was the traditional country tavern.

"Is it clean?" asked Wilkinson.

"Well, there hain't hany pestilence that walketh hin darkness there, not
to my knowledge; though they say hif you keep your lamp lit hall night,
they won't come near you; but then, the blessed lamp brings the
mosquitoes, don't you see?"

Mr. Wilkinson did see, but was glad of the information, as the look of
the hotel was not reassuring.

"Ullo, Matt!" cried his new friend to the coatless landlord. "I'm back,
you see, hand 'ave brought you a couple of guests. Look sharp with
supper, for we're hall 'ungry as 'awks."

The ham which they partook of, with accompanying eggs and lukewarm
potatoes, was very salt, so that in spite of his three cups of tea
Wilkinson was thirsty. He went to the bar, situated in the only common
room, except the dining-room, in the house, and asked for a glass of
water. A thick, greenish fluid was handed to him, at which, as he held
it to the light, he looked aghast. Adjusting his eye-glass, he looked
again, and saw not only vegetable and minute animal organisms, but also
unmistakable hairs.

"Where do you get this water?" he asked in a very serious tone.

"Out of the well," was the answer.

"Are you aware that it is one mass of animal and vegetable impurities,
and that you are liable to typhoid and every other kind of disease as
the natural effect of drinking such filth?"

The landlord stared, and then stammered that he would have the well
cleaned out in the morning, not knowing what sort of a health officer
was before him. But the crowd at the bar said it was good enough for
them, as long as the critters were well killed off with a good drop of
rye or malt. Wilkinson asked for a glass of beer, which came out sour
and flat. "See me put a head on that," said the landlord, dropping a
pinch of soda into the glass and stirring it in with a spoon. The
schoolmaster tried to drink the mixture, but in vain; it did not quench
the thirst, but produced a sickening effect. He felt like a man in a
strange land, like a wanderer in the desert, a shipwrecked mariner. Oh,
to be on the _Susan Thomas_, with miles of pure water all round! Or even
at home, where the turning of a tap brought all Lake Ontario to one's
necessities.

"Is there no other water than this about?" he asked in despair.

"Wy, yees," answered Matt; "thay's the crick a ways down the track, but
it's that black and masshy I guess you wouldn't like it no better."

"Well, get us some from there, like a good man, to wash with if we
cannot drink it, and have it taken up to our room," for it had appeared
that the two pedestrians were to inhabit a double-bedded apartment.

"'Ere, you Timotheus, look spry and go down to the crick and fetch a
pail of water for No. 6."

A shambling man, almost a hobbledehoy, of about twenty five, ran out to
obey the command, and, when he returned from No. 6, informed Wilkinson
civilly that the water was in his room. Something in his homely but
pleasant face, in his shock head and in his voice, seemed familiar to
the dominie, yet he could not place his man; when Coristine came along
and said, "You've got a brother on the _Susan Thomas_, haven't you, and
his name is Sylvanus?" The young man shuffled with his feet, opened a
mouth the very counterpart of "The Crew's," and answered: "Yes, mister,
he's my oldest brother, is Sylvanus; do you happen to know Sylvanus?"

"Know him?" said the unblushing lawyer, "like a brother; sailed all over
Lake Simcoe with him."

The lad was proud, and went to his menial tasks with a new sense of the
dignity of his family. He was called for on all sides, and appeared to
be the only member of the household in perpetual request; but, though
many liberties were taken with him personally, none were taken with his
name, which was always given in full, "Ti-mo-thé-us!" Wilkinson was too
tired, thirsty and generally disgusted to do anything but sit, as he
never would have sat elsewhere, on a chair tilted against the wall.
Coristine would fain have had a talk with "The Crew's" brother, but that
worthy was ever flitting about from bar-room to kitchen, and from well
to stable; always busy and always cheerful.

The Grinstun man came swaggering up after treating all hands at the bar
to whisky, in which treat the pedestrians were included by invitation,
declined with thanks, and suggested a game of cards--any game they
liked--stakes to be drinks; or, if the gents preferred it, cigars.
Coristine somewhat haughtily refused, and Wilkinson, true to his
principles, but in a more conciliatory tone, said that he did not play
them. He was obliged, therefore, to get the landlord, Matt, and a couple
of bar-room loafers to take hands with him.

"Wilks, my dear boy, get out your draft-board and I'll play you a game,"
said Coristine.

The board was produced, the flat, cardboard chessmen turned upside down,
and the corner of a table, on which a few well-thumbed newspapers lay,
utilized for the game. The players were so interested in making moves
and getting kings that, at first, they did not notice the talk of the
card players which was directed against them; for Matt, being called
away to his bar, was replaced by a third loafer. Gradually there came to
their ears the words, "conceited, offish, up-settin', pedlars, tramps,
pious scum," with condemnatory and other adjectives prefixed, and then
they knew that their characters and occupations were undergoing
unfavourable review. Mr. Rawdon was too "hail fellow well met" with the
loafers to offer any protest. He joined in the laugh that greeted each
new sally of vulgar abuse, and occasionally helped his neighbours on by
such remarks as, "We musn't be too 'ard on 'em, they hain't used to such
company as hus," which was followed by a loud guffaw. Wilkinson was
playing badly, for he felt uncomfortable. Coristine chewed his
moustache and became red in the face. The landlord looked calmly on. At
last the card players, having had their third drink since the game
began, came over to the little table. One of the roughest and
worst-tongued of the three picked up a pile of dirty newspapers, looked
at one of them for a moment, pshawed as if there was nothing in them,
and threw the pile down with a twist of his hand fair on to the
draft-board, sweeping it half off the table and all the cardboard men to
the floor. In a moment Coristine was up, and laid hold of the fellow by
the shoulder. Pale but resolute, the schoolmaster, who had done physical
duty by unruly boys, stood beside him. The working geologist and the
landlord, Matt, looked on to see the fun of a fight between two city men
and three country bullies.

"Get down there," said Coristine to his man, trembling with indignation,
"get down there, and pick up all these chessmen, or I'll wring your neck
for you." The fellow made a blow at him with his free hand, a blow that
Coristine parried, and then the Irishman, letting go of his antagonist's
arm, gave him a sounding whack with all the might of his right fist,
that sent him sprawling to the ground.

"Pile in on 'im, boys!" cried the prostrate ruffian, who had lost a
tooth and bled freely at the nose. The other two prepared to pile, when
the schoolmaster faced one of them, and kept him off. It is hard to say
how matters would have gone, had not a tornado entered the bar room in
the shape of Timotheus. How he did it, no one could tell, but, in less
than two minutes, the two standing bullies and the prostrate one were
all outside the tavern door, which was locked behind them. Peace once
more reigned in the hotel, and it was in order for Matt and the Grinstun
man to congratulate Coristine on his knock down blow. He showed no
desire for their commendation, but, with his friend, whom Timotheus
helped to pick up the chessmen, retired to his room. The Crew's brother
had disappeared before he had had a chance to thank him.

Before retiring for the night, the lawyer was determined to be upsides
with Mr. Rawdon. He asked his roomfellow if he had any writing
materials, and was at once provided with paper, envelopes, and a
fountain pen.

"I hope I'm not depriving you of these, Wilks, my dear," he said, when
the party thus addressed almost threw himself upon his neck, saying,
"Corry, my splendid, brave fellow, everything I have is at your absolute
disposal, 'supreme of heroes--bravest, noblest, best!'" for he could not
forget his Wordsworth. Coristine wrote to the clerk of the municipality
of Flanders, to know where Miss Jewplesshy or Do Please-us had a lot,
and whether the taxes on it had been paid. He directed him to answer to
his office in Toronto, and also wrote to his junior, instructing him how
to act upon this reply. These letters being written and prepared for the
post, he and the dominie read together out of the little prayer book,
left the window open and the lamp burning, and went to bed. Before they
fell asleep, they heard the barking of a dog. "It's that poor brute,
Muggins," said Coristine; "I'll go, and let him in, if that brute of a
master of his won't." So, in spite of Wilkinson's remonstrances, he
arose and descended the stairs to the bar-room. Nobody was there but
Timotheus sleeping in a back tilted chair. He slipped quietly along in
his bare feet, but Timotheus, though sleeping, was on guard. The Crew's
brother awoke, soon as he tried the door, and in a moment, was on his
back. "It's I, my good Timotheus," said the lawyer, and at once the grip
relaxed. "I want to let that poor dog, Muggins, in." Then Timotheus
unlocked the door, and Coristine whistled, and called "Hi Muggins,
Muggins, Muggy, Mug, Mug, Mug, Mug!" when the mongrel came bounding in,
with every expression of delight. Coristine warmly thanked The Crew's
brother, pressed a dollar on his acceptance, and then retired to No. 6.
Muggins followed him, and lay down upon the rag carpet outside that
apartment, to keep watch and ward for the rest of the night, entirely
ignoring his owner, the Grinstun man.

There was a pail of swamp water in the middle of the room, at the bottom
of which lay some little black things. As this water became warm, these
little fellows began to rise and become frolicksome. Like minute
porpoises or dolphins, they joined in the mazy dance, and rose higher
and higher. All night long, by the light of the kerosene lamp, they
indulged in silent but unceasing hilarity. The snores of the sleepers,
the watchful dream-yaps of Muggins, did not affect them. They were bound
to have a good time, and they were having it. Morning came, and the sun
stole in through the window. Then, the wiggler grew tired, and came,
like many tired beings, to the top. For a time he was quiescent, but
soon the sun's rays gave force to the inner impulse which "rent the veil
of his old husk," and transformed it into a canoe or raft, containing a
draggle-tailed-looking creature with a big head and six staggery legs.
Poising itself upon the raft, the outcome of the wiggler sunned its
crumplety wings, till "like gauze they grew," and then all of it, a
whole pailful of it, made for the sleepers, to help its more mature
relations, which had come in through the open window to the light, to
practice amateur phlebotomy upon them. The pedestrians awoke to feel
uncomfortable, and rub and scratch their faces, heads, necks, and hands.
"It's clean devoured I am, Wilks," cried Coristine. "The plagues of
Egypt have visited us," replied the dominie. So, they arose and dressed
themselves, and descended to the noisome bar-room. There they found
Timotheus, awake and busy, while, at their heels, frisking about and
looking for recognition, was their night guard Muggins. Timotheus
informed them that he had already been out probing the well with a pike
pole, and had brought up the long defunct bodies of a cat and a hen,
with an old shoe and part of a cabbage, to say nothing of other things
as savoury. They decided to take no more meals cooked with such water in
that house, paid their bill to Timotheus, buckled on their knapsacks,
and, with staff in hand, sallied forth into the pure outside air of the
morning. Coristine ran over to the store in which the post office was
kept, and posted his two letters. There was no sign of Matt, the
landlord, of Mr. Rawdon, or of their assailants of the night before.
Muggins, however, followed them, and no entreaties, threats, or stones
availed to drive the faithful creature back to his master and the hotel
where he slept.

The pedestrians passed the black, sluggish creek, out of which the
wigglers had come, and struck into a country, flat but more interesting
than that they had left behind them. After they had gone a couple of
miles they came to a clear running stream, in which they had a splendid
wash, that tended to allay the irritation of the mosquito bites. Then
they brought forth the remains of their biscuits and cheese, and partook
of a clean meal, which Coristine called a good foundation for a smoke,
Muggins sitting upon his hind legs and catching fragments of captain's
biscuits and whole gingersnaps in his mouth, as if he had never done
anything else. It was very pleasant to sit by the brook on that bright
July morning, after the horrors of the Peskiwanchow tavern, to have
clean food and abundance of pure water. As the dominie revelled in it,
he expressed the opinion that Pindar was right when he said "ariston men
hudor," which, said the lawyer, means that water is the best of all the
elements, but how would Mr. Pindar have got along without earth to walk
on, air to breathe, and fire to cook his dinner?

"I'm no philosopher, Wilks, like you, but it seems to me that perfection
is found in no one thing. If it was, the interdependence of the universe
would be destroyed; harmony would be gone, and love, which is just the
highest harmony, be lost. That's just why I couldn't be a unitarian of
any kind. As Tennyson says, 'one good custom would corrupt the world.'"

"Pardon me, Corry, he does not say that, but makes Arthur say:--

             God fulfils himself in many ways,
     Lest one good custom should corrupt the world."

"Better and better! but that's what the churches don't see, nor the
politicians, nor the socialists, nor the prohibitionists, nor the
scientists, nor anybody else hardly, it seems to me. When a man's got
two eyes to see with, why should he shut one and keep out half the view?
This 'ariston men hudor' idea--I'm not arguing against temperance, for
it's temperate enough we are both--but this one thing is best notion
would bring the beautiful harmonious world into dull, dead uniformity.
There's a friend of mine that studies his Bible without any reference to
the old systems of theology, and finds these old systems have made some
big mistakes in interpreting its sayings, when a newspaper blockhead
comes along and says if he won't conform let him go out of the church.
There's a one-eyed man for you, an ecclesiastical Polyphemus! Our
politicians are just the same, without a broad, liberal idea to clothe
their naked, thieving policies with. And the scientists! some of them
stargazing, like Thales, so that they fall into the ditch of disrepute
by failing to observe what's nearer home, and others, like Bunyan's man
in Interpreter's house, so busy with the muckrake that they are ignorant
of the crown held over their heads. Now, you and I are liberal and
broad, we can love nature and love God too, we can admire poetry and put
our hands to any kind of honest work; you can teach boys with your
wonderful patience, and, with your pluck, knock a door in, and stand up,
like a man, to fight for your friend. But, Wilks, my boy, I'm afraid
it's narrow we are, too, about the women."

"Come, come, Corry, that subject, you know--"

"All right, not another word," interposed the lawyer, laughing and
springing to his feet; "let us jog along

     A village schoolmaster was he,
       With hair of glittering grey;
     As blithe a man as you could see
       On a spring holiday.

     And on that morning, through the grass,
       And by the streaming rills,
     We travelled merrily, to pass
       A day among the hills."

"When did you take to Wordsworth, Corry?"

"Oh, many a time, but I refreshed my memory with that yesterday, when I
came across the tear in the old man's eye."

"It is most appropriate, for there, on the right, are actual hills."

As the travellers approached the rising ground, which the dominie had
perceived, the lawyer remarked that the hillocks had an artificial look.

"And they are undoubtedly artificial," replied Wilkinson.

"This is the township of Nottawasaga, once inhabited by the Tobacco
tribe of the Hurons, who had many villages, and grew tobacco and corn,
besides making beads, pipes, and other articles, for sale or barter.
They made their pipes out of the Trenton sandstone. A great many village
sites and ossuaries have been found in the township, the latter
containing thousands of skeletons. They have all been opened up by the
settlers for the sake of the copper kettles and other objects buried in
them. These long, narrow hillocks are earthworks, the foundation of a
rude fortification or palisade round a village. The Archæological
Reports of the Canadian Institute contain very full and interesting
accounts of the explorations made in this very region. We are on
historic ground, Corry."

"Poor old Lo!" ejaculated the lawyer, "whatever is that dog after? Hi,
Muggins, Muggins!"

But Muggins would not leave the earthwork into which he was digging with
rapidly moving forepaws. As Coristine remarked, it was a regular
Forepaugh's circus. When the pedestrians came up to him, he had a large
hole made in apparently fresh dug earth, and had uncovered a tin box,
japanned above. This the pair disinterred with their walking-sticks,
amid great demonstrations from the terrier. The lawyer opened it
judicially, and found it to contain a lot of fragments of hard
limestone, individually labelled. Looking over these, his eye rested on
one marked P.B. Miss Du Plessis, lot 3, concession 2, township of
Flanders. Others were labelled T. Mulcahy, S. Storch, R. McIver, O.
Fish, with their lots, concessions and townships, and the initials F.M.
and P.

"What is the import of this?" asked the schoolmaster.

"Import or export, it's the Grinstun man, the owner of this sagacious
dog, that buried this box till he had time to bring a waggon for it.
These are samples of grindstone rock, and, if I am not a Dutchman, F
means fair, M, middling, P, poor, and P.B., prime boss, and that is Miss
Du Plessis. Gad! we've got her now, Jewplesshy, Do Please, Do Please-us,
are just Du Plessis. It's a pleasant sort of name, Wilks, my boy?"

"What are you going to do with this treasure trove, might I ask?"
inquired the dominie.

"Bury it," replied the lawyer.

"I trust you will make no unfair use of the information it contains,
part of which was confided to me privately, and under seal of secrecy,
by Mr. Rawdon?"

"Now, Wilks, howld your tongue about that. I ask you no questions, you
tell me no lies nor anything else. If you think I'm going to see a girl
cheated, just because she is a girl, you don't know your friend. But
you do, you honest old Wilks, don't you now?"

"Very well, only remember I breathed no hint of this in your ear."

"All right, old man," answered Miss Du Plessis' self-constituted
advocate, as he shovelled the earth in over the tin box. "Muggins, you
rascal, if you dig that up again, I'll starve you to death."

The pedestrians deserted the archæological find, and trudged away into
the north west.

"Wilks, my dear, I feel like the black crow," said Coristine, as they
journeyed along the pleasant highway.

"Like what?" asked the dominie, adjusting his eye-glass.

"Like the crow, don't you know?

     Said one black crow unto his mate,
     What shall we do for grub to ate?

Faith, it'll be an awful thing if we're going to die of starvation in
the wilderness."

"I thought you were a botanist, Corry?"

"So I am, in a small way."

"Then, what bushes are those in that beaver meadow?"

In another minute, the lawyer, closely followed by Muggins, was in the
meadow, exclaiming "Vaccinium Canadense! Come on, Wilks, and have a
feast." Muggins was eating the berries with great satisfaction, and
Coristine kept him company. The dominie also partook of them, remarking:
"This is the whortleberry, or berry of the hart, vulgarly called the
huckleberry, although huckle means a hump, which is most inappropriate."

"That reminds me of a man with a hump, though there wasn't much heart to
him," said Coristine, his mouth full of fruit. "He undertook to write on
Canada after spending a month here. He said the Canadians have no fruit
but a very inferior raspberry, and that they actually sell bilberries in
the shops. As a further proof of their destitution, he was told that
haws and acorns are exposed for sale in the Montreal markets. Such a
country, he said, is no place for a refined Englishman. I don't wonder
my countrymen rise up against the English."

"You forget, Corry, that I am English, and proud of my descent from the
Saxon Count Witikind."

"Beg your pardon, Wilks, but you're a good Englishman, and I never
dreamt your progenitor was that awful heathen:--

     Save us, St. Mary, from flood and from fire,
     From famine and pest, and Count Witikind's ire.

As the Englishmen said, there is no need to hask 'ow the hell got into
your name."

"Corry, this is most unseemly. I wonder you are not ashamed to speak
thus, with that innocent dog beside you."

"O, dad, he's heard worse things than that; haven't you now, Muggins?
Trust him to live with a cad of a Grinstun man, and not to pick up bad
language."

"Ullo, there, you dog-stealers!" fell upon the ears of the berry-pickers
like a thunder clap. They looked up, and saw a neat waggonette, drawn by
a team of well-kept bay horses, in which, on a back seat, sat Mr. Rawdon
and a little girl with long fair hair. On the front seat were two
well-dressed women, one of whom was driving; the other wore a widow's
cap, and had a gentle, attractive face. The waggon stopped for them to
come on to the road, which, leaving their berries, they did, taking off
their hats to the ladies as they approached.

"We did all we could, Mr. Rawdon, to make your dog go back to the hotel,
but he insisted on following us," said Wilkinson, apologetically.

"All very fine, my beauty, you 'ooked 'im and got 'im to shew you ware
this 'ere box was. I'm hup to your larks, and you such a hinnocent too!"

Wilkinson was indignant, and denied having anything to do with the box.

"Be careful what you say, Mr. Rawdon," said Coristine, "I'm a lawyer,
and may make a case, if you are not judicious in your language."

"Oh come hoff, I don't mean no 'arm; it's just my fun. 'Ave you any
hobjection to give these 'ere gents a lift, Mrs. Thomas?"

"None, whatever," replied the lady who was driving.

"Then, if you don't mind, I'll get hin halongside hof your sister hin
front, hand leave them to keep company with little Marjorie 'ere," said
the working geologist; and climbed over into the front seat outside of
the attractive widow. Still, the pedestrians hesitated, till Mrs.
Thomas, a by no means uncomely woman, said: "Get in, gentlemen, we shall
be pleased to have your company." This decided them. They sprang into
the waggon, one on each side of the little girl called Marjorie. The
horses trotted along, and Muggins hovered about them, with an occasional
ecstatic bark.

"I like you and your little dog," said Marjorie to Coristine, who
replied: "God bless you for a little darling." After this interchange of
confidence, they became great friends. Wilkinson found himself somewhat
left out, but the Grinstun man threw him an odd bone, now and then, in
the shape of a geological remark, keeping clear, however, of
grindstones.

"What's your name, Marjorie?" asked the lawyer.

"My name is Marjorie," she replied.

"Yes, but what's your other name?"

"Marjorie Carmichael."

"Is that your father's name?"

"No, my papa's name is Captain Thomas."

"And has he got a ship on Lake Simcoe?"

"Yes, how did you know? He's got a ship, and a lumber yard, and a saw
mill, and a farm, and a lot of things. Saul is on the farm, and Mr.
Pratt works the mill, and Gudgeon looks after the yard, and Sylvanus is
on the boat."

"Who is Saul?"

"He's the father of Sylvanus and Timotheus. Only Timotheus doesn't work
for us. He wouldn't say his catechism on Sundays, so Saul said he had to
go. I don't wonder he wouldn't say his catechism, do you? It speaks
about God's getting awful angry and cursing. God doesn't get angry with
little boys and girls and curse them, does he, Mr. What's your name?"

"My name is Coristine, but the name my little sister would have called
me, if I had had a little sister like you, would be Eugene. No, I never
read that God cursed any little girls and boys, nor anybody, not even
the devil."

"And he's very very bad, isn't he? My cousin Marjorie Carruthers, that
I'm called after, says Timotheus should have learned his catechism; but
she doesn't think God curses children. Then I said he oughtn't to learn
what isn't true."

"O my darlint, but it's right you are. I wish I had you up on the dais
at the Synod, to teach the bishops and all the clergy. Is she a nice
little girl, your cousin Marjorie?"

"She's nice, but she isn't little, not a single bit. She lives away away
in Toronto, and teaches school. Now, put your head down and I'll whisper
something in your ear."

Coristine put his head down beside the long, fair curls, and Marjorie
whispered, pointing a finger at the same time towards the widow: "That's
my Aunt Marjorie, and she's Marjorie's mother."

"Where is cousin Marjorie now!"

"She's up at Uncle Carruthers', along with Miss Du Plessis. Do you know
Miss Du Plessis? Oh, she's lovely, and, do you know?--put down your head
again--that ugly little man sitting by Auntie says he's going to marry
her. Isn't it too bad?"

"Infernal little beast! O, my dear Marjorie, I beg your pardon. I was
thinking of that rascal of a mosquito on your hand--there, he's dead!
Yes, it would be too bad, but she'll never marry such a man as that."

"Perhaps she'll have to, because she's very poor, and he says he's going
to make heaps and heaps of money. People shouldn't marry for money,
should they?"

"No, dear, they should marry for love, if they marry at all. Will you
marry me when you grow to be a young lady?"

"No, you'll be too old then. Put your head down. You go and take away
Miss Du Plessis from that naughty, bad little man, and I'll love you, O,
ever so much.'

"But perhaps she won't have me."

"Oh, yes she will, because you would look very nice if you would take
that black stuff that scratched me off your face."

"I will, I'll get a clean shave at Collingwood this very night."

"Then I'll get Auntie to write to Marjorie and tell her that my own
Prince Charming, with a clean shave, is coming to take Cecile away from
the ugly little rich man that says: 'An' 'ow is my young friend?' Won't
that be nice?"

"Oh, please don't tell your aunt to write that."

"But I will, so there!"

The waggonette was now in the midst of a rather pretty village situated
on a branch of the Nottawasaga River, and came to a stand still opposite
the post office.

"If you gentlemen have business in the village, you can get out here,"
said Mrs. Thomas, "but, if not, we shall be pleased to have you dine
with us."

The pedestrians thought of their last tavern experience, and felt
disposed to accept the hospitable invitation, but Marjorie clinched
their resolution by saying: "Eugene is coming to dinner with me, and his
friend may come too," at which everybody laughed. The waggon moved on
for another half mile, and then stopped in front of a pretty and
commodious frame house, painted white, with red-brown doors and window
frames and green shutters. Porch and verandah were covered with Virginia
creeper, climbing roses and trumpet honeysuckle. Mr. Rawdon looked after
himself, but Wilkinson and Coristine helped the ladies and the little
girl to dismount, while an old man with a shock head, evidently Saul,
took the horses round. Muggins greeted the whole party with a series of
wiggles and barks, whereupon the Grinstun man gave him a savage kick
that sent the dog away yelping.

"I said you were a naughty, bad, cruel man to my own self and to people
I like," said Marjorie with indignation, "but now I say it right out to
you, and for everybody to hear that wants to--a nasty, ugly, cruel
little man!"

The working geologist was very angry and got very red in the face. Had
he dared, he would probably have kicked the girl too. Policy compelled
him to keep his temper outwardly, so he turned it off with a laugh, and
said: "You don't know that little beast has I do, Marjorie, or you
wouldn't go hand take 'is part. Of all the hungrateful, treacherous,
sneakin', bad-'earted curs that ever gnawed a bone, 'e's the
top-sawyer."

"I don't believe it," answered Marjorie stoutly, and with all the
license allowed to a late and only child.

When the ladies took off their bonnets and rejoined their guests in the
parlour, the pedestrians were much struck with their appearance and
demeanour, especially in the case of Mrs. Carmichael, than whom no lady
could have been more gentle mannered and gracious. She had evidently had
enough of Mr. Rawdon, for she turned in the most natural way to
Wilkinson and engaged him in conversation on a variety of topics. The
schoolmaster found her a charming talker and an interested listener.
Marjorie and Coristine sat on a sofa with Muggins between them, while
the working geologist banged about some photographs on a centre table.
At dinner, to which Mrs. Thomas soon summoned them, Coristine had the
post of honour with Marjorie to his right. Mrs. Carmichael sat at the
foot of the table with Wilkinson by her side, and Rawdon was at Mrs.
Thomas' left. While doing justice to an excellent repast, the lawyer
informed his hostess that he was not an entire stranger to her family,
and gave an account of his passage in the _Susan Thomas_ from Belle
Ewart to Barrie. He also referred to Sylvanus and Timotheus, and dwelt
upon the excellent service rendered by the latter. The Grinstun man
disliked the turn things were taking, as he felt himself out in the
cold, for the widow absorbed the dominie, and Marjorie would not look at
him.

When dessert came on the table, he turned to the schoolmaster and rudely
interrupted his conversation, saying: "Look 'ere, Mr. Favosites
Wilkinsonia, I don't see as you've hany call to keep hall the widder's
talk to yourself. I move we change places," and he rose to effect the
change.

"Really," said Wilkinson, with offended dignity, "I am not accustomed to
anything of that description at a dinner party where there are ladies;
but, if it's Mrs. Carmichael's desire that we should interchange seats,
I am ready to comply."

Mrs. Carmichael evidently did not relish being called "the widder," nor
the society of Mr. Rawdon, for she answered, "Certainly not, Mr.
Wilkinson," and resumed her conversation with him. The baffled geologist
turned to the hostess, while Marjorie engaged Coristine's attention, and
in a petulant way stated his case. "You know the kind of man I ham, Mrs.
Thomas, I'm a man of haction. I strike wen the hiron's 'ot. By good
luck, I went back to Peskiwanchow last night, though it is a beastly
'ole, and got letters hat the post hoffice this mornin'. My hagent, at
Toronto says, Mrs. Do Please-us is pretty badly hout for want of chink,
hand that the girl's ready to jump hat hany reasonable hoffer. Now, hall
I say his, give a man a chance. If she's the stunner they say she his,
I'll marry her hinside of a week and make a lady of 'er, and hallow the
hold 'ooman a pound a week, yes, I'll go has 'igh has thirty shillin',
that's seven dollars and a 'arf. You get me a hinvite or give me a
hintroduction to your brother's 'ouse in Flanders, and get the widder to
back it hup with a good word to 'er daughter that's Miss Do Please-us's
bosom friend, and I'll give the capting the contrack to carry hall the
grinstuns shipped to Lake Simcoe ports." Then, sinking his voice to a
whisper, he continued, "I'll do one better; I'll show you ware there's
has fine a quarry of buildin' stun hon your farm 'ere has can be got
hanyware in Canidy. Then, wot's to 'inder your 'avin the best 'ouse
twixt 'ere and Collinwood?" This last stroke of policy carried his
point, and secured him the promise of an introduction, but Mrs. Thomas
could not promise for her sister. All the time, Coristine, who could not
help overhearing, twisted his moustache fiercely, and, under his breath,
called the geologist a contemptible and unspeakable little cad.

Shortly afterwards, much to Marjorie's grief, the pedestrians put on
their knapsacks and grasped their sticks for the road. They warmly
thanked their hostess and her accomplished sister for their kind
hospitality, and for the exceedingly pleasant hours they had spent in
their company. They were cordially invited to call any time when they
were near the village, and especially when the captain was at home, as
he would never forgive himself for missing this treat. Marjorie kissed
her Eugene, telling him to be a good boy, and remember what he had
promised her about "you know who." "Ullo young 'ooman," said the
Grinstun man, "you had ort to save one of them for yours
haffectionately," at which the small lady was so indignant that she
threatened to box his ugly big ears. "O Marjorie, how rude! whatever
will these gentlemen from Toronto think!" Coristine could not bear to
leave his little friend in disgrace, without a word of comfort, so he
said: "Pardon me, Mrs. Thomas, for saying that the rudeness did not
originate with Marjorie," for which the child gave him a grateful
glance. "You had better keep your dog in, Mr. Rawdon," called out
Wilkinson, "or he will be after us again." The little man ran down the
garden walk to get a farewell kick at his property, but Muggins,
foreseeing danger, ran out of the gate, which old Saul held open for
him. "You can keep the beastly cur, I don't want 'im, hungrateful,
treacherous, long legged, 'airy brute," the last two adjectives being
put in for Coristine's benefit, as allusions to his height and his
moustache.

"Come back, Mr. Wilkinson," called Mrs. Carmichael. The dominie
returned, and had a large fragrant rose pinned by fair hands to his
button hole, blushing violently all the time. "You come back too,
Eugene, but don't let Muggy in or he'll be kicked," cried Marjorie, who,
on her favourite's return, gave him another parting salute and pinned
two roses on his coat. Muggins waited for them till they closed the gate
finally behind them, lifted their hats three times, and began their
afternoon's journey.

"That Mrs. Carmichael," remarked Wilkinson, "is one of the most
intelligent and lady-like women I ever met, and she is wonderfully well
read in the poets, Corry."

"I thought that subject was tabooed between us, Wilks?"

"Oh no, my dear fellow, I have no objection to the sex in a Platonic
way."

"Dad, but it wasn't very platonic you looked when the pretty widow was
fastening that button hole for you. Was she talking about her daughter
at the schools?"

"Not a word; she did not even hint that she had a daughter. She must
have been very young when the doctor married her."

"Well, that's one thing we have to thank that howling cad of a Grinstun
man for. I'm real sorry I missed having a chat with Saul about the
catechism."

"What is that!" So the lawyer related his conversation with Marjorie,
and Wilkinson said, "Really, Corrie, as an educationist, I must say you
do wrong to encourage such pertness in so young a child."

"Pertness is it? It's nature's own cleverness in the sweet little lass.
Wilks, I'd give a good deal to have that little sunbeam or one like her
with me all the time."

"Adopt one," suggested the schoolmaster.

"Adopt one," replied the lawyer with a bitter laugh, "adopt one for
Mrs. Marsh to look after? No, when I've a house of my own and a good
housekeeper, and more time to spend on a child, I'll think over the
hint."

The pair tramped steadily on, though the sun was hot, for there was a
pleasant breeze, and the scenery became bolder and more picturesque.
They came to rising ground, at the foot of which lay a fertile valley,
and beyond it the Blue Mountains. Gazing across at them, the dominie
exclaimed:--

                       Yon azure ridge,
     Is it a perishable cloud--or there
     Do we behold the frame of Erin's coast?

"No, Wilks, no! Erin's away on the confines of Wellington and Peel, and
we are on those of Simcoe and Grey."

"Slight man, did you not perceive that I quoted poetry, and that the
allusion is to your native isle?"

"Faith. I wish the real Erin was over there; it's the old lady would be
in my arms as fast as I could run across. But this place deserves a
song, so here goes:--

     Though down in yonder valley
     The mist is like a sea,
     Though the sun be scarcely risen,
     There's light enough for me.
     For, be it early morning,
     Or be it late at night,
     Cheerily ring our footsteps,
         Right, left, right.

     We wander by the woodland
     That hangs upon the hill;
     Hark! the cock is tuning
     His morning clarion shrill;
     And hurriedly awaking
     From his nest amid the spray,
     Cheerily now, the blackbird,
     Whistling, greets the day.
         For be it early morning, etc.

     We gaze upon the streamlet,
     As o'er the bridge we lean;
     We watch its hurried ripples
     We mark its golden green.
     Oh, the men of the north are stalwart,
     And the norland lasses fair;
     And cheerily breathes around us
     The bracing norland air.
         We smoke our black old meerschaums,
         We smoke from morn till night,
         While cheerily ring our footsteps,
             Right, left, right."

"Well done, Corry! I thought at first it was your own composition, but
I see it is an English song."

"Yes, it came out long ago as 'The Tramp's Song' in _Sharpe's Magazine_,
where I found it, and changed moor and moorland to north and norland, as
better suited to our purpose. It's a good song."

"What kind of vehicle is that just in front of us?"

"It's a pole on four wheels drawn by a team of oxen, and I'm going to
make a triumphant entry into Collingwood on it. The driver is a negro,
as black as my boots--were." Coristine soon overtook the remarkable
vehicle, and accosted the driver, telling him that he had ridden on
horses, donkeys, mules, and once each on a cow, a camel and an elephant;
in all sorts of carriages, carts and waggons, even to a gun carriage,
but never on a pole behind an ox team. Had he any objections to letting
him and his friend get aboard? The coloured gentleman showed a fine set
of ivory, and said he had no dejections in the leas', and guessed the
oxen didn't hab none. "The po-ul," he remarked, "is thar, not foh ridin'
on, but ter keep the axles apaht, so's ter load on bodes and squab
timbah. If yoh's that way inclined, the po-ul aint a gwine ter break
frew, not with yoh dismenshuns. Guess the oxen doan hab ter stop fer yoh
bof ter git aboahd?"

"Not a bit," said Coristine, as he jumped on the pole behind the driver.
"Come on, Wilks, it's a cross between the tight rope and the tiller of
the _Susan Thomas_." But the dominie refused to be charmed or inveigled
into a position of peril or ridicule.

"Yoh best take this yeah feed-bag ter save yoh pants and fezz'etate the
keepin' of yoh ekilibroom," said the courteous darkey, as he handed the
lawyer one of the bags that formed his own cushion.

"Wilks, with a feed-bag under you, riding on a rail is just heavenly."

"If it was a rai-ul, you'd know it mighty soon, boss, fer rai-uls is
angulish and shahp and hahd on the pants, but a po-ul is rounded and
smoove. How are yoh comin' along?"

"In great shape, Mr. ----"

"Maguffin, sah, is my applenashun. Tobias Mortimah Magrudah Maguffin.
The low down folks around, they teenames me Tobe and Toby, that's the
shanty men and mill hans. But when I goes whar they's a meetin' of the
bruddren, it's Mistah Maguffin, ebery time."

The pole cart, as Coristine called it, was going down hill, now, and the
oxen began to run.

"Hole on tight, Mistah, them cattle's too lazy to stop runnin' befoh
they gits to the determination ob this dercliverty," called the driver;
and the lawyer held on in spite of frantic cries from his companion.
"Come off, Coristine, come off, and do not make an object of yourself
before the whole town." Coristine held on till the bottom of the hill
was reached. Then he shook hands with his coloured brother, returned him
the feed bag, and waited for Wilkinson. In friendly converse they
entered the town of Collingwood, and put up at a clean and comfortable,
almost fashionable, hotel. There, for the night, they may be left in
safety, with this remark, that Coristine fulfilled his promise to the
little girl, and got a clean shave before retiring.




CHAPTER IV.

     Collingwood--Colonel Morton--Maguffin Engaged--Stepping
     Westward--Wild Thyme and a Bath--The Shale-works--Muggins and the
     Clergymen--Durham Mustard, and Marjorie--The Squire--The Grinstun
     Man--Lunch, Wordsworth and Original Poetry--Two Old People on the
     Blue Mountains.


At supper they had, for their vis-a-vis, a tall, aristocratic-looking
man, attired airily in a mixture of jean and silk. His nose was
aquiline, his eyes grey and piercing withal, his hair grey, but
abundant, and his clean shaved mouth and chin mingled delicacy with
strength of character.

"The weathah has been wahm, gentlemen," he remarked; to which statement
they assented.

"I obsehved you entah the ho-tel, and pehceived that you are travelling
for pleasuhe by yo-ah knapsacks. I also am travelling, partly foh
pleasuhe, partly foh mattahs of family business. My ideahs, gentlemen,
are old fashioned, too much so foh railyoads. The Mississippi is ouah
natuhal highway from the South, but, unfohtunately, the to me unpleasant
railyoad had to connect its head watahs with Lake Michigan, by which
route I find myself heah, on my way to a city called To-hon-to. You know
it, I pehsume?"

Wilkinson's geographical lore was now unfolded. He discussed the
Mississippi, although he had not been on that river, exhibited an
intimate acquaintance with cities and routes which had never seen him in
the flesh, and, by his quiet, gentlemanly, and, to the much older man,
deferential tone, was admitted to the confidence of Colonel Morton, of
Louisiana, South American trader, ship-owner and the possessor of a fine
estate, which, although it had suffered greatly during the war, in which
the colonel commanded a cavalry regiment, was yet productive and
remunerative.

"I am a widowah, suh, and a childless old man," continued the colonel;
"my only boy fell in the wah ah, and it broke his mother's heaht. Pahdon
me," he said, as his voice shook a little, and the least glimmer of a
tear stood in his eye, "I rahely talk of these mattahs of a puhely
pehsonal kind, but, as you are kind enough to be intehested in my
affaiahs, I say this much by way of explanation."

"I am sure, Colonel Morton, we deeply sympathize with you in so great a
double bereavement," interposed the dominie.

"Indeed we do, sir, most sincerely," added the lawyer.

"I thank you, gentlemen," answered the courteous Southerner. "I was
going to remahk that the only pehson in whom I feel a family intehest is
my lamented wife's sistah, a Madame Du Plessis, who has resided foh many
yeahs in yoah city of To-hon-to. May I enquiah, gentlemen, if you have,
either of you, heahd the name befoah?"

Coristine replied that, incidentally, he had heard the names of both
Madame Du Plessis and her daughter.

"I am awaah, suh, that my wife's sister has a daughtah. Can you tell me
of my sister-in-law's suhcumstances, and what her daughtah, my niece, is
like in appeahance?"

"Only from hearsay, Colonel. Madame Du Plessis is said to be in
straightened circumstances, and I learn, from several quarters, that
Miss Du Plessis is an attractive and amiable young lady; 'illigant' is
what a countryman of mine, who served under her father, termed his young
mistress."

"And her baptismal name, suh?"

"Is Cecile, I think."

"Ah, to be suah, my deah wife's name, Cecilia, gallicized. She and
Madame Du Plessis were Castilians of Lima. Du Plessis was theah in the
ahmy, I in commehcial puhsuits, and we mahhied the sistahs, the belles
of the Rimac.

     Que' es la vida? Un frenesi
     Que' es la vida? Una ilusion,
     Una sombra, una ficcion.

You read Spanish, Mr. Wilkinson?"

"A little, sir; I think I recognize Calderon in these lines."

"Right, Mr. Wilkinson; I thank you, suh, foh yoah pleasing
companionship. Good evening, gentlemen!" With a courtly bow, the colonel
retired from the table.

At the coloured barber's the pedestrians met Mr. Maguffin, who greeted
Coristine, saying:--

"Hopes yoh doan feel none the wuhse ob yoh ride on the po-ul," adding:
"Mistah Poley, what runs this yeah stablishment, he's my nuncle's oldes'
boy, and he abstracks a cohnah ob the same ter my disposhul foh ohfice
pupposes, supposin' I'm wahnted by folks as cahn't find me."

"That's very convenient," replied the lawyer, as he settled down in the
barber's chair.

"It am, sah. I doan' tote ox teams no moah, po-ul nor no po-ul, when I
kin drive and ride the fasses and sassies hawses that is made; no, sah,
not much!"

"You are tired of teaming, then?"

"I am wohn out, sah, wif bein' called Toby and a po-ul-cat. I doan find
no Scripcher reffunce foh Tobias, and yoh know what a po-ul-cat is; it's
nuffin moah no less nor a skink."

The victims of the barber and his assistant kept the soap out of their
mouths with difficulty. As his tormentor deserted him for a moment, the
schoolmaster remarked that the Iroquois about the Lake of the Two
Mountains called the Trappist monks there by the same savoury name, on
account of some fancied resemblance between their dress and the coat of
the _Mephitis Americana_.

Mr. Maguffin was listening intently, thinking the conversation was meant
for his edification, and politely interposed:--

"No, sah, I ain't no Mefferdis. I was bawn and raised a Baktis. Poley,
now, he's a Mefferdis, and I ain't a gwine ter speak no harm of no
Crishtchun bruddern what's tryin' ter do right accordin' ter they
lights. But ter be called Toby and Poul-cat by low down white tresh,
that trial ob the flesh and speerut is a fohgone conclusion, sah."

The shaving operation completed, the travellers returned to the hotel,
and found Colonel Morton on what he called the piazza, smoking a good
Havana cigar. He opened his case for his companions of the supper table,
and Coristine accepted, while Wilkinson courteously declined.

"I tell you what I want to do, Mr. Cohistine. I want to puhchase two
saddle hawses, a good one foh myself, and not a bad one foh my sehvant.
Unfohtunately, my boy took sick on the way, and I had to send him home
on the Mississippi steamah. That means, I must get me a new sehvant,
able to ride well and handle hawses. I pehsume it will be hahd to find a
cullahed boy, a niggro, in these pahts, so I must take whateveh can be
got that will suit."

"Not at all, Colonel," replied Coristine, with effusion. "I think I can
get you a negro who is out of place, is a good rider, and, I imagine, a
good judge of horses. If you like, I'll go after him at once and tell
him to report to you to-morrow morning."

"My deah suh, you are altogethah too kind."

"Not a bit of it; when will I tell him to call upon you?"

"Would seven o'clock be too eahly? Plantation and ahmy life have made me
a light sleepah, so that I am up befoh the genehality of hotel guests."

"The very time. Excuse me for running away, I want to bag my man."

So Coristine left the colonel to parade the piazza with Wilkinson, and
resought the barber shop.

The shop was closed, but a light still burned within. Coristine knocked,
and Tobias opened the door. "You're the very man I want," cried the
lawyer.

"Anything done gwine wrong, boss?" asked Mr. Maguffin.

The lawyer explained the circumstances to him at length, eulogized
Colonel Morton, and told the negro to make his best appearance at the
hotel, sharp at seven next morning.

"Do yoh say the gemman'll gib me thirty dollars a munf and cloves ter
boot, and me ridin' behine him all ober the roads on hawseback!" asked
Tobias.

"Yes, I think I can promise those terms," replied the legal go-between.

"Then, yoh say foh me, if he's please foh ter hab me Maguffin, not
Tobias, but Maguffin is his man, and I kin pick him out two lubby
hawses, cheap as a po-ul-caht, and I cahn't say no cheapah. My respecs
and humble expreshun ob gracious apprecherashun ter yoh, Mistah
Kerosene."

The lawyer rushed back to the veranda, and found the colonel and Wilks
still in conversation, and, wonder of wonder, Wilkinson was actually
smoking a cigar, which he occasionally inserted between his lips, and
then held away at arm's length, while he puffed out the smoke in a thin
blue cloud. Wisely, he did not express astonishment at this unheard of
feat of his friend, but informed the colonel that he had seen the
coloured man, whose name was Tobias, but preferred to be called
Maguffin, that he was willing to engage for thirty dollars a month and
his clothes, and that he could put his new master in the way of getting
two suitable horses. "I think, Colonel, you can reckon on his being here
punctually at seven to-morrow."

"I shall nevah cease, Mr. Cohistine, to be sensible of yoah great
kindness to an entiah styangah, suh. Oblige me by smoking anothah cigah,
if they are to yoah liking."

So Corry lit a fresh cigar, and the three paraded the verandah till it
was very late, engaging in all manner of pleasant conversation. When the
stumps were thrown away, the colonel invited the comrades to visit his
rooms for a moment before retiring. Entering his private sitting-room,
he produced a quaintly-shaped but large glass bottle, which he flanked
with three tumblers and a carafe of water. "Help yohselves, gentlemen,"
he said, courteously; "this old Bourbon is good foh countehacting the
effects of the night aiah. Some prefer Monongahela, but good old Bourbon
in modehation cahn't be suhpahssed." The pedestrians filled up, and
bowed to their host as they drank, and the colonel, doing the same,
said, "My thanks to yoh, gentlemen, foh yoah kindness to a styangah--to
yoah good health and ouah futhah pleasant acquaintance!" Then they
severally retired, and the hotel closed for the night.

The next morning Coristine, whose room was just over the main entrance,
was awakened by a loud discussion in the hall of the hotel. "Clare out
now," cried the porter, "the bar's not opind yit, an' we don't want
naygurs round whin the guests do be comin' down the stairs; clare, now,
I tell yeez."

"I'se heah, Mike, on bisness wif Cunnel Morting," said a well-known
voice; and continued, "yoh go and tell the cunnel that Mistah Maguffin
is waitin' foh to pay his respecs."

"Go along wid yeez, Oi say, ye black scum av the airth, wid yer Cornel
Mortins, the loikes av you! Faix, Oi'll tache yeez who's yer betthers
wid this broom-handle."

"Gently, my good man, gently!" said the colonel, soothingly, as he laid
his hand on Mike's shoulder. "This boy has business with me. Come in
heah, Maguffin."

Tobias went in, with a triumphant glance at Mike, and, arrangements
being completed, was soon at work, blacking his master's boots. Then he
had a second breakfast at the servant's table, after which the colonel
sallied forth with him, to provide him with a befitting suit of clothes,
and to inspect the horses he had deemed suitable for the use of his new
employer and himself. While they were gone, Wilkinson and his friend
descended to a late breakfast, during which the hotel clerk handed the
lawyer a telegram, signed Tylor, Woodruff, and White, and containing the
words, "Look up Colonel Morton, Madame Du Plessis, 315 Bluebird Avenue,
Parkdale." So the colonel had been corresponding with his firm, and he
must either wait till that worthy returned, or leave a note for him.
"Bawderashin, anyway, when a man's out for a holiday, can't he be left
alone a bit!" Then, turning to his friend, he asked, "And, are they
troubling you with letters and telegrams, too, Wilks, my darling?" The
dominie replied, "I have only one letter about a poor lady teacher, who
is in consumption, I fear. They want an extension of holidays for her,
which is rather hard to get."

"But you'll get it for her, Wilks, my dear?"

"Of course I will, if I have to do her work as well as my own."

"I knew it, Wilks, I knew it. You're as soft hearted as a girl, for all
your adamant exterior. God bless you, my dear boy!"

"Corry, Corry, what allowances must be made for your exaggerated Irish
language! What is there like adamant about me, I should like to know?"

"Good mawnin, gentlemen," said the soft voice of the colonel, "I am
delighted to see you looking so well. I envy you Canadian gentlemen yoah
fine fyesh complexions and yoah musical voices. We have sawft voices in
the south, but it is a soht of niggro sawftness, gained by contact I
pehsume. My sehvant and I byeakfasted some time ago."

"I trust he is to your liking, Colonel?" enquired Coristine.

"Suh, you have found me a jewel in Maguffin, and he has found me two
splendid roadsters that are now being fitted with saddles. We staht for
To-hon-to in an houah, gentlemen."

"By the bye, Colonel, I have a telegram from my firm that concerns you.
It says 'Look up Colonel Morton, Madame Du Plessis, 315 Bluebird Avenue,
Parkdale."

"But wheah is Pahkdale?"

"It is a suburb of Toronto. You had better keep the telegram."

"So, Mr. Cohistine, you are a lawyeh?"

"Yes; of the firm of Tylor, Woodruff, and White, but I'm not that now,
I'm a gentleman out on a grand stravague."

"You may be a lawyeh, suh, but you are a gentleman as well, and I hope
to meet you befoah many days are past. Good mawnin, my kind friends!"

The knapsacks were put on boldly, in the very parlour of the hotel, and
their bearers strode along the lake road into the west, as coolly as if
they were doing Snowden or Windermere. It was a glorious morning, and
they exulted in it, rejoicing in the joy of living. The dominie had
written his letter to the vulgar school-trustees, and felt good, with
the approbation of a generous conscience. He recited with feeling:--

     "_What, you are stepping westward?_" "_Yea_"--
     'Twould be a wildish destiny,
     If we, who thus together roam
     In a strange land, and far from home,
     Were in this place the guests of chance;
     Yet who would stop, or fear t' advance,
     Though home or shelter he had none,
     With such a sky to lead him on.

     The dewy ground was dark and cold;

"Faith, 'tis nothing of the kind, Wilks," interrupted Coristine; but the
dominie went on unheeding.

     Behind, all gloomy to behold,
     And stepping westward seemed to be
     A kind of heavenly destiny:
     I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound
     Of something without place or bound
     And seemed to give me spiritual right
     To travel through that region bright.

     The voice was soft, and she who spake
     Was walking by her native lake;
     The salutation had to me
     The very sound of courtesy;
     Its power was felt; and while my eye
     Was fix'd upon the glorious sky,
     The echo of the voice enwrought
     A human sweetness with the thought
     Of travelling through the world that lay
     Before me in my endless way.

"O Wilks, but you're the daisy. So you're going to travel through the
world with the human sweetness of the soft voice of courtesy? You're a
fraud, Wilks, you're as soft-hearted as a fozy turnip."

"Corry, a little while ago you called me adamant. You are
inconsequential, sir."

"All right, Wilks, my darling. But isn't it a joy to have the colonel
taking the bad taste of the Grinstun man out of your mouth?"

"The colonel, no doubt, is infinitely preferable. He is a gentleman,
Corry, and that is saying a good deal."

"Hurroo for a specimen! look at that bank on your left, beyond that wet
patch, it's thyme, it is. _Thymus serpyllum_, and Gray says it's not
native, but adventitious from Europe. Maccoun says the same; I wonder
what my dear friend, Spotton, says? But here it is, and no trace of a
house or clearing near. It's thyme, my boy, and smells sweet as honey:--

     Old father Time, as Ovid sings,
     Is a great eater up of things,
       And, without salt or mustard,
     Will gulp you down a castle wall,
     As easily as, at Guildhall,
       An alderman eats custard."

"Drop your stupid Percy anecdote poems, Corry, and listen to this,"
cried the dominie, as he sang:--

     I know a bank whereon the wild thyme grows,
     I know a bank whereon the wild thyme grows,
     Where oxlips and the nodding violets blow,
     Where oxlips linger, nodding violets blow,
     I know a bank whereon the wild thyme grow-ow-ow-ow-ows!!!

The lawyer joined in the chorus, encored the song, and trolled "ow ow ow
ow ows" until the blood vessels over his brain pan demanded a rest.
"Wilks," he said, "you're a thing of beauty and a joy forever."

Soon the road trended within a short distance of the lake shore. The
blue waves were tumbling in gloriously, and swished up upon the shelving
limestone rocks. "What is the time, Corry?" asked Wilkinson. "It's
eleven by my repeater," he answered. "Then it is quite safe to bathe;
what do you say to a dip?" The lawyer unstrapped his knapsack, and
hastened off the road towards the beach. "Come on, Wilks," he cried,
"we'll make believe that it's grampusses we are."

"What is a grampus?" enquired the dominie.

"Dad, if I know," replied his friend.

"A grampus, sir, etymologically is 'un grand poisson,' but,
biologically, it is no fish at all, being a mammal, mid-way between a
dolphin and a porpoise."

"So you got off that conundrum a porpoise to make a fool of me, Wilks?"

"O, Corry, you make me shudder with your villainous puns."

"That's nothing to what I heard once. There were some fellows camping,
and they had two tents and some dogs for deerhunting. As it was raining,
they let the hounds sleep in one of the tents, when one of the fellows
goes round and says: 'Shut down your curtains.' 'Were you telling them
that to keep the rain out?' asked one, when the rascal answered: 'To all
in tents and purp houses.' Wasn't that awful, now?"

The water was cold but pleasant on a hot day, and the swimmers enjoyed
striking out some distance from shore and then being washed in by the
homeward-bound waves. They sat, with their palms pressed down beside
them, on smooth ledges of rock, and let the breakers lap over them. The
lawyer was thinking it time to get out, when he saw Wilkinson back into
the waves with a scared face. "Are you going for another swim, Wilks, my
boy?" he asked. "Look behind you," whispered the schoolmaster. Coristine
looked, and was aware of three girls, truly rural, sitting on the bank
and apparently absorbed in contemplating the swimmers. "This is awful!"
he ejaculated, as he slid down into deep water; "Wilks, it's scare the
life out of them I must, or we'll never get back to our clothes. Now,
listen to me." Dipping his head once more under water till it dripped,
he let out a fearful sound, like "Gurrahow skrrr spat, you young
gurruls, an' if yeez don't travel home as fast as yer futs'll taake
yeez, it's I'll be afther yeez straight, och, garrahow skrr spat
whishtubbleubbleubble!" The rural maidens took to their heels and ran,
as Coristine swam into shore. In a minute the swimmers were into their
clothes and packs, and resumed their march, much refreshed by the cool
waters of the Georgian Bay.

"And where is it we're bound for now, Wilks?"

"For the abandoned shale-works at the foot of the Blue Mountains."

"Fwhat's that, as Jimmie Butler said about the owl?"

"The Utica formation, which crops out here, consists largely of
bituminous shales, that yield mineral oil to the extent of twenty
gallons to the ton. But, since the oil springs of the West have been in
operation, the usefulness of these shales is gone. The Indians seem to
have made large use of the shale, for a friend of mine found a hoe of
that material on an island in the Muskoka lakes. Being easily split and
worked, it was doubtless very acceptable to the metal wanting
aborigines."

"But, if the works are closed up, what will we see?"

"We shall meet with fossils in the shale, with trilobites, such as the
_Asaphus Canadensis_, a crustacean, closely allied to the wood-louse,
and occasionally found rolled up, like it, into a defensive ball,
together with other specimens of ancient life."

"Wilks, my son, who's doing Gosse's Canadian Naturalist, now, I'd like
to know? Pity we hadn't the working geologist along for a lesson."

"I am sorry if I have bored you with my talk, but I thought you were
interested in science. Does this suit you better?

                        Many a little hand
     Glanced like a touch of sunshine on the rocks,
     Many a light foot shone like a jewel set
     In the dark crag; and then we turn'd, we wound
     About the cliffs, the copses, out and in,
     Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names
     Of shale and hornblende, rag and trap and tuff,
     Amygdaloid and trachyte, till the sun
     Grew broader towards his death and fell, and all
     The rosy heights came out above the lawns."

"That's better, avic. Tennyson's got the shale there, I see. But rag and
trap and tuff is the word, and tough the whole business is. Just look at
that living blue bell, there, it's worth all the stony names of rock and
fossil.

     Let the proud Indian boast of his jessamine bowers,
     His garlands of roses and moss-covered dells,
     While humbly I sing of those sweet little flowers,
     The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
       We'll shout in the chorus forever and ever,
       The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells."

"You are a nice botanist, Mr. Coristine, to confound that campanula with
the Scottish blue-bell, which is a scilla, or wild hyacinth."

"Poetic license, my dear friend, poetic license! Hear this now:--

     Let the Blue Mountains boast of their shale that's bituminous,
     Full of trilobites, graptolites and all the rest,
     It may not be so learned, or ancient, or luminous,
     But the little campanula's what I love best.
       So we'll shout in the chorus forever and ever,
       The little campanula's worth all the rest.

Whew! What do you think of that for an impromptu song, Wilks?"

"I think that you are turning your back upon your own principle that
there is no best, or no one best, and that everything is best in its
place."

"Barring old Nick and the mosquitoes, Wilks, come now?"

"Well, an exception may be made in their favour, but what says the
poet:--

     O yet we trust that somehow good
     Will be the final goal of ill.

Come, along, though, for we have much to see before sunset."

"You don't think that good is going to come out of the devil and
mosquitoes?"

"Yes I do; not to themselves, perhaps, but to humanity."

"I saw a book once with the title "Why Doesn't God Kill the Devil?" and
sympathized with it. Why doesn't He?"

"Because man wants the devil. As soon as the world ceases to want him,
so soon is his occupation gone."

"Wilks, my dear, that's an awful responsibility lying on us men, and I
fear what you say is too true. So here's for the shale works."

The pedestrians ceased their theological discussion and went towards the
deserted buildings, where, in former days, a bad smelling oil had been
distilled from the slaty-looking black stones, which lay about in large
numbers. Wilkinson picked up fossils enough, species of trilobites
chiefly, with a few graptolites, lingulas and strophomenas, to start a
museum. These, as Coristine had suggested in Toronto, he actually tied
up in his silk handkerchief, which he slung on the crook of his stick
and carried over his shoulder. The lawyer also gathered a few, and
bestowed them in the side pocket of his coat not devoted to smoking
materials. The pair were leaving the works for the ascent of the
mountain, when barks were heard, then a pattering of feet, and soon the
breathless Muggins jumped upon them with joyous demonstrations.

"Where has he been? How came we not to miss him?" asked the dominie, and
Coristine answered rather obliquely:--

"I don't remember seeing him since we entered Collingwood. Surely he
didn't go back to the Grinstun man."

"It is hard to be poetical on a dog called Muggins," remarked Wilkinson;
"Tray seems to be the favourite name. Cowper's dogs are different, and
Wordsworth has Dart and Swallow, Prince and Music, something like
Actaeon's dogs in 'Ovid.' Nevertheless, I like Muggins."

"Oh, Tray is good, Wilks:--

     To my dear loving Shelah, so far, far away,
     I can never return with my old dog Tray;
         He's lazy and he's blind,
         You'll never, never find
              A bigger thief than old dog Tray."

"Corry, this is bathos of the worst description. You are like a
caterpillar; you desecrate the living leaf you touch."

"Wilks, that's hard on the six feet of me, for your caterpillar has a
great many more. But that dog's gone back again."

As they looked after his departing figure, the reason was obvious. Two
lightly, yet clerically, attired figures were coming up the road, and on
the taller and thinner of the twain the dog was leaping with every sign
of genuine affection.

"I'm afraid, Wilks, that Muggins is a beastly cur, a treacherous 'ound,
a hungrateful pup; look at his antics with that cadaverous curate,
keeping company with his sleek, respectable vicar. O Muggy, Mug, Mug!"

The pedestrians waited for the clergy, who soon came up to them, and
exchanged salutations.

"My dawg appears to know you," said the tall cassocked cleric in a
somewhat lofty, professional tone.

"He ought to," replied Wilkinson, "seeing that he was given to me by a
Mr. Rawdon, a working geologist, as he calls himself."

"Ow, really now, it seems to me rather an immoral transaction for your
ah friend, Mr. Rawdon, to give away another man's property."

"Mr. Rawdon is no friend of mine, but his dog took a fancy to us, and
followed us from Dromore to Collingwood."

"Allow me to assure you that Muggins is not this ah Mr. Rawdon's dawg at
all. I trained him from a puppy at Tossorontio. The Bishop ordered me
from there to Flanders, and, in the hurry of moving, the dawg was lost;
but now, I should rather say stowlen. My friend, the Reverend Mr. Errol
and myself, my name is Basil Perrowne, Clerk, had business in
Collingwood last night, when Muggins, most opportunely, met us, and went
howme with me."

"Well, Mr. Perrowne, I am very glad you have recovered your dog, which I
was only too glad to rescue from a somewhat inhuman master. My name is
Wilkinson, of the Toronto schools, my friend is Mr. Coristine, of
Osgoode Hall, barrister."

The gentlemen exchanged formal salutations, and proceeded on their way,
Wilkinson with Perrowne, and Coristine with Erroll. Muggins was in the
seventh heaven of delight.

"You belong to Tossorontio, Mr. Perrowne?" asked Wilkinson, by way of
starting the conversation.

"Ow, now! I said I had trained Muggins from a pup there, but that ownly
extends owver a few years. Durham is my university, which you may have
heard of."

"I am familiar by name with the university and the cathedral, although
the juvenile geography books say that Durham is famous for its mustard."

"Ow, now, really, they down't, do they? Ow dear, mustard! We Durham men
can serve it out pretty hot, you know. You belong to the Church, of
course, Mr. Wilkinson?"

"I was brought up in the Church of England, and educated in what are
called Church principles; I am fond of the Prayer Book and the Service,
but, to my way of thinking, the Church is far more extensive than our
mere Anglican communion."

"Ow, yes, there are Christian people, who, I howpe, will get to heaven
some way through the uncovenanted mercies, in spite of their horrid
schism from the True Body. There is Errol, now, whom, out of mere
courtesy, I call reverend, but he is no more reverend than Muggins. His
orders are ridiculous, not worth a farthing candle."

"Come, come, Mr. Perrowne, his orders are as good as those of St.
Timothy, which were laid on him by the hands of the Presbytery."

"That is precisely what the cheeky dissenter says himself. We have
dropped that line of controversy now, for one ever so much more
practical."

"I hope you don't take off your coats and fight it out? You have the
advantage in height and youth, but Mr. Errol seems a strong and active
man."

"Now, we down't fight. I have set a cricket club a-gowing, and he has
turned a neglected field into a golf links. My club makes Churchmen, and
his makes Scotch dissenters."

"I thought the Presbyterian Church was established in Scotland?"

"Ow, down't you see, we are not in Scotland."

"Then, in Canada, there is no established church, unless it be the Roman
Catholic in the Province of Quebec."

"Ow, well, drop that, you know; we are the Church, and all the outside
people are dissenters. I down't antagonize him. He helped me to make my
crease, and joined my club, and I play golf with him every fine Monday
morning. But the young fellows have now true English spirit here. Errol
has twenty golfers to my six cricketers. When he and I are added, that
makes eight, not near enough, you know. As a mission agency, my club has
not succeeded yet, but every time I make a cricketer, I make a
Churchman."

"I have known some very good cricketers that were not Anglicans."

"Now you haven't, my dear sir; you thought you have, but you haven't;
that's the trouble with those who reject Church authority. The Methodist
plays rounder, what you call base-ball; the Independents and Baptists
played croquet and lawn tennis after other people stopped playing them;
the Presbyterian plays golf; and the Churchman plays cricket."

"To argue with one who sweeps all experience aside with a wave of his
hand," said the schoolmaster, indignantly, "is not to argue at all. It
is a case of _Roma locuta_."

"Ow, yes, just sow, you know, we down't argue, we simply assert the
truth."

"How d'ye like the Durham mustard, Wilks, my boy?" put in Coristine from
the rear, where he and Mr. Errol were laughing amusedly; "it's hot,
isn't it, not much solid food, but lots of flavour? It reminds me of The
Crew, when he said what was, is, and ever shall be, Amen. Mr. Perrowne
is the owner of a splendid dog, and he is a splendid dogmatist. What he
doesn't know isn't worth knowing."

"Ow, thanks awfully, Mr. Coristine, you are really too flattering!"
gravely and gratefully replied the parson. Wilkinson was afraid that his
friend's banter might become too apparent, as the simple egotism of the
graduate of Durham led him on, so, he changed the subject, and soon had
the cleric quoting Virgil and Mrs. Hemans.

Meanwhile Coristine and Mr. Errol were taking one another's measure. The
lawyer recited to his companion the conversation between Marjorie and
himself relative to Timotheus. He found that Errol knew Marjorie, who
had often been in his church and Sunday school in Flanders. "She's a
comical little piece," he said; "her Sunday school teacher asked her who
killed Goliath? and what do you think was her reply!"

"Give it up."

"It was 'Jack,' no less than Jack the Giant-Killer."

"The darlin'!" cried the lawyer, with admiration, and straightway won
the minister's heart.

"Marjorie has a cousin stopping at the house of Mr. Carruthers, one of
my elders, since last Tuesday night, as blithe and bonnie a young leddy
as man could wish to see. While she's here, she's just the light of the
whole country side."

Mr. Coristine did not care for this turn in the conversation.

"Tell me some more about little Marjorie," he said.

"Ah," replied the minister, "then you know that her cousin is called
Marjorie, too! Little Marjorie went to church once with Miss Du Plessis,
whom Perrowne had got to sing in the choir, that was last summer, if I
mind right, and, when the two rideeclus candles on the altar were
lighted, and the priest, as he calls himself, came in with his surplice
on, she put her face down in Miss Cecile's lap. 'What's the trouble,
Marjorie?' asked Miss Du Plessis, bending over her. 'He's going to kiss
us all good-night,' sobbed the wee thing. 'No he is not, Marjorie; he's
on his knees, praying,' replied the young leddy, soothingly. 'That's
what papa always does, when he's dressed like that, before he kisses me
good-night, but he takes off his boots and things first,' and she sobbed
again, for fear Perrowne was coming to kiss them all, put out the
candles, and go to bed. If Miss Du Plessis had not been a sober-minded
lass, she would have laughed out in the middle of the choir. As it was,
she had to hand Marjorie over to a neighbour in a back seat, before the
bit lassie would be comforted."

"Ah! did you ever now? the little innocent!"

"It's not that improbable that there'll be a marriage in the church
before long. Perrowne's just clean daft and infatuated with his
occasional soprano. He's sent her the 'Mirror of Devotion' and the
'Soul's Questioner,' and a lot of nicely bound trash, and walks home
with her whenever he has the chance, to the scandal and rage of all his
farmers' daughters. It's very injudeecious o' Perrowne, and has dreeven
two of his best families to the Kirk. Not that she's no a braw looking
lass, stately and deegnified, but she has na the winsomeness of Miss
Marjorie."

"Is that your quarter, Mr. Errol?"

"Hech, sirs, I'm an old bachelor that'll never see five and forty again;
but, as we say in Scotch or the vernacular Doric, 'an auld carle micht
dae waur.' There's not a more sensible, modest, blithesome, bonnie
lassie in all the land. It's a thousand peeties some young, handsome,
well to do steady, God-fearing man has na asked at her to be 'the light
o' his ain fireside.' Gin I were as young as you, Mr. Coristine, I would
na think twice about it."

"Avaunt, tempter!" cried the lawyer, "such a subject as matrimony is
strictly tabooed between me and my friend."

"I'll be your friend, I hope, but I cannot afford to taboo marriages.
Not to speak of the fees, they're the life of a well-ordered, healthy
congregation."

A neat turn-out, similar to that of Mrs. Thomas, came rattling along the
road. "That's John Carruthers' team," remarked the minister, and such it
turned out to be.

"Maister Errol," said its only occupant, a strong and honest-faced man
with a full brown beard, "yon's a fine hanky panky trick to play wi'
your ain elder an' session clerk."

"Deed John," returned the minister, relapsing into the vernacular; "I
didna ken ye were i' the toon ava, but 'oor bit dander has gien us the
opportunity o' becomin' acquent wi' twa rale dacent lads." Then, turning
to the lawyer, "excuse our familiar talk, Mr. Coristine, and let me
introduce Squire Carruthers, of Flanders." The two men exchanged
salutations, and Perrowne, having turned back with Wilkinson, the same
ceremony was gone through with the latter. They were then all
courteously invited to get into the waggon. Errol and Perrowne sprang
in with an air of old proprietorship, but the two pedestrians
respectfully declined, as they were especially anxious to explore the
mountain beauties of this part of the country on foot and at their
leisure.

"Aweel, gentlemen," cried the squire, "gin ye'll no come the noo, we'll
just expect to see ye before the Sawbath. The Church and the Kirk'll be
looking for the wayfarers, and my house, thank Providence, is big eneuch
to gie ye a kindly welcome."

The parsons ably seconded Mr. Carruthers' peculiar mixture of English
and Lowland Scotch, on the latter of which he prided himself, but only
when in the company of someone who could appreciate it. Wilkinson looked
at Coristine, and the lawyer looked at the dominie, for here they were
invited to go straight into the jaws of the lion. Just then, they
descried, climbing painfully up the hill, but some distance behind them,
the Grinstun man; there was no mistaking him. "Hurry, and drive away,"
cried Coristine, in an under tone; "that cad there, the same that stole
Muggins, is going to your house, Squire. For any sake, don't facilitate
his journey."

"I'll no stir a hoof till ye promise to come to us, Mr. Coristine, and
you, Mr. Wilkins, tae."

"All right, many thanks, we promise," they cried together, and the
waggon rattled away.

"Now, Wilks, over this ditch, sharp, and into the brush, till this thief
of the world goes by. We've deprived him of a ride, and that's one good
thing done."

Together they jumped the ditch, and squatted among the bushes, waiting
for the Grinstun man. They heard him puffing up the rising ground, saw
his red, perspiring face in full view, and heard him, as he mopped
himself with a bandanna, exclaim: "Blowed if I haint bin and lost the
chance of a lift. Teetotally blawst that hold hass of a driver, and them
two soft-'eaded Tomfools of hamateur scientists ridin' beside 'im. I
knew it was Muggins, the cur I stole, and guv a present of to that there
guy of a Favosites Wilkinsonia. I don't trust 'im, the scaly beggar, for
hall 'is fine 'eroic speeches. 'E'll be goin' and splittin' on me to
that gal, sure as heggs. And that Currystone, six feet of 'ipocrisy and
hinsolence, drat the long-legged, 'airy brute. O crikey, but it's 'ot;
'owever, I must 'urry on, for grinstuns is grinstuns, and a gal, with a
rich hold huncle, ridin' a fine 'orse, with a nigger behind 'im carryin'
his portmantle, haint to be sneezed hat. Stre'ch your pegs, Mr. Rawdon,
workin' geologist hand minerologist!"

"By Jove!" cried Coristine, when the Grinstun man was out of sight;
"that cad has met the colonel, and has been talking to him."

"A fine nephew-in-law he will get in him!" growled Wilkinson; "I have
half a mind--excuse me Corry."

"I thought you were very much taken with the old Southerner."

"Yes, that is it," and the dominie relapsed into silence.

"It's about lunch time, Wilks, and, as there's sure to be no water on
the top of the hill, I'll fill my rubber bag at the spring down there,
and carry it up, so that we can enjoy the view while taking our
prandial."

Wilkinson vouchsafed no reply. He was in deep and earnest thought about
something. Taking silence for consent, Coristine tripped down the hill a
few yards, with a square india rubber article in his hand. It had a
brass mouthpiece that partly screwed off, when it was desirable to
inflate it with air, as a cushion, pillow, or life-preserver, or to fill
it with hot water to take the place of a warming-pan. Now, at the spring
by the roadside, he rinsed it well out, and then filled it with clear
cold water, which he brought back to the place where the schoolmaster
was leaning on his stick and pondering. Replacing the knapsack, out of
which the india rubber bag had come, the lawyer prepared to continue the
ascent. In order to rouse his reflective friend, he said, "Wilks, my
boy, you've dropped your fossils."

"I fear, Corry, that I have lost all interest in fossils."

"Sure, that Grinstun man's enough to give a man a scunner at fossils for
the rest of his life."

"It is not exactly that, Corry," replied the truthful dominie; "but I
need my staff and my handkerchief, and I think I will leave the
specimens on the road, all except these two Asaphoi, the perplexing,
bewildering relics of antiquity. This world is full of perplexities
still, Corry." So saying, the dominie sighed, emptied his bandanna of
all but the two fossils, which he transferred to his pocket, and, with
staff in hand, recommenced the upward journey. In ten minutes they were
on the summit, and beheld the far-off figure of the working geologist on
the further slope. In both directions the view was magnificent. They sat
by the roadside on a leafy bank overshaded with cool branches, and,
producing the reduplication of the Barrie stores procured the night
before at Collingwood, proceeded to lunch _al fresco_. The contents of
the india rubber bag, qualified with the spirit in their flasks, cheered
the hearts of the pedestrians and made them more inclined to look on the
bright side of life. Justice having been done to the biscuits and
cheese, Coristine lit his pipe, while the dominie took a turn at
Wordsworth.

With musical intonation, Wilkinson read aloud:--

     Some thought he was a lover, and did woo:
     Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong:
     But verse was what he had been wedded to;
     And his own mind did like a tempest strong
     Come to him thus, and drove the weary wight along.

     With him there often walked in friendly guise,
     Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree,
     A noticeable man with large grey eyes,
     And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly
     As if a blooming face it ought to be;
     Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear,
     Depress'd by weight of musing phantasy;
     Profound his forehead was, though not severe;
     Yet some did think that he had little business here.

     He would entice that other man to hear
     His music, and to view his imagery.
     And, sooth, these two did love each other dear,
     As far as love in such a place could be;
     There did they dwell--from earthly labour free,
     As happy spirits as were ever seen:
     If but a bird, to keep them company,
     Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween,
     As pleased as if the same had been a maiden queen.

"That's the true stuff, Wilks, and has the right ring in it, for we love
each other dear, and are as happy spirits as were ever seen, but not a
large grey eye, pale face, or low-hung lip between us. Just hear my
music now, and view my imagery with your mind's eye:--

     Far down the ridge, I see the Grinstun man,
     Full short in stature and rotund is he,
     Pale grey his watery orbs, that dare not scan
     His interlocutor, and his goatee,
     With hair and whiskers like a furnace be:
     Concave the mouth from which his nose-tip flies
     In vain attempt to shun vulgarity.
     O haste, ye gods, to snatch from him the prize,
     And send him hence to weep--and to geologize!"

"The rhythm is all right, Corry, and the rhyme, but I hope you do not
call that poetry?"

"If that isn't superior to a good many of Wordsworth's verses, Wilks,
I'll eat my hat, and that would be a pity this hot weather. Confess now,
you haythen, you," cried the lawyer, making a lunge at his companion
with his stick, which the latter warded off with his book.

"There are some pretty poor ones," the schoolmaster granted grudgingly,
"but the work of a great poet should not be judged by fragments."

"Wilks, apply the rule; I have only given you one stanza of the
unfinished epic, which unborn generations will peruse with admiration
and awe, 'The Grinstun Quarry Restored':--

     I have striven hard for my high reward
     Through many a changing year
     Now, the goal I reach; it is mine to teach.
     Stand still, O man, and hear!

     I shall wreathe my name, with the brightness of fame,
     To shine upon history's pages;
     It shall be a gem in the diadem
     Of the past to future ages!

Oh, Wilks for immortality!" cried the light-hearted lawyer, rising with
a laugh.

Looking back towards the ascent, he perceived two bowed figures
struggling up the hill under largish, and, apparently, not very light
burdens.

"Wilks, my dear, we're young and vigorous, and down there are two poor
old grannies laden like pack mules in this broiling sun. Let us leave
our knapsacks here, and give them a hoist."

The schoolmaster willingly assented, and followed his friend, who flew
down the hill at breakneck speed, in a rapid but more sober manner. The
old couple looked up with some astonishment at a well-dressed city man
tearing down the hill towards them like a schoolboy, but their
astonishment turned to warmest gratitude, that found vent in many
thankful expressions, as the lawyer shouldered the old lady's big
bundle, and, as, a minute later, the dominie relieved her partner of
his. They naturally fell into pairs, the husband and Wilkinson leading,
Coristine and the wife following after. In different ways the elderly
pair told their twin burden-bearers the same story of their farm some
distance below the western slope of the mountain, of their son at home
and their two daughters out at service, and mentioned the fact that they
had both been schoolteachers, but, as they said with apologetic
humility, only on third-class county certificates. Old Mr. Hill insisted
on getting his load back when the top of the mountain was reached, and
the pedestrians resumed their knapsacks and staves, but the lawyer
utterly refused to surrender his bundle to the old lady's entreaties.
The sometime schoolteachers were intelligent, very well read in Cowper,
Pollock, and Sir Walter Scott, as well as in the Bible, and withal
possessed of a fair sense of humour. The old lady and Coristine were a
perpetual feast to one another. "Sure!" said he, "it's bagmen the
ignorant creatures have taken us for more than once, and it's a genuine
one I am now, Mrs. Hill," at which the good woman laughed, and recited
the Scotch ballad of the "Wee Wifukie coming frae the fair," who fell
asleep, when "by came a packman wi' a little pack," and relieved her of
her purse and placks, and "clippit a' her gowden locks sae bonnie and
sae lang." This she did in excellent taste, leaving out any
objectionable expressions in the original. When she repeated the words
of the Wifukie at the end of each verse, "This is nae me," consequent on
her discovery that curls and money were gone, the lawyer laughed
heartily, causing the pair in front, who were discussing educational
matters, to look round for the cause of the merriment. "I'm the man,"
shouted Coristine to them, "the packman wi' a little pack." Then Mr.
Hill knew what it was.




CHAPTER V.

     Conversation with the Hills--Tobacco--Rural Hospitality--The
     Deipnosophist and Gastronomic Dilemma--Mr. Hill's
     Courtship--William Rufus rouses the Dominie's Ire--Sleep--The Real
     Rufus--Acts as Guide--Rawdon Discussed--The Sluggard Farmer--The
     Teamsters--The Wasps--A Difference of Opinion.


It was very pleasant for all four, the walk down the mountain road; and
the pedestrians enjoyed the scenery all the more with intelligent guides
to point out places of interest. The old schoolteacher, having
questioned Wilkinson as to his avocation, looked upon him as a superior
being, and gratified the little corner of good-natured vanity that lies
in most teachers' hearts. Coristine told the wife that he trusted her
daughters had good places, where they would receive the respect due to
young women of such upbringing; and she replied:--

"O yes, sir, they are both in one family, the family of Squire
Carruthers in Flanders. Tryphena is the eldest; she's twenty-five, and
is cook and milker and helps with the washing. Tryphosa is only twenty,
and attends to the other duties of the house. Mrs. Carruthers is not
above helping in all the work herself, so that she knows how to treat
her maids properly. Still, I am anxious about them."

"Nothing wrong with their health, I hope?" asked the lawyer.

"No, sir; in a bodily way they enjoy excellent health."

"Pardon me, Mrs. Hill," interrupted Coristine, "for saying that your
perfectly correct expression calls up that of a friend of mine. Meeting
an old college professor, very stiff and precise in manner and language,
he had occasion to tell him that, as a student, he had enjoyed very poor
health. 'I do not know about the enjoying of it, sir,' he answered, 'but
I know your health was very poor.' Ha, ha! but I interrupted you."

"I was going to say, sir, that I have never been ambitious, save to keep
a good name and live a humbly useful life, with food convenient for me,
as Agur, the son of Jakeh, says in the Book of Proverbs, in which, I
suppose, he included clothing and shelter, but I did hope my girls would
look higher than the Pilgrims."

"You don't mean John Bunyan's Christian and Christiana, and Great Heart,
and the rest of them?"

"Oh, no!" replied the old lady, laughing, "mine are living characters,
quite unknown to the readers of books, Sylvanus and Timotheus, the sons
of old Saul Pilgrim."

"Oh, that's their name, is it? The Crew never told me his surname, nor
did Captain Thomas."

"You know Sylvanus' captain, then? But, has he many sailors besides
Pilgrim?"

"No; that's why I call him The Crew. It's like a Scotch song, 'The Kitty
of Loch Goil,' that goes:--

     For a' oor haill ship's companie,
     Was twa laddy and a poy, prave poys

Sylvanus is The Crew, who goes on a cruise, like Crusoe. O, do forgive
me, Mrs. Hill, for so forgetting myself; we have been so long away from
ladies' society," which, considering the circumstances of the preceding
day, was hardly an ingenuous statement.

"I am not so troubled about the elder Pilgrim and Tryphena," continued
the old lady, "because Tryphena is getting up a little in years for the
country; I believe they marry later in the city, Mr. Coristine?"

"O yes, always, very much, I'm sure," answered the lawyer, confusedly.

"Tryphena is getting up, and--well, she takes after her father in looks,
but will make any man a good wife. Then the elder Pilgrim has good
morals, and is affectionate, soft I should be disposed to call him; and
he has regular employment all the year round, though often away from
home. He has money saved and in the bank, and has a hundred-acre farm in
the back country somewhere. He says, if Tryphena refuses him, he will
continue to risk his life among the perils of the deep, by which the
silly fellow means Lake Simcoe." Here the quondam schoolmistress broke
into a pleasant laugh that had once been musical.

"And Miss Tryphosa, did I understand you to say you apprehend anything
in her quarter from the Pilgrims?" enquired Coristine.

"Please say Tryphosa, sir; I do not think that young girls in service
should be miss'd."

"But they are very much missed when they go away and get married; don't
grudge me my little joke, Mrs. Hill."

"I would not grudge you anything so poor," she replied, shaking a
forefinger at the blushing lawyer. "You are right in supposing I
apprehend danger to Tryphosa from the younger Pilgrim. She is--well,
something like what I was when I was young, and she is only a child yet,
though well grown. Then, this younger Pilgrim has neither money nor
farm; besides, I am told, that he has imbibed infidel notions, and has
lately become the inmate of a disreputable country tavern. If you had a
daughter, sir, would you not tremble to think of her linking her lot
with so worthless a character?" Before the lawyer could reply, the old
man called back: "Mother, I think you had better give the gentleman a
rest; he must be tired of hearing your tongue go like a cow-bell in fly
time." Coristine protested, but his companion declined to continue the
conversation.

"The mistress is as proud of wagging that old tongue of hers," remarked
the dominie's companion, "as if she had half the larnin' of the country,
and she no more nor a third class county certificut."

"Many excellent teachers have begun on them," remarked Wilkinson.

"But she begun and ended there; the next certificut she got was a
marriage one, and, in a few years, she had a class in her own house to
tache and slipper."

"Your wife seems to be a very superior woman, Mr. Hill."

"That's where the shoe pinches me. Shuparior! it's that she thinks
herself, and looks down on my book larnin' that's as good as her own.
But, I'll tell ye, sir, I've read Shakespeare and she hasn't, not a
word."

"How is that?"

"Her folks were a sort of Lutherian Dutch they call Brethren. They're
powerful strict, and think it a mortal sin to touch a card or read a
play. My own folks were what they called black-mouthed Prosbytarians,
from the north of Ireland, but aijewcation made me liberal-minded. It
never had that effect on the mistress, although her own taycher was an
old Scotch wife that spent her time tayching the childer Scott, and
Pollok's 'Course of Time,' and old Scotch ballads like that Packman one
she was reciting to your friend. Now, I larnt my boys and gyurls, when I
was school tayching, some pieces of Shakespeare, and got them to declaim
at the school exhibitions before the holidays. I minded some of them
after I was married, and, one day when it was raining hard, I declaimed
a lovely piece before Persis, that's the mistress' name, when the woman
began to cry, and fell on her knees by the old settle, and prayed like a
born praycher. She thought I had gone out of my mind; so, after that, I
had to keep Shakespeare to myself. Sometimes I've seen Tryphosa take up
the book and read a bit, but Rufus, that's the baby, is just like his
mother--he'll neither play a card, nor read a play, nor smoke, nor tell
lies. I dunno what to do with the boy at all, at all."

"But it is rather a good thing, or a series of good things, not to play
cards, nor smoke, nor tell lies," remarked Wilkinson. "Perhaps the baby
is too young to smoke or read Shakespeare."

"He's eighteen and a strapping big fellow at that, our baby Rufus. He
can do two men's work in a day all the week through, and go to meetin'
and Sunday school on Sundays; but he's far behind in general larnin' and
in spirit, not a bit like his father. Do I understand you object to
smoking, sir?"

"Not a bit," replied his companion, "but my friend Coristine smokes a
pipe, and, as smokers love congenial company, I had better get him to
join you, and relieve him of his load." So saying, Wilkinson retired to
the silent pair in the rear, took the old lady's bundle from the lawyer
and sent him forward to smoke with the ancient schoolmaster. The latter
waxed eloquent on the subject of tobackka, after the pipes were filled
and fairly set agoing.

"There was a fanatic of a praycher came to our meetin' one Sunday
morning last winter, and discoorsed on that which goeth out of a man. He
threeped down our throats that it was tobackka, and that it was the root
of bitterness, and the tares among the wheat, which was not rightly
translated in our English Bible. He said using tobackka was the
foundation of all sin, and that, if you counted up the letters in the
Greek tobakko, because Greek has no _c_, the number would be 483, and,
if you add 183 to that, it would make 666, the mark of the Beast; and,
says he, any man that uses tobackka is a beast! It was a powerful
sarmon, and everybody was looking at everybody else. When the meetin'
was over, I met Andrew Hislop, a Sesayder, and I said to him, 'Annerew!'
says I, 'what do you think of that blast? Must we give up the pipe or be
Christians no more?' Says Andrew, 'Come along wi' me,' and I went to his
house and he took down a book off a shelf in his settin' room. 'Look at
this, Mr. Hill,' says he, 'you that have the book larnin', 'tis written
by these godly Sesayders, Ralph and Ebenezer Erskine, and is poetry.' I
took the book and read the piece, and what do you think it was?"

"Charles Lamb's farewell to tobacco," said Coristine wildly:--

     Brother of Bacchus, later born,
     The Old World were sure forlorn,
                            Wanting thee.

'No, sir; it was a 'Gospel Sonnet on Tobackka and Pipes'; pipes, mind
you, as well--all about this Indian weed, and the pipe which is so lily
white. Oh, sir, it was most improvin'. And that fanatic of a praycher,
not fit to blacken the Erskines' shoes, even if they were Sesayders! I
went home and I says, 'Rufus, my son,' and he says, 'Yes, fayther!' Says
I, 'Rufus, am I a Christian man, though frail and human, am I a
Christian man or am I not?' Rufus says, 'You are a Christian, fayther.'
Then says I, 'What is the praycher, Rufus, my boy?' and Rufus, that uses
tobackka in no shape nor form, says, 'He's a consayted, ignerant,
bigitted bladderskite of a Pharisee!' Sir, I was proud of that boy!'

"That was very fine of your son to stand up for his father like that.
You can't say that your foes were those of your own household. In such
cases, young people must do one of two things, despise their parents or
despise the preacher; and, when the parents go to church, the children,
unless they are young hypocrites, uniformly despise such preachers."

"Yes, and to think I had never told Rufus a word about the 'Gospel
Sonnets of the Sesayders!' It's a great pleasure, sir, to an old man
like me to smoke a pipe with a gentleman like yourself."

Coristine replied that it afforded him equal satisfaction, and they
puffed away with occasional remarks on the surrounding scenery.

Meanwhile, Wilkinson was striving to draw out the somewhat offended
mistress.

"Your husband tells me, Mrs. Hill, that you are of German parentage," he
remarked blandly.

"Yes," she replied; "my people were what they call Pennsylvania Dutch.
Do you know German, sir?"

"I have a book acquaintance with it," remarked the dominie.

"Do you recognize this?

     Yo een fayter in der ayvig-eye,
     Yo een fayter in der ayvig-eye,
     Meen fayter rue mee, Ee moos gay
              Tsoo lowwen in der ayvig-eye."

"No; I distinctly do not, although it has a Swabian sound."

"That is the Pennsylvania Dutch for 'I have a Father in the Promised
Land,' a Sunday School hymn."

"Were you brought up on hymns like that?"

"Oh, no; I can still remember some good German ones sung at our
assemblies, like:--

     Christi Blut und Gerechtigkeit,
     das ist mein Schmuck und Ehrenkleid,
     damit will ich vor Gott besteh'n,
     wenn ich in Himmel werd 'eingeh'n.

Do you know that?" asked the old lady, proud of her correct recitation.

"Yes; that is Count Zinzendorff's hymn, which Wesley translated:--

     Jesus, thy blood and righteousness
     My beauty are, my glorious dress;
     Midst flaming worlds, in these arrayed,
     With joy shall I lift up my head.

The translation is wonderfully free, and takes unpardonable liberties
with the original."

"Graf Zinzendorff revived our Brethren when persecution had almost
destroyed them. He was in America, too, and had his life saved by a
rattlesnake. The Indians were going to kill him, when they saw him
sleeping with the snake by his side, and thought it was his Manitou."

"I hope that is not a snake-story, Mrs. Hill. I had a boy once in my
school who came from Illinois, and who said that his mother had seen a
snake, which had stiffened itself into a hoop, and taken its thorny tail
in its mouth, trundling along over the prairie after a man. The man got
behind a tree just in the nick of time, for the hoop unbent, and sent
the thorny tail into the tree instead of into the man. Then the man came
out and killed it. That was a snake story."

"I give the story as I heard it from our people; you know, I suppose,
that there is a Moravian Indian Mission on the borders of the counties
of Kent and Middlesex. I once thought of going there as a missionary,
before I fell in with Mr. Hill."

"I knew a lady who married a clergyman, with the express understanding
that he was to become a foreign missionary. His church missionary
societies refused to accept him, because of some physical defect, so he
had to settle down to a home charge. But his wife never went to hear him
conduct service. She said she could not listen to a fraud who had
married her under false pretences."

"It is a great pity he married such a woman. If a wife has not the
missionary spirit in her own house, how can she expect to acquire it by
going abroad? Besides, there is so much mission work to be done in a new
country like this. A few years ago, this place was almost as bad as
Peskiwanchow, but now it has greatly improved."

"There was a young man we met there, Mrs. Hill, in whom my friend and I
were much interested," said the dominie, and proceeded to give an
account of the exploit of Timotheus. He also narrated what Coristine had
told him of his hero's attitude towards the catechism, as accounting for
his present position. The old lady relented in her judgment of the
younger Pilgrim, thought that Saul, perhaps, was too severe, and that
the catechism could stand revision. Wilkinson agreed, and, the ice being
completely broken between them, they also proceeded to view the scenery
in a poetic light, or rather in two, the dame's a Cowperish, and the
dominie's a Wordsworthian reflection. Suddenly, the latter saw the
father of Tryphena and Tryphosa open a gate, and turn into a side road,
along which the lawyer seemed not quite disposed to accompany him. The
elder smoker, therefore, came back to the gate, and waited for Wilkinson
and the old lady to come forward.

"Mother!" said the old man, as the pair came up to the halting place,
"you've got a soft blarneying Lutherian tongue in your head--"

"Henry Cooke," she replied sharply, "how often must I tell you that
Lutherian is wrong, and that I am not a Lutheran, and have ceased even
to be a United Brother since I cast in my lot with you; moreover, it is
not pleasant for an old woman like me to be accused of blarneying, as if
I were a rough Irishman with a grin on his broad face."

"Well, well, mother, I don't care a snuff if you were a Sesayder or even
a Tommykite--"

"A Tommykite?" cried Coristine, anxious to extend his knowledge and
increase his vocabulary.

"It's a man called Thomas," answered the interrupted husband, "that made
a new sect out our way, and they call his following Tommykites; I dunno
if he's a relation of the captain or not. Give a dog a bad name, they
say, and you might as well hang him; but the Tommykites are living, in
spite of their name."

"Henry Cooke, your remarks are very unnecessary and irrevelant," said
his wife, falling into bad English over a long adjective.

"I was just going to say, mother, that I wanted you to try and keep
these gentlemen from going beyond our house to-night, because you can
put it so much better than I can."

The old lady, thereupon, so judiciously blended coaxing with the apology
of disparagement, that the only alternative left the pedestrians was
that of remaining; for to go on would have been to treat the
disparagement as real, and a sufficient cause for their seeking other
shelter. The house they entered was small but neat. It consisted almost
altogether of one room, called a living room, which answered all the
purposes of eating, sleeping and sitting. Outside were a summer kitchen
and a dairy or milk-house, and, a short distance off, were the barn and
the stable, the sole occupant of the latter at the time being a cow
that spent most of its leisure out of doors. Supper did not take long
preparing, and the travellers did ample justice to a very enjoyable
meal. The dominie engaged the hostess in conversation about German
cookery, Sauer Kraut, Nudeln and various kinds of Eierkuchen, which she
described with evident satisfaction.

"Mrs. Hill and Wilkinson are regular Deipnosophists," remarked Coristine
to the host.

"That's too deep for me," he whispered back. "But tell it to the
mistress now; she's that fond of jawbreakers she'll never forget it."

"We were remarking, Mrs. Hill, that you and Wilkinson are a pair of
Deipnosophists."

The old man looked quizically at his wife, and she glanced in a
questioning way at the dominie.

"My friend is trying to show off his learning at our expense," the
latter remarked. "One Athenæus, who lived in the second century, wrote a
book with that name, containing conversations, like those in 'Wilson's
Noctes Ambrosianæ,' but upon gastronomy."

"I was not aware," said the hostess, "that they had gas so far back as
that."

Wilkinson bit his lip, but dared not explain, and the lawyer looked
sheepish at the turn affairs were taking.

"It's aisy remembered, mother," put in the quondam schoolmaster.

"Think of astronomy, and that'll give you gastronomy; and a gastronomer
is a deipnosophist. That's two new words in one day and both meaning the
same thing."

The hostess turned to the dominie, with a little shrug of impatience at
her husband, and remarked: "The life of a deipnosophist in gastromical
works must be a very trying one, from the impure air and the soft coal
dust; do you not think so, Mr. Wilkinson?"

That gentleman thought it must, and the lawyer first chewed his
moustache, and then blew his nose severely and long. Fortunately, the
meal was over, the host returned thanks, and the party left the table.
The old man took a pail and went to water the stock, which seemed to
consist of the cow, while the wife put away the supper things, and
prepared for the evening's milking.

The pedestrians, being told there was nothing they could do, strolled
out into the neighbouring pasture, and pretended to look among the weeds
and stones, at the end of the fence farthest away from the stock-waterer
for botanical and geological specimens; but, in reality, they were
having a battle royal.

"Corry, you ass, whatever put it into your stupid head to make a fool of
that kind little woman?"

"Sauer Kraut and Speck Noodle, what did you begin with your abominable
Dutch dishes for?"

"I had a perfect right to talk German and of German things with Mrs.
Hill. I did not insult her, like an ungrateful cur, I know."

"I never insulted her, you blackguard, wouldn't do such a thing for my
life. I had a perfect right, too, to talk Greek to the old man, and it
was you put your ugly foot in it with your diabolical gastronomy. I
wonder you don't pray the ground to open up and swallow you."

"I consider, sir, an apology from you to our host and hostess absolutely
necessary, and to be made without any delay."

"I'll apologize, Wilks, for the deipnosophist part of it, but I'll be
jiggered if I'll be responsible for your nasty gastronomy."

"That means that you are going to put all the onus of this hideous and
cruel misunderstanding on my shoulders, when I explained your expression
in charity to all parties, and to help you out."

"Help me out, is it? I think it was helping me into the ditch and
yourself, too."

"Will you or will you not accept the responsibility of this whole
unfortunate business? Here is my ultimatum: Decline to accept it, and I
return to Collingwood this very night."

"Wilks, my boy, that would never do. It's dead tired you'd be, and I'd
hear of you laid up with fever and chills from the night air, or perhaps
murdered by tramps for the sake of your watch and purse."

"It matters nothing. Right must be done. _Fiat justitia, ruat coelum._
Every law of gratitude for hospitality cries aloud: 'Make restitution
ere the sun goes down.' I understand, sir, that you refuse." So saying,
the offended dominie moved rapidly towards the house to resume his
knapsack and staff.

"Wilks, if you don't stop I'll stone you to death with fossils," cried
the repentant lawyer, throwing a series of trilobites from his
tobacco-less pocket at his retreating friend. The friend stopped and
said curtly: "What is it to be?"

"Wilks, you remind me of an old darkey woman that had a mistress who was
troubled with sneezing fits. The mistress said: 'Chloe, whenever I
sneeze in public, you, as a faithful servant, should take out your
handkerchief, and pretend that it was you; you should take it upon
yourself, Chloe.' So, one day in church, the old lady made a big
tis-haw, when Chloe jumped up and cried out: 'I'll take dat sneeze my
ole missus snoze on mysef,' waving her handkerchief all around."

"I did not delay my journey to listen to negro stories, Mr. Coristine."

"It has a moral," answered the lawyer; "it means that I am going to take
all this trouble on myself, and hinder you making a bigger ass of yours.
I'll apologize to the pair of them for me and you."

"That being the case, in spite of the objectionable words, 'bigger ass,'
which you will live to repent, I shall stay."

Mrs. Hill was proceeding to milk the cow, and her husband was busy at
the wood-pile. Coristine sauntered up to the old lady, and carried the
milking pail and stool for her, the latter being of the Swiss
description, with one leg sharp enough to stick into the ground. The
lawyer adroitly remarked:--

"Turning to the subject of language, Mrs. Hill, one who has had your
experience in education must have observed fashion in words as in other
things, how liable speech is to change at different times and in
different places."

Yes; Mrs. Hill had noticed that.

"You will, I trust, not think me guilty of too great a liberty, if I
say, in reference to my friend's remark at the supper table, that
gastronomy, instead of meaning the art of extracting gas from coal, has
now come to denote the science of cookery or good living, and that the
old meaning is now quite out of date. I thought you would like to know
of the change, which, I imagine, has hardly found its way into the
country yet."

"Certainly, sir, I am much obliged to you for setting me right so
kindly. Doubtless the change has come about through the use of gas
stoves for cooking, which I have seen advertised in our Toronto
religious paper."

"I never thought of that," said the perfidious lawyer. "The very
uncommon word deipnosophist, hardly an English word at all, when
employed at the present day, always means a supper philosopher, one who
talks learnedly at supper, either about cookery or about other things."

"I see it very clearly now. In town, of course, supper is taken by gas
light, so that the talker at supper is a talker by gas-light?"

"Yes, but the word gas, even the idea of it, has gone out of fashion,
through its figurative use to designate empty, vapouring talk;
therefore, when deipnosophist and gastronomer are spoken, the former is
employed to denote learned talkers at supper, such as we were half an
hour ago, and the latter, to signify one who enjoys the culinary
pleasures of the table."

"I am sure I am very much indebted to you, sir, for taking the trouble
to correct an old woman far behind the age, and to save her the
mortification of making mistakes in conversation with those who might
know better."

"Do not mention it, I beg. Should I, do you think, say anything of this
to Mr. Hill?"

"Oh, no," replied the old lady, laughingly; "he has forgotten all about
these new words already; and, even if he had not, he would never dare to
make use of them, unless they were in Shakespeare or the Bible or the
School Readers."

By this time the milking was over, and the lawyer, relieved in part, yet
with not unclouded conscience, carried pail and stool to the milkhouse.

The old man and Coristine sat down on a bench outside the house and
smoked their pipes. Mrs. Hill occupied a rocking-chair just inside the
doorway, and the dominie sat on the doorsill at her feet.

"Mother," called Mr. Hill to his spouse, "whatever has become of Rufus?"

"You know very well, Henry Cooke, that Rufus is helping Andrew Hislop
with his bee, and will not be back before morning. The young people are
to have a dance after the bee, and then a late supper, at which the
deipnosophists will do justice to Abigail's gastronomy." This was said
with an approving side glance at the lawyer. When Wilkinson looked up,
his friend perceived at once that his offence was forgiven. The husband,
without removing the pipe from between his teeth, mumbled, "Just so, to
be sure."

"Is your son's name William Rufus, Mrs. Hill?" enquired the dominie.

"No; it is simply Rufus. William, you know, is not a Scripture name. We
thought of baptizing him Narcissus, which comes just before Tryphena,
but my husband said, as he was the youngest, he should come lower down
in the chapter, and after Persis, which is my name."

"I was tayching school, and a bachelor," put in the said husband, "when
there was a county meeting--they call them conventions now--that Persis
was at. They called her Miss Persis Prophayt, but it was spelled like
the English Prophet. She was that pretty and nice-spoken then I couldn't
kape my eyes off her. She's gone off her nice looks and ways a dale
since that time. Then I went back to the childer and the Scripture
readins, with a big dictionary at my elbow for the long names. 'The
beloved Persis' was forever coming up, till the gyurls would giggle and
make my face as red as a turkey cock. So I had this farrum and some
money saved, and I sent to ask the beloved Persis to put me out of my
misery and confusion of countenance."

"Indeed he did," said the old lady, with a merry laugh, "and what do you
think was his way of popping the question?"

"Oh, let us hear, Mrs. Hill," cried Coristine.

"Mother, if you do," interposed the old man, "I'll put my foot down on
your convention of retired taychers at Owen Sound." But mother paid no
attention to the threat.

"He asked if I knew the story of Mahomet and the mountain, and how
Mahomet said, if the mountain will not come to the prophet, the prophet
must go to the mountain. So, said he, you are the prophet and must come
to my house under the mountain, and be a Hill yourself. It was so funny
and clever that I came; besides I was glad to change the name Prophet.
People were never tired making the most ridiculous plays upon it. The
old Scotch schoolmistress, who taught me partly, was named Miss Lawson,
so they called us Profit and Loss; and they pronounced my Christian name
as if it was Purses, and nicknamed me Property, and took terrible
liberties with my nomenclature." At this the whole company laughed
heartily, after which the dominie said: "I see your pipe is out, Corry;
you might favour our kind friends with a song." The lawyer did not know
what to sing, but took his inspiration, finally, from Wilkinson's last
question, and sang the ballad of William Rufus, as far as:--

     Men called him William Rufus because of his red beard,
     A proud and naughty king he was, and greatly to be feared;
     But an arrow from a cross-bow, sirs, hit him in the middell,
     And, instead of a royal stag that day, a king of England fell.

Then the correct ear and literary sense of the dominie were offended,
and he opened out on his friend.

"I think, Corry, that you might at least have saved our generous hosts
the infliction of your wretched travesties. The third line, Mrs Hill, is
really:--

     But an arrow from a cross-bow, sirs, the fiercest pride can quell.

There is nothing so vulgar as hitting in the verse, and your ear for
poetry must tell you that _middle_ cannot rhyme with _fell_, even if it
were not a piece of the most Gothic barbarity. Thus a fine English song,
such as I love to hear, is murdered."

"My opinion," said the host, "my opinion is that you could'nt quell a
man's pride better than by hitting him fair in the middle. It might be
against the laws of war, but it would double him up, and take all the
consayt out of him sudden. I mind when Rufus was out seeing his sisters,
there was a parson got him to play cricket, and aggravated the boy by
bowling him out, and catching his ball, and sneering at him for a good
misser and a butter-fingers; so, when he went to the bat again, he
looked carefully at the ball and got it on the tip of his bat, and, the
next thing he knowed, the parson was doubled up like a jack knife. He
had been hit fair in the middle, where the bad boy meant to do it. There
was no sarvice next Sunday, no, nor for two weeks."

"That was very wrong of Rufus," said the old lady with a sigh, "however,
he did offer to remunerate Mr. Perrowne for his medical expenses, but
the gentleman refused to accept any equivalent, and said it was the
fortune of war, which made Rufus feel humiliated and sorry."

Night had fallen, and the coal oil lamp was lit. The old lady deposited
a large Bible on the table, to which her husband drew in a chair, after
asking each of his guests unsuccessfully to conduct family worship. He
read with emphasis and feeling the 91st Psalm, and thereafter, falling
on his knees, offered a short but comprehensive prayer, in which the
absent children were included, and the two wayfarers were not forgotten.
While the good wife went out to the dairy to see that the milk was
covered up from an invisible cat, the men undressed, and the pedestrians
turned into a double bed, the property of the missing Rufus. The head of
the household also turned in upon his couch, and coughed, the latter
being a signal to his wife. She came in, blew out the lamp, and retired
in the darkness. Then four voices said "good-night"; and rest succeeded
the labours of the day. "No nightmares or fits to-night, Corry, an' you
love me," whispered the dominie; but the lawyer was asleep soon after
his head touched the pillow. They knew nothing till morning, when they
were awakened by the old man's suppressed laughter. When they opened
their eyes, the wife was already up and away to her outdoor tasks; and a
well-built, good-looking young fellow of the farmer type was staring in
astonishment at the two strangers in his bed. The more he stared, the
more the father laughed. "There's not a home nor a place for you, Rufus,
with you kapin' such onsaysonable hours. It's a sesayder you'll be
becoming yourself, running after Annerew Hislop's pretty daughter, and
dancing the toes out of your stockings till broad daylight. So, if
you're going to sesayde, your mother and me, we're going to take in
lodgers."

"What are they selling?" asked the Baby.

"Whisht! Rufus, whisht! come here now; it's not that they are at all,
but gentlemen from the city on a pedestrian tower," the father replied
in an audible whisper.

"What do they want testering the beds for! Is that some new crank got
into the guvment?"

"Rufus, Rufus, you'll be the death of your poor old father yet with your
ignorance. Who said anything about testing the beds? It's a pedestrian
tower, a holiday walking journey for the good of their healths, the
gentlemen are taking. Whisht, now, they're waking up. Good morning to
you, sirs; did I wake you up laughing at the Baby?"

The roused sleepers returned the salutation, and greeted the new comer,
apologizing for depriving him of his comfortable bed. Rufus replied
civilly, with a frank, open manner that won their respect, and, when
they had hastily dressed, led them to the pump, where he placed a tin
basin, soap and towels, at their disposal. After ablutions, they
questioned him as to the events of last evening, and were soon in
nominal acquaintance with all the country side. He was indignant at the
free and easy conduct of a self-invited guest called Rodden, who wanted
to dance with all the prettiest girls and to play cards. "But when he
said cards, Annerew, that's a sesayder, told him to clare, although it
was only four in the morning, and he had to clare, and is on his way to
Flanders now."

"I suppose you did not hear him make any enquiries regarding us?" asked
the dominie.

"But I did, and it was only when he hard that you hadn't been past the
meetin'-house, that he stopped and said 'ee'd 'ave a lark. Do you know
him?"

"Yes," said Coristine, "he is the Grinstun man," whereat they all
laughed; and the old lady, coming in with her milking, expressed her
pleasure at seeing them such good friends.

After prayers and breakfast, the pedestrians prepared to leave, much to
the regret of the household.

"Where are you bound for now?" asked Mr. Hill, to which Wilkinson
replied, with the air of a guide-book, "for the Beaver River." The Baby,
nothing the worse of last night's wakefulness, volunteered to show them
the way by a shorter and pleasanter route than the main road, and they
gladly availed themselves of his services. As the party walked on, the
guide said to Coristine, "I hard fayther say that you were a lawyer, is
that true?" Coristine answered that he was.

"Then, sir, you ought to know something about that man Rodden; he's a
bad lot."

"What makes you think so?"

"He knows all the doubtfullest and shadiest settlers about, and has long
whispers with them, and gets a lot of money from them. His pocketbook is
just bulging out with bank bills."

"Perhaps it is the payment of his grindstones, Rufus."

"You don't tell me that a lawyer, a clever man like you, believe in his
grindstones?"

"Why not? Doesn't he make and sell them?"

"Yes; he makes them and sells them in bundles of half-a-dozen, but the
buyer of a bundle only has two to show, and they're no good, haven't
grit enough to sharpen a wooden spoon."

"How do you know all this?"

"Mostly out of big Ben Toner. He used to be a good sort of fellow, but
is going all to ruination with the drink. I saw his grindstones and what
came between 'em. It's more like a barl than anything else, but Ben kept
me off looking at it close."

"Where does Toner live?"

"Down at the river where you're going. There's a nice, quiet tavern
there, where you'll likely put up, and he'll be round it, likely, and
pretty well on by noon. He don't drink there, though, nor the
tavern-keeper don't buy no grindstones like he does. Well, here you are
on the track, and I must get back to help dad. Keep right on till you
come to the first clearing, and then ask your way. Good-bye, wishing you
a good time, and don't forget that man Rodden." They shook the Baby
warmly by the hand, and reciprocated his good wishes, Coristine
promising to keep his eyes and ears open for news of the Grinstun man.

"Did you overhear our talk, Wilks, my boy?" he asked his friend.

"No; I thought it was private, and kept in the background. I do not
consider it honourable to listen to a conversation to which one is not
invited, and doubtless it was of no interest to me."

"But it is, Wilks; listen to this now," and volubly the lawyer poured
forth the information and his suspicions concerning Mr. Rawdon. That
gentleman's ears would have tingled could he have heard the pleasant and
complimentary things that Coristine said about him.

The first clearing the pedestrians reached, after an hour's walk since
parting with Rufus, was a desolate looking spot. Some fallow fields were
covered with thistles, docks, fire-weed and stately mulleins, with, here
and there, an evening primrose, one or two of which the lawyer inserted
in his flower-press. There was hardly any ground under cultivation, and
the orchard bore signs of neglect. They saw a man in a barn painfully
rolling along a heavy cylindrical bundle which had just come off a
waggon. As they advanced to ask him the way, he left his work and came
to meet them, a being as unkempt as his farm, and with an unpleasant
light in his bloodshot eye.

"What are you two spyin' around fer at this time o' day, stead o'
tendin' to your work like the rest o' folks? Ef you want anything, speak
out, 'cause I've no time to be foolin' round."

"We were directed to ask you, sir, the way to the Beaver River," said
the dominie, politely. The man sulkily led them away out of view of the
barn, and then pointed out a footpath through his farm, which he said
would lead them to the highroad. As they were separating, Wilkinson
thanked the man, and Coristine asked him casually:--

"Do you happen to know if a Mr. Rawdon, who makes and sells grindstones,
has passed this way lately?"

"No," cried the sluggard farmer; "who says he has?" Then, in a quieter
tone, he continued: "I heern tell as he passed along the meetin'-house
way yesday. What do you want of Rawdon?"

"My friend, here, is a geologist, and so is that gentleman."

"Rawdon a geologist!" he cried again, with a coarse laugh. "Of course he
is; allers arter trap rock, galeny, quartz and beryl. O yes, he's a
geologist! Go right along that track there. Good day." Then he rapidly
retraced his steps towards the barn, as if fearful lest some new visitor
should interrupt him before his task was completed.

"It may be smuggling," said the lawyer, "but it's liquid of some kind,
for that dilapidated granger has given his friend away. What do
hayseeds know about galena, quartz and beryl? These are Grinstun's
little mineralogical jokes for gallon, quart and barrel, and trap rock
is another little mystery of his. What do you think of the farmer that
doesn't follow the plough, Wilks?"

"I think he drinks," sententiously responded the schoolmaster.

"Then he and Ben Toner are in the same box, and both are friends or
customers of the workin' geologist. I believe it's whiskey goes between
the grindstones, and that it's smuggled in from the States, somewhere up
on the Georgian Bay between Collingwood and Owen Sound. The plot is
thickening."

When the pedestrians emerged from the path on a very pretty country road
the first objects that met their view were three stout waggons, drawn by
strong horses and driven by bleary eyed men, noisy and profane of
speech. Their waggon loads were covered with buffalo robes and
tarpaulins, which, however, did not effectually conceal the grindstones
beneath. The drivers eyed the pedestrians with suspicion, and consigned
them to the lower regions and eternal perdition.

"Wilks, my dear," said the lawyer, in a sort of cool fever heat,
"there's a revolver and a box of cartridges in my pack that I'd like to
have in my right hand pocket for that kind of cattle."

"I have one, too," said the dominie, quietly, "but we had better pass on
and not heed them. See, they are armed as well."

Just as he spoke there was a report; a pistol in the hand of the first
teamster smoked, and a poor little squirrel, that had been whirring on
the limb of a basswood, dropped to the ground dead.

"I'd as lief as not put a hole into the back of them d----d packs," said
the second teamster, whereupon the others swore at him to shut up and
save his cartridges.

"Wilks, I could once hit a silver dollar at twenty yards. Dad, I'll get
the thing out anyway." The lawyer sat down, undid his knapsack and
primed his revolver, which he then placed with the box of cartridges in
the pocket out of which he had thrown the fossils. The dominie did the
same, all the time saying: "No violence! my dear friend; in this world
we must pretend not to see a great many things that we cannot help
seeing." The teamsters went by, and no further use for the revolver
appeared. Wilkinson would not allow his companion to shoot at birds or
chipmunks, and, on being expostulated with, the kindly lawyer confessed
that it would have been a shame to take their innocent young lives. At
last they saw a gray paper-like structure of large size on the limb of
an oak pretty high up. "I'll bet you can't hit that, Wilks," said the
lawyer. "I shall try," replied the dominie. They fired simultaneously
and both struck the grey mass, and then the warriors ran, ran as they
had hardly done since they were boys, for a hundred wasps were after
them, eager to take vengeance on the piercers of their communal home.
After two hundred yards had been done in quick time, they stopped and
faced each other.

"I've killed three that got down my back, but the beggar that stung me
on the lip escaped," said Coristine.

"I have one sting on the left hand and another on the right temple,"
replied Wilkinson.

"Is it safe to stop yet, Wilks?"

"Yes; they have given up the pursuit."

"Then, my poor boy, let us go into hospital." So he produced his flask
and bathed the dominie's temple and hand with the cooling spirit, after
which Wilkinson loosened his friend's flannel shirt and applied the same
remedy to his afflicted back, down which the three dead wasps slid to
the ground. The lawyer healed his own lip by allowing a little of the
cratur, as he termed it, to trickle over into his mouth.

"It seems to me, Wilks, that, when a man is looking for war, he's bound
to get it."

"Yes; I suppose that that is what is meant by 'they that take the sword
shall perish with the sword.'"

"Bad luck to these wasps; they revolved on us."

As the travellers continued their journey, Coristine turned to his
friend and asked him for counsel.

"You've studied casuistry, Wilks, and I want you, as a judge of what a
loyal citizen should do, to say what is our duty in regard to the
Grinstun man."

"What are you, Corry, a lawyer in general practice or a revenue
detective?"

"A lawyer, of course, but a citizen too."

"Have you, as lawyer or as citizen, a case against Mr. Rawdon?"

"As a contributor to the revenue of the country, I think I have."

"How?"

"Well, he is making money by cheating the Government."

"Where is your proof?"

"Look at what Rufus said, at the doings of that bogus farmer, at these
three teams on the road."

"Mere inferences based on circumstantial evidence."

"They're things that should be looked into, though."

"Perhaps so, but is it your business to do so? Are you a whiskey
informer?"

"Come now, Wilks, that's a pretty bad name to call a man."

"That may be, but it seems to denote the rôle you have set before
yourself."

"I'd like to run that brute into the ground."

"Worse and worse; you are going to prosecute, not from principle, but
from malice."

"I'm going to show up a scoundrel."

"If that is your work you will never lack employment. But, seriously,
Corry, _cui bono?_"

"To keep him off Miss Du Plessis' land, to prevent him marrying her, to
hinder him corrupting the farmers and causing their farms to go to waste
with smuggled liquor."

"As you like, but Wordsworth says:--

     Whatever be the cause, 'tis sure that they who pry and pore
     Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before."

"A fig for Wordsworth, and his tear in the old man's eye! I'll not be
happy till I bring that murdering thief of the world to justice."

Further conversation was checked by the view of the river from the top
of the hill, challenging the admiration of the two lovers of scenery,
and they began their descent towards the hamlet that lay on either side
of the bridge which crossed the swiftly-flowing stream. Then the lawyer
commenced the recitation of a poem in one of the old Irish readers:--

     River, river, rapid river,

in which the dominie sharply interrupted him, recommending his tall,
mustachioed friend to put a stick of candy in his mouth and go back to
petticoats and pinafores.

"Wilks, you remind me of a picture I saw once, in _Punch_ or somewhere
else, of a nigger sandwich man advertising baths, and a sweep looking at
him, and saying: 'It's enough to tempt one, he looks so jolly clean
hisself.' That's the way with you, always firing out Wordsworth's silly
twaddle, and objecting to a piece of genuine poetry because it's in a
reader. The pig-headed impudence of you birchers beats all."




CHAPTER VI.

     The Maple Inn--Mr. Bigglethorpe's Store--Dinner--Worms--Ben
     Toner--The Dugout--Fishing in the Beaver River--The Upset
     Suckers--The Indignant Dominie Propitiated and Clothed--Anecdotes
     of Mr. Bulky--A Doctor Wanted.


A very clean and attractive hostelry received the travellers, and
compelled the dominie to remark cheerfully, "Now shall I take mine ease
in mine inn," which led to his lately indignant friend's response:--

     Who'er has travell'd life's dull round,
     Where'er his stages may have been,
     May sigh to think he still has found
     The warmest welcome at an inn.

P. Lajeunesse was the name on the sign, which displayed a vegetable
wonder of the painter's art meant for a maple tree, for Madame
Lajeunesse kept the Maple Inn. That lady, a portly brunette, with a
pleasant smile and a merry twinkle in her eye, received the
distinguished guests in person. Wilkinson replied to her bow and curtsey
with a dignified salutation, but the lawyer shook hands with her,
saying: "I hope you're very well, Madame; it's a lovely place you have
here." Madame replied that it was lofely when the moustique was not, and
summoned Pierre to help the dominie off with his knapsack, saying
"permettit me," as she unfastened the straps of Coristine's, and removed
that burden, which she deposited upon a table in the sitting-room
adjoining the hall. Pierre, a bald-headed French-Canadian, hiding his
lack of hair under a red tuque, and sporting a white moustache of large
dimensions, arrived too late to help the schoolmaster, but he elevated
his eyebrows, grimaced, rubbed his hands, and slid his feet apart, in
pleased welcome.

"Ze chentlemans ave come to feesh lika many in ze springa monses?
Feeshing not so coot as zen, bot in ze cool place vare is oles onder ze
trees feesh lorrik. Is zat spoken correct, zat vord lorrik? I ave learn
it from Meestare Bulky. O, a ver great feesherman."

Wilkinson replied that lurk was an excellent word, and very expressive
of the conduct of fish in warm weather, explaining that he was no
fisherman himself, but that his friend was attached to that kind of
sport.

"Dinnare, Messieu, in one hour," remarked Madame, as she returned to her
duties.

"Where can I get fishing tackle, landlord?" asked the lawyer.

"At ze store, zare is onelly one. You vill not lose yourself long in
zisa city," replied mine host with an attempt at wit.

Wilkinson remained in the cool parlour, inspecting the plates on the
walls and a few books on a side table. The latter were chiefly poor
novels in English, left by former guests as not worth taking home, but
among them was a thoroughly French paper-bound copy of Alphonse Karr's
Voyage autour de mon Jardin. Falling into an easy chair, the
schoolmaster surrendered himself to the charming style and subtle humour
of this new found treasure.

The lawyer went straight to Mr. Bigglethorpe's store, and found himself,
at the time, its sole customer. The proprietor was an Englishman of some
five and thirty years, tall and thin, wearing a long full beard and
overhanging moustache. He sold fishing tackle and was himself a
fisherman, the latter being the reason why he had come to the Beaver
River and set up store. It occupied him when fishing was poor, and
helped to check the consumption of his capital. Before he married, he
locked the door, when the fishing was good, and put the key in his
pocket, but now Mrs. Bigglethorpe minded the shop in his absence. Having
supplied Coristine with hooks and lines, and recommended him what kind
of a rod to cut out of the bush for ordinary still fishing, he offered
to lend him one of his own fly rods, and opened his fly book for his
inspection. Soon the pair were deep in all kinds of artificial flies and
their manufacture, Black and Red and White Hackles, Peacock Fly,
Mackerel, Green Grasshopper, Black Ant, Governor, Partridge, and a host
more. The lawyer declined the rod, as the storekeeper informed him that,
so late in the season and in the day, it was utterly useless to look for
trout. He had better get old Batiste at the Inn to dig him up some
earthworms, and go fishing with them like the boys. He would find a
canoe moored near the bridge which he could use. Who it belonged to Mr.
Bigglethorpe didn't know, but it was of no consequence, for everybody
took it that wanted it for a morning or afternoon. If Mr. Coristine
heard of any new kind of fly, perhaps he'd be good enough to remember
him and let him know, something killing for autumn use, or, as people
say here, for fall fishing. Mr. Coristine promised to remember him, and
departed with his purchases, just as a voice, feminine but decided,
called to Mr. Bigglethorpe by name to come and hold the baby, while its
owner dished the dinner. "Talk about Hackles," said the lawyer to
himself on the way Inn-wards, "I imagine he has somebody in there that
can hackle him, long beard and all."

The dinner bell at the Maple was ringing vigorously. Monsieur Lajeunesse
had taken off his coat to ring it, and stood in the doorway in a flaming
red waistcoat, the companion of his tuque, over a spotlessly white
shirt, to let all who dwelt on the Beaver River know that the hour of
noon had arrived. The dinner, over which Madame presided, was excellent.
With the soup and the fish there was white wine, and good sound beer
with the entrées and solids. The schoolmaster spoke French to the
hostess, chiefly about the book he had been reading, and the lawyer
discussed fishing with Pierre, who constantly referred to his great
authority, Meestare Bulky. Madame, charmed that her guest could converse
with her in her mother tongue, generously filled his glasses, and
provided his plates with the most seductive morsels. Monsieur
Veelkeenson was the white-haired boy at that table, and he felt it,
yielded to the full satisfaction of it. He had dined royally, and was
fit for anything. When his friend asked him if he would go fishing, he
replied jauntily, and in a way quite unlike himself: "Why, suttenly,
which would you rather do or go fishin'?"

"O Wilks," cried the lawyer, "you're a patent pressed brick! I feel like
old Isaac Walton's Coridon, that said, d'ye mind, 'Come, hostess, give
us more ale, and let's drink to him,' which is natural, seeing I'm
called Corry."

The companions had a glass of ale after dinner, which was quite
indefensible, for they had had a sufficiency at that bounteous repast.
Evidently, the dominie was in for a good time. A wizened old fellow,
named Batiste, with a permanent crick in his back, dug the worms, and
presented them to the lawyer in an empty lobster tin, the outside of
which was covered with texts of Scripture. "It seems almost profane,"
remarked the recipient, "to carry worms inside so much Bible language."
But the merry schoolmaster remarked that it was turn about, for he had
heard a Scotch preacher, who seemed to know the whole Bible by heart,
say in prayer, on behalf of himself and his people, "we are all poor
wurrums of the airth." "Probably, however," he continued, "he would have
objected to be treated as a worm."

"They say even a worm will turn, which, if your parson was a large man,
might be serious enough," replied the lawyer. "I remember, when I was a
small boy, thinking that the Kings of Israel kept large men for crushing
their enemies, because they used to say, 'Go and fall upon him, and he
fell upon him and he died.' That might be the way with the human wurrum.
It's not always safe to trust these humble men."

"Corry, you're a profane man; your treatment of sacred things is
scandalously irreverent," said the dominie.

"Who began it?" retorted the victim.

"You did, sir, with your textual lobster can," replied the reprover.

"The ancient Hebrews, in the height of their pride and glory, knew not
the luxury of lobster salad," Coristine remarked, gravely, as if
reciting a piece.

"How do you know that?"

"Because, if I offer a prize of a Trip to the Dark Continent to the
first person buying a copy of our published travels, who finds the word
lobster in the Bible, I shall never have occasion to purchase the
ticket."

As they moved in the direction of the river, Pierre came after them and
asked:--

"You make your feeshing off ze bord or in ze vatars!"

"I prefer the board," replied Coristine, "if it's as good of its kind as
that you gave us at dinner."

"Keep quiet, you do not understand him," interposed the schoolmaster;
"he means the shore, the bank of the river by the bord. N'est ce pas,
Monsieur?"

"Oui, oui, M'syae, le bord, le rivauge de la rivière."

"Non, Monsieur Pierre, nous allons prendre le bateau," answered
Wilkinson, with a dignity that his companion envied.

The red-nightcapped host called Baptiste.

"Vau t-en donc, Bawtiste, dépêche twa, trouve deux petits bouts de
plaunche pour le canot."

Batiste soon returned with two boards.

"Canot 'ave no seat, you placea zem over two ends for seet down," said
Pierre, relapsing into English.

Wilkinson assumed the responsibility of the boards and the fishermen
proceeded to the river bank near the bridge to find the canoe. It was
long, and, for a dug-out, fairly wide, but ancient and black, and moist
at the bottom, owing to an insufficiently caulked crack. Its paddles had
seen much service, and presented but little breadth of blade.

"I should like to place these boards," said Wilkinson, as he surveyed
first them and then the dug-out; "I should like to place these boards,
one across the bow and the other across the stern, but I really cannot
decide which is the bow and which is the stern."

"She's a sort of a fore and after, Wilks, like the slip-ferry
steamboats. I think, if you could find a bit of chalk or charcoal, and
write bow on one plank and stern on the other, it would make her
ship-shape and settle the business."

"I have no sympathy, Corry, with makeshifts and factitious devices. I
wish to arrive at the true inwardness of this boat. At what end of a
boat is the anchor let down?"

"In the _Susan Thomas_ it was pretty near the bow, and I think I've seen
yachts riding at anchor that way in Toronto harbour."

"In the time of St. Paul, however, there were four anchors, if I
remember aright, cast out of the stern."

"I don't see how the anchor is going to help us. This long Tom Coffin
has nothing of the kind."

"You are sadly deficient in observation, Corry, or you would have
observed a rope, very much abraded indeed, but still a rope, by which
the vessel may be said, even though figuratively, to be anchored to this
stake."

"It's you're the clever man, Wilks; education has done wonders for you.
Now, I remember that rope is the painter; that's what The Crew called it
on the dingy, and of course it was fastened to the bow."

"But to the stern of the larger vessel."

"Yes, but here there is no larger vessel. If you want one, for argument
sake, you'll have to imagine the post to be it. The coffin is bow on to
the shore."

"Corry, I insist, if I am to trust myself to this craft, that you call
it by some other name."

"Were you ever in anything of the kind before, Wilks?"

"Never."

"Nor I." These simple words had in them a depth of meaning.

A young man came on to the bridge and leaned over the rail, looking at
the fishermen. He was respectably clad in a farmer's holiday suit, was
tall, strongly built, and with good features that bore unmistakable
marks of dissipation. "I'll bet you that's Ben Toner," whispered the
lawyer, who was examining the new-found bow prior to depositing his
boards.

"Goin' fishin'?" asked the new comer, in a not unpleasant voice.

"Yes," replied Coristine; "we're going in this--what do you call it?"

"Dug-out, and mighty poor at that. Fishin's no good here now. River was
a pardise for Trontah folks wunst, but it's clean fished out. I seen
fellers go to a ho-ul up thayer," said the supposed Ben, pointing in the
opposite direction, "and take out a hull barl-ful afore sundown. 'Taint
to be did, not now, wuss luck! Wait to I come down, and I'll haylp you
off with that kinew."

The speaker descended, untied the frayed painter, and hauled the
dug-out to a point where, the bank being higher, embarkation was more
easy. He dissuaded the navigators from sitting on the boards placed over
the gunwales, as likely to be, what he called, parlous, and recommended
that the boards be placed on the floor of the craft to keep the water
off their "paants." The fishermen consented, and sat down safely at each
end facing one another, with his assistance to hold the dug-out steady,
the dominie in the bow and the lawyer in the stern. They thanked their
ally, bade him good afternoon, and proceeded to paddle. Ben Toner
laughed, and cried to Coristine: "I'll lay two to one on you, Mister,
for you've got the curnt to haylp you." The dugout, in spite of the
schoolmaster's fierce paddling, was moving corkscrew-like in the
opposite direction, owing largely to the current, but partly to the
superior height of the lawyer, which gave his paddle a longer sweep.
Still, he found progress slow, till a happy thought struck him.

"Wilks, my boy, it's paddling our own canoe we are, but too much that
way. We're a house divided against itself, Wilks. Either you must turn
round or I must, and, if I do, then you'll be the stern and I the bow."

"I thought there was something wrong, Corry, but the excitement incident
on a new sensation absorbed my attention. Of course, I shall move, as it
would be very confusing, not to say ridiculous, to invert the relative
positions of the boat."

"Then, Wilks dear, wait till I paddle her near the bank, for fear of
accidents."

When the bank was reached, the dominie landed, picked up his board and
placed it farther back, then sat down gingerly, with his legs spread out
before him, and began paddling on the same side as his companion, which
zigzagged the frail craft more than ever, and finally brought it to the
shore. Ben Toner, who had been laughing at the city innocents, ran down
to a point opposite the dug-out, and told them to paddle on opposite
sides, giving directions how to steer with one of the emaciated
propellers. After that, the course of the vessel was a source of
continual self-commendatory remark by the voyageurs.

After a while, they came to a wooden bridge, built upon piles resting in
the stream. "This," said the schoolmaster, "is the _Pons sublicius_,
like that which Ancus Martius built over the Tiber. Shall we shoot it,
Corry, or shall we call a halt and proceed to fish?"

The dug-out bumped on the piles, and the navigators trembled, but
Wilkinson, bravely gathering his legs under him and rising to his knees
on the board, threw his arms round a pile, when, in spite of Coristine's
efforts, the craft slewed round and the stern got under the bridge ahead
of the bow.

"Hold on, Wilks," the lawyer cried; "another bump like that and the old
thing'll split in two. Now, then, we'll drop the paddles and slip her
along the bridge to the bank. There's a hole under that birch tree
there, and some fine young birches that will do for rods back of it.
Doesn't the birch make you feel like England, home and duty, Wilks?"

"The quotation, sir, is incorrect, as usual; it is England, home and
beauty."

"Well, that's a beauty of a birch, anyway."

They got ashore, and fastened the painter to a sapling on the bank,
because it was not long enough to go round a pile. Then they produced
their knives, and, proceeding to the place where the young birches grew,
cut down two famous rods, to which they attached lines with white and
green floats and small hooks with gut attachments. The lobster can was
produced, and wriggling worms fixed on the hooks. "A worm at one end and
a fool at the other," said the lawyer. "Speak for yourself, sir,"
replied the dominie. The next thing was to get into the canoe, which was
safely effected. Then, the question arose, how was she to be moored in
the current? Wilkinson suggested a stake driven into the bottom for the
deep-sea mooring, and an attachment to the exposed root of the lovely
overhanging birch for that to landward. So Coristine sprang ashore, cut
a heavier birch, and trimmed one end to a point. Bringing this on board,
he handed it to his companion, and, paddling up stream, brought him
opposite the overarching tree. The dominie drove the stake deep into the
river mud and pressed it down. The stake was all that could be desired
for a deep-sea mooring, and to it the painter was attached.

"What are you going to do about your end of the vessel, Corry?" he
asked.

"That's all right," replied the lawyer, who, forthwith, took off coat
and waistcoat.

"You are not going to undress, I hope," remarked his friend; "there is a
bare possibility that people, even ladies, might be walking this way,
sir, and I do not wish to be disgraced."

"Never fear, Wilks, my boy, it's my braces I am after." With this,
Coristine took off these articles, and, fastening a button hole over a
rusty nail in the stern, tied the other end about a root of the birch.
The dug-out was securely fastened, so that the current only rocked it a
little, causing the lawyer to sing "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep."
Then they sat down on their boards and began fishing.

They had a very pleasant hour hooking shiners and chub, and an
occasional perch that looked at a distance like a trout. The dominie,
_apropos_ of his friend's braces, told Alphonse Karr's story of the
_bretellier_ in the Jardin des Plantes, and the credulous sceptic who
did not believe that a suspender tree existed. He knew that cotton grew
on a shrub, and that caoutchouc exuded from a tree, and admitted the
possibility of their natural combination, but thought his deceivers had
reference to braces with metal attachments.

"That reminds me," said the lawyer, "of a man from Lanark that came into
our office asking where he'd find a mining geologist. He had some
grey-looking cork and leather wrapped up in a newspaper, and said he had
dug them out of the ground where there was lots more of both of them. I
told him he had likely come on the remains of an old picnic, and that
the leather was the skin of the ham they had taken out to make
sandwiches of; but the impudent creature laughed in my face, as if any
child doesn't know that leather is the skin of beasts, and cork, of a
tree!"

"Nevertheless, Corry, he was no doubt right, and you were wrong in your
scepticism. What are called mountain cork and mountain leather are forms
of asbestos. They are of no use, unless it be for the lining of safes.
The fibrous asbestos can be made into fire-proof clothes."

"So, old Leather Corks had the laugh on me there! Dad, I'll apologize
for sending him to the marines next time he comes in. What a thing it
is to have the larnin' like you, Wilks!"

"A mere mineralogical trifle, my dear Corry, nothing more."

"Wilks, do you mind the 'Fisher's Song,' composed by the late Mr.
William Bass, that's in the 'Complete Angler'? I don't suppose it would
scare the fish much. It goes to the tune of 'The Pope, he leads a happy
life,' like this:--

     Of recreation there is none
     So free as fishing is alone;
     All other pastimes do no less
     Than mind and body both possess;
       My hand alone my work can do,
       So I can fish and study too.

     I care not, I, to fish in seas--
     Fresh rivers best my mind do please,
     Whose sweet calm course I contemplate,
     And seek in life to imitate:
       In civil bounds I fain would keep,
       And for my past offences weep.

     And when the timorous trout I wait
     To take, and he devours my bait.
     How poor a thing, sometimes I find,
     Will captivate a greedy mind;
       And when none bite, I praise the wise,
       Whom vain allurements ne'er surprise.

     But yet, though while I fish I fast,
     I make good fortune my repast;
     And thereunto my friend invite,
     In whom I more than that delight:
       Who is more welcome to my dish
       Than to my angle was my fish."

"Well done, Corry--a very good song and very well sung,

     Jolly companions every one.

Why will these wretched rhymsters couple such words as sung and one? It
is like near and tears in the American war-song, 'The Old Camp-Ground.'
Some people are like these fish; they have no ear at all. A practical
joker, like you, Corry, once corrected a young lady who was singing:--

     Golden years ago,
     In a mill beside the sea,
     There dwelt a little maiden,
     Who plighted her troth to me.

He suggested Floss for sea, because of George Eliot's Mill on the
Floss, and, you would hardly believe it, did I not vouch for its truth,
she actually rhymed Floss and me. It was excruciating."

"I can beat that, Wilks. I was out in the country on business, and
stopped at our client's house, a farmer he was. The man that led the
music in his church, an old Yank, who drawled out his words in singing,
like sweeowtest for sweetest, was teaching the farmer's daughter to play
the organ. He offered to sing for my benefit, in an informal way, one of
my national melodies; and he did. It was 'The harp that once through
Tara's halls,' and--O Wilks--he sang it to a tune called Ortonville, an
awful whining, jog-trot, Methodistical thing with a repeat. My client
asked me privately what I thought of it, and I told him that, if Mr.
Sprague had said he was going to sing it in an infernal way, he would
have been nearer the truth."

"Your language is strong, my friend. The late Mr. William Basse, as you
designate him, would not have condescended to the use of such terms."

"Faith, the language isn't made that's too bad for Ortonville. You've
got a big one this time, Wilks, my boy--play him!"

The dominie succeeded in bringing in his fish, a big fellow, between a
pound and a-half and two pounds in weight, on which he gazed with
delight, as the lawyer unhooked it, and deposited it, with a smart rap
on the head, at the bottom of the canoe.

"Is that a trout, Corry?" the Dominie asked with eager pride.

"No; it's not a brook or speckled trout, for it has no speckles, and
it's not a relative of the late William Basse, for it isn't deep enough
in the body, nor a perch, for it's too big and has no stripes. It's
either a salmon trout or a pickerel, Wilks."

"Is there not some fable about the latter fish?"

"Yes; old Isaac says that it's produced from the pickerel weed, the
Pontederia, that should be coming into flower about now. I haven't seen
any yet. There's another, for me this time--ugh, it's only a perch."

The schoolmaster, emboldened by success, declared that he was too
cramped, and, gathering his legs together, while he held on to the
sides of the dug-out, succeeded in grasping the top of the deep-sea
mooring. Then, with the other hand, he raised the board, and transferred
it to the gunwale. Sitting upon the improvised seat with his back to the
bow, he expressed satisfaction at facing his companion, for one thing,
and at being out of the way of the fish in the canoe, for another.
Coristine followed suit, and, when his plank was in position, said he
felt something like old Woodruff in a small way.

"How is that?" asked the inquisitive dominie.

"He's a director in ever so many institutions, and is always out,
sitting on boards. I have only one so far; as Shakespeare says, it's a
poor one, but mine own."

"Tut, tut," replied his disgusted friend; "more desecration."

Nevertheless he smiled, as a thought came into his mind, and he remarked
that the vessel was rather a small concern to have two boards of
direction; to which the lawyer answered that it was no worse off in that
respect than the Province of Quebec, or the Church, or the universities,
which could not trust one governing body to do their work.

"I have another, a large fish," shouted the schoolmaster, wildly excited
and rising to his feet. The fish pulled hard up stream till the whole
extent of line and rod combined was out at arm's length. Eager to secure
the prey, and thinking nothing of the precarious foundation on which he
stood, he placed a foot upon the gunwale in order to reach still farther
out.

"Look out, Wilks!" cried Coristine, as he also rose and grasped an
overhanging branch of the birch; but it was too late. The dug-out
tipped, the boards slid into the water, and with them went the dominie,
rod, fish, and all. When the canoe recovered its equilibrium, Wilkinson,
minus his wide awake, which was floating down the stream, was seen
apparently climbing the deep-sea mooring post, like a bear on a pole,
his clothes dripping where they were out of the water, his hair
plastered over his eyes, and his face flushed with anger. The lawyer
could not restrain his mirth, although he knew the vengeance it would
excite in the dominie's breast.

"O Wilks, Wilks, my poor drowned rat of a friend, ha! ha! ha! O Moses!
but it's too comical you are; the nuns couldn't help it, Wilks, no, nor
the undertaker's drum-major, nor a hired butler, even. Howld on, just
one second more, till I'm fit to steady this divil of a dug-out for you
to get in. If I only had a kodak, Wilks, you would be immortal, and the
expenses of our trip would be paid. Oh, garrahow, ha! ha!"

The dominie climbed on to the bow of the dug-out, while Coristine
balanced it, and made his silent way to the shore end, from which he
gained the bank. There he shook himself like a Newfoundland dog, and
brushed the wet hair out of his eyes. He muttered a great deal, but said
nothing loud enough to be intelligible; his tone, however, was far from
reassuring to his companion. The lawyer unmoored the dug-out at both
ends, and set forth to recover the missing articles. He found the hat
and the two boards on the shore, a short way down the river, and, in the
middle of the stream, recaptured the fishing-rod. To his great delight,
the fish was still on the hook, and he imparted the joyful news to his
shivering friend, but got no single word in reply. It was another salmon
trout, or pickerel, or some such fish, and he deposited it gleefully in
the bottom of the canoe with the others, which had not escaped in the
tip-over. Returning, he handed Wilkinson his hat, and hoped he was none
the worse of his ducking. The schoolmaster took the wide-awake, but gave
no answer. Then the lawyer invited him to take his place in the boat,
when the storm burst.

"Am I a fool, Mr. Coristine, an abject, unthinking, infatuated fool, to
entrust my comfort, my safety, my life, to a man without the soul of a
man, to a childish, feeble-minded, giggling and guffawing player of
senseless, practical jokes, to a creature utterly wanting in heart,
selfish and brutal to a degree?"

"Oh, Wilks, my dear boy, this is too bad. I had nothing in the mortal
world to do with your tumbling out of the old dug-out, 'pon my honour I
hadn't."

"Kindly keep your silence, sir, and do not outrage my sufficiently
harrowed feelings by adding worse to bad. I shall go to the inn on
_terra firma_, and leave you in charge of what you seem so able to
manage in your own clownish, pantomimic way. Be good enough to bring my
fish, and do not distinguish yourself by upsetting them into their
native element." With these words, and in great apparent scorn, the
draggled dominie took his course along the bank and soon disappeared
from view. The lawyer followed in the canoe, but more slowly, as the
current was against him, and often turned the boat round. By dint of
strenuous efforts he gained the bridge, and found the supposed Ben
leaning over it.

"I see you've drownded your man," he remarked with a laugh.

"Yes," replied Coristine; "we had a spill."

"Had any luck?"

"Pretty fair," the lawyer answered, exhibiting his treasures.

"Perch, and chub, and shiners, and them good-for-nawthun tag ends of all
creation, suckers."

"Is that what they are?" asked the disappointed fisherman, holding up
the spoil of Wilkinson's rod.

"That's jest what they are, flabby, bony, white-livered, or'nary
suckers. Niggers and Injuns won't touch 'em, ony in the spring; they'd
liefer eat mudcats."

The lawyer tied his dug-out to the stake, while Ben, who informed him
that his name was Toner, got a willow twig with a crotch at the thick
end, and strung his fish on it through the gills.

"I guess you'd better fire them suckers into the drink," he said, but
Coristine interposed to save them from such a fate.

"They are my friend's catch," he said, "and I'll let him do what he
likes with them."

Then, attended by Mr. Toner, carrying the string of fish, suckers
included, he bent his steps towards the Maple Inn.

When they arrived, they found Madame standing in the doorway. She
admired the fish, and complimented Coristine on his success. He,
however, disclaimed most of them in favour of his friend, for whose
health and whereabouts he enquired with much earnestness.

"Ze pauvre Meestare Veelkeensen retires himselfa in ze chomber to
shongje his vet habillement vit datta o' Pierre. I 'opes he catcha no
cold."

"Better mix him a hot drink, Madame," said Mr. Toner.

"I 'ave fear, Ben, you lofe too moch hot dreenks," replied Madame.

"That's jest where you're out, Missus; I take my little tods cold."

"Hot or cold, you take nossing in our salon."

"Naw, not so long as I can get better stuff, real white wheat that ain't
seen the water barl."

The lawyer noticed this unguarded saying of Toner's, but this did not
hinder his asking if Madame had hot water, and could mix some real Irish
punch for his afflicted friend. Madame had no Irish, but she had some
good Scotcha veesky, which Coristine said would do, only, instead of
Irish punch, the mixture would be Scotch toddy. The toddy procured, he
sprang up-stairs, two steps at a time, meeting Monsieur Lajeunesse,
descending with an armful of wet clothes. Bursting into the room to
which the dominie had been led, he found him on a chair drying himself
by detachments. Already his upper man had been rubbed by Pierre, and
clothed with a shirt, vest and velveteen coat from his wardrobe. Now he
was polishing his nether extremities with a towel, preparatory to adding
a pair of gaudy striped trousers to his borrowed gear. Striding up to
him with a ferocious air, the lawyer presented the smoking glass,
exclaiming: "Drink this down, Wilks, or I'll kill you where you sit."

"What is it?" feebly asked the schoolmaster, feeling the weakness of his
kilted position.

"It's toddy, whiskey toddy, Scotch whiskey toddy, the only thing that'll
save your life," cried Coristine, with firmness amounting to
intimidation. The dominie sipped the glass, stirred it with the spoon,
and gradually finished the mixture. Then, laying the tumbler on the
table beside his watch and pocketbook, he finished his rubbing-down, and
encased his legs in Pierre's Sunday trousers. As he turned up the
latter, and pulled on a pair of his own socks, he remarked to his friend
that he felt better already, and was much obliged to him for the toddy.

"Don't mention it, my boy, I'm so glad it's done you good."

"I fear, Corry, that I was hasty and unjust to you when I came out of
the water."

"Oh well, Wilks darlin', let us say no more about it, or, like the late
Mr. William Basse, I'll for my past offences weep. I don't know what it
is exactly you're like now. If you had the faytures, you would do for
one of the Peoplesh. You and the grinstun man could hunt in couples.
With a billy cock-hat on the side of your head, you'd make a sporting
gent. Are you feeling pretty well, Wilks, as far as the clothes will let
you?"

"Yes; I am all right again, I think."

"Then I must damp the ardour of ingenuous youth,

     And dash the cup of joy to earth
     Ere it be running o'er.

Wilks, prepare yourself for a blow."

"Quick, Corry, make no delay--has the colonel fallen from his horse? Has
his niece accepted Mr. Rawdon?"

"No; my dear friend, but those big fish, one of which you risked your
precious life after, are--suckers. Ben Toner wanted to fire them into
the drink, but I restrained his sucker-cidal hand. You seem to bear the
news with resignation."

The lawyer accompanied his resuscitated friend down stairs. The
velveteen waistcoat exhibited an ample shirt-front, and had pockets with
flaps like the coat. The dominie's own blue and yellow silk handkerchief
was tied in a sailor's knot round a rakish collar, that compromised
between a turn-down and a stand-up; and his nether garments began with
the dark and light blue broad-striped trousers and ended in a large pair
of felt slippers, admirable footgear, no doubt, for seasons of extreme
cold. Thus attired, Wilkinson occupied the sitting-room, and returned to
the study of Alphonse Karr. Mr. Toner had left the string of fish by the
door, where it was quite safe. There seemed to be no boys, no dogs, no
cats, about the quiet Beaver River. Once in a long while, a solitary
figure might be perceived going to or returning from the store. The only
possible thief of the fish would have been a stray mink or otter
prospecting for a new home, unless, indeed, Madame's fowls had escaped
from the poultry yard. Coristine brought the string to his disguised
companion, just as the hostess arrived to enquire after his health and
renew the French conversation. Having replied politely to her questions,
the schoolmaster expressed his regret that the fish were so poor and
especially that he had been deceived in the "suceurs." Madame did not
comprehend, and said "Plait il?" whereupon he called his friend near and
pointed out the offending fish. "Aw oui, M'syae, ce sont des mulets de
l'eau douce, un petit peu trop tawrd dons la saison, autrement un
morceau friaund." Then she proceeded to say that the smaller fish could
be cooked for supper, "comme les éperlans de law baw," pointing with her
finger eastward, to designate, by the latter words, the Gulf of St.
Lawrence. She would boil the mullets, if Monsieur did not object, and
give them to the fowls; did Monsieur take an interest in fowls?
Generously the dominie handed over all the fish, through Coristine, for
Madame to do what she liked with, and expressed an interest in various
descriptions of poultry, the names of which he was entirely ignorant of.
The interview over, he returned to his book, and the lawyer went to look
for his civil acquaintance, Mr. Toner. Him he found on the bridge, and
in a somewhat sulky humour, apparently by no means pleased at being
sought out. Not wishing to intrude, Coristine made an excuse for his
appearance in the bits of board, which he professed to have forgotten to
take out of the dug-out. "That sort of lumber don't count for much in
these parts," remarked Ben, suspiciously, and his intending companion
retired, feeling that, though a limb of the law, he was a miserable
sham.

While in the chamber which witnessed the dominie's transformation, the
lawyer had perceived that its window commanded the bridge and the
adjoining parts of the river. Leaving his friend in the enjoyment of his
book, he ascended to the room, and watched like a detective. Soon he saw
a waggon roll up to the bridge, and, almost simultaneously, a large punt
in which was Ben Toner, come from nowhere. Three bundles of apparent
grindstones were laboriously conveyed from the waggon to the punt, after
which the waggon went back and the punt went forward, both becoming lost
to sight in the foliage of road and river. Once more the bell of the
Maple Inn sounded loudly, to inform the general public that the hour of
six had arrived, and to summon guests to the early supper. Descending to
the sitting-room, the amateur detective found his friend there, and
escorted him, with much unnecessary formality, to the tea table. The
fish were there, betrayed, even afar off, by their not unpleasant odour,
and there also was an attractive looking ham, flanked by plates of hot
cakes and other evidences of culinary skill on Madame's part. She poured
out a good cup of tea for the table quartette, while Pierre aided in
distributing the solids. The conversation turned on fish, and, as
before, the dominie spoke French to the hostess, while M. Lajeunesse
made the lawyer acquainted with some piscatorial exploits of Mr. Bulky.
Mr. Bulky had once been upset from the canoe, but, unlike Mr. Wilkinson,
he could not swim. The case might have been a very serious one,
destructive to the reputation of L'Erable ("zatta ees maybole in ze
Fraynsh langwitch," the host explained) and of city visits to the Beaver
River.

"How was he saved?" enquired the lawyer.

"He vas save by potting 'is foot to ze bottom," replied the host.

"I've heard of a man putting a stone on his head and walking through a
river under water, but haven't believed it yet," continued Coristine.

"He had not necessity of a stone; 'is head was op; ze rivare vas not so
'igh zan ze jouldares of Meestare Bulky," answered Pierre quite
seriously.

"Then he saved himself?"

"No, sare, 'is foot save 'im; Meestare Bulky 'ave a veray 'eavy foot.
Eef 'is foot hadda been also leetle as ze foot of M'syae, Meestare Bulky
vould 'ave drown."

Madame's sharp ears overheard this conversation while carrying on that
with Wilkinson, and broke in upon her erring spouse:--

"Teh twa, Pierre! c'n'est paw trop poli d'se moquer des pieds d'un bon
pawtron."

"Mez, Angélique, mwa, me moquer, mwa? et de M'syae Bulky? Aw, ma bonne
Angélique, fi donc!" and M. Lajeunesse withdrew from the table,
overwhelmed with the mere suspicion of such foul treachery and base
ingratitude.

Batiste had put out three wooden arm chairs, and a rocker for Madame, on
the verandah, whither the party of the tea table retired. Coristine
asked her permission to smoke, when it appeared that Pierre had been
waiting for a sign that either of his guests indulged in the weed. As
he also filled his pipe, he remarked to his fellow smoker that "Meestare
Bulky vare good shentleman, and rest 'ere longatimes, bot ze perfume of
ze 'bonne pipe,' same of ze cigawr makea 'im seek."

"Does that interfere with your liberty to smoke?" Wilkinson asked.

"Aw, preciselly; zen most I go to ze stebble and tekka ze younga guestes
zat smoke not in chombres _bouchees_, vat you call zat?"

"Literally, it means corked," replied the dominie; "but I presume you
mean, with door and window closed, as it were, hermetically sealed."

"Preciselly; ve 'ave ze vord in ze Fraynsh langwitch, _érémitique_, zat
ees as a religious oo leeves all alone, vis person zere bot 'imselluf. I
tekka ze guestes zat lofe not ze eremitique life to ze stebble, vare ve
smale ze stingy tawbawc of Bawtiste. M'syae parle Francea, meh peutehtre
ne conneh le tawbawc puant, en Anglah _stingy_, de Bawtiste. C'n'est
paws awgréable, M'syae. Aw, non, paw de tout, je vous asshere!"

"That is very considerate of you," remarked the schoolmaster,
approvingly. "I wish all users of the narcotic were as mindful of the
comfort and health of their neighbours. Regard for the feelings of
others is perhaps the chief distinguishing mark of a gentleman."

"Meestare Bulky ees a shentleman, bot he 'ave no sharitay for smokinga
men," replied Pierre, ruefully.

"That's where the shoe pinches, not your feet, Wilks," said the lawyer,
with a laugh. "You could touch bottom, like Mr. Bulky, with these
gunboats, but on all your privileged classes. Why should Bulky bulk so
large in any place of entertainment as to send everybody else to a
stable? Catch me smoking with that old garlic-perfumed Batiste! How
about the garlic, and peppermint, and musk, and sauer-kraut, and all the
other smells. Any smells about Mr. Bulky, Pierre?"

"Aw yehs; 'ees feeshing goat smale, aw, eet smale an' smale of som stoff
he call ass-afeetiter, ze feesh liike ze smale, bot I am not a feesh."

"See that now, Wilks. This selfish pig of a Bulky, as Monsieur says, has
no charity. He drives clean, wholesome smoke out of the hotel, and
stinks the place up with as nasty a chemical mixture as disgusting
science ever invented. He reminds me of a Toronto professor of anatomy
who wouldn't allow the poor squeamish medicals to smoke in the
dissecting room, because, he said, one bad smell was better than two. If
I had my way with Bulky I'd smoke him blue in the face, if for nothing
but to drown his abominable assafoetida, the pig!"

"Aw, non, M'syae," interrupted Pierre, to protect the idol of the Maple
Inn; "Meestare Bulky ees not a peeg, but assafeetiter is vorse zan a
peeg-stye. N'est ce paw, Angélique?"

"I 'ave no vord to say of M'syae Bulky," replied Madame, taking up her
mending and entering the house. She was at once recalled to the verandah
by a juvenile voice that called "Mrs. Latchness!" The speaker soon
appeared in the person of a small boy, about twelve years old, who,
hatless, coatless, and shoeless, ran up from the river bank. "Vat you
vant vis me, Tommee?" asked Madame. "I come from Widder Toner's--Ben's
dyin', she says, and can't move a stir. She wants to know if they's
anybody here as knows anything about doctorin', and, she says, hurry
awful quick!" cried the breathless youngster.

"I 'ear you spick of medical, M'syae Coristine; do you know it? Can you
'elp ze pauvre vidow?" asked Madam.

"It's mighty little I know, Madame, but I'll go. Wait till I get my
flask," said the lawyer, going after his knapsack in the sitting room.
Returning, he handed it to the hostess with the request that she would
fill it with the best, and add any remedy she had in the house. Soon she
came out of the railed-off bar with a filled flask and a bottle of St.
Jacob's Oil. Pocketing them both, the lawyer said, "Come on, Tommy,"
and, with his guide, set out for Widow Toner's.




CHAPTER VII.

     Ben's Sudden Sickness--The Spurious Priest--Coristine as
     Doctor--Saved by the Detective--Anxiety at the Maple--A Pleasant
     Evening--Sunday Morning and Ben--The Lawyer Rides--Nash and the
     Dominie Talk Theology on the Road--At the Talfourds--Miss Du
     Plessis the Real--The False Meets Mr. Rawdon--Mr. Terry and
     Wilkinson at the Kirk.


"What is the matter with Ben?" asked Coristine, as they single-filed
along the narrow path by the river.

"He's tumbled down over some grindstones, and hurt himself, and fainted
right away," replied the youthful Tommy, pulling up handfuls of tall
grass and breaking an occasional twig from a bush as he stumbled along.

"What are you to the Toners?"

"I ain't nuthun' to the Toners."

"How did you come to be their messenger, then?"

"I was runnin' to the farm to tell the widder that the priest was
comin', when she come out cryin' and sent me off. Guess the priest's
there by now."

"What priest is it you saw?"

"I didn't see no priest. Old Mum Sullivan, she saw him, and sent and
told mother to tell widder Toner, 'cos she's a Roman, too. She said it
was a new priest, not Father McNaughton, the old one, and she guessed he
was all right, but she didn't like his looks as well as t'other's."

"Then you are not a Roman."

"Naw, what are you givin' us? I play a fife on the Twelfth."

"Oh, you are an Orangeman?"

"Yum, Young Briton, same thing."

"So, you Orangemen run to help the Roman Catholics when they are sick or
want to know if the priest is coming, and then, on the Twelfth, you feel
like cutting each other's throats."

"I don't want to cut nobody's throat, but we've got to sass 'em on the
Twelfth to keep up the glorious, pious and immortal memory, and to
whistle 'em down 'The Protestant Boys.' We've got three fifes and three
drums in our lodge."

After more of this edifying conversation, the pair arrived at a clearing
on the river, containing a house and some out buildings, not far from
its bank. These communicated by a private road with the public one,
which crossed the stream about an eighth of a mile farther on. Turning
the corner of the barn, Coristine saw a gray-haired woman, and a clean
shaven man in clerical garb, leaning over the prostrate figure of Ben.

"Are you a doctor, sir?" asked the tearful woman, rising and coming
towards him.

"Not exactly, Ma'am," replied the lawyer; "but perhaps I may be of use."

He then leaned over the sick man, and saw that he not only breathed, but
had his eyes open upon the world in quite a sensible way. "What is the
matter?" he asked the reverend gentleman, who was also contemplating the
recumbent Toner.

"He says his back is sore, paralyzed, and that he can't move a limb,"
replied the priest in an unprofessional tone.

"How did it happen, Mr. Toner?" enquired the lawyer; and Ben, in a
feebly and husky voice, replied:--

"I was rollin' quite a loaud on the slaant, when I got ketched with a
back sprain, and the loaud slipped and knocked me down, and rolled over
my stummick. That's all."

"Quite enough for one time," said Coristine; "is there such a thing as a
loose door, or some boards we can make into a stretcher, anywhere
about?" Ben called to his mother to show the doctor where the door was
that he was going to put on the hen-yard. This was soon found, and, a
blanket or two being laid upon it, the clergyman and the improvised
doctor transferred the groaning patient to it, and so carried him into
the house, where they undressed him and put him to bed on his face.
"Say, doctor, I'll choke like this," came from the bed in the sick man's
muffled voice, to the lawyer, who was ordering the widow to get some hot
water and provide herself with towels or cotton cloths. "No you won't,
Toner; turn your head to one side," he called. "That's better," remarked
the patient, as he took advantage of the permission, and then
continued: "I'd like ef you'd call me Ben, doctor, not Toner; seems as
ef I'd git better sooner that way." Coristine answered, "All right,
Ben," and withdrew to a corner with the priest for consultation. "What's
the matter?" asked the priest, in a businesslike, unsympathetic tone.

"So, you give me back my question. Well, as the water will be some time
getting ready, and it will do our man no harm to feel serious for a few
minutes more, I'll go into it with your reverence homeopathically. The
root of his trouble is a whiskey back. That accidentally led to a
muscular strain, involving something a little more paralyzing than
lumbago. He has no bones broken in that strong frame of his, but the
grindstones have bruised him abdominally. I hope my treatment for the
root of the disease will be more successful than that of the oriental
physician, who prescribed for a man that had a pain in his stomach,
caused by eating burnt bread. The physician anointed him with eye salve,
because he said the root of the disease lay in his eyes; had they been
all right, he would not have eaten the burnt bread, and consequently
would not have had the pains."

The priest chuckled beneath his breath over the story; then, with
earnestness, asked, or rather whispered: "Will he get well soon?"

"Well enough, I think, to sit up in half-an-hour," replied the doctor of
the moment.

"My dear sir, may I ask you to delay your treatment until I perform a
religious office with your patient? This is a favourable time for making
an impression," said the hitherto callous priest.

"Certainly, Father, only be short, for he is suffering physically, and
worse from apprehension."

"I shall require all persons, but the one to whom I give the comforts of
religion, to leave the room," called the priest aloud.

"It isn't the unction, Father?" cried Ben, piteously.

"Oh, doctor, the boy's not going to die?" besought the mother, at the
boiler on the stove.

"I can answer for his reverence and myself," replied the lawyer; "he
will not administer the last rites of the Church to the living, nor will
I let my patient die."

Then he and the widow retired, as the priest took out a book, knelt by
the bedside, and opened it. The reverend gentleman, however, was in too
great a hurry to begin, and too little sensible how far his penetrating
voice would carry, for, at the first words of the prayer, Coristine made
an indignant start and frowned terribly. The words he heard were,
"Oratio pro sickibus, in articulo mortis, repentant shouldere omnes
transgressores et confessionem makere----"

He felt inclined to rush in and turn the impudent impostor and profaner
of the sacred office out of the house neck and crop, especially as the
poor mother took him by the arm, and, with broken voice through her
tears, said: "O, doctor, doctor, it's the last words he's taking!" But
his legal training acted as a check on his impetuosity, and, standing
where he was, he answered the grief-stricken woman: "Never fear, Mrs.
Toner, you and I will pull him through," which greatly comforted the
widow's heart.

Five minutes passed by Coristine's watch, and then he determined to
stand the nonsense no longer. He coughed, stamped his feet, and finally
walked in at the door, followed by the widow. The pseudo priest was
sitting on a chair now, listening to the penitent's confidences. "Time
is up," said the lawyer fiercely, and the impostor arose, resumed his
three-cornered black wideawake, pocketed his book, which really was a
large pocket book full of notes in pencil, and expressed his regret at
leaving, as he had another family, a very sad case, to visit that night.
As he passed Coristine, the latter refused his proffered hand and hissed
in his ear: "You are the most damnable scoundrel I ever met, and I'll
serve you out for this with the penitentiary." The masquerader grinned
unclerically, his back being to the other occupants of the house, and
whispered back, "Not much you won't, no nor the halfpenny tentiary
either; bye-bye!"

"How are you feeling, Ben?" the lawyer asked the sick man, as he
approached his bedside.

"Powerful weak and so-er," replied the patient.

Coristine called the mother, poured some St. Jacob's Oil into the palm
of her hand, and bade her rub down her son's back at the small. "Rub
hard!" he said; and she rubbed it in. Three or four more doses followed,
till the back was a fine healthy colour.

"How does that work, Ben?"

"It smarts some, but I can wriggle my back a bit."

Then the doctor poured some whiskey out of his flask in the same way and
it was applied.

"Do you think you can turn round now?" he asked; and, at once, the
patient revolved, lying in a more convenient and seemly position.

"Bring the hot clothes, Mrs. Toner, and lay them on the bruised part, as
hot as he can stand it. The patient growled a little when the clothes
were abdominally applied, one after the other, but they warmed him up,
and even, as he said, 'haylped his back.'"

"Now, Ben, when did you take whiskey last?"

"I ain't had nary a drop the hull of this blessed day."

"Is that true?"

"Gawspel truth, doctor, so haylp me."

"If you don't promise me to quit drinking, I can do nothing for you."

"But he will promise, doctor; won't you now, Benny dear?" eagerly asked
the mother.

"Yaas!" groaned the sufferer, with a new hot cloth on him; "yaas; I
guess I'll have to."

Then, the perfidious doctor emptied his flask into a glass, and poured
in enough oil to disguise its taste. Adding a little water, he gave the
dose as medicine to the unconscious victim, who took it off manfully,
and naturally felt almost himself again.

"Have you plenty coal-oil in the house, Mrs. Toner?" enquired the family
physician; and the widow replied that she had. "Rub the afflicted parts
with it, till they will absorb no more; then let him sleep till morning,
when he can get up and go about light work. But, mind, there's to be no
lifting of heavy weights for three days, and no whiskey at all."

With these words, Coristine received the woman's warm expressions of
gratitude, and departed.

Tommy had gone, so the lawyer had to go back to the Inn alone, and in
the dark. He turned the barn, before which one bundle of grindstones
still lay, the one, apparently, that had floored Ben. Then he made his
way along a path bordered with dewy grass, that did not seem quite
familiar, so that he rejoiced when he arrived at the road and the
bridge. But, both road and bridge were new to him, and there was no
Maple Inn. He now saw that he had taken the wrong turning at the barn,
and was preparing to retrace his steps, when a sound of approaching
wheels and loud voices arrested him. On came the waggons, three in
number, the horses urged to their utmost by drunken drivers, in whom he
recognized the men that he and Wilkinson had met before they took the
road to the Inn. Coristine was standing on the road close by the bridge
as they drove up, but, as the man with the first team aimed a blow at
him with his whip, he drew back towards the fence. "Shoot the d----d
spy, boys," the ruffian cried to the fellows behind him, and, as they
slacked their speed, the lawyer jumped the fence to put some solid
obstacle between himself and their revolvers, which, he knew, they were
only too ready to use. At that moment a horseman rode towards the party
from the other side of the bridge, and, while aiming a blow with a stout
stick at the first scoundrel, a blow that was effectual, called to the
others, in a voice of authority, to put up their pistols "O Lord, boys,
it's Nash; drive on," called one, and they whipped up their patient
animals and rattled away in a desperate hurry. "You can come out now,
Mr. Coristine," said the horseman; "the coast is clear."

"You have the advantage of me, sir," remarked the lawyer, as he vaulted
back again into the road.

"No I have not," replied the other; "you called me a damnable scoundrel,
and threatened me with the penitentiary, a little while ago. How's
Toner?"

"I am obliged for your interference just now on my behalf, but must
decline any intercourse with one who has been guilty of what I regard as
most dishonourable conduct, profaning the sacred name of religion in
order to compass some imfamous private end."

"My ends, Mr. Coristine, are public, not private, nor are they infamous,
but for the good of the community and the individuals composing it. I
know your firm, Tylor, Woodruff and White, and your firm knows me,
Internal Revenue Detective Nash."

"What! are you the celebrated Mr. Nash of the Penetang Bush Raid?" asked
the lawyer, curiosity, and admiration of the man's skill and courage,
overcoming his aversion to the latest detective trick.

"The same at your service, and, as the best thing I can do for you is
to take you to your Inn, a dry way out of the dew, you can get on my
beast, and I'll walk for a rest," replied the detective, alighting.

Coristine was tired, so, after a little pressing, he accepted the mount,
and, of course, found it impossible to refuse his confidence to the man
whose horse he was riding.

"What did you do with your clerical garb?" he asked.

"Have it on," replied Nash; "it's a great make up. This coat of black
cord has a lot of turned up and turned down tag ends, the same with the
vest, and the soft hat can be knocked into any shape with a dift of the
fist. With these, and three collars, and moustache, beard, and whiskers,
that I carry in my pocket, I can assume half-a-dozen characters and
more."

"How do you justify your assumption of the priestly character?"

"I want information, and assume any character to get it, in every case
being guilty of deception. You think my last rôle unjustifiable because
of the confessional. Had I simulated a Methodist parson, or a
Presbyterian minister, or a Church of England divine, you would have
thought much less of it; and yet, if there is any bad in the thing, the
one is as bad as the other. Personally, I regard the confessional as a
piece of superstitious ecclesiastical machinery, and am ready to utilize
it, like any other superstition, for the purpose of obtaining
information. Talk about personating the clergy; I have even been bold
enough to appear as a lawyer, a quaker, a college professor, a sailor,
and an actress."

"You have certainly led me to modify my opinion of your last
performance."

"Which nearly gave me away. So you won't send me to the penitentiary;
thanks! And now, as I said at first, how's Toner?"

"Oh, Toner's all right, with the fieriest skin on him that ever lay
between two sheets. He has promised to give up drinking."

"It's very likely he'll have to."

"Why so?"

"They don't allow refreshments so strong in gaol."

"Be as easy as you can with the poor fellow, Mr. Nash."

"All depends on his future behaviour, and, in some other capacity, I
shall let him know his danger."

As the two figures came down the road toward the Inn, a voice hailed
them, the voice of the dominie. "Is Mr. Coristine there?" it shouted.

"Yes; here am I," came from the back of the horse.

"What bones are broken or wounds received?" was the pitiful but correct
question.

"Not a bone nor a wound. Mr. Nash has treated me to a ride."

"Aw ça!" ejaculated Pierre, "M'syae Nasha homme treh subtil, treh rusé,
conneh tout le monde, fait pear aux mauveh sujah."

"What is he?" asked the schoolmaster, speaking English, in his
eagerness; and the landlord replied in the same.

"Ee is vat you call detecteur, police offisare vis no close on 'im.
Anysing vas to go in ze custom house and goes not, he find it out. O, a
veray clevaire mann!"

Coristine dismounted for the purpose of introducing his companion.
Personally, he would as readily have performed this office on horseback,
but he knew that the schoolmaster was a stickler for ceremony. While the
introduction was going on, Pierre took Mr. Nash's horse by the bridle,
and led the procession home. There, Madame stood in the porch eagerly
waiting for news of "ce jeune homme si courageux, si benveillont," and
was delighted to hear that he was safe, and that Mr. Nash, an old
acquaintance, was with him. When the party entered the house, Wilkinson
looked at the detective, and then, with a start, said: "Why, you are
Dowling, the Dowling who came to the Sacheverell Street School, with a
peremptory letter from the trustees, to take the lower division boys,
and disappeared in ten days."

"The same, Mr. Wilkinson; I knew you as soon as I heard your voice."

"You disarranged our work pretty well for us, Mr. Dow--Nash. What were
you after there, if it is a fair question?"

"I was after the confidence of some innocent youngsters, who could give
me pointers on grindstones and their relation to the family income. As I
know you both, and our friends of the hotel are not listening, I may say
that I am so interested in this problem as to have made up my mind to go
into grindstones myself."

These remarks led to an animated triangular conversation over the
Grinstun man, in which the two pedestrians gave the detective all the
information they possessed regarding that personage. They urged that an
immediate effort should be made to hinder his acquiring the hand and
property of Miss Du Plessis, and, thereafter, that united action should
be taken to break up his injurious commerce. Mr. Nash prepared to
accompany them on their walk to church in Flanders, and asked the lawyer
if he had any objection to ride his horse part of the way, with a bundle
behind him, if he, the detective, would carry his knapsack. Coristine
consented, on condition that his new friend would also lend him his
riding gaiters. Madame produced the wherewithal to spend a social
half-hour before retiring, and, in answer to the detective, said: "Ze
sack ees in ze commode in ze chombre of M'syae." Mr. Nash laughed, and
over his glass and clay pipe, confided to his fellow-conspirators that
he had a few little properties in that bag, and was much afraid that
some of them would compel him to desecrate the Sabbath. "You are used to
my religious performances, Mr Coristine; I hope your friend, and my old
principal, Mr. Wilkinson, will not be as hard on me as you were."

Then the dominie was informed of the events of the evening, and the
parties separated for the night.

Sunday morning dawned clear and cloudless, giving promise of a glorious
day. Everybody in the inn was up before six o'clock; for at seven it was
the intention of the three guests to take the road for a place of
worship in Flanders. Ben Toner was waiting on the verandah for the
appearance of Coristine; and, when that gentleman came out to taste the
morning air, greeted him with clumsy effusion, endeavouring, at the same
time, to press a two-dollar bill upon his acceptance. The lawyer
declined the money, saying that he had no license to practise, and
would, consequently, be liable to a heavy fine should he receive
remuneration for his services. He enquired after Ben's health, and was
pleased to learn that, while his heroic remedies had left the patient
"as rayd as a biled lobister," externally, he was otherwise all right,
except for a little stiffness. Mr. Nash came down-stairs, dressed in a
well-fitting suit of tweed, and sporting a moustache and full beard that
had grown up as rapidly as Jonah's gourd. Going up to the man whom he
had confessed the night before, he asked him: "Do you know me again,
Toner?" to which Ben replied: "You bet your life I do; you're the curous
coon as come smellin' round my place with a sayrch warnt two weeks ago
Friday." Satisfied that his identity in Ben's eye was safe, the
detective led him away on to the bridge, and engaged in earnest
conversation with him, which made Mr. Toner start, and wriggle, and back
down, and impart information confirmatory of that extorted the night
before, and give large promises for the future. The two returned to the
verandah, and, before the lawyer went in to breakfast, his patient bade
him an affectionate farewell, adding, "s'haylp me, Mr. Corstine, ef I
don't be true to my word to you and the old woman about that blamed
liquor. What I had I turned out o' doors this mornin', fust thing, and I
shaant take in no more. That there bailiff's done me a good turn, and I
won't ferget him, nor you nuther, Doctor, ef so be it's in my power to
haylp you any." Coristine took his leave of the simple-hearted fellow,
and went to join the company at the breakfast table. Mr. Nash was there,
but, for convenience of eating and not to astonish the host and hostess,
he had placed his beard and moustache in his pocket. It was handy,
however, and could be replaced at a moment's warning.

Batiste brought round the detective's horse, and the lawyer, in borrowed
riding gaiters, bestrode him, hooking on to the back of the saddle a
bundle somewhat larger than a cavalry man's rolled-up cloak. The bundle
contained Mr. Nash's selected properties. That gentleman allowed Madame
to fasten the straps of Coristine's knapsack on his shoulders, while
Pierre did the same for Wilkinson. The dominie had paid the bill the
night before, as he objected to commercial transactions on Sunday, so
there was nothing to do but to say good bye, bestow a trifle on Batiste
and take to the road. The detective, after they had done half a mile's
pleasant walking, took command of the expedition, and ordered The
Cavalry, as Coristine called himself, to trot forward and make a
reconnoisance. His instructions were to get to the Carruthers' house in
advance of the pedestrians, to find out exactly who were there, and to
return with speed and report at headquarters, which would be somewhere
on the road. Saluting his friend and his superior officer, the lawyer
trotted off, his steed as well pleased as himself to travel more
speedily through the balmy atmosphere of the morning. The dominie and
his quondam assistant were thus left to pursue their journey in company.

"Do you enjoy Wordsworth, Mr. Nash?" asked Wilkinson.

"Oh yes," replied the detective, "the poet, you mean, We are seven, and
the primrose by the river's brim. Queer old file in the stamp business
he must have been. Wish I could make $2,500 a year like him, doing next
to nothing."

"There is a passage that seems to my mind appropriate. It is:--

     Us humbler ceremonies now await;
     But in the bosom with devout respect,
     The banner of our joy we will erect,
     And strength of love our souls shall elevate;
     For, to a few collected in His name.
     The heavenly Father will incline His ear.
     Hallowing Himself the service which they frame.
     Awake! the majesty of God revere!
       Go--and with foreheads meekly bow'd,
       Present your prayer: go--and rejoice aloud--
     The Holy One will hear!"

"You should have been a parson, Mr. Wilkinson; you do that well. I'd
like to take lessons from you; it would help me tremendously in my
profession. But I find it mighty hard to do the solemn. That time in
your school was almost too much for me, and your friend twigged my
make-up last night."

"I find it hard," said the schoolmaster, "not to be solemn in such
scenery as this on such a morning. All nature seems to worship, giving
forth in scent and song its tribute of adoration to the Creator, to
whose habitation made with hands we are on our way as worshippers."

"'Fraid I shan't do much worshipping, church or no church. You see, Mr.
Wilkinson, my business is a very absorbing one. I'll be looking for
notes, and spotting my men, and working up my clues all the time the
parson's bumming away."

"Ah, you have read Tennyson's 'Northern Farmer'?"

"Never heard tell of it; but I've got my eyes on some northern farmers,
and they'll have my attention soon."

"Your expression, 'bumming away,' occurs in it, so I thought you had
found it there. It is rather a severe way in which to characterize the
modern preacher, who, take him on the whole, deserves credit for what I
regard as a difficult task, the presentation of some fresh subject of
religious thought every Sunday all the year round."

"My mind works too fast for most of them. I can see where the conclusion
is before they have half got started. There's no fun in that, you know."

"Do you not sometimes meet with clergymen that interest you?"

"Now and then. The learned bloke who cuts his text into three, and
expounds them in detail, I can't stand; nor the wooden logical machine
that makes a proposition and proceeds to prove it; nor the unctuous
fellow that rambles about, and says, 'dear friends,' and makes you wish
he had studied his sermon. But, now and then, I fall in with a man who
won't let me do any private thinking till he's done. You hear his text
and his introduction, and wonder, how the dickens he is going to
reconcile the two. He carries you on and on and on, till he does it in a
grand whirl at the end, that lifts you up and away with it, like the
culminating arguments of the counsel for the prosecution, or the
peeler's joyful run in of a long-sought gaol-bird. I like that sort of a
parson; the rest are jackdaws."

"Perhaps they suit the average mind?"

"If they did, we ought to have graded churches as well as graded
schools. But they don't, except, in this way, that people have got
accustomed to the bumming. The preachers I like would keep up the
interest of a child. There was one I heard on the text, 'I form the
light and create darkness.' His introduction was, 'God is light and in
Him is no darkness at all.' He jerked us up into the light and banged
us down into the darkness, almost laughing one minute and crying the
next. Then he went to hunt up his man, and found him in the devil and
the devil's own, all fallen creations of God. Any schoolboy could follow
that sermon and take its lessons home with him. There was a logical
bloke, at least he thought himself logical, who took for his text
Joseph's coat of many colours, a sort of plaid kilt I should think; and
said, 'I shall now proceed to prove that this was a sacerdotal or
priestly garment. First, it occupies a prominent position in the
narrative; second, it excited the enmity of Joseph's brethren; and
third, they dipped it in blood when they sold their younger brother.' I
could have proved it as logically to be Stuart tartan, and, at the same
time, the original of the song 'Not for Joe,' because he lost it before
he became steward to Pharaoh. Bah! that's what makes people sick of
going to church. I've pretty nigh quit it."

The pedestrians trudged on for a time silently, the detective,
doubtless, revolving schemes in his brain, the dominie inwardly sighing
over his companion's captious criticism, to which he could not well
reply, and over the absence of his legal friend, whose warm Irish heart
would have responded sympathetically to the inspiration of the Sabbath
morning walk. At last, Mr. Nash resumed the conversation, saying:--

"I'm afraid, Mr. Wilkinson, that you think me a pretty hard-hearted,
worldly man, and, perhaps, that my calling makes me so."

"I have no right to judge you, Mr. Nash," answered the schoolmaster;
"but I should think that the work of hunting down law-breakers would
have the effect of deadening one's sensibilities."

"It shouldn't, any more than the work of a clergyman, a doctor, a
teacher, or a lawyer. We all, if we are honest, want to benefit society
by correcting evils. I see a lot of the dark side of human nature, but a
little of the bright too, for, thank Heaven, there is no man so bad as
not to have some little good in him. There's that Toner, once a fine
young fellow; I hate to see him going to the dogs, wasting his property,
breaking his old mother's heart. I'd rather save that man any day than
gaol him."

"Give me your hand, sir," said the dominie, heartily, transferring his
staff to his left, and offering the right; "I honour you for the saying,
and wish there were more officers of the law like you."

"Oh, as for that matter," replied the detective, "I and my colleagues
have tried to save many a young fellow, but then--"

"What is the obstacle?"

"The obstacle is that there are men who simply won't be saved."

"Oh, I suppose that is true theologically as well as legally."

"Of course; if the law don't want to have a lot of criminals to hunt out
and shut up and punish, it stands to reason that the Source of all law
doesn't. But, for the good of society and the world, these criminals
have to be separated from them, and their bad work stopped. To say that
the law hates them, and takes vengeance on them like a Corsican, is
utterly to misunderstand the nature of law. Yet, that is what
nine-tenths of the parsons teach."

"That is very unfortunate."

"Unfortunate? it's diabolical. If I were to go into a good man's house,
and present his children with a hideous caricature of their father, so
as to terrify some and drive others clean away from him, wouldn't I
deserve to be kicked out? I should think so! Now, I say every good thing
in man must be found a million times better in man's Maker. If the
foundation principle of human law is benevolence to society, the
foundation principle of divine law must be something higher and better,
not revenge. But you know these things better than I do."

"Not at all; I could not express myself better. What you have found out
is stated by Dr. Whewell, the famous Master of Trinity, in the Platonic
form, that every good thing in man and in the world has its archetype in
the Divine Mind. Every bad thing, such as revenge and anger, has no such
archetype, but is a falling away, a deflection, from the good."

"How do you explain the imputation of bad things to God, such as hate,
revenge, terrorism, disease, death, beasts of prey, and all the rest?"

"In two ways; first, as a heathen survival in Christianity, borrowed
partly from pagan national religions, partly from the misunderstood
phraseology of the Old Testament; and, second, as the necessary result
of a well-meant attempt to escape from Persian and Manichaean dualism."

"But there is a dualism in law, in morals, in nature, and in human
nature, everywhere in this world; there's no getting over it."

"Of course there is, but the difference between the dualism of fact and
that of the Persian system is, that the evil is not equal, but inferior
and subordinate, to the good."

"It gets the upper hand pretty often, as far as this world is
concerned."

"And why? Just for the same reason that bad governments and corrupt
parties often get the upper hand, namely, by the vote of the majority,
through which the minority has to suffer. Talk about vicarious
suffering! Every good man suffers vicariously."

"These are deep things, Mr. Wilkinson, too deep for the average parson,
who doesn't trouble himself much with facts unless he find them
confirmed by his antiquated articles."

"Yet my attention has been drawn to them by thoughtful clergymen of
different denominations."

"Well, I don't think I'll trouble the clergymen to-day, thoughtful or
not thoughtful. I've had my sermon in the open air, a sort of walking
camp meeting. What did they call these fellows who studied on the move?"

"Peripatetics."

"That's it; we're a peripatetic church."

"But, without praise or prayer or scripture lessons, which are more
important than the sermon."

"Oh, you can do the praise and prayer part in a quiet way, as a piece of
poetry says that I learnt when I was a boy. It ends something like
this:--

     So we lift our trusting eyes
     To the hills our fathers trod,
     To the quiet of the skies,
     And the Sabbath of our God.

That's pretty, now! Hallo! here's the doctor!"

Coristine came up at the gallop, and reported that all the people he
expected to find at the Carruthers' were there, Grinstun man, Mrs.
Carmichael, and Marjorie, included, all except Miss Du Plessis, who was
staying at a house three miles this side of the farm, helping to nurse a
sick neighbour.

"Has Rawdon seen her?" asked the detective. The lawyer did not know, but
suggested that they could find out by calling at the house of Mrs.
Talfourd, the sick woman, on the way.

"How far are we from it?" enquired Mr. Nash.

"About a mile or a mile and a-half," replied Coristine.

"Then, Mr. Wilkinson, let us stir our stumps a bit. Can you sing or
whistle? There's nothing like a good tune to help a quick march."

"Yes; sing up, Wilks," cried The Cavalry; and the dominie started
"Onward, Christian Soldiers," in which the others joined, the detective
in a soft falsetto, indistinguishable from a half-cultivated woman's
voice. He was combining business with pleasure, dissimulation with
outward praise.

"Pretty good that for a blooming young lady of five foot ten," remarked
Mr. Nash, at the end of the hymn.

"Blooming young ladies with a tonsure," replied Coristine, gazing on the
detective's momentarily uncovered head, "are open to suspicion."

"Wait till you see my hair." chuckled the ex-priest.

The mile and a-half was soon covered, and the trio stood before a roomy
farm-house. A boy, not unlike Tommy, but better dressed, was swinging on
the gate, and him the detective asked if he could see Miss Du Plessis on
important business. The boy ran into the house to enquire, and came back
to the gate, accompanied by the lady in question. She changed colour as
her eye took in The Cavalry, immovable as a life guardsman on sentry.
The detective handed her his professional card, and explained that he
and his two friends had been entrusted with the duty of protecting her
property and herself. "You need have no doubts, Miss Du Plessis, for the
Squire, as a J.P., knows me perfectly," he continued.

"I have no fear, Mr. Nash," answered the lady, in a pleasant voice, with
just a suspicion of a foreign accent; "your name is known to me, and you
are in good company."

Wilkinson, standing by his friend's stirrup, heard this last statement,
and blushed, while The Cavalry thought he had heard a voice like that
before.

"Has Mr. Rawdon seen you, or have you seen him?" asked the detective.

"Neither; but the two Marjories have been here, and have told me about
him. They do not seem to admire Mr. Rawdon."

"The darlins!" ejaculated the lawyer; whereupon Wilkinson pinched his
leg, and made him cry "Owch!"

The rest of the conversation between the plotters at the gate was
inaudible. At its conclusion, the lady's face was beaming with
amusement.

"Give me that bundle for Miss Du Plessis," said Nash to Coristine, who
lifted his hat to her, and handed the parcel over.

"Now, for instructions," continued the commander-in-chief. "The Cavalry
will go to Bridesdale, that's Squire Carruthers' place, and keep Mr.
Rawdon from going to church, or bring him back if he has started, which
isn't likely. This branch of the Service will also make sure that all
children are out of the way somewhere, and inform older people, who may
be about, that Miss Du Plessis is coming to the house during church
time, and is very much altered by night-watching and sick-nursing, so
that they need not express astonishment before Mr. Rawdon. Fasten these
knapsacks about you somehow, Horse-Doctor; put the beast up where he'll
get a drink and a feed; and go to church like a good Christian. The
Infantry will halt for the present, and afterwards act as Miss Du
Plessis' escort. Infantry, attention! Cavalry, form threes, trot!"

Coristine took the knapsacks, made another bow, and trotted away, while
the dominie walked up to the gate, and was introduced to the fair
conspirator.

After showing the detective and his bundle into an unoccupied apartment,
Miss Du Plessis returned to the sitting-room where she left the dominie.
In the few minutes at their disposal, he informed his new acquaintance
of his chance-meeting with her uncle, of whose arrival in Canada she was
in complete ignorance. The imparting and receiving this news established
such a bond between the two as the schoolmaster had hitherto thought
impossible should exist between himself and one of the weaker sex. Yet,
in her brief absence, he had taken pains to dust himself, and shake up
his hair and whiskers. His companion was preparing to tell how she had
heard of him from Miss Carmichael, when another young lady, almost her
counterpart in general appearance, entered the room.

"Now," said the newcomer, in a deep but feminine voice, "now the false
Miss Du Plessis will go on with her nursing, while the real one takes
Mr. Wilkinson's arm and keeps her appointment at the Squire's."

Miss Du Plessis clapped her hands together and laughed heartily.
Wilkinson, thinking, all the time, what a pretty, musical laugh it was,
could not help joining in the amusement, for Nash was complete from his
wig down to his boots. The colonel's niece threw a light, woolly shawl
over the detective's shoulders, and accompanied the pair to the gate,
where, before dismissing them, she warned her double not to compromise
her to Mr. Rawdon.

"I hope soon to have the pleasure of meeting you, Mr. Wilkinson, under
more favourable circumstances," she called after that gentleman, as they
moved off, and then ran into the house to hide her laughter.

The dominie felt his face getting red, with a pretty young lady hoping
to meet him again, on the one hand, and a not by any means ill-looking
personation of one hanging on to his arm, on the other. After a minute,
the detective withdrew his hand from his companion's arm, but continued
to practise his assumed voice upon him, in every imaginable enquiry as
to what he knew of Miss Du Plessis, of her friend Miss Carmichael, and
of the working geologist's intentions. He was thus pretty well primed,
and all promised well, till, within a quarter of a mile of the house, a
vision appeared that filled him and the disguised Nash, to whom he
communicated his fears, with grave apprehensions as to the success of
the plot. It was no less a person than the veteran, Mr. Michael Terry,
out for a Sunday walk with the Grinston man. Their dread increased as
the old man came running forward, crying: "An' it's comin' back yez are,
my darlin' Mish Ceshile. It's a throifle pale yer lookin', an' no
wonder." Saying this, Michael shook hands with Nash, and whispered:
"Niver fare, sorr, Mishter Coristine towld me all about it."

The made-up lady introduced her father's old servant to Wilkinson,
whose apprehensions were dispelled in a similar way, so that all were
prepared to give Mr. Rawdon the reception intended.

"Ullo, hold Favosites Wilkinsonia," cried the working geologist,
swaggering up with a cigar in his mouth, "'ow's yer bloomin' 'ealth?
That hold bloke of a Hirish haint in a 'urry to do the hamiable between
'is hold guvner's gal an' yours truly. My name, Miss, is Rawdon,
Haltamont Rawdon, workin' geologist and minerologist, and, between you
and me and the bedpost, a pretty warm man."

"Yes; Mr. Rawdon," replied the pseudo Miss Du Plessis, "you look--well,
not pretty--but warm."

"O, dash it hall, that haint wot I meant, Miss Do Please-us; I mean hi'm
a man that's got the dibs, the rhino, the blunt, you know, wot makes the
mare go. I don't go geologizin' round for nothin'."

"You pick up stones, I suppose?"

"Yes; grinstuns, limestun grit, that's the stuff to make you jolly."

"I have heard of drawing blood out of a stone, Mr. Rawdon, but never of
extracting merriment or exhilaration from a grindstone."

"Then you don't know my grinstuns, Miss; they're full o' fun."

"Are they indeed? How amusing! In what way does the fun display itself?"

"A bundle of my grinstuns, distributed at a loggin' bee, a raisin' bee,
or a campaign caucus, ware there's a lot of haxes to grind, can make
more fun than the Scott Act'll spile in a month. But silence is silence
'twixt partners, which I opes you and me is to be."

The fictitious Miss Du Plessis, with much simpering and affectation,
quite unworthy of the original, drew the working geologist out, and
inspired him with hopes of securing her hand and property. Mr. Rawdon
spoke very freely of the wealth he had in the hand and in the bush, of
his readiness to make allowance for Madame Du Plessis, if that "haffable
hold gent," her brother in law, was not prepared to provide for her.
When they reached the house, they found that no one was at home but
Tryphena, who was confined to the kitchen by culinary duties. They,
therefore, occupied the parlour, the Grinstun man seeing no impropriety
in being there alone with a young lady whom he had met for the first
time. Indeed, he was much gratified to find that the lady was not at all
stiff and offish, as he had feared, but as "haffable as her huncle and
more." The lady laughed, and blushed at loud compliments, as loud as the
check of Mr. Rawdon's clothes, and asked flattering questions, which he
answered with a jolliky and recklessness that almost astonished himself.
Was there no romance, no spice of daring in his occupation? she had
asked, and he, remembering that he was talking to a soldier's daughter,
who would, doubtless, appreciate courage, replied enigmatically that the
grinstun business was about the riskiest business on earth, and required
'eroism of no hordinary kind.

While this conversation was going on, the dominie and the veteran were
walking churchward, for, as the former had signified his intention of
going to a place of worship, the old man insisted on accompanying him.

"Oi was born a Catholic, sorr, and a Catholic Oi'll doie, though my
darter is a Pratestant, and what's more, a Prosbytarian. She rades her
Boible an' Oi rade moine, an' there's sorra a bit av differance betwane
thim. If the church is good enough for her, it's good enough for the
loikes av me."

"That is what I call being a Catholic in the truest sense of the term.
We will not deprive people of the kingdom of Heaven because they refuse
to go our way."

"Till me now, sorr, what's that that's pertindin' to be my dear young
misthress, Miss Ceshile?"

"An old soldier knows how to keep a secret, I am sure. It is the famous
detective, Mr. Nash."

"Sure I hope, by my sowl, that he'll make the crathur gnash his tayth.
It was all I could do to kape my hands aff him, as we were walkin' along
to mate yez. Him to make up to the cornel's darter, the misherable,
insignifikint, bad shpokin, thavin' scrap av impidence!"

The church bell had ceased ringing, the horses and waggons were in the
driving shed without any attendant, and, as the pair approached, they
could hear the sound of hearty singing coming through the open windows.
They entered together, the old man crossing himself as he did so, and
sat down in a pew near the door. The schoolmaster saw that the church
was that of Mr. Errol, who occupied the pulpit. He looked round, but
could not see his friend Coristine; nor was little Marjorie anywhere
visible. They must have strolled on farther to Mr. Perrowne's
consecrated edifice for the sake of the walk. Then, with reverent mind,
the dominie joined in the simple worship of the Kirk.




CHAPTER VIII.

     The Services--Nash Routs Rawdon--The Dinner Talk--The Pedestrians
     with the Ladies--Singing out of One Hymn-book--Grinstuns Again--The
     Female Vagrant and the Idiot Boy--Little Marjorie--Nash's
     Thoughts--The Captain and the Plot--Arrival of Rufus and Ben--To
     Arms!


Mr. Errol's sermon was on the text, "Lord, I knew thee, that thou art an
hard man." He elaborated the unfaithful servant's harsh opinion of God,
and, before he sat down, completely exonerated the Father in Heaven from
the blasphemous judgment of those who call themselves His children.
There is a thief in the world who comes to steal and kill and destroy;
he is not God, but the enemy of God's children. The dominie's heart
warmed to the man who, though of a different communion, fulfilled St.
Paul's ideal of a clergyman, in that he arrogated no dominion over the
people's faith, but was a helper of their joy. The sermon lifted the
schoolmaster up, and brought God very near; and the hearty hymns and
reverent prayers helped him greatly. When the service was over, he
waited, and soon Carruthers presented his comely, matronly wife, while
Mrs. Carmichael recalled herself to his remembrance; and, finally, the
minister, having divested himself of gown and bands in the vestry, came
down the aisle with cheery step and voice to bid him welcome to
Flanders. Wilkinson was happy--happier than he had been for many a long
year. He seemed to have so many friends, and they were all so cordial,
so glad to see him--not a hard man or woman among them; and, therefore,
God could not be hard. He walked with the minister, who was going to
dine at Bridesdale and then ride five miles to preach at another
station. He thanked him for his sermon, and talked over it with him,
and, of course, quoted "The Excursion":--

                              If the heart
     Could be inspected to its inmost folds,
     By sight undazzled with the glare of praise,
     Who shall be named--in the resplendent line
     Of sages, martyrs, confessors--the man
     Whom the best might of conscience, truth and hope,
     For one day's little compass, has preserved
     From painful and discreditable shocks
     Of contradiction from some vague desire
     Culpably cherished, or corrupt relapse
     To some unsanctioned fear.

"That's just all the trouble, Mr. Wilkinson," said the delighted
minister. "People think to honour and glorify God by being afraid of
Him, forgetting that perfect love casts out the fear that hath torment,
and he that feareth is not made perfect in love."

With such conversation they beguiled the way till they stood at the gate
of Bridesdale, and entered the hospitable mansion, there to be received
by the odious Grinstun man.

"What in aa' the warld, Marjorie, did Susan mean, sending us yon
godless, low-lived chairact o' a Rawdon?" asked the Squire of his
sister, Mrs. Carmichael.

"I cannot understand it, John," she answered; "for her own Marjorie
fairly detests the little man. Perhaps it is some business affair with
the Captain."

"Aweel, aweel, we maun keep the peace, sin' I'm a judge o't; but I do
not like thee, Dr. Fell."

Then they all entered the house together. Wilkinson found the spurious
Miss Du Plessis gone.

The dominie saw that the working geologist was boring Mrs. Carmichael,
after her return to the drawing-room from laying aside her walking
attire, and valorously interposed to save her. He enquired for her
niece, Marjorie, and learned that that young lady had annexed Coristine
as her lawful prey, and, introducing him to her grown-up cousin, had
arranged the triangular journey to Mr. Perrowne's church. The service
there was longer than in the kirk, so that half an hour would probably
elapse before the two Anglican perverts appeared with their captive, the
lawyer. Before the absentees made their appearance, a man--dressed in
Mr. Nash's clothes, but with the beard and moustache recognized by Ben
Toner as those of the bailiff--was ushered in and greeted by the Squire
as Mr. Chisholm. The rest of the company seemed to know the transformed
detective, including the Grinstun man, whom he rallied on his attentions
to a young lady.

"You're a nice man, Rawdon, when every decent person has gone to church,
gallivanting with young ladies. I saw you at the Talfourds."

"Don't care a 'ang if you did," replied Rawdon, "if Miss Do Pleas us
takes a shine to a warm man, and gives you 'and-to-mouth beggars the
go-by, that honly shows 'er common sense."

"What has Miss Du Plessis got to do with it?"

"She's got this to do with it, that she's promised to be my missus
before the week's hout."

"When?"

"Wy, this mornin'; 'ere in this blessed room."

"Oh, come, Rawdon, you are joking. Miss Du Plessis hasn't been out of
Mrs. Talfourd's to-day."

"Don't you try none of your larks hon me, Mr. Chisholm. You can't take a
rise hout of this kid, hinnercent has he looks."

"But, I tell you she has not. Who do you think that girl was you brought
home Talfourd's place?"

"Wy, Miss Do Please us, of course; 'oo else could it be?"

Mr. Chisholm laughed loud and long, and at last ejaculated: "Miss Du
Plessis! Oh, but you're a green hand, Rawdon, to take Martha Baggs for
her; the daughter of old Baggs, in the revenue service. Hope you didn't
give your friends away, Rawdon?"

"You think you're pretty clever, Mr. Chisholm, comin' hover me with your
Marther Baggses. Hold Hirish knows Miss Do Please-us, I should say, and
wouldn't go takin' no Marther Baggs for 'er."

"Mr. Rawdon," interposed the Squire, "I'll thank you to speak more
respectfully of my father-in-law; as good a man, I judge, as yourself."

"No hoffence, Squire; but I wish you'd hask the hold gent to come 'ere
and shut up this 'ere bailiff's mouth with 'is Marther Baggs."

Mr. Terry, who preferred the society of the kitchen to that of the
parlour, was produced, and, on being asked if the lady with Mr. Rawdon
was Miss Du Plessis, answered that his "sight was gettin' bad, an' the
sinse av hairin' too, an' if it wor Miss Jewplesshy, she had changed her
vice intoirely, an' got to be cruel rough an' common in her ways. Av
coorse, it moight have been the young misthress; but Talfer's was nigh
to han', an' it was aisy axin'."

A horrible suspicion came over the Grinstun man, and paled his rubicund
visage. He darted up to his room, and speedily re-appeared with knapsack
on back and staff in hand, ready for the road. Mr. Carruthers pressed
him to stay at least for dinner, but he was resolved to solve the
mystery by a visit to the Talfourds, and said that, if Mr. Chisholm was
right, he would not be back for a while. His retreating figure was
watched with positive pleasure by most of the company, and with still
greater satisfaction by the small party returning from the Anglican
service.

"What garred ye fricht Rawdon awa, Mr. Chisholm?" asked the Squire.

"I wanted to eat my dinner comfortably," replied the detective, putting
beard and moustache in his pocket, when all the company, except the
dominie who knew, cried out, "it's Mr. Nash."

"To think of you deceiving me," exclaimed Mr. Carruthers, "and me a
justice of the peace. I've a thocht to bring you up for conspiracy."

"There can be no conspiracy without at least two persons," answered the
detective.

"But, man, you are two persons, that I've known off and on as Chisholm
and Nash."

"When he was one of my masters," put in the dominie, "his name was
Dowling."

"And this morning," remarked the man of aliases, with a smile, "I was
Miss Du Plessis or Martha Baggs, so Rawdon will have hard work to find
the lady of his affections."

At this juncture Coristine and his fair companions entered, and, while
the young Marjorie renewed her acquaintance, Wilkinson was gravely
introduced to one of his own teachers, to the no little amusement of the
lady herself, of the lawyer, and of the company generally who were in
the secret. Miss Carmichael explained that Mr. Perrowne had declined to
come to dinner, but would look in later in the day when Cecile came
home; whereat many smiled, and the dominie frowned heavily. Mrs.
Carruthers now announced dinner, when the Squire took in his sister,
Wilkinson, her daughter, Coristine, Marjorie, and Mr. Errol, the
hostess. All the pairs agreed in congratulating themselves on the
absence of the Grinstun man, and looked with approbation on Mr. Nash,
who, all alone but cheerful, brought up the rear. There was no room at
the table for the five youthful Carruthers, who rejoiced in the fact and
held high carnival in the kitchen with Tryphena and Tryphosa and their
maternal grandfather. Mr. Errol had said grace, and dinner was in
progress, when the hall door was heard to open, and, immediately, on
went the detective's facial disguise. But the lightness of the step that
followed it reassured him, so that his smooth features once more
appeared. Shortly afterwards Miss Du Plessis entered, apologizing for
her lateness, and taking the vacant chair between the host and the
dominie.

"I was really frightened," she said to the former, "by a dreadful little
man, with an Indian hat and a knapsack, who stopped and asked me if I
was Miss Do Please-us. When I told him that my name was Du Plessis, he
became much agitated, and cried 'Then I'm done, sold again and the money
paid,' after which he used such very bad language that I actually ran
away from him. I looked round, however, and saw him hurrying away
towards the Talfourds'." Wilkinson looked very fierce and warlike, and
attacked his food as if it were the obnoxious Rawdon.

"Cecile," said Miss Carmichael across the indignant dominie, "I told a
fib about you this morning, but quite innocently. I said you would not
be home to dinner."

"Neither I would, were it not that Mrs. Talfourd's sister came in after
church, and offered to stay with her the rest of the day. Whom did you
tell?"

"Your devoted friend, Mr. Perrowne."

Miss Du Plessis blushed a little, and the schoolmaster cut the clergyman
up several times and stuck his fork into him savagely. Then he commenced
a conversation with the Squire, into which the lady between them was
almost necessarily drawn. Mr. Nash edified Mrs. Carmichael; her
daughter conversed with the minister, to the latter's delight; while
Coristine divided his attentions between the hostess and Marjorie.

"What was Mr. Perrowne preaching on, Marjorie?" asked Mrs. Carruthers.

"Pillows on the ground," replied that young person.

Her cousin laughed, and came to the rescue, saying: "It was the Church,
the pillar and ground of the truth; Marjorie seems to associate all
English Church services with bedtime."

"There wasn't much bedtime about the service this morning," interposed
the lawyer; "the parson rattled along in grand style, and gave Miss
Carmichael, and all other broken reeds of dissenters, some piping hot
Durham mustard. Did it sting, Miss Carmichael?"

"Is that the effect mustard has on broken reeds, Mr. Coristine?"

"It is rather a mixing of metaphors, but you must make allowance for an
Irishman."

Mrs. Carruthers at once conversed with her countryman, or rather her
father's countryman, on Ireland, its woes and prospects, during which
Marjorie informed Mr. Errol that she had not known what made her
cousin's cheeks so red when looking on Eugene's prayer-book. Now she
knew; it was Durham mustard that stings. There must have been some in
the book. The victim of these remarks looked severely at the culprit,
but all in vain; she was not to be suppressed with a frown. She remarked
that Saul had a hymn-book that made you sneeze, and she asked him why,
and he said it was the snuff.

"What did Eugene put mustard in his prayer-book for?"

"Mr. Coristine didna say he put mustard in his bookie, Marjorie," said
the minister; "he said that Mr. Perrowne put mustard in his sermon,
because it was so fiery."

"I don't like mustard sermons; I like stories."

"Aye, we all like them, when they're good stories and well told, but
it's no easy work getting good stories. That was the way our Saviour
taught the people, and you couldna get a higher example."

"Why have we hardly any of that kind of teaching now?" asked Miss
Carmichael.

"Because the preachers are afraid for one thing, and lazy, for another.
They're afraid of the most ignorant folk in their congregation, who will
be sure to charge them with childishness and a contempt for the
intellect of their people. Then, it takes very wide and varied reading
to discover suitable stories that will point a Scripture moral."

"You seem to be on gude solid releegious groond doon there, meenister,"
interrupted the master of the house; "but Miss Du Plessis and Mrs.
Carmichael here are just corruptin' the minds o' Maister Wilkinson and
Maister Nash wi' the maist un-Sawbath like havers I ever hard at an
elder's table. We had better rise, gudewife!"

Shortly after the company returned to the parlour, Mr. Errol signified
that he must take his departure for the Lake Settlement, where his
second congregation was. At this Mr. Nash pricked up his ears, and said
he would saddle his horse and ride over with him. "Na, na!" cried the
Squire, "he'll no ride the day; I'll just get the waggon oot, and drive
ye baith there and back." Orders were given through Tryphosa, a comely,
red-cheeked damsel, who appeared in a few minutes to say that Timotheus
was at the gate. All went out to see the trio off, and there, sure
enough, was Timotheus of Peskiwanchow holding the restive horses. It
transpired that Carruthers, having lost his house servant through the
latter's misconduct, had commissioned his sister to find him a
substitute, and Marjorie's interest in Timotheus had resulted in his
being chosen to fill the vacant situation. He grinned his pleased
recognition of the two pedestrians, who bravely withstood all the
temptations to get into the waggon and visit the Lake Settlement. When
the waggon departed, Mrs. Carruthers went to her children, taking
Marjorie with her, and Mrs. Carmichael went upstairs for a read of a
religious paper and a nap. The young ladies and the tourists were the
sole occupants of the sitting-room. The lawyer went over to Miss Du
Plessis, and left his friend perforce to talk to Miss Carmichael.

"I hear, Miss Du Plessis, that you own a farm and valuable mineral
land," said Coristine.

"Did Messrs. Tylor, Woodruff and White give you that information?" she
asked in return.

"No, indeed; do you know my firm?"

"Very well, seeing I have been two years in Mr. Tylor's office."

"Two years in Tylor's office, and me not know it?"

"You do not seem to take much interest in feminine stenographers and
typewriters."

"No, I don't, that's a fact; but if I had known that it was you who were
one, it would have been a different thing."

"Now, Mr. Coristine, please make no compliments of doubtful sincerity."

"I never was more sincere in my life. But you haven't answered me about
the land."

"Well, I will answer you; I have no farm or valuable minerals, but my
father left me two hundred acres of water and wild land near what's
called the Lake Settlement, which he bought when Honoria married Mr.
Carruthers and took up her residence here."

"Do you know if the taxes are paid on your land?"

"No, I was not aware that wild land and water could be taxed."

"Taxed is it? You don't know these municipalities. If you had a little
island in your name, no bigger than this room, they'd tax you for it,
and make you pay school rate, and do statute labour beside, though there
wasn't a school or a road within ten miles of it. For downright jewing
and most unjustifiable extortion on non-residents, commend me to a
township council. You'll be sold out by the sheriff of the county, sure
as eggs, and the Grinstun man'll buy your property for the arrears of
taxes."

"Whatever shall I do, Mr. Coristine?" asked the alarmed young lady; "I
do not wish to lose my father's gift through negligence."

"You should have taken advice from the junior member of Tylor, Woodruff
and White," replied the lawyer, with a peculiar smile; "but the Grinstun
man has bagged your estate."

"Oh, do not say that, Mr Coristine. Tell me, what shall I do? And who is
the man you mean?"

"The man I mean is the one that met you when you came here to dinner. He
is going to quarry in your farm for grindstones, and make his fortune.
But, as he wants yourself into the bargain, I imagine he can't get the
land without you, so that somebody must have paid the taxes."

"Then it is the little wretch Marjorie told me of, the cruel creature
who kicked a poor dog?"

"The very same; he is the Grinstun man. I've got a poem on him I'll read
you some day."

"That will be delightful; I am very fond of good poetry."

"Wilks says it isn't good poetry; but any man that grovels over
Wordsworth, with a tear in the old man's eye, is a poor judge."

"I admire Wordsworth, Mr. Coristine, and am afraid that you are not in
earnest about poetry. To me it is like life, a very serious thing. But,
tell me, do you think the land is safe?"

"Oh yes; I wrote to one of the salaried juniors, giving him instructions
to look after it, just as soon as I heard what Grinstuns had his eye
on."

"Mr. Coristine! How shall I ever thank you for your kindness, you, of
all men, who profess to treat us workers for our living as positive
nonentities?"

"By forgetting the past, Miss Du Plessis, and allowing me the honour of
your acquaintance in future. By the-bye, as you admire Wordsworth, and
good poetry, and airnest, serious men, I'll just go and send Wilks to
you. I have a word for Miss Carmichael. Is she constructed on the same
poetic principles as yourself?"

"Go away then, _farceur_! No; Marjorie is inclined to frivolity."

With a wave of her fan, she dismissed the lawyer, who began to think
lady stenographers and typewriters a class worthy of platonic attention.
"Short hand!" he muttered to himself; "hers is rather a long one and
pretty, and she is a favourable type of her kind, but I'm afraid a pun
would make her faint, when Wilks would certainly call me out and shoot
me dead with his revolver."

"Wilks, my boy," said Coristine aloud, when he reached the stiff chair
in which the dominie sat erect, facing Miss Carmichael on a lounge at
safe distance; "Miss Du Plessis would like to hear you discuss
Wordsworth and other Sunday poets. She doesn't seem to care about
hearing my composition on the Grinstun man."

The dominie eagerly but properly arose, answering: "Miss Du Plessis does
too much honour to my humble poetic judgment, and, in regard to your
doggrel, shows her rare good sense." He then walked across the room to
the object of his laudation, and, taking Coristine's vacated chair,
remarked that few poets preach a sermon so simply and beautifully as the
author of "The Excursion." Would Miss Du Plessis allow him to bring down
his pocket volume of the Rydal bard? Miss Du Plessis would be charmed;
so the schoolmaster withdrew, and soon reappeared with the book all
unconsciously open at "She was a phantom of delight." With guilty eyes,
he closed it, and, turning over the pages, stopped at the fifth book of
"The Excursion," announcing its subject, "The Pastor." It was now the
lady's turn to be uncomfortable, with the suggestion of Mr. Perrowne.
The lawyer, whose back had been turned to the poetic pair, looked
unutterable things at Miss Carmichael, who, not knowing to what extreme
of the ludicrous her companion might lead her, suggested a visit to the
garden, if Mr. Coristine did not think it too warm. "It's the very thing
for me," answered the lawyer, as they arose together and proceeded to
the French windows opening upon the verandah; "it's like 'Come into the
garden, Maud.'" They were outside by this time, and Miss Carmichael,
lifting a warning finger, said: "Mr. Coristine, I am a school teacher,
and am going to take you in hand as a naughty boy; you know that is not
for Sunday, don't you now?"

"If it was only another name that begins with the same letter," replied
the incorrigible Irishman, "I'd say the line would be good for any day
of the week in fine weather; but I'm more than willing to go to school
again."

"Sometimes," said the schoolteacher quietly, "sometimes the word
'garden' makes me sad. Papa had a great deal of trouble. He lost all his
children but me, and almost all his property, and he had quarrelled with
his relations in Scotland, or they had quarrelled with him; so that he
was, in spite of his public life, a lonely, afflicted man. When he was
dying, he repeated part of a hymn, and the refrain was 'The Garden of
Gethsemane.'"

"Ah, Miss Carmichael, dear, forgive me, the stupid, blundering idiot
that I am, to go and vex your tender heart with my silly nonsense. I'm
ashamed, and could cry to think of it."

"I will forgive you, Mr. Coristine," she replied, recovering from her
serious fit, and looking at the victim in a way that blended amusement
with imperiousness: "I will forgive you this once, if you promise future
good behaviour."

An impulse came over the lawyer to shake Miss Carmichael's hand, but she
made him no shadow of an excuse for so doing. It was plain that the
mutual confidences of the girls, which embraced, using the word in a
mere logical sense, their year long distant acquaintance with the
transformed pedestrians had given maturity to the closer and more
pleasant acquaintance of the day. Little Marjorie's appropriation of the
lawyer as her Eugene added another ripening element to its growth; so
that the two garden explorers felt none of the stiffness and uncertainty
of a first introduction. What Miss Carmichael's thoughts were she only
could tell, but she knew that the impetuous and affectionate Coristine
required the merest trifle of encouragement to change the steady
decorous tide of advancing knowledge and respect into an abruptly
awkward cataract, threatening the rupture of pleasant relations or the
loss of self-respect. She would have preferred talking with Wilkinson,
as a check upon the fervour of his friend, but, although she laughed at
the dominie's culpable ignorance of her city existence, in her secret
soul it piqued her not a little. No; she would rather take refuge with
the clergy, Mr. Errol or Mr. Perrowne.

Many roses were still in bloom, but, spite of many hints, Coristine's
button hole remained empty. He admired the pinks, the carnations, the
large-eyed pansies, "like Shakespeare's winking Mary-buds," he said, but
all in vain, save a civil answer. The Day-lilies and the sweet-scented
pure white and Japan lilies, the early Phloxes, the Honeysuckles against
the arbours, and many other floral beauties he stopped to inspect, and
wondered if Mrs. Carruthers would mind his gathering a few, although the
house was full of flowers. His companion did not satisfy his wonder,
only answering that she thought flowers looked so much better growing.
Then he pulled himself together, and answered naturally, joking on the
tall Scarlet Lychnis, now almost a garden flower of the past, which boys
call scarlet likeness and scarlet lightning, and ran on into accounts
of botanical rambles, descriptions of curious plants, with here a little
bit of reverent natural theology, and there an appropriate scrap from
some flower loving poet, or a query as to where the worshippers of
Wordsworth had got, if they had left "The Excursion" for the smaller
pieces on the Daisy, and the Celandine, the Broom, the Thorn and the
Yew. In thus talking he gained his end without knowing it, for, instead
of a mere routine lawyer and impulsive Irishman, Miss Carmichael found
in her companion an intelligent, thoughtful, and cultured acquaintance,
whose society she thoroughly enjoyed. Occasionally an unconscious and
half-timid lifting of her long eye-lashes towards his animated, handsome
face thrilled the botanist with a new, if fleeting, sensation of
delight. As they passed through a gate into a hillside meadow, at the
foot of which ran a silvery brook, they were made aware of voices in
song. The voices were two, one a sweet but somewhat drawly female
soprano, the other, a raucous, loud, overmastering shout, that almost
drowned the utterance of its companion. The masculine one furnished the
words to the promenaders, and these were:--

     Shayll we gaythurr at thee rivverr
     Whayerr bright angel feet have traw-odd?

"Do you know who these are?" asked Miss Carmichael.

"If I thought he knew as much tune," replied Coristine, "I should say he
was The Crew."

"Oh, tell me, please, who is The Crew?" Thereupon the lawyer launched
out into a description of his travels, so comical a one that his fair
companion laughed until the tears stood in her eyes, and she accused him
of making her break the Sabbath. "No," she said at last; "that is not
Sylvanus, but it is his brother Timotheus with Tryphosa. They are
sitting in a ferny hollow under these birches down the hill, with a
hymn-book between them, and as grave as if they were in church. Do you
not think, Mr. Coristine, that that is a very nice and proper way for
young people to improve their acquaintance?"

"Very much so, Miss Carmichael. May I go in and get a hymn book? I can
run like a deer, and won't take a minute over it. One will be enough,
won't it?"

The lady laughed a little pleasant laugh, and replied: "I think not,
sir. We are not servants, at least in the same sense, and the piano and
organ are at our disposal when we wish to exercise our musical powers."

"Snubbed again," muttered Coristine to himself; then aloud: "I wish I
were Timotheus."

"If you prefer Tryphosa's company to mine, sir, you are at liberty to
go; but I think your champion of Peskiwanchow would object to such
rivalry."

"Oh, I didn't mean with Tryphosa."

"You do not know what you mean, nor anybody else. Let us return to the
house."

As they sauntered back, the lawyer suddenly cried out: "What a forgetful
blockhead I am. I have had ever so many business questions to put to
you, and have forgotten all about them."

"Had you not better leave business till to-morrow, Mr. Coristine?" asked
the lady, gravely, almost severely.

"Your father's name was James Douglas Carmichael, was it not?" asked
Coristine, ignoring this quietus.

"Yes," she answered.

"He came to Canada in 1848, and was, for a time, in military service at
Kingston, before he completed his medical studies. Am I right?"

"How do you happen to know these things? My father was singularly
reticent about his past life; but you are right."

The lawyer opened his pocket-book and took out a newspaper cutting,
which he handed to his companion. "I found that at Barrie," he said,
"and trust I have not taken too great a liberty in constituting myself
your solicitor, and opening correspondence with Mr. MacSmaill, W.S.,
regarding your interests."

"It was very kind of you," she answered; "do you think it will bring us
any money, Mr. Coristine?"

"Yes; it must bring some, as it is directed to heirs. How much, depends
upon the wealth of your father's family."

"They were very wealthy. Papa told mamma to write home to them, but she
would not. She is too independent for that."

"Will you sanction my action, and allow me to work this case up? Your
mother cannot be an heir, you know, save in a roundabout way; so that
you, being of age, are sole authority in the matter."

"How do you know I am of age?"

"I don't; but thought that, perhaps, you might be, seeing you are so
mature and circumspect in your ways."

"Thank you for the doubtful compliment. I am of age, however."

"Then will you authorize me to proceed?"

"With all my heart."

"Do you know it makes me very sorry to become your solicitor?"

"Why?"

"Because henceforth ours are mere business relations, and I, a
struggling junior partner, must be circumspect too, and stand in proper
awe and distant respect for a prospective heiress."

"Do not allow your reverence to carry you too far to an opposite
extreme. You have been very good during most of our walk, and I have
enjoyed it very much."

As she tripped in at the French window, Coristine could not reply. It is
probable that he ejaculated inwardly, "the darlin'!" but, outwardly, he
took out his pipe and sought consolation in the bowl of the Turk's head.
While patrolling the long path down towards the meadow, he heard a low
whistle, and, proceeding to the point in the fence whence it came, found
Mr. Rawdon, as pale as he well could be, and much agitated. "Look 'ere,
Mr. Currystone," he said, "I've bin down to Talfourds and a good bit
further, and I find a fellow called Nash 'as bin about, plottin' to 'urt
my business along of that brute of a Chisholm. They can't 'urt it much,
but I can 'urt them, and, wot's more, I will. 'Ow I found out wot
they're about is my haffair. I hain't got no time to lose, so you tell
the genniwin Simon Pure Miss Do Please-us as I'll hoffer 'er a thousan'
dollars cash for that there farm of 'ers till to-morrow mornin'. 'Er
hacceptance must be hat the Post-hoffice hup the road hany time before
ten o'clock, and the deed can be drawn hup between you and me and the
Squire just has soon therehafter as she pleases. Ha, ha! pretty good,
eh? Miss Do Please-us, she pleases! Bye, bye! Mr. Currystone, don't you
forget, for it's business."

The Grinstun man stole along the meadow fence and travelled over the
fields, back way, towards the Lake Settlement. Emptying his pipe, the
lawyer found Miss Du Plessis and at once announced Mr. Rawdon's
proposal, which he urged her not to accept. She said the land was
certainly not worth any more, if it were worth that amount, and that a
thousand dollars would be of much immediate use to her mother. But
Coristine reminded her that Colonel Morton was, in all probability, with
her mother now, and begged her at least to wait until their joint
opinion could be procured. To this she agreed, and further conversation
was checked by the arrival of Marjorie, the five young Carruthers and
Mr. Michael Terry.

The whole party sallied out of the windows on to the verandah, the lawn,
and thence out of the front gate, where they found the dominie in a
state of radiant abstraction, strutting up and down the road, and
quoting pages of his favourite poet. He had just completed the lines:--

     And yet a spirit still, and bright
     With something of an angel light.

The lawyer went up to him before he came near and hissed at his friend,
"What about our compact?" to which the dominie, with a fierce
cheerfulness, replied, "It is broken, sir; shivered to atoms; buried in
oblivion. When a so-called honourable man takes a young lady walking in
garden and meadow alone, and breathes soft trifles in her ear, the
letter, the spirit, the whole periphery of the compact is gone. Your
conduct, sir, leaves me free to act as I please towards the world's
chief soul and radiancy. I shall do as I please, sir; I shall read
Louisa and Ruth and Laodamia and the Female Vagrant, none daring to make
me afraid. A single tress of ebon hair, a single beam of a dove-like
eye, shall be enough to fortify my heart against all your legal lore,
your scorn, your innuendos, your coward threats."

"Wilks, you're intoxicated."

"Such intoxication as mine is that of the soul--a thing to glory in."

"Well, go and glory, and read what you please; only add the Idiot Boy to
the Female Vagrant and you'll be a lovely pair. I'm going to do as I
please, too, so we're both happy at last."

Thus saying, the lawyer returned to Marjorie, while the dominie stood
stock still in the road, like a man thunderstruck, repeating: "The Idiot
Boy, the Female Vagrant, a pair?--and he was once my friend! A pair, a
pair--the Female Vagrant, the Idiot Boy!--and that slimy, crawling,
sickening caterpillar of a garden slug was once known to me! Truly, a
strange awaking!"

It was now six o'clock, the time under ordinary circumstances for tea;
but the circumstances were extraordinary, as the Squire, Mr. Nash and
the minister had to be waited for. The party was in the road waiting for
them. "Look, Eugene!" cried Marjorie; "there's Muggins. Here Muggy,
Muggy, good doggie!" Muggins came on at full speed, and, striding at a
very respectable pace, his master followed.

"Ow, Mr. Coristine, sow glad to see you again, I'm shore. I was
delighted to see you bringing two straye sheep into the true fowld this
morning. I howpe Miss Marjorie will turn out a good churchwoman; woun't
you now, Marjorie?"

"I'm not a woman, and I won't be one. A woman wears dirty clothes and a
check apron and a sun-bonnet. We've had a charwoman like that in our
house, and a washerwoman; and in Collingwood there's a fish-woman and an
apple-woman. I've seen them with my very own eyes. I don't think it a
bit nice of you, Mr. Brown, to call me a charwoman."

"I said churchwoman, my dear, not charwoman."

"It's the same thing; they scrub out churches. I've seen them do it. And
they're as old and ugly--worse than Tryphena!"

"Hush, hush, Marjorie!" interposed Miss Du Plessis; "you must not speak
like that of good Tryphena. Besides, Mr. Perrowne means by a churchwoman
one who is like me, and goes to the Church of England."

"If it's to be like you, and you will marry Eugene and go to the Church
of England, I will be a churchwoman and go with you."

Mr. Perrowne glowered at the lawyer, whom, a moment before, he had
greeted in so friendly a way. Coristine laughed, as he could afford to,
and said: "I'm sorry, Marjorie, that it cannot be as you wish. I am not
serious enough for Miss Du Plessis, nor a sufficient judge of good
poetry. Your friend wouldn't have me at any price; would you now, Miss
Du Plessis?"

"Certainly not with that mode of asking. How unpleasantly personal
children make things."

Muggins and the young Carruthers were having lots of fun. He sat up and
begged for bread, he ran after sticks and stones thrown by feeble hands,
he shook paws with the children, had his ears stroked and his tail
pulled with the greatest good-nature. Right under the eyes of the still
dumbfoundered dominie, his owner accompanied Miss Du Plessis into the
house, while Coristine prevailed on Marjorie to sing a hymn with a
pretty plaintive tune, commencing:--

     Once in royal David's city
     Stood a lowly cattle shed,
     Where a mother laid her infant
     In a manger for his bed;
     Mary was that mother mild,
     Jesus Christ her little child.

The old soldier left his grandchildren with Muggins and came to hear the
hymn. "The Howly Vargin bliss the little pet," he ejaculated, and then
crooned a few notes at the end of each verse.

"Fwat is it the Howly Scripchers says, sorr, about little childher an'
the good place?" he asked Coristine.

The lawyer took off his hat, and reverently replied: "Of such is the
Kingdom of Heaven."

The veteran crossed himself, and said: "There niver was a thruer word
shpoke or in wroitin', an' fwat does the childher, the innicents, know
about Pratishtants an' Cathlics, till me that now?"

As Coristine could not, the pair refilled their pipes and smoked in
company, an ideal Evangelical Alliance.

Soon the waggonette came rattling along the road, and Marjorie ran to
meet her Uncle John and the minister, with both of whom she was a great
favourite. Mr. Nash also had a word to say to her: "You remember
scolding me for not going to church when I was Mr. Chisholm? Well, I've
been there this afternoon, and Mr. Errol told us we are all getting
ready here for what we are to do in Heaven. Now, you're a wise little
girl, and I want you to tell me what I will be able to do when I get
there. It can't be to hunt up bad people, because there are no bad
people in Heaven. What do you think about it?"

"I know," answered Marjorie, gravely; "play chess with dead uncles and
ministers, and teach tricks to the little children that never growed
up."

"Out of the mouths of babes!" ejaculated Mr. Errol, who overheard the
conversation; then continued: "Could anything be truer? The training in
observation and rapid mental combinations, which has made you successful
in your profession, is the foundation of your prowess on the chess
board. Your skill in every sort of make-up enables you to manipulate
handkerchiefs and oranges for children's amusement. The same training
and skill our Father can turn to good account in the upper sanctuary."

"Thank you, Mr. Errol, thank you, Marjorie, my dear. Perhaps the good
God will be kinder than we think, and find some use for a poor, lonely,
careless detective." Mr. Nash was unusually thoughtful, yet still had an
eye to business. He made diligent enquiries about Rawdon, and, at last,
getting on the scent through Miss Du Plessis, found out all that
Coristine and Timotheus had to tell of him. The latter had watched the
working geologist slinking off in the Lake Settlement direction across
the fields and by bush tracks. Mr. Terry and the children, having
partaken of tea, remained out in the front with Muggins, and sang some
more hymns, Marjorie leading their choir. The rest of the household,
reinforced by Mr. Perrowne, who, much to Wilkinson's disgust,
monopolized Miss Du Plessis, sat round the ample tea-table. In a
shamefaced way, as if engaged in an illegal ecclesiastical transaction,
the English clergyman mumbled: "For what we are about to receive," and
the evening meal proceeded. The Squire had ceded his end of the table to
his sister, and had taken his post at her left, where he talked to the
dominie, his next neighbour, and across the table to Mr. Errol. Perrowne
flanked the hostess on the right, and Nash on the left. Miss Du Plessis
sat between Perrowne and Wilkinson, a stately and elegant bone of
contention; while the lawyer had the detective on one side and Miss
Carmichael on the other. As that young lady had something to do with the
arrangement of the table by Tryphosa, in the matter of napkin rings, it
was, if Coristine only knew it, a mark of her confidence in him that
she permitted his presence on her right. Nevertheless he profited little
by it, as she gave all her conversation to the minister, save when the
attention of that elderly admirer was taken up by her uncle. As Perrowne
was compelled to be civil to Mrs. Carruthers, while Mr. Nash entertained
the lawyer, an opportunity was afforded the schoolmaster of improving
his acquaintance with Miss Du Plessis, of which he took joyful
advantage, feeling that in so doing with all brilliancy he was planting
thorns in the breasts of two innocent beings, whom he inwardly
characterized as a clerical puppy and an ungrateful, perfidious,
slanderous worm. Neither the puppy nor the worm were happy, as he
joyfully perceived.

The meal was over, and they were preparing to have early evening prayers
for the sake of the children, when a vehicle drove up, and a burly form,
clad in navy blue broadcloth with a plentiful trimming of gilt buttons,
descending from it, came along the path towards the house, accompanied
by Marjorie.

"It's papa!" she cried to Carruthers and his wife, who had gone to the
door to see who their visitor was, and call the children in. It was the
Captain, and in the buggy, holding the reins, sat The Crew. "Don't sit
grinning there, you blockhead!" shouted the ancient mariner to Sylvanus;
"hev ye been so long aboard ship ye can't tell a stable when you see it?
Drive on, you slabsided swab!" The Captain's combination of lumbering
with nautical pursuits gave a peculiar and not always congruous flavour
to his pet phrases; but Sylvanus did not mind; he drove round the lane
and met Timotheus.

"We have just finished tea, Captain," said Mrs. Carruthers with her
pretty touch of a cultivated Irish accent; "but Marjorie will tell
Tryphosa to set yours on the table at once."

"All right, Honoria!" growled Mr. Thomas; "I'm in port here for the
night, and I'm a goin' to make fast; so be I hev to belay on to the lee
side of a stack of shingle bolts. Now, Marjorie, my pet, give daddy
another kiss, and run away for a bit. John, I want you right away."

With the latter words, the Captain took the Squire off to the far end of
the verandah, and sat down with his legs dangling over among the
flowers, causing his brother-in-law to do the same. "John," said he,
taking off his naval cap, and mopping his forehead, "you're all goin' to
be murdered to-night in your bunks, else I wouldn't ha' quit dock o'
Sunday."

"Whatever do you mean, Thomas?"

"I mean what I say, and well to you and yourn. Sylvanus was down at
Peskiwanchow, gettin' some things his brother left there, when he
shipped for you. There's a bad crew in that whiskey mill, and, fool as
he is, he was sharp enough to hear them unbeknown. Says one of 'em,
'Better get out the fire-engines from town,' and he laughed. Says
another, 'Guess the boys'll hev a nice bonefire waitin' for us, time we
get to Flanders.' Then the low-down slab-pilers got their mutinous heads
together, and says, 'The J.P. and the bailiff's got to be roasted
anyway, wisht we could heave Nash in atop.' I've left the cursing and
swearin' out, because it's useless ballast, and don't count in the deal
any more'n sawdust. Now, John, what do you think of that?"

"It looks serious, Thomas, if your man is to be depended on."

"My man depended on? Sylvanus Pilgrim to be depended on? There's no more
dependable able-bodied seaman and master mill-hand afloat nor ashore.
He's true as the needle to the pole and the gang-saw to the plank. Don't
you go saying wrong of Sylvanus."

"I must take Nash into confidence with us, and call up your informant,"
said the Squire, leading the Captain into the house and setting him
carefully down at the tea table, where Mrs. Carruthers waited upon him.
Then he looked up Sylvanus in the kitchen, and told him to report as
soon as he had taken his supper. "We have no time to lose, Pilgrim," he
added, "so let Tryphena alone till our talk is over. She'll keep."

"I ain't agoin' ter persume ter tech Trypheeny, Square, an' I'll be
along in a half tack," replied The Crew.

Next, Nash was found smoking a cigar, and talking very earnestly with
Mr. Errol about presentiments, and sudden remembrances of childhood's
days. He dropped the conversation at once when business was mentioned,
and, in a few minutes, the Squire's official room contained five men,
with very serious faces, seeking to come to a full understanding of what
seemed a diabolical plot on the part of some spiteful malefactors. Four
of these have already been indicated; the fifth was the lawyer, who
proved a useful addition for pumping Sylvanus dry and taking careful
notes.

While the consultation was in progress, a gentle tap came to the door,
and, following it, a voice that thrilled the lawyer, saying, "May I come
in, uncle; I have some news for you?" Carruthers opened the door, when
Miss Carmichael told him that young Hill, the girls' brother, had
arrived with another man, and wanted to see him immediately on special
business that would not wait, and that they seemed to have been out
shooting. The Squire went out and returned with Rufus and Ben Toner. The
former related how Ben had gone to afternoon meetin' to tell what he
knew of the conspiracy to clean out all the scabs in Flanders, and have
trade run smooth. Coristine examined his old patient, who readily
responded, and Nash, who was now Chisholm in beard and moustache, helped
the interrogation. Toner's information, like that of Sylvanus, came from
accidentally overhearing the talk of four men in a waggon, driving
Flanders way during church time, while he was fishing in the river.

"I heerd 'em say as they'd be a big blayuz afore mornin', and as Squier
Cruthers, and the bailiff, and Nash, and a raivenue gaal, had got to go
to kingdom come. One on 'em says he seen Mr. Nash and got a hit off his
stick. He's a goin' to lay for him straight and for them two walkin'
spies likeways."

"What made you look up Rufus?" asked the lawyer.

"I thort the raivenue gaal might a been one of his sisters that's here.
Besides, he's got a gun, and so have I, and I'm a goin' to be true to my
word, Doctor, to you and the bailiff too, ef I have to shoot aivery
mother's son of them vilyins."

The Captain and Sylvanus, with Rufus and Ben, all testified to the
moving of several teams, with rough-looking characters on board, along
the roads that led towards Flanders, and the Lake Settlement in
particular. The Squire and Mr. Nash had noticed the same.

"Ben," said the latter, taking off his disguise, "I think I can trust
you. I am the detective Nash."

Toner started, but quickly recovered himself, and, rising, gave his hand
to the man of aliases, saying, "You kin, Mr. Nash, s'haylp me. Old man
Newcome swears he's a goin' to hev your life, but he won't ef I'm any
good."

The detective shook hands warmly, and, taking Ben aside, found that he
had no personal knowledge of Rawdon, the Newcome of whom he spoke being
apparently the go between. The intimacy between them, which was near
ruining the young man, had come about through Toner's attention to
Newcome's daughter, Sarah Eliza. "But," continued the unhappy lover,
"the old man's been and had Serlizer off for more'n a year, and puts me
off and off and better off, till I just up and wouldn't stand it no
more. I ain't a goin' to sell his stuff, nor drink his stuff, nor hev
nawthun more to do along of his gang, but I'd like to know where
Serlizer's put to, and I'm here and my gun, with a lot of powder and
shot and slugs, for the stummik of any gallihoot as lays a finger on
you, Mr. Nash, or the doctor or the gals."

Returning to the group, the detective urged immediate defensive action,
leaving the offensive till the morrow. The Squire at once looked up his
armoury, consisting of a rifle, a fowling piece (double-barrelled) and a
pair of heavy horse-pistols, with abundant ammunition. The Captain
reported that Sylvanus had a shotgun (single-barrelled), and that he had
brought the blunderbuss with which he fired salutes off the _Susan
Thomas_. Coristine answered for the revolvers carried by himself and the
dominie. The clergy were called in and the situation explained, when
both volunteered for service. Mr. Perrowne had a very good gun at his
lodgings; and his landlady, whose father had been in the army, possessed
a relic of him in the shape of an ancient carbine, which he was sure she
would lend to Mr. Errol, with bayonet complete. He went for them, under
escort of Rufus and Ben. When Mr. Terry was told, he begged for his son
in law's "swate-lukin' roifle," and was as cheerful as if a wedding was
in progress. Finally, Timotheus got the fowling piece and the Squire
looked to the priming of his pistols. Mr. Nash, of course, had both
revolver and dirk knife concealed somewhere about his person. Then Mr.
Errol conducted family prayers, the children were sent to bed, the
ladies briefly informed of the situation, and the garrison bidden a more
than usually affectionate good-night.




CHAPTER IX.

     The Squire Posts Sentries--Sylvanus Arrests Tryphosa--Change of
     Watchword--Nash Leads an Advance--The Cheek of Grinstuns--The
     Hound--Guard-room Conversation--Incipient Fires Extinguished--The
     Idiot Boy--Grinstun's Awful Cheek--The Lawyer and the Parson
     Theologize--Coristine's Hands--Doctor and Miss Halbert.


The full strength of the garrison was twelve able-bodied men, of whom
five carried fowling pieces, one a blunderbuss, another a carbine,
another a rifle, and four were armed with pistols. The Squire was in
supreme command, and Mr. Nash was adjutant. They decided that the
garrison as a whole should go on guard for the night, that is, from ten
o'clock till six in the morning, a period of eight hours, making, as the
Captain put it, four watches of two hours each. Thus the remaining ten
were divided into two guards of five, and, as the morning guard, from
four to six, would probably not be required, it was determined to put
those who had most need of rest on the companion one from twelve to two.
These were Captain Thomas, the veteran Terry, the two parsons, with
Wilkinson, who was thrown in simply as a pistol man, the only other of
the kind being the lawyer. With ammunition in their pockets, or slung
round their shoulders, the first guard sallied forth under the Squire's
guidance. Coristine was left to watch the front of the house behind the
shrubbery bordering the fence, and keep up communication with Nash, who
patrolled the road on horseback. Ben Toner's station was the path
running parallel with the palings on the left of the garden, beyond
which was an open field, not altogether destitute of stumps. Silvanus
was posted on the edge of the meadow, at the back of the garden and
out-houses; and Timotheus, on the right of the stables and connected
buildings. Just where the beats of the brothers met, there was a little
clump of timber, the only point affording cover to an advancing enemy,
and to that post of honour and danger Rufus was appointed. Having
placed his men, the Squire returned to the guard-room, his office, and
ordered Tryphosa to bring refreshments for the guard, to which he added
a box of cigars. The guard discussed the cold ham, the cheese and
biscuits, and, in addition, Mr. Errol indulged in some diluted sherry,
Perrowne and Wilkinson in a glass of beer, and the Captain and the
veteran in a drop of whiskey and water. The Squire took a cigar with
those who smoked, but maintained his wakefulness on cold tea. Every half
hour he was out inspecting the sentries. Coristine had suggested that
the friendly answer to a challenge should be Bridesdale, but, lest the
enemy should hear this and take advantage of it, all suspicious persons
should be required also to give the countersign, Grinstuns. The dominie
sneered at him for the latter; but, when he saw his friend sally forth
with loaded pistol to the post of danger, his enmity died, and, rising,
he silently shook hands with him at the door. Returning to the
guard-room, he breathed a silent prayer for his friend's safety, and
then fortified his inner man with the fare provided. Conversation
accompanied the impromptu supper, and the subsequent cigar or pipe, at
first led by the divines, but afterwards taken clean out of their mouths
by the Captain and the veteran, who furnished exciting accounts of their
experience in critical situations.

The Squire had gone out for the second time to inspect the sentries. It
was eleven o'clock. Coristine, who was first visited, reported a sound
of voices at the back of the house, and Toner confirmed the report. The
commander-in-chief hastened to the gate leading into the hill meadow,
and perceived a figure struggling in the strong grasp of Sylvanus. The
sentinel's left arm was round the prisoner, and the gun was in his right
hand. As they came towards the gate, the Squire heard piteous entreaties
in a feminine voice to be let go, and the answer: "'Tain't no kind o'
use, Tryphosy, even ef ye was arter Timotheus an' not me; that ain't it,
at all. It's this: yer didn't say Bridesdale when I charlinged yer, nor
yer couldn't bar-sign Grinstuns. All suspicious carriters has got to be
took up, and, ef that ain't bein' a suspicious carriter, this mate on
the starn watch don't know what is. I'm rale sorry for yer, and I'm
sorry for Timotheus, but juty is juty and orders is strict. Come on,
now, and let us hope the Square'll be marciful."

"What is the meaning of this nonsense, Pilgrim?" asked the commander,
angrily.

"It's a suspicious carriter as can't give no account of itself, Square.
She might ha' been shot as like as not, ef I hadn't gone and took her
pris'ner."

"Let the girl alone, and don't make a laughing stock of yourself. You've
already said the passwords loud enough for any lurker to hear, so that
we'll hae to change them aa because o' your stupeedity. Be serious and
keep your eyes and gun for strange folk, men or women."

Tryphosa fled into the house, whither Tryphena--who, falling into the
same error, had crossed the beat of Timotheus--had already betaken
herself, being driven off the field by the more sensible and merciful
younger Pilgrim. When the Squire had completed his rounds, he returned
to the guard-room, and, telling the story of Sylvanus' folly, which
roused the Captain's ire, showed the necessity for new watchwords and
better instruction of sentries.

"It maun be something the lads and all the rest o' us ken weel, Squire.
What think ye o' Cricket and Golf?" asked Mr. Errol.

"I am afraid that Ben Toner might not know these words," put in the
dominie.

"What?" cried Mr. Perrowne, "do you really mean to say that
this--ah--Towner needs to be towld what cricket is?"

"I fear so," Wilkinson answered; with the effect that no heathen could
have fallen lower in the parson's estimation than did Ben.

"I say good, ship-shape words are Starbud and Port," growled the
Captain.

"In Sout Ameriky it was Constituthion and Libertad," suggested Mr.
Terry.

"Pork and Beans 'll no' do; nor Burdock and Blood Bitters; nor Powder
and Shot," said the Squire, ruminating; "for the one ca's up the tither
ower nayteral like. What say ye, Maister Wilkinson?"

Wilkinson was taken aback by the suddenness of the question, and blurted
out what had been only too much in his thoughts; "Idiot and Boy."

"Capital!" "Well said!" "The very thing!" "Jest suits Sylvanus!" the
various voices responded; and the Squire went out to the sentries to
make the desired change. The lawyer chuckled when he received the new
words, and all the other sentinels repeated to themselves the poetic
terms "Eejut and Boy."

It was just on the stroke of midnight, time to relieve the guards, when
the distant sound of pistol shots in rapid succession fell
simultaneously on the ears of Coristine, Ben and Sylvanus. The lawyer,
stepping hastily to the house, called out the armed inmates, and in
another minute or so Nash came galloping up. "Stay where you are,
Squire, with your sentries; and, you other men, look to your loading and
come on with me. I've been fired at by a waggon load of them." The five
unposted men hastened out into the road and away after the detective to
the left. After going a short distance, the adjutant called a halt, and
told the veteran to advance in military order. "Now, min," said Mr.
Terry quietly, "extind about tin paces from aich another to the lift,
an' Oi'll be the lifthand man. Thin kape wan eye on me an' the other
before yeez, and advance whin Oi advance undher cover av the stumps and
finces and things. Riddy now--extind!" The movement was well executed,
and, as the veteran was eager for the fray, he led them more rapidly
than it could be thought the old man had the power to run, until they
reached the spot where the waggon had halted. It was gone, without a
sign; so the gallant skirmishers re-formed in the road and marched back
to quarters. When they arrived at the gate, Coristine could not resist
the temptation of a challenge, unnecessary as it was. The dominie was
leading, and him he hailed: "Who goes there?" With momentary hesitation,
Wilkinson answered in the same undertone:--

"Friends."

"The word, friends?"

"Idiot."

"The countersign, Idiot?"

"Boy."

"Pass, Idiot Boy, and all's well!"

The schoolmaster could have boxed that sentry's ears, have slapped his
face, have caned him within an inch of his life; for there was a light
in an upper window, and he knew that bright eyes were looking down
through the slats of the closed green shutters, and that sharp ears had
caught the sound of the obnoxious words. He could detect the accents of
a voice, which he knew so well, pleading the cause of silence with
another that trembled with suppressed laughter as it made ineffectual
promises to be quiet. The two clergymen also heard the friendly
altercation at the window, so still was everything else, and chuckled as
they filed past the legal sentry, now on the broad grin. The Captain and
Mr. Terry were above taking notice of such trifles, for they were
eagerly persuading each other to take just the least drop before going
out into the heavy night dews. No sooner had the five entered the
guard-room than the Squire re-formed them and marched them off to
relieve the old sentries. The lawyer's place was taken by the dominie,
Toner's by the Captain, that of Sylvanus by Perrowne, that of Timotheus
by Errol, and Rufus' post of honour by the veteran, who would accept no
other. There was a sixth guard in the person of Muggins, who kept his
master company and behaved with the greatest propriety and silence.
Sylvanus and Timotheus, Rufus and Ben had a separate guard-house of
their own in the kitchen, where Mrs. Carmichael, who could not sleep
because of her apprehensions of evil to some unknown defender, furnished
them with bread and cheese and innocuous hot elderberry wine and cold
cider. After partaking plentifully of the refreshments, Sylvanus and Ben
lit their pipes, and the latter communicated to the company the story of
his woes in the case of Serlizer. Sylvanus related his adventure in
capturing Tryphosa, which caused Timotheus to move into a corner with
Rufus and declare solemnly and in a low tone, that "Ef Sylvanus warn't
my brother and older'n me, and the next thing t' engaged to Trypheeny,
I'd be shaved an' shampooed ef I wouldn't bust his old cocoanut open."
Rufus, however, replied that girls had no business to be about in war
times, unless it was to nurse the sick and wounded, which was only done
in hospitals, thus justifying Sylvanus' action as a pure matter of
military duty, and reconciling Timotheus to the slight put upon his lady
love.

The Squire and Coristine were alone in the guard-room, save when Mrs.
Carmichael put her head in to ask after the welfare of the party,
especially of the older members.

"Grandfather knows campaigning and can take care of himself," the Squire
answered; "and the Captain's used to out-door life; but there's the
minister now, puir man! Weel, weel, Marjorie, when I gang the roonds,
I'll see if he needs onything."

Then the pair chatted away, chiefly about the Grinstun man, whom
Carruthers came to regard in the light of a spy. Though surrounded on
every side by suspicious circumstances, there was nothing definite
against him, the nearest evidence to a conviction being the geological
or mineralogical expressions which the unguarded dilapidated farmer on
the way to the Beaver River had coupled with his name, and his own
admissions to the spurious Miss Du Plessis.

"Maister Coristine," said the Squire, "gin I thocht yon deevil, seein'
it's Monday mornin' the noo, was at the foondation o' this ploy, I'd
think naething o' spendin' five thoosand to pit an end til's tricks."

"All right, Squire; I think I'll go into criminal law, and work it up
for you."

"What's yon? I maun gang out, for I hear Mr. Wilkinson calling me."

The lawyer accompanied him to the door. Nash was at the gate to report
that he had seen small parties and single individuals, some distance off
the road on both sides of the house, whose actions were more than
suspicious. Had they carried firearms larger than pistols he would have
been sure to detect the gleam of steel. He was sorry now he had drawn
the fire of the waggon on himself, and thus given the miscreants to
understand that their plot was known. Still, they were at it, and meant
mischief. As he could do no further good patrolling the road, he would
put up his horse, and help the Squire to guard the house and
outbuildings. Hardly was his horse in the stable, and himself in the
guard-room, than Mr. Errol's voice, and then the dominie's, were heard
challenging loudly. The Squire flew to the minister, and Nash to
Wilkinson. A stout but elastic figure, so far as the step went, was
coming along the road from the right, whistling "The Girl I left behind
Me." As it came near, the whistling stopped, and Rawdon, with knapsack
on back and staff in hand, appeared before the astonished eyes of the
sentinels. He started at the sight of the minister's carbine. "Wy, Mr.
Herl," he said, "wot the dooce are you a doin' of at this time o' night?
Are you lookin' for night 'awks or howls hafter the chickins, or did you
think I was a wistlin' bear. And you too, Squire! I thought the Hinjins
was all killed bout. Blowed if there haint hold Favosites Wilkinsonia,
and a man as looks like Chisholm! Are you campin' out, 'avin' summer
midnight manoovers for the fun o' the thing?"

Nash went back to the house. "If it's a fair question, Mr. Rawdon," said
the Squire, "where are you going at this time of night?"

"Fair enough, Squire; I'm bound for Collinwood to ketch the mornin'
train. Bye, bye! no time to lose." Off trudged the Grinstun man, once
more whistling, but this time his tune was "It's no use a knockin' at
the door."

The Squire, the detective, and the lawyer held a council of war.

"Pity we hadn't arrested that chap," remarked Mr. Nash.

"Couldn't do it," said Coristine; "there is no warrant for his arrest,
no definite charge against him. A justice of the peace can't issue one
on mere suspicion, nor can he institute martial law, which would of
course cover the case."

"If what Maister Nash has seen be as he thinks," added the Squire, "it's
as weel we laid nae han' on him, for it would just hae preceepitated
metters, and hae brocht the haill o' thae Lake Settlement deevils doon
upon us. D'ye think Rawdon's gaun to Collingwood, Nash?"

"Not a bit of it. I believe he came past here, openly and dressed as he
was, for three reasons. First, he wants to prove an alibi for himself,
whatever happens. Second, he wanted to see how we are guarded, and by
that loud whistling has informed his confederates not far off that it is
useless to try the house from the front. Thirdly, he has circled round
to take command of the villains that fired on me out of the waggon we
couldn't find."

"What's to be done then?" asked the Squire and the lawyer in a breath.

"We must watch the means of access from the left to the right. You see,
there are bushes, young willows and alders, all along the bank of the
creek, behind which they can steal towards that ferny hollow under the
birches, and, from thence, either make for the bit of bush Mr. Terry is
guarding, or creep behind the scattered boulders towards the fence. Your
shrubberies about the house and live hedges and little meadow copses are
very pretty and picturesque, Squire, but a bare house on the top of a
treeless hill would be infinitely better to stand a siege."

"Aye, aye, Nash; but I'm no gaun tae cut doon my bonnie trees an' busses
for a wheen murderin' vagabones."

"Well, I'll get a gun from one of the men in the kitchen, and explore
the hillside below the Captain."

Having secured Ben Toner's gun, the best of the lot, the detective
walked down the garden to the gate, where he found Perrowne vainly
endeavouring to comfort Muggins. The poor dog did not even whine, but
shivered as he stood, otherwise paralyzed with abject terror.

"Crouch down by the fence," whispered the detective in the parson's ear,
and at once crouched down beside him.

"Do you see that moving object coming up the hill from the birches? By
Jove! there's another crawling behind it. What is it?"

"It's an animal of some sawrt," answered Perrowne.

"That accounts for your dog's fear. It isn't a bear, is it? There may be
some about after early berries."

"Now, it's not a bear, though I've been towld dawgs are very much afraid
of bears."

Just then the animal keeled over, and immediately there followed the
report of a rifle. The crawler behind the beast slid back into the
hollow and disappeared. Then, from the left of the house came a volley
that woke the echoes all round; it was the explosion of the Captain's
blunderbuss. The detective ran along the fence to Mr. Terry's beat, and
found the veteran reloading his rifle from the muzzle. "Keep your post,
Mr. Terry," he cried, "while I run and see what it is you have bagged. I
imagine your son-in-law will look after the Captain." Mr. Nash ran down
the hill, closely followed by the lawyer, who had come out to see the
fun. All the bedroom windows were lit up, and eager eyes strained to
learn the cause of the firing, while the remaining sentinels prepared
for action. The animal shot was a large bloodhound, in life a dangerous
brute with horrid, cruel-looking fangs, but now in the agonies of death.
The detective drew his long dagger-like knife, and drove it into the
creature's heart. Then, while Coristine lifted it by the two hind legs,
he took a grasp of its collar, and they carried the trophy of the
veteran's rifle on to the lawn in front of the house. There they learned
that the Captain, being half asleep with no chance of an enemy in sight,
dreamt his ship had been saluted coming into port on a holiday, and, as
in duty bound, returned the salute. The blunderbuss had not exploded; it
always made that grand, booming, rattling, diffusive sort of a report.
The dead hound's collar was examined, and was discovered to bear the
initials A.R. "Who is A.R.?" asked the Squire; and Mr. Nash replied: "He
is no doubt my affianced bridegroom, Haltamont Rawdon."

It was two o'clock in the morning; so the guard was relieved, and the
former sentries returned to their posts; but the Squire noticed, with a
frown, that, just as the relief arrived at Mr. Errol's beat, a female
form clothed in black darted round the stables towards the kitchen door.
Also, he saw that the minister had a most unmilitary muffler, in the
shape of a lady's cloud, round his neck, which he certainly had not when
he went on duty. His high respect for the reverend gentleman hindered
any outward expression of his combined amusement and annoyance. Muggins
came back with Mr. Perrowne, but obstinately refused to go near the dead
hound.

"Do you think he has ever seen it before?" asked the detective.

"I shouldn't be at all surprised," replied the clergyman.

"I lawst Muggins, you know, at Tossorontio, and there was a man there at
the time, a short man in a pea-jacket or cowt, down't you know, who had
a big dawg. When Muggins disappeared, I thought the big dawg might have
killed him. But now I think the man with the pea-cowt saved him from the
big dawg, and that's how Muggins came to gow after him. What do you
imagine that beast was after, coming up the hill towards Muggins?"

"I think he was coming to overpower you, Mr. Perrowne, and bring all
our forces to your aid, while the fellow behind him slipped in and fired
the house or did some similar mischief."

"I tell you, Mr. Nash, he'd have had my two barrels first, and I'm a
pretty fair shot, down't you know? But, look here, it's dry work
mounting guard, sow I'll have another pull at the tankard."

The Squire came in from guard mounting, somewhat fatigued. He had been
on the stretch mentally and physically ever since the Captain's arrival.
"You had better go to bed, grandfather, and take Thomas with you," he
said to the veteran.

"Not a wink this blissid noight, Squoire," replied Mr. Terry, "the smill
av the powther has put new loife into my owld carcash. The Captin can go
iv he plazes."

"Avast, there! I say, messmate," growled Captain Thomas, "I don't run
this mill, but my youngster's here under hatches, and I'm a goin' to
keep watch on, watch off along of any other man. I don't think that o'
yours is half up to the mark, Mr. Terry."

"Oi was thinkin' I was a bit wake mysilf," replied the old soldier,
filling up his glass, and handing the decanter to his neighbour, who
likewise improved the occasion.

"Oi'm suppawsin now, sorr," continued the veteran, addressing the
dominie, "that this is yer first apparance on shintry."

"You are right, Mr. Terry, in your supposition."

"An', sorr, it's a cridit to yeez to be shtandin' an' facin' the inimy
wid divel a thing in yer hand but a pishtil. Oi moind a big sthrappin'
liftinant av ours was called Breasel, an' sid he was discinded from the
great Breasel Breck av Oirish hishtry. Wan noight he was slapin', whin
four nagurs av Injuns kim into his tint, an' picked the sword an'
pishtils and the unifarm aff the bid he was on. Thin he woke up, an' him
havin' sorra a thing to difind himself wid but a good Oirish tongue in
his hid. But it's Tipperary the liftinant foired at the haythens, an' it
moight ha' been grape an' canister, for they dhropped the plundher and
run for loife, all but wan that got howlt av an anhevis drawin' plashter
the liftinant had for a bile an the back av his neck, an' wasn't usin'
at the toime. Someways the plashter got on to his nakid chist an'
gripped him, an' he was that wake wid froight, the other nagurs had to
carry him away. Afther that the Injuns called Breasel by the name of
Shupay, a worrud that in their spache manes the divil--savin' yer
prisence, Mishter Wilkinson."

"One time the _Susan Thomas_ was at Belle Ewart loadin' on lumber,"
growled the Captain. "Sylvanus heerd as how the Mushrats, that's the
folks acrost on t'other side of the bay, was a comin' over to fasten him
and me down in the hold and paint the schooner. They was a goin' to
paint her The Spotted Dog, than which there's no meaner kind o' fish.
So, I bid Sylvanus pile a great heap of useless, green, heavy, barky
slabs on top o' the good lumber; then we took the occasion of a little
wind, and stood her out to anchor a little ways from the dock. Sure
enough, when night come, the Mushrats came a hollerin' aand yellin'.
Unfortnitly I'd left the salutin' blunderbuss here at home, and hadn't
but one pike-pole aboard. 'How many boat loads of 'em is there,
Sylvanus?' I says. 'Two,' says he. 'All right,' says I, 'that's one
apiece. Take off your coat, and roll up your shirt sleeves, Sylvanus,'
says I, 'for you're a goin' to have heavy work slab heavin'!' On they
come to board us, one on each side. 'Fire out them or'nary useless
slabs, Sylvanus,' says I. 'But there's a boat with a lot of men in it,'
says he, a-chucklin' like an ijut. Hope I haven't given the pass word
away, John? Well, I said: 'Fire out the slabs, and let the men get out
o' the way.' And he began firing, and I kept my side a-goin', and the
slabs fell flat and heavy and fast, knockin' six at a shot, till they
cussed and swore, and hollered and yelled murder, and that was the last
we two saw of the Mushrats and the paintin' of the _Susan Thomas_."

Subdued but hearty laughter followed these stories, and, when the
Captain ended, the veteran pushed the decanter towards him, remarking:
"A good shtory is a foine thing, Captin, dear, but it makes ye just a
throifle dhroy." The Captain responded, and told Mr. Terry that he was
neglecting himself, an omission which that gentleman proceeded to
rectify. Mr. Errol, with his muffling cloud still round his neck, was
asleep in an easy chair. In his sleep he dreamt, the dream ending in an
audible smack of his lips, and the exclamation "Very many thanks, ma'am;
the toddy's warm and comforting." When his own voice aroused him, he was
astonished to witness the extreme mirth of all parties, and was hardly
convinced when it was attributed to the stories of the veteran and the
Captain. The Squire, though amused, was resolved to have a word with his
widowed sister.

The lawyer paced up and down in the cool night, trying to combine two
things which do not necessarily go together, warmth and wakefulness.
Everything was so quiet, that he seemed to hear Timotheus and Sylvanus
pacing about rapidly like himself, when suddenly a little spark of fire
appeared at the far end of the verandah towards the stables. Cautiously,
under cover of bushes he approached the spot, but saw nothing, although
he smelt fire. Then he knelt down and peered under the flower laden
structure. The light was there, growing. In a moment it became a flame,
and, as he rushed to the spot, a lad fell into his arms. Clutching his
collar with his left hand in spite of kicks and scratches, he hauled his
prisoner back to the verandah, and, thrusting in his right arm beneath
the floor, drew out the blazing rags and threw them on the gravel walk
or on the grass until he was sure that not one remained. Some watcher at
the front window had alarmed the guard-room, for out tumbled its
occupants, and the lad was secured by Nash, and handed over to the
Captain and Mr. Errol. Calling to Toner to keep an eye on the whole
front, the detective, taking in the situation, hastened to the stables
along with the lawyer, while the Squire and Mr. Perrowne went round the
back way on the same errand. No guard was visible, and there was fire in
two places, both happily outside sheds, one abutting on the garden
fence, the other farther to the right. The Squire went for water-pails,
while Nash and the veteran followed the course of the incendiaries
towards the bush guarded by Rufus. But the lawyer and the parson,
seizing stout poles, which were apparently Tryphena's clothes props,
knocked the blazing sheds to pieces with them, and scattered the burning
boards over the ground. Before the water came, the report of a rifle, a
fowling piece, and of several pistol shots, rang through the air. No
more signs of fire were discovered, so the water was poured upon the
still burning boards, and the firemen waited for the report of the
pursuers. While thus waiting, they heard a groan, and, going to the
place whence it proceeded, discovered Timotheus, with a gag plaster on
his mouth and an ugly wound on the back of his head, lying close to the
garden fence below the fired shed. Some water on his face revived him,
and at the same time moistened the plaster, but as it would not come
off, Coristine cut it open with his penknife between the lips of the
sufferer. Even then he could hardly articulate, yet managed to ask if
all was safe and to thank his deliverers. He was helped into the house,
and delivered over to the awakened and dressed Tryphena and Tryphosa,
the latter behaving very badly and laughing in a most unfeeling way at
the comical appearance cut by her humble swain. When Tryphena removed
the plaster, and Tryphosa, returning to duty with an effort, bathed his
head, the wounded sentry felt almost himself again, and guaised he must
ha' looked a purty queer pictur. Soon after, Rufus staggered into the
kitchen in a similar condition, and his affectionate sisters had to turn
their attention to the Baby. These were all the casualties on the part
of the garrison, and, overpowered though the two sentries had been,
their arms had not been taken by the enemy.

The Squire went forward to see after the welfare of his father-in-law,
and found Mr. Terry carrying his own rifle and the gun of Sylvanus,
while the said Pilgrim helped the detective to carry a groaning mass of
humanity towards the kitchen hospital.

"Oi tuk my man this toime, Squire," said Mr. Terry, gleefully; "Oi wuz
marciful wid the crathur and aimed for the legs av' im. It's a foine
nate little howl this swate roifle has dhrilled in his shkin, an' niver
a bone shplit nor a big blood vissel tapped, glory be, say Oi!"

It appeared, on examination of the parties, that Ben Toner and Sylvanus
had indulged in a prolonged talk at the point where their beats met,
during which a party of six, including the two prisoners, creeping up
silently through the bush, prostrated Rufus with the blow of a bludgeon
on the back of the head. Then, they advanced and repeated the operation
on Timotheus, after which three of them, with cotton cloths soaked in
oil, fired the sheds and the verandah. But for the lawyer's discovery of
the spark under the latter, the fire might have been beyond control in a
few minutes, and the end of the murderous gang accomplished. The whole
household was roused; indeed, save in the case of the children, it can
hardly be said to have been asleep. Mrs. Carruthers descended, and,
sending Tryphosa to look after her young family, helped her father to
bind up the wound of the grizzled incendiary, who refused to give any
account of himself. "I know him," said the detective to the Squire; "his
name is Newcome and he's a bad lot." Soon the Captain and Mr. Errol
brought their prisoner in. The hospital and guard-room was the winter
kitchen of the house, a spacious apartment almost unused during the
summer months. When the lad was brought into it, he seemed to recognize
the place with his dull big grey eyes, and spoke the first words he had
uttered since his capture. "Bread and meat for Monty." "Why," said
Tryphena, "it's the ijut boy." "So it is," ejaculated Mrs. Carruthers,
"What is your name, Monty?" With an idiotic smile on his face, but no
light in those poor eyes, he answered: "Monty Rawn, and mother's in the
water place." Mrs. Carruthers explained that the lad had been often in
the kitchen in winter, and that she had told Tryphena to feed him well
and be kind to him, so that it is no wonder he recognized the scene of
his former enjoyment. "Puir laddie," said the Squire, "he's no'
responsible, but the born deevil that set him on should be hanged,
drawn, and quartered."

"Squire," answered Mr. Errol, "I'm aye on the side o' maircy, but to yon
I say Amen."

"Come, come!" Carruthers cried hastily, regaining his natural speech;
"we must take off these haverals, Sylvanus and Toner, and bring them in
to guard the prisoners. They are not fit for sentry duty." Leaving the
Captain and the veteran as temporary guards, he sallied forth, followed
by the lawyer and the two parsons.

To the Squire's great delight, he found the dominie walking up and down
the front of the house, humming "A charge to keep I have." "Mr.
Wilkinson," he said, "you're a pairfec' treasure," and that so loud
that the schoolmaster was sure it was heard by the occupants of the
window over the porch. He marched along with redoubled pride and
devotion. Mr. Perrowne took Toner's place, and the lawyer that of
Sylvanus. Carruthers marched the two haverals to the kitchen, and placed
the prisoners in their charge, after roundly abusing them for talking on
guard. This set free the Captain and Mr. Terry, who were posted together
by the outbuildings, although the veteran was very anxious to go down to
the bush for the purpose of potting the Lake Settlement haythens. There
being no post for the minister, he was appointed hospital chaplain and
commander of the prisoners' guard. Mr. Nash, carrying Ben's gun, was
investigating the strip of bush and the clump of birches down the hill
for traces of the enemy. While so doing, two pistol bullets flew past
his head and compelled him to seek the cover of a tree trunk. Finding he
could do nothing in the imperfect light, he retired gradually towards
the sentries, and aided them in their weary watch. At length, as
daylight was coming in, and affording a pretext for the fair occupants
of the front room, whose windows hailed the beams of the rising sun, to
leave their seclusion and mingle with the wakeful ones below, the sound
of wheels was heard coming along the road to the left. Hurriedly, the
detective became Mr. Chisholm, and joined the dominie at the gate. There
were three men in the waggon, and one of them was the Grinstun man, as
cheerful as ever. What was in the waggon could not be seen, as it was
covered over with buffalo robes and tarpaulin, but the detective could
have sworn he saw it move, and give forth a sound not unlike a groan.
Mr. Rawdon jumped down, telling a certain Jones of truculent countenance
to drive on, as he guessed he'd walk the rest of the way this fine
morning. The waggon drove off accordingly and at a rapid rate, while the
working geologist accosted the sentinels.

"Wy, wot's hup 'ere, gents? 'Ere you hare on guard yet, and Jones there
terls me 'ee 'eard shots fired has 'ee was comin' along slowly. I 'ope
there hain't no gang o' city burglars bin tryin' hany o' their larks on
the Squire. We don't want none o' that sort hout in rural parts."

The dominie and the detective declined to satisfy him, but the former
said:--

"I thought you had pressing business at Collingwood, Mr. Rawdon?"

"So I 'ad, and stand to lose two or three 'undred dollars by missin' the
mornin' train. But, wen I got quite a step on the road, all of a sudding
I remembers my hoffer to Miss Do Please-us, and 'er hanswer as was to be
hat the Post Hoffice before ten. So I turned back, hand, lucky for me,
fell in with Jones and 'is man takin' 'ome some things from town. But,
come! tell a man can't you? 'As there bin any burglary or hanythink, any
haccident, anybody 'urt? I've got an hour and more to spare, if I can be
of any 'elp."

"I don't think we need trouble you, Rawdon," said the false Chisholm.
"Your suspicions are correct so far, that an attempt has been made to
fire the Squire's house, but by whom is a mystery, for there is no man
more respected in the neighbourhood."

"Respected! I should say 'ee is. Fire 'is 'ouse! O Lor'! wot a bloomin'
shame! Really, I must go him, if it's honly for a hinstant to hexpress
my feelins of hindignation to the Carrutherses."

The Grinstun man entered the gate, which was just what the detective did
not want. However, he held it open for him, saying: "You'll find the
Squire in his office talking to Nash, but I don't suppose he'll mind
being interrupted for a minute. Mrs. Carruthers is in the kitchen, and
you'll likely meet an old acquaintance of yours there, Mr. Perrowne of
Tossorontio."

Rawdon drew back. Nash he knew: Mr. Perrowne, of Tossorontio, he did
not; but the unknown to men of his stamp is often more dreaded than the
known. He wouldn't intrude upon his friends just now, while everything
must be upset. Playfully, he asked Favosites Wilkinsonia to remind Miss
Do Please-us of that hoffer and the hanswer before ten, and straightway
resumed his journey in the direction of the Lake Settlement.

"Of all the impudent blackguards that I have met in the course of my
experience, that fellow takes the cake," said the detective, removing
his disguise.

"What about Jones and the waggon?" asked the dominie.

"The waggon is the one I saw when patrolling. Jones and his man are two
of the ruffians who were in it. Old Newcome, here, is a third. The
boy--by-the-bye, what a wonderful inspiration that was of yours to give
us Idiot and Boy for passwords--well, the boy must have come from some
other quarter. But there's either one or two wounded men under these
buffaloes and bits of canvas, for I hit one in the waggon and sent the
contents of Ben's gun after another down the hill. They both squealed.
Men of that kind almost always squeal when they're hit. The impudence of
that fellow Rawdon! Pon't forget Miss Du Plessis' letter; that's our
card now. Never in all my life have I met with such colossal cheek!"

The Squire came out and dismissed the guard. The parson and the lawyer
strolled in together after Wilkinson and Nash. Coristine remarked "The
sunshine is a glorious birth, as my friend Wilkinson would say."

"Yes," answered Perrowne; "it brings to memory one verse of Holy Writ:
'Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to
behold the sun.' The words are very simple, but beautiful in their
simplicity. People are apt to say there's no dogma in them, and that's
why they are so acceptable to all. But that's a mistake. They contain a
double dogma; for they make a dogmatic statement about light, and
another about the relation of the sun to the human eye. In the Church we
down't get much training in dogma, outside of the dogma of the Church,
and a little in the Articles and the Catechism. Sow Mr. Enrol often
flores me with his texts. But I down't bear him any malice, you know,
nor any malice to dogma, so long as it's the dogma of the Holy
Scriptures; because that is just like the verse I quoted, it says what
is true of a thing in itself, or in its relation to man. To reject that
sort of dogma is to reject the truth."

"Still," replied the lawyer, "a man in a burning desert, or who had been
sunstruck, might curse the sun."

"Very true; but you know how wrong is the motto _ex uno disce omnes_.
Believe that, and we are all scoundrels, because your Grinstun man was
once under this roof."

"There are, however, many ecclesiastical dogmas professedly taken from
the Bible, against which good men, and earnest seekers after truth,
rebel."

"Of course! Mr. Errol says--I do wish he were a Churchman, he is such a
thoughtful, clever fellow--he says prejudice, imperfect induction, a
wrong application of deductive logic, and one-sided interpretation,
down't you know, literal, figurative, and all that sort of thing, are
causes of false dogmatic assertions."

"My friend Wilkinson, who is a long way past me in these matters, thinks
the dogmatists forget that Revelation was a gradual thing, that the ages
it came to were like classes in a graded school, and each class got only
as much as it could understand, both mentally and morally; and as, of
course, it was able to express."

"Yes; Errol says the same, but with exceptions; because the prophets
said a whowle lot of things they didn't understand. But, my dear fellow,
whatever is the matter with your hands and face? You're burnt, you pore
sowl, and never said a word about it. Come on here, I saye; come on!"

Mr. Perrowne laid hold on the lawyer's arm, and dragged him into the
hall. "Miss Marjorie!" he called; "hi! Miss Carmichael, come along here,
quick, I beg of you, please." The lady invoked came running out of the
breakfast room, looking very pretty in her fright. "Look here, Miss
Marjorie, at our pore friend's hands and face, all got by saving you
ladies from being burnt alive."

Miss Carmichael exhibited great concern, and took the patient, who
insisted his wounds were nothing to make a fuss over, into the work
room, setting him down, with the pressure of her two hands on his broad
shoulders, in a comfortable chair between a sewing machine and a small
table. Then she brought warm water, and sponged the hands, anointed the
wounds with some home-made preparation, and clothed them in a pair of
her uncle's kid gloves, which were so large and baggy that she had to
sit down and laugh at her victim, who felt very happy and very foolish.
Finally she found that Mr. Errol, whose hands were more shapely, had an
old pair of gloves in his pocket. So the Squire's were taken off, and
the discovery made that the hands needed more washing, soaping, and
anointing. Coristine said his ring, a very handsome one, hurt him;
would Miss Carmichael please take it off and keep it for him? Miss
Carmichael removed the obnoxious ring, and did not know where to put it,
but, in the meantime, to prevent its being lost, slipped it on to one of
her own fingers, which almost paralyzed the lawyer with joy. He could
have sat there forever; but the gong sounded for prayers, and he
accompanied his nurse into the dining-room. There the whole household
was assembled, even to the idiot Monty, with the exception of Tryphena,
engaged in culinary duties, and Sylvanus, who mounted guard over the
wounded Newcome. Ben Toner also was absent, having ridden off to summon
Dr. Halbert. Mr. Perrowne, at the Squire's request, read the chapter for
the day, and the minister offered a prayer, brief but fervent, returning
thanks for the deliverance of the past night, and imploring help in
every time of need, after which the entire company, Mr. Terry included,
joined in the Lord's Prayer. Adjourning to the breakfast room, the
events of the night were discussed over the porridge, the hot rolls and
coffee and the other good things provided. Mr. Terry had been induced to
desert the kitchen for once, and he and Coristine were the heroes of the
hour. The lawyer put in a good word for the parson, and the Squire for
Wilkinson, so that Miss Du Plessis and the other ladies were compelled
to smile on both gentlemen. While the dominie blushed, the Captain
settled his eye on him. "I told him when he was aboard the _Susan
Thomas_ that, with all his innercent sort of looks, he was a sly dog,
with his questions about an old man's pretty niece. I knowed I'd see him
in Flanders makin' up to the gals, the sly dog! Got set down right beam
on to their weather ports every time, even when he wasn't told to go on
watch at all, the sly dog. Wilkison is his name; it'll be Will-kiss-em
some day, ha! ha! ha! the sly dog!"

The schoolmaster was dreadfully uncomfortable, and his lady teacher
hardly less so. It was a blessed relief when a buggy drove up to the
gate, and Mrs. Carruthers, having left her sister-in-law in charge while
she went out to meet its occupants, returned shortly with the doctor and
his blooming daughter, who, as a friend of the family, insisted on
accompanying him to offer her services if she could be of help.

"Come, Doctor!" said the Squire, rising with the rest of the party to
greet him and his companion; "the patients are in no immediate danger,
so you and Miss Fanny must sit down and help us with breakfast."

Miss Fanny was nothing loath to do so, after an invigorating drive, and
in the company of such a number of eligible bachelors as was rarely seen
in Flanders. She had a word for Mr. Errol, for the detective, for the
lawyer and the dominie, but to Wilkinson's great relief she finally
pitched upon Mr. Perrowne and held him captive. Then Wilkinson improved
the time with Miss Du Plessis, using as his excuse the letter or note
she was to send to Rawdon declining his offer for the present, which the
schoolmaster expressed his desire personally to take to the office.
Breakfast over, the doctor inspected his patients, Newcome, Rufus, and
Timotheus. The two latter he dismissed as all the better of a little
blood letting, recommending lots of cold water applied externally. The
case of the incendiary was more serious, but not likely to be fatal.




CHAPTER X.

     Doctor Summoned to the Select Encampment--Newcome
     Interviewed--Nash's Discovery--His Venture--Drop the
     Handkerchief--The Dominie's Indignation--The Pedestrians
     Detained--The Doctor Stays--A Trip to the Lakes--Conversation on
     the Way--The Richards--Fishing--Songs--The Barrier in the
     Channel--Nash's Dead Body Found--His Crazed Sister Comes to
     Bridesdale.


It was only eight o'clock when the elders finished their breakfast, and
the children prepared to succeed them. All the party, except Mrs.
Carruthers and Mrs. Carmichael, who had domestic duties before them, and
Miss Du Plessis, who had her note to write, strolled out into the garden
in groups. Shortly, a buckboard drove up to the gate, and its occupant,
a washed out looking youth, enquired if the doctor was there, Dr.
Halbert. The subject of the enquiry went forward, and found that he was
wanted at the Select Encampment, for a man who had shot himself.

"I tell you frankly, my man," said the doctor, "I don't care to go to
your Select Encampment; there is too much mystery about it."

"I guess the pay's all O.K.," answered the youth.

"Why do you not get Dr. Smallpiece to look after your man?"

"'Cos we don't know nuthun about him, and he's too small a piece for our
boss. You best hurry up yer cakes and come on, doctor."

Re-entering the house for his instruments, the doctor confided to
Carruthers his distaste for the work before him, on account of the
mystery surrounding it, but said he supposed it was his duty to relieve
human suffering.

"Where is it?" asked the Squire.

"All I can tell you is that it is out on the lakes beyond the Lake
Settlement."

"I thocht as muckle," remarked the Squire to the detective, after the
doctor was carried away on the buckboard.

"Let as go and see Newcome," said the detective; and the pair went round
to the kitchen, where the wounded man lay on an improvised couch, and
was waited upon by big Ben Toner, anxious for news of Serlizer. Mr. Nash
began:--

"The doctor says that talking won't hurt you, Newcome."

"Dawn't spause 'twull," answered the surly fellow.

"Setting fire to buildings with intent to take life is a hanging matter,
Newcome."

"Oo said t'warnt?"

"You seem prepared for your fate."

"Ma vate was aw raight to I got t'bahl i'my laig."

"I mean, you don't seem to care if you are going to be hanged."

"Oo's a gaun to hahng us an' vor wat?"

"You'll be hanged for arson with intent to kill. There are witnesses to
prove you threatened to kill me at least."

Newcome started, and so did Ben.

"Yaw cahn't prove nowt."

"Yes I can. I've got your pocket book and the odd papers out of your
coat pocket."

"Aw'll hae yaw oop vor stalun as well as shootun, zee iv I dawn't, yaw
bloody thafe!"

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, man, or I'll send you to the lockup
at once," interposed the Squire.

"Leave him to me Squire; I'll manage him," whispered Nash.

Then, turning to the injurious Newcome, he continued:

"Your daughter, Sarah Eliza, is at Rawdon's Select Encampment, where the
stuff you sell is turned out. She can give some fine evidence. The
Peskiwanchow crowd, the man that pretends to be called Jones, and the
rest of them, were picked up by you in a waggon, I know, last night. The
coal oil and fire marks are on your hands still, and this pretty rag
came out of your side pocket. What is more, I don't need to ask the
Squire here to commit you. I've got a warrant already, on the evidence
of Henry and Stokes and Steadman. I'll serve that warrant on you now,
and have you off to the county gaol, where Dr. Stapfer is bound to cut
off your leg, if you don't own up quick, for I have no time to lose."

"Daw yaw thenk as Stapper ull ambitate ma laig?"

"I'm sure of it. He always does; he has a perfect mania for amputation.
You know Driver?"

"Yaas."

"Who cut off his leg for a little bruise?"

"T'wer Stapper."

"And who cut of Sear's arm at the shoulder for a trifle of a rusty
nail?"

"Stapper taw. O, aw zay, Mezder Nahsh, dawn't zend us ta naw Stappers."

"But I will, I must, if you don't confess immediately all that the
Squire and I want to know. Turn Queen's evidence, and make a clean
breast of it. You can't save Rawdon and his gang; we have them tight.
But confess, and I'll get you out on bail, and send you home to your
wife to be nursed; and, when the trials come, I'll get you off your
liquor charge with a fine. Refuse to, and you go straight to Stapfer's
to lose your leg, and then to the gallows."

"Aw dawn't moind chancin' t'gallas, but ma laig! Wat daw yaw wahn't ta
knaw?"

At once all the people, Ben included, were ordered out of the hospital,
and Coristine, much to his disgust, sent for. His hands were useless
for writing, but, as he had a good memory, he could help in the
examination. So Mr. Errol was called in to act as clerk, Mr. Perrowne
refusing to do so, on the ground that all confessions made in the
presence of a clergyman are sacred. Little by little the hardened old
sinner revealed Rawdon's business, its centre and methods, his
accomplices and victims. Then the whole story of the plot which
culminated in the night attack was drawn from him, appearing blacker and
more diabolical at every new revelation of villainy. It appeared that
the Grinstun man had with him in the attack, which he conducted
personally, his own six men from the so called Encampment, together with
the idiot boy, and two lots of teamsters or distributors, the five from
Peskiwanchow brought by Newcombe, and four from another quarter. He had
thus sixteen ruffians in his force, besides himself and the boy.

"Whose boy is that?" asked the detective, eagerly. He had been looking
closely at the lad more than once and listening to his voice.

"Ah beeslong ta Rowdon."

"Who is his mother?" asked Nash, with a strange light in his eye.

"Her's cawd Tilder."

"Is she Rawdon's wife? Speak, man!"

"Naw, nawt az aw niver heerd."

"What was her name before he--brought her there?"

"Aw donno, but t'lahd's cawd Mawnta Nehgull."

"O my God!" cried the detective, as he fell back in his chair, and
seemed to lose all power of speech.

"Come away, Nash," said the Squire, taking one arm of the stricken man,
while Mr. Errol, handing his notes to the lawyer, took the other. They
led him tenderly to the office, where Carruthers forced a glass of wine
upon him. Nash revived, and begged that the door might be closed and
locked.

"I may never have a chance to tell this again, so I want to tell it to
you two, and to you alone. My real name is Nagle, not Nash. I was born
in Hamilton, where my father was a wheelwright. I got a good schooling,
and went into a lawyer's office, for father wanted me to become a
lawyer. But I got reading detective books, and did a few sharp things
for the firm that got me into notice and brought me private detective
business. So I got on till I rose to be what I am, such as it is. When
my parents died they left my sister Matilda in my care. I was only
twenty then, and she, eighteen, a bright, pretty girl. She kept my rooms
for me, but I was away most of the time, so she became tired of it, as
we had no relations and hardly any friends we cared to associate with.
She insisted on leaving me and learning the millinery in Toronto; so I
had to let her go. I saw her often, and frequently sent her money. She
got good wages at last and dressed well, and seemed to have respectable
people about her. Suddenly her letters stopped. I went to her place of
business, and heard that she had left to be married to a rich man in the
country; but nobody, not even her closest acquaintances among the girls,
knew where, or who the man was. I advertised, neglected business to hunt
up every clue, travelled all over the country looking for my lost
sister, promised my dead parents never to marry till I found her. And at
last, at last, O God! I have found Matilda, and you know where, a woman
without name or character, the victim of the greatest scoundrel unhung,
the associate of brutal criminals, the unlawful mother of an idiot boy!
No! no more wine, Squire, not a drop. I want a steady head and a strong
hand this morning more than any day of my life. Open the door and the
windows now, please; and give me a little air."

Nash, for so he may still be called, sent Coristine away to Talfourd's
for his bundle, and Miss Du Plessis, having handed the note for Rawdon
to the dominie, accompanied the hero of the gloves in the Squire's
buggy, so as to lose no time. Wilkinson was warned not to post the
letter before his comrade's return. While waiting in the office, Mr.
Errol, whose heart was deeply touched, locked the door again, saying:
"John, let us kneel down and pray our Heavenly Father to comfort our
friend in his great sorrow, and bless him in his present work." The
Squire knelt with the minister, and the detective fell on his knees
beside him, their hearts joining in the quiet but earnest supplications
of the good man of religion. When they rose from their knees, Nash,
almost tearfully, pressed their hands and bade God bless them.

Coristine enjoyed the society of Miss Du Plessis; nevertheless he drove
fast, for the business demanded haste. The buggy returned in little over
half an hour, and the bundle was handed to the detective, who took it up
stairs, and, soon after, descended as a countryman, in flannel shirt,
light soiled coat, and overalls. The rim of his wideawake was drawn down
all round, half hiding his face disguised with a ragged beard. It could
not conceal his refined, almost aristocratic, features, but such a
country type is not uncommon in many parts of Canada, even accompanied
with perfect boorishness. His boots were small, which also was quite
Canadian, but he had rubbed the blacking off, and trusted to the dust
still further to disguise them. Smiling and courteous, he bade everybody
whom he could trust good-bye, and slipped a large pocket-book full of
money and memoranda into the hands of the Squire. "You can keep it till
I come back," he said; "if I don't, get Mr. Errol and this lawyer chap,
who seems a good fellow, to help you to make it out." Then, the dominie
expressed his readiness to take the note to the post office, and Miss Du
Plessis, a little piqued at Coristine's apparent want of attention to
her, said that, if Mr. Wilkinson had no objections, she should, above
all things, like a short walk after a cramping drive. The schoolmaster
was only too delighted, in spite of Mr. Perrowne's glance of jealousy,
which Miss Halbert saw and noted with a tap of her dainty foot on the
verandah. So, Wilkinson and his inamorata tripped along the road, and,
some distance behind them, shambled Simon Larkin, the hawbuck from away
back, alias Mr. Nash. The children came out to play, led by Marjorie.
Perrowne was still talking to Miss Halbert, Mr. Errol was closeted with
the Squire, and the Captain and the veteran, on a garden bench, were
telling yarns. "Cousin Marjorie," said her juvenile namesake, "we are
going to play drop the handkerchief, because we've got such a lot of
nice people to play it" Miss Carmichael answered: "Oh no, Marjorie, try
some other game." But Marjorie insisted. So, a ring was formed, with
Marjorie as handkerchief holder, outside. The ring consisted of the
Captain and little Susan Carruthers, Mr. Perrowne and Marjorie of the
same family, Coristine and Miss Halbert, Mr. Terry, pipe and all, and
Honoria junior, John Carruthers junior and Miss Carmichael, and baby
Michael, but with whom? Marjorie suggested the two aunties and Tryphosa,
but finally concluded that there had to be an odd one any way, so baby
Michael took the Captain's hand and Miss Carmichael's, and the game
began. Of course Marjorie dropped the handkerchief on her Eugene, and
Eugene caught her and kissed her with great gusto. Then he had to drop
it, and Honoria saluted him with effusion. Mr. Perrowne was her choice,
and the parson, tell it not in Gath, the perfidious parson gave himself
away on Miss Halbert, who captured him, blushed, and submitted. The
Captain and Mr. Terry were becoming indignant and shocked. Miss Halbert
had mercy on John Carruthers junior, who went wild with delight, and
brought out Miss Carmichael. She, pitying the Captain, gave him the
handkerchief and a long chase, but Mr. Thomas finally triumphed, and
chose Susan Carruthers as his victim. Susan took grandpa, who pocketed
his pipe, and, after a sounding smack, passed the handkerchief on to his
grandchild Marjorie. She, true to her name, chose the lawyer, and that
gentleman, emboldened by the parson's precedent, dropped the terrible
symbol on the shoulder of the girl who was all the world to him. She
pursued him, and he ran as he well could do, but at last he got weak and
tired, and she overtook him against her will and his, and Coristine was
in the seventh heaven of delight. They could take him and trample on
him, and flaunt his recreancy before Wilkinson even; he didn't want to
kiss any more, even the fresh young lips of the children. He wanted that
one impression to stay forever.

Miss Du Plessis and the dominie were not in a hurry to get back to
Bridesdale. She had received a letter from her mother, saying that Uncle
Morton was coming to see her, and that she would try to induce him to
accompany her to the country, as she did not wish to shorten her
daughter's brief holiday by calling her home. Imparting the news to
Wilkinson, a long and interesting conversation began which branched off
into a variety of topics, treated seriously, at times poetically, by the
kindred minds. Miss Da Plessis was quite unreserved, yet dignified, and
without a trace of coquetry; nevertheless, the dominie assured himself
that Mr. Perrowne had not a ghost of a chance in that quarter. She was
pleased with the generous way in which he referred to his companion
pedestrian, in spite of the provocation which she knew the lawyer had
given his friend. The adventures of the past night, the fresh air of the
morning, the rural scenery and his delightful companionship, made the
schoolmaster eloquent; yet his sense of propriety and natural politeness
kept him from monopolizing the conversation, so that his silent
attention was even more flattering than his appeals to the lady's
intelligence and culture. Outside of the English classics and current
literature, her reading lay chiefly among French and Spanish authors,
most of which were not unknown to the studious dominie. A few ripples of
well-bred amusement were raised by his recital of his experience at the
Beaver River, where he found the Voyage autour de mon Jardin, especially
by his specimens of Lajeunesse French and the story of the dug-out. Of
course, he did not offend a lady's ear with a word so vulgar; it was
always the canoe. Too soon the pleasant morning walk was over, and they
stood before the garden gate at Bridesdale, just at the moment when
Coristine accidentally stumbled and was captured by the fair possessor
of the handkerchief. "How good of your friend to please the children by
taking part in their games," remarked Miss Du Plessis in all sincerity.
"I cannot express the depth of my humiliation," replied the dominie; "it
is scandalous--a violation of the rights of hospitality."

"But, see! Mr. Wilkinson, Mr. Perrowne is there; and Fanny also."

"I have nothing to do, Miss Du Plessis, judging them that are without;
Mr. Coristine pertains to my inner circle, and shall know my opinion of
his shameful conduct before the sun rises much higher in the heavens."

"Hi! there, shipmate," bawled the Captain, "come on and add a link to
this here endless chain. I told you your real name, you sly dog! Ha, ha!
Will-kiss-em, eh Marjorie? Not you, you little puss; but your cousin
there, colourin' up like a piney rose."

"I relinquished such sports with my pinafores," answered the dominie,
grandly.

It was very unjustifiable of Mr. Perrowne, but two things annoyed him;
one being the fact that he was equally guilty with the lawyer, the
other that Miss Du Plessis had deserted him for this prig of a
schoolmaster. Loud enough to be heard by all, he remarked:--

"A very learned and distinguished man was once playing with some
children, when he suddenly cried, 'Children, we must stop, for I see a
fool coming.' What do you think of that, Captain!"

"Never said a truer word in your life," growled Mr. Thomas, and
continued, "anything as calls itself a man and can't romp with the
youngsters, nor give a joke and take it, had ought to be set in a high
chair with a bib, let alone petticuts."

"He said pinnies, papa," Marjorie corrected.

"Pinnies or petticuts, it's all the same thing. Me and Terry here, old
enough to be his fathers!"

"An' it 'ud be a grate 'anner for me, anyway, to be father to a foine,
praper, illigant gintleman loike Mishter Wilkerson," put in the veteran,
anxious to keep the peace. The embers, however, were smoking on both
sides when little Marjorie ran up to the dominie and, taking his hand,
said beseechingly: "Please don't scold the poor boys and girls, Wilks,
because it was my fault--all my fault. I made them play. Now, put down
your head and kiss me, and say, 'I forgive you this once, but don't you
go to do it again'; just like papa says."

There was no help for it, though everybody laughed to hear the terror of
the Sacheverell Street school called Wilks, and the grown-up people,
girls and boys. The dominie had to repeat the formula and seal it with a
kiss, when the perfidious child turned upon him very gravely, saying:
"Now, sir, you can't speak, for you've done it your very own self." Thus
it was that a storm was averted, and "drop the handkerchief" broke up in
good nature.

"Corry," said his friend, "I'm going upstairs for my knapsack. You had
better get yours, and prepare to follow our route. Colonel Morton and
Miss Du Plessis are coming here, so that we, as entire strangers, ought
no longer to intrude upon the hospitality of Mrs. Carruthers."

"All right, Wilks, my boy!" replied the tender-hearted lawyer, who felt
as if his heart was breaking. In a few minutes the pedestrians descended
ready for the road, when the Squire opened his office door and threw up
his arms in amazement.

"What in aa conscience is the meanin' o' this?"

Wilkinson explained, and expressed a desire to find Mrs. Carruthers,
that he might thank her for her kind hospitality.

"Here, gudewife, and as ye four Marjories, and Miss Cecile," cried
Carruthers, lustily, "come ye as here, and garr thae twa wanderin' Jews
bide."

Then there was a commotion, as the ladies flocked with the children into
the hall, with many exclamations of astonishment and reproach,
surrounding the recreant young men. Mr. Errol, the Captain, the veteran,
and even Mr. Perrowne, came to learn what was the matter. When they
heard the intentions of the pair, Mr. Thomas and the parson were
prepared to make the most abject apologies to the dominie, who insisted
that there was no necessity; on the contrary, he alone was to blame, but
all that was past. Mrs. Carruthers would not hear of their going just as
they were becoming so pleasantly acquainted, assured them that
Bridesdale had ample accommodation, and commanded the veteran to form a
company of his grandchildren and arrest the would-be deserters. Marjorie
clung to her Eugene's right leg. Mr. Errol accused him of stealing away
with his gloves, and finally the lawyer confided to Mrs. and Miss
Carmichael that he didn't want to go a bit, was never happier in his
life. Miss Du Plessis put a hand on the dominie's arm, a hand that
tingled away in to his very heart, and said her uncle would be so
disappointed when he arrived to find that his friends of Collingwood had
not deemed him worth waiting for. Finally, the Squire took them both
aside, and, speaking seriously, said he had no right selfishly to detain
them, but the time was critical, poor Nash was away on a dangerous
errand, and their services, already great and highly appreciated, might
yet be of the greatest importance. Besides, after the fatigue and
excitement of the past night, they were not fit to travel. The dominie
confessed that, with all the excitement and possible danger, he had
enjoyed himself amazingly, that his only motive for leaving was the fear
of trespassing upon the kindness of Mrs. Carruthers, and that, if his
humble services were of any value, he trusted the Squire would draw
upon them to the utmost. The lawyer, hearing his companion's decision,
wanted to give a wild Irish hurroo, but, checking himself, ground the
Squire's right hand with his own kid-gloved afflicted member, as if he
had been a long lost brother. When they next reached the hall, Miss
Halbert was there taking in the situation with the other young ladies.
She had already seen enough to know that neither of her fair companions
was capable of properly addressing the culprits, so she made up for
their deficiency, saying: "Go upstairs at once, you naughty boys, and
take off these pads." The naughty boys ascended, with a strangely
combined feeling of joy and smallness, and, when the knapsacks were
removed, Coristine sank into a chair laughing. "O Lord, Wilks," he said,
"she called them pads!"

The doctor arrived in time for dinner, and reported three wounded men
instead of one. Two had pistol wounds that had evidently been attended
to from the first, the other had a gunshot in the back, and must have
dragged himself a long way after it, for he was almost gone with loss of
blood. "That'll be the chiel' puir Nash fired at wi' Ben's gun," said
Carruthers.

"Can your wife put me and Fanny up for the night, John?" asked the
doctor, looking serious.

"Just delighted to do so," replied the Squire; "we have more space than
we know how to fill."

"I must tell you why. These rough fellows at the Encampment are furious,
and one of them, in his gratitude, warned me, on no account, to be in or
near your house to-night."

"Doctor, that's another thing. I have no right to let you risk yourself
and Miss Fanny in time of danger in my house."

"But we will, John. Come here, Fanny!" Telling his daughter the
circumstances, the doctor asked her decision, and she at once answered:
"Of course, Mr. Carruthers, we shall stay. Papa has two pistols in his
gig, and, if necessary, will lend me one. I am a good shot, am I not,
papa?"

"Yes, John, she has a fine eye and nerve for a mark."

At the dinner table Doctor Halbert conversed with the pedestrians about
the scenery they had passed through, and recommended them, by all
means, not to fail in visiting the Flanders' lakes. He informed them
that they constitued a long and perplexing chain, being more like a long
continuous sheet of water, narrowing every here and there into straits,
affording little more than room enough for two boats to pass through,
than an actual succession of lakes. To penetrate far in would be
dangerous, but his guide had informed him that no visitors to the first
three ran any risk of interference.

"By the bye, Miss Cecile," interrupted the Squire, "some of these lakes
are your property, are they not?"

"Yes, Mr. Carruthers," the lady replied; "but they would be so no longer
if a very kind friend had not paid the taxes for them."

"Hoot toot, lassie, what's the taxes on a bittock o' wild land and
useless water?"

"I should like above all things to see these lakes," remarked the
dominie.

"Do you know," said Mr. Perrowne, "for sow long a time as I have been in
Flanders, I have never seen the lakes. One down't like to gow alowne,
you know."

"I say we go this afternoon," proposed the lawyer.

"I'm with you, sir," responded the minister. "We'll drop cricket and
golf, the day, Perrowne." Then in a whisper to Carruthers, "I'm anxious
about poor Nash."

"Then, meenister, see that ye aa tak' your revolvers and cartridges. I
can supply you and Perrowne."

Coristine proposed to botanize, but did not care to detain the
expedition by continually opening his knapsack, nor to incommode himself
with the burden of the strap press. He regretted that he had not brought
his vasculum, when Miss Carmichael spoke up, and said that she would
furnish him with one when the party was ready to start. After dinner the
company lounged for half an hour on the verandah and in the garden.
There the Captain made up his mind to go with the exploring party, and
take charge of Richards' scow on the first lake, that being the only
craft available. Ben Toner came round from the kitchen and asked the
Squire if he had anything for him to do, as Sylvanus wanted to stay with
old man Newcome and read the Bible to him.

"Do you know the lakes, Toner?" asked Mr. Carruthers.

"If you don't mind Squier, I'd sooner you'd call me Ben."

"Well, Ben, then?"

"Yaas, leastways I've ben at the laiuk as is nighes to han.'"

"Do you mind taking your gun, and looking out for sport with these
gentlemen?"

"They isn't nawthin I'd laike bettr'en that."

So, Ben got his gun and ammunition, and the Captain was furnished with a
stout walking-cane loaded in the head. The two parsons, the dominie, and
the lawyer had pistols in their pockets. When ready to start, Miss
Carmichael came up to Coristine carrying some mysterious object behind
her back. Rapidly bringing it forward, she threw a thick green cord over
the lawyer's shoulders, from which depended a browny black japanned tin
candle-box. Of course, it was an accident that the cord was short, and
that Coristine bent his head just as the fair damsel stood on tiptoe to
adjust the improvised vasculum.

"I hope I didn't hurt you with my awkwardness, Miss Carmichael," pleaded
the penitent knight of the order of the candle-box.

"Not at all, Mr. Coristine, it was my fault. I am afraid your nose
suffered."

"Ha! ha!" chuckled the Captain, "young fellows can stand a lot o' that
sort o' punishment. Reefs o' that kind don't do human vessels no harm."

Wilkinson was getting sick of the Captain and his aggressive vulgarity.
Coristine didn't mind him; anybody belonging to Miss Carmichael was, for
the present, delightful. Nevertheless, for marching purposes, he fell in
with Toner, while the Captain accompanied Mr. Errol, and Wilkinson, Mr.
Perrowne. They had six miles to tramp, which took them a good hour and
a-half. The Captain discussed navigation in Scripture times with the
minister, and decided that the Jews might have been good at punting
round, but were a poor seafaring lot. The dominie and the parson were
deep in the philosophy of the affections, in the course of which
excursus the former quoted the words:--

     Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
     Love gives itself, it is not bought
     Nor voice nor sound betrays
     Its deep, impassionated gaze.

     It comes, the beautiful, the free,
     The crown of all humanity,
     In silence and alone.
     To seek the elected one.

Mr. Perrowne was struck with these verses, and, taking out his note
book, begged that his companion would repeat them, as he recorded their
sublime sentiment for future use. They then proceeded to eulogize Miss
Du Plessis, of whom the parson formed a very high estimate, which he
qualified by the statement that, were he not in holy orders, he would
say Miss Fanny Halbert was more fun and ever so much jollier. Mr.
Wilkinson really could not say, speaking conscientiously and without
reserve, that he regarded jollity as an essential element in true
womanhood. In his estimation it sank the peculiar grace and sacred
dignity of the sex too nearly to a level with ordinary prosaic humanity.
Mr. Perrowne concurred in a measure, but thought it was awfully nice for
men of serious occupations, like the dominie and himself, to have
somebody to liven them up a little; not too much, down't you know, but
just enough to dispel the blues. The lawyer interrogated Toner. "Well,
Ben, have you got any news of your young lady?"

"Yaas, Doctor."

"Never mind calling me doctor, Ben, because I'm not one yet. My name is
Coristine."

"Then, Mr. Corsten, I heern from old man Newcome as Serlizer's out in
that there Slec Camp in the laiuks. She's cookin' for twainty dollars a
month, and that's tarble good wages for gals, ef so be she gets her
money all right."

"Not a very nice place for a good girl to be, Ben."

"No, it ain't; log roll and timber slide the hull consarn."

"These are queer expressions you've got."

"Yaas, Mr. Corsten, I waynt and promised that there priest as looked
like Mr. Nash, guaiss it must ha' bin his brother, as I wouldn't sweaur
no moer. And now, it keeps my mind workin' mornin' and night, so'st to
know what to spit out when I'm raiul mad and hoppen."

"It must be quite an anxiety to you, Ben."

"Anxiety? It's wearin' my life away. I've got a bit of a rest jest now
on loggin' and lumberin', but them words 'll soon be used up."

"What's to hinder you repeating them, or leaving them out altogether? I
hardly ever feel the need of them."

"It's the way you're broughten up, like your food. What 'ud do you for
dinner, wouldn't be nigh enough for me. Same ways in speakin', they must
be something to fill your talk out."

"Swearing is a poor business, Ben. Our Saviour, when He was on earth,
said, Swear not at all."

"Is that in the Bible, Mr. Corsten?"

"Yes."

"Wall, it may be in some, but t'aint in the one Sylvanus was readin' to
old man Newcome, fer that says in black and white as Jesus cussed the
barrn fig tree, and I'd laike to know what's odds between cussin' and
swearin'. It stands to reason and natur that He wouldn't go and tell
folks not to do things He did Himself; don't it?"

"If you had read the chapters, there are two of them, that tell the
story of the fig tree, you would have found that the disciples called it
cursing when it was only a quiet saying: 'Let no fruit grow on thee
henceforth.' You wouldn't call that cursing, would you?"

"O my, no, that ain't wuth callin' a cuss; they ain't no cuss about it.
Now, fer whole souled, brimstun heeled cuss words, they's----"

"Never mind telling me any. They wouldn't do me any good, and the
clergyman forward there might hear them."

"Do these clergy belong to the Church?"

"They both think they do in different ways, but, strange to say, neither
of them belongs to your Church."

"Wall, I ain't got no quarrl at 'em. I guaiss all the good folks 'll get
to Heaven somehow."

"Amen!" answered the lawyer, and the conversation ended.

There was no visible cart track to the lakes. If Rawdon's whiskey mill,
as Ben called it, was really somewhere among them, there must of
necessity have been a road tapping their shores at some point, for an
extensive business employing so many men could hardly exist without a
means of easy transportation. To the neighbourhood of the Lakes
Settlement, however, this road was a mystery. The party halted at a log
house by the side of the road proper, and Mr. Perrowne, who claimed
Richards as a parishioner, asked his wife if he and his friends could
have the use of her boat. Mrs. Richards gave the required permission
very graciously, and the excursionists struck into the bush path which
led to Lake No. 1, or Richards' Lake. The bush had once been
underbrushed, perhaps a long time back by the Indians who generally made
for water; but the underbrush was now replaced by a dense growth of
Canadian yew, commonly called Ground Hemlock, the crimson berry of which
is one of the prettiest objects in the vegetable world. It, and other
shrubs and small saplings, encroached on the narrow path, and, in
places, almost obliterated it. The land rose into a ridge a short
distance from the water, so that it was invisible until the crest was
reached. Then, a dark circular lake, seemingly altogether shut in by the
elsewhere dense forest, made its appearance. There were remains of a log
shelter near the shore on the left, and, between it and the somewhat
muddy beach, Toner lit a fire of drift wood to drive away the flies
which followed the party out of the bush. The punt was soon discovered
moored to a stake, a punt with three seats flush with the gunwales, one
each fore and aft, and one in the centre.

"O, I saye," cried Mr. Perrowne, "look at that lovely little island out
there! See, you can hardly see it because of the black shadows. What a
place to fish! and here we are without a single rod."

"Ain't no need to trouble about rods," remarked Ben; "I kin cut you
half-a-dozen in two shakes of a dead lamb's taiul."

"And I've got three hooked lines," added the lawyer, producing part of
his Beaver River purchase from his breast pocket. The dominie did not
wish to trust himself in a doubtful craft with Coristine again, and he
distrusted the Captain, save on the _Susan Thomas_. His former success
in fishing, and his present pleasant relations with Perrowne, prompted
him to join that gentleman in practising the gentle art. But what about
bait? The question having been put to Toner, who returned with three
springy saplings, and worms having been suggested, that veteran
fisherman told Mr. Perrowne that he might as well look for a gold mine
as for worms in new land. When, however, some envelopes were produced
from various pockets, he proceeded to fill them with grasshoppers and
locusts. He also excavated a little pond near the shore, and gathered a
collection of caddice worms from the shallow border of the lake, after
which he found an old bait tin in the log shelter, that he filled with
water, into which he transferred the pond's inhabitants for
transportation. "Ef them baiuts don't suit, they's a heap o' little
frawgs in the grass of that there island," he finally remarked, before
unmooring the scow. Then the dominie and Mr. Perrowne got on board with
their rods, lines, and bait, and were poled and paddled by Ben over to
their isle of beauty. Their lines were in the water, and a bass was on
each hook, before the scow returned to the shore.

Now the Captain took command of the craft, occupying the entire stern
thwart; while Ben, with his gun resting on the floor and pointing its
muzzles out over the bow, held that end of the vessel. The commander
would not allow the passengers who sat amidships to do any work, but
said they might talk or sing if they had a mind to. Then the lawyer
sang:--

     The floatin' scow ob ole Virginny
     I've toiled for many a day,
     Workin' among de oyster beds,
     To me it was but play.

When he ended, Mr. Errol gave the company "Flow gently, Sweet Afton,
amang thy green braes," and Coristine wondered much if "My Mary" that
occurs in the song had any reference to a Marjorie, one who, as he said
inwardly,

               Shall never be thine,
     But mine, but mine, so I fondly swear,
     For ever and ever mine!

After Mr. Errol's effort, which won applause from the Captain, the
lawyer waved his handkerchief as a farewell sign to the busy fishermen,
for, just at that moment, the apparently land-locked shore opened, and a
narrow channel between cliffs came into view. The second lake, into
which they soon glided, was more beautiful than the first. A few jays
and woodpeckers were flying about, and Toner was anxious to have a shot
at a golden woodpecker, which he called a Highholder, and which sat
unconcernedly on a limb within splendid range. Mr. Errol dissuaded him,
saying he had heard that the report of a gun was carried through all the
channels to the very end by the echoes, and reverberated there like the
noise of thunder; after last night, they had better be as quiet as
possible. To take his mind off the disappointment, Coristine asked Ben
if he could sing and paddle too. He guessed he could, as paddling wasn't
taking his breath away any. So Ben was pressed to sing, and at once
assumed a lugubrious air, that reminded the lawyer of The Crew. The song
was about a dying youth, who is asked what he will give in legacy to his
mother, his sister, and various other relatives. He is liberal to all,
till his lady-love's name is mentioned, and, for some unknown reason,
excites his indignation. The tune was not the same as The Crew's
copyright.

     "What will you give your sweetheart, my comfort and my joy?
     What will you give your sweetheart, my darling boy?"
                         "Oh! a gallows to hang on!
                         Mother, make my bed soft;
                         I've a pain in my chest;
                         I want to lay down."

The last line was sung in a very solemn and affecting monotone.
Coristine had to pretend to be deeply moved, to turn round facing the
Captain, and chew first his moustache and then half of his pocket
handkerchief. "Eh, Ben," said the graver minister, "I'm afraid that was
no' a very Christian spirit to die in."

"No, your raiverence," replied the singer, "but ef I hadn't a knowed it
was old man Newcome as took Serlizer away, I'd be cant-hooked and
pike-poled ef I wouldn't ha' sung jest them words, that's ef I had a
paiun in my chaist and wanted to lay down." When they reached the third
lake, through a channel similar to the last, the Captain said sternly:
"I'm in command of this vessel, and expect orders to be obeyed. No more
singin' nor laughin' out nor loud talkin'. Doctor says it's as much as
life's worth to go beyond it. You've heerd orders; now mind 'em."
Everything was silent, save the soft dip of the paddles in the water;
the quiet was painfully oppressive. Ugly thoughts of bad men mingled
with a sense of the natural beauty of the scene. Toner in the bow
silently pointed to a square artificial-looking white object at the
entrance to the next channel, which was the limit of the voyage. At
last the punt came up to it, and its occupants found the channel barred
by a heavy grating, that passed down into the water. Above it was a
notice in the usual form, indicating the prosecution of trespassers, and
signed by order of the proprietor, Miss Du Plessis, with the name of
John Carruthers, J.P. "The villain!" ejaculated Mr. Errol. "John has
neither been here nor sent here. It's a forgery, an impudent forgery."

"Let us take it down and carry it back with us," said the lawyer.

"Na, na, my lad; we maun just wait till we come in force."

"Time to 'bout ship," growled the Captain.

"Hush!" whispered the minister, "I hear a voice, a woman's voice."

"Come on!" said the lawyer, jumping ashore; "will you come, Ben?"

"Don't ask me that, Doctor, I dassent," replied Toner, shivering with
superstitious fear.

"Let me go with him," said the minister to the Captain; "we'll not be a
minute away."

"Look sharp, then!" growled Mr. Thomas. "Are you loaded?"

The two explorers looked to their revolvers, and then climbed the bank,
which was no easy task, as it was a mass of felled timber and dead
brush; but the notes of a woman's voice led them on, and, at last, they
found themselves on the shore of the fourth lake. They saw nothing, so
they crouched down listening for the voice.

"Steve, Stevy dear, wake up and let us go away. Oh, why are you sleeping
when every moment is precious? He will come, Stevy, I know he will, and
kill you, dear!" The voice was very near. Simultaneously the intruders
looked up the bank, and, at the foot of a standing hemlock, saw a woman,
with gray hair hanging loose over her shoulders, who knelt by a
recumbent figure. "Steve, dear brother," she continued, "do wake up! You
used to be so good and sensible." Coristine crept nearer behind some
bushes till he was within a very short distance of the pair. With a
white, sad face, trembling in every limb, he came back as silently to
the minister, and whispered: "It's poor Nash, and she calls him brother;
Mr. Errol, he's murdered, he's dead." The warm-hearted Errol, who had
come out to look after the detective's safety, at once became a hero.

"Bide you there, Coristine," he said, "bide there till I call you." Then
he arose and went to the spot, but the woman, though he was in full
view, took no notice of him. He stooped and touched her. For a moment
she shrank, then looked up and saw it was not the person she dreaded.
"Matilda Nagle," whispered the minister, "we must get poor Steevie away
from here." Then he saw that her intellect was gone; no wonder that she
was the mother of an idiot boy. "Oh, I am so glad you have come, Mr.
Inglis," she cried, softly; "won't you try and wake Stevy, perhaps he
will mind you better than me." The minister brushed the tears from his
eyes, and strove to keep the sobs out of his voice. "I have a friend
here and will call him," he said, "and we will carry Steevie away to the
boat, and all go home together." So he called Coristine, and they picked
the dead man up, the dead man from whose smooth, girl-like face the
disguise had been torn away, and bore him painfully but tenderly over
the rough fallen timber safely to the other side, the woman following.
Ben shivered, as he saw the strange procession come down the hill, but,
like the Captain, he uttered neither word nor cry. The bearers propped
the dead man up against the middle thwart with the face towards the bow,
and then set the woman down beside the Captain, who said: "Come along,
my dear, and we'll see you both safely home." The old man's honest face
won the poor sister's confidence, as she took her seat beside him and
left her Stevy to the care of the minister and Coristine. With all their
might and main paddled the Captain and Ben. Joyfully, all the company
saw stretch after stretch of the lake behind them, until, at last, they
passed the fishermen and landed on the shore. The minister and the
lawyer laid their coats upon the boards of the log shelter, and placed
their burden upon them. "Let him sleep a bit," said Mr. Errol to the mad
woman; "let him sleep, and you help my friend to get a few flowers to
take home with him." So Coristine took his candle-box from the floor of
the punt, and, with his strange companion, gathered the skullcaps and
loose-strifes and sundews that grew by the shore. She knew the flowers
and where to find them, and filled the lawyer's improvised vasculum
almost to overflowing with many a new specimen. He only took them to
humour her, for what cared he for all the flowers that bloom when death,
and such a death, was but a few yards away.

Ben Toner brought the fishers back with two good strings of fish; but,
when they heard the story, they threw them into the lake. Ben was a
handy man. He cut down two stout poles, and with leather wood bark
constructed a litter, light but strong. On this the sleeping detective
was laid, and while Mr. Errol and the Captain stumbled through the
ground hemlock on either side of the now cheerful mad woman, the other
four carried their ghastly load, with scalding tears streaming from
every eye. "S'haylp me," said Ben to the lawyer, "ef I don't hunt the
man as killed him till he dies or me." After a painful journey they
reached the Richards' house, and Richards was at home. Mr. Perrowne told
him all about it, and the brave fellow answered:--

"Bring it in here, passon; we've a place to put it in where it'll be
safe till they send for it. I ain't scared, not I. You know my four boys
in your club; they've all got guns and can use 'em, and I've got mine to
boot." So, they left the body there, and persuaded the sister to come
with them on their six mile walk home. It was seven o'clock before they
had accomplished half the journey, and had been met by the
representatives of an anxious household, the Squire and his
father-in-law, the latter with rifle in hand, prepared for action. The
first joy at beholding them safe and sound was damped by the news they
brought. As soon as Carruthers could recover himself he spoke to the
weird woman and invited her to come and rest at Bridesdale. Then he
hastened on ahead to warn his wife and sister, and make arrangements for
the reception of the strange visitor. When the party arrived at the
house they found a large company, young and old, assembled to meet them,
for, in addition to the doctor and his daughter, there was Mrs. Du
Plessis with her daughter on one side, and, in all its soldierly
dignity, the tall form of Colonel Morton on the other. The lawyer also
noticed the ebon countenance of Mr. Maguffin peering over the palings in
the direction of the stables. Matilda Nagle was hurried away to the
back of the house by Mrs. Carruthers and her sister-in-law, there to
find her idiot boy, to partake of necessary food provided by the
compassionate Tryphena, and, for a time, altogether to forget the sad
tragedy of the day. Tryphosa prepared tea for the truants in the
breakfast room, and, after the formalities of introduction and
reacquaintance had been gone through, Miss Carmichael poured out tea for
the five, while Tryphosa did the same for Ben in the kitchen. The
Captain told how Mr. Errol and the lawyer braved the terrors of the
barred-in lakes, which appalled the stout heart of big Ben Toner. The
two heroes hastened to put all the credit on one another's shoulders, in
which, so far as one person's estimation was concerned, the minister
triumphed, for, through the tears that shimmered in her eyes, Coristine
could see that the presiding goddess was proud of him, and, with all his
simple-heartedness, he knew that such pride has its origin in
possession.




CHAPTER XI.

     Old Man Newcome's Escape, Arrest and Conveyance Home--The Colonel's
     Plan of Campaign--He Takes Command--Maguffin's Capture by Messrs.
     Hill and Hislop--The Richards' Aid Enlisted--Squire as Colonel, and
     Mr. Terry, Sergeant-Major--The Skirmish--Harding
     Murdered--Wilkinson and Errol Improving the Time--The Young
     Incendiary--Mr. Hill Crushes Maguffin.


Everybody grieved for the offtaking of the detective. In the front of
the house, the Squire and the minister, who knew his history, were most
affected; in the back, Ben Toner was the corypheus of grief. An old man
on a couch in an adjoining room heard the news, and, little thinking
that his deposition and confession were safe in the Squire's possession
along with many other documents, rejoiced thereat, and conceived a
heroic project. At first, he thought of enlisting the idiot boy, but had
to give up the idea; for the boy was happy with those whom he knew, and
obstinately refused to go near the old reprobate. Sylvanus no longer
watched him; he was basking in the smiles of Tryphena, and, at the same
time, amusing Monty. There was a passage from the room he was in to the
back of the main hallway, which led into the open air, independently of
the summer kitchen. His coat was gone and his hat, both his boots were
removed, and his wounded leg was bandaged, but he was a tough old
criminal, and a bare back rider from a boy. He slipped off the couch,
and helped himself along by the wall, thankful that his boots were off
and he could move quietly. Still, simple Sylvanus, taken in by the good
old man who loved to have the Bible read to him, neglected his duty.
Newcome gained the hall, the porch, the open air, and, at last, could
hardly believe his good luck to find himself in the stable unperceived.
What a lot of horses were there with nobody to look after them! He saw
one that suited him, a handsome beast he had seen in Collingwood, the
travelling powers of which he knew. To that stall he went, and braced
himself against the partition for a spring, after he had loosed the
halter, and slipped on a bit and bridle. He backed his steed out, turned
in the passage way and made for the door. Another moment and he would be
free. No horse in the stable, even if saddled and bridled, would be able
to overtake him, once he was on the road. But, at the door he met an
obstacle in the shape of a mountain of straw, that caused the horse to
back. The desperate man dug his knees into the flanks of the beast, and
urged it on. Down went the straw mountain, and the luckless Timotheus
beneath it, and Newcome rained a few exultant curses on him, as he
forced his steed; when a well-dressed negro sprang up from nowhere, and,
seizing the rein nearest him, spoke to the intelligent animal, and
backed it to one side. In a moment Timotheus wriggled himself unhurt out
of the litter, and, by main force, pulled the escaped prisoner down;
while Mr. Maguffin remarked that "hoss thieves ain't pumculiah ter no
paht of the habitatable yeth."

Newcome squirmed and fought as well as he was able, but to no avail.
Timotheus was simple and he was clumsy, but he was no weakling. Maguffin
led the horse back into the stable, spread his litter, and replaced the
bridle on the wall. Then he came out quite unruffled, and asked
Timotheus if he would like him to use his new boots on the prisoner, to
which that worthy replied with a grin: "I guess I've pooty nigh parlyzed
his laigs to stop his wrastlin' tricks aready." Sylvanus, in a lucid
moment, remembered his charge, and found the bird had flown. He came
out to look for his Bible-loving friend, dreading the Captain's wrath,
and great was his relief when he found him a victim in the strong arms
of his brother. "Here, Sylvanus, you hold him, so's the Square'll think
t'was you as cotched him," said the unselfish Timotheus. So Sylvanus,
nothing loath, seized the hypocrite, and Timotheus went for the Squire,
while Maguffin looked calmly on, occasionally glancing at his
heavy-soled new boots, as if regretting that there was no immediate call
for their services. The Squire was angry, for he had been kind to the
old sinner; but he saw that the prisoner was an element of weakness in
the house. What was to hinder him escaping again, committing murder,
setting the place on fire? He called up Toner. "Ben," he said, "how long
would it take you to convey Newcome to his home in a farm waggon with a
good team?" "Ef the teeum's smart, I guaiss an houer 'ud do," answered
the prospective son-in-law of the victim. Accordingly a springless
waggon was produced, some straw thrown in, and Newcome securely bound
with ropes, lying flat on his back, with his own coat and a sack or two
put under his head for a pillow. "Timotheus," continued Mr Carruthers,
"you had better go with Ben. Take your guns, both of you, and bring them
back as quick as you can." Off started the ambulance, at first gently
and humanely. When out of sight of the house, Toner grinned at
Timotheus, and Timotheus grinned back at Ben. "It can't be haylped,
Timotheus," remarked the latter in a low tone, "we're bound to git back
airly, ef they's moer guyard mountin' to be did. So here goes, Serlizer
or no Serlizer." The horses were pretty fresh, and they tore along,
enjoying the fun, and answering with their heels to every playful flick
of the whip. The road was rough and hilly; the jolting almost threw the
occupants of the box seat off the waggon that had no springs. Old man
Newcome groaned, and implored Ben, for the sake of Serlizer, to go easy
or leave him on the roadside to die. "Ef you don't laike my teamin',"
said Toner, in a simulated huff, "I'll quit. Here, Timotheus, you had
ought to know them hosses better'n me." Timotheus took the reins, and
cried: "Gerlang, we ain't no time ter lose; rattle the brimstun an'
merlasses old malufacture over the stones, he's ony a firebug as nobody
owns." The delight of The Crew's brother in getting off this new and
improved version of an ancient couplet made him reckless. He and Ben
jumped into the air like shuttlecocks, and seemed to like it. "I heern
say," remarked Toner, while moving momentarily skywards, "I heern tayll
as this here joltin' beats all the piulls and pads as ever was made for
the livyer."

"Yaas," cheerfully responded Timotheus, coming down with a sounding
bump; "myuns is like what the doctor out our way said to fayther wunst.
Says he, 'Saul, your livyer's tawpidd.' So's myun, Ben; it's most tarble
tawpidd. Gerlang, yer lazy, good fer nawthun brutes; poor old man
Newcome won't get home this blessed night, the way yer a-goin'."

The waggon reached the Newcome shanty. The old man was unbound and
lifted out into his own bed. Strong as he was, he had fainted, which his
charioteers were not sorry to see. "He's had an accident, Miss Newcome,"
said Ben to the man's wife; "but he'll soon be all right." Fortunately,
the doctor had done his duty well, and the shaking had failed to loosen
the bandages over the wound. The drivers got into the waggon again and
drove home more gently, exchanging a few words with each other; one
being: "Guaiss old man Newcome's out o' mischief fer one night."

While Bridesdale was being delivered from the presence of one unwelcome
guest, the welcome ones of the front were discussing with the Squire the
programme for the night. He had made out a warrant for the arrest of
Rawdon, should he again have the hardihood to turn up, and otherwise
proposed to repeat the guards of the night before. While the
excursionists were at tea, the colonel and Mr. Terry had been walking
about with an object in view; and the latter gentleman informed his
son-in-law that "the cornel has a shplindid oiday in his moind." Colonel
Morton was requested to favour the company with it, and proceeded to do
so. "From what infohmation I have had fuhnished me by my fellow-soldieh,
Mr. Tehhy, I pehsume you have pehmitted the attacking fohce to select
its own basis of opehations, and have yohselves stood almost entihely on
the defensive. With a small fohce, this is vehy often the only couhse
to puhsue. But, as I now undehstand from reeliable infohmation brought
in, the enemy's fohce of seventeen is reduced by four, while that of the
gahhison is augmented by three--the doctor, myself and my sehvant. Ah,
no; I fohgot you have had one sad casualty, as my niece infohms me, in
the fall of Mr. Nash; which leaves the strength of the gahhison fohteen,
as against thihteen of the assailants. My friend, Mr. Wilkinson, infohms
me that a small detachment of five men, well ahmed, holds a foht some
six miles in the dihection of the enemy. Now, gentlemen of the council
of wah, can we not obtain that this friendly outpost make a divehsion in
conceht with the offensive paht of our ahmy? Send a scout with
instyuctions foh them to occupy the wood neah their foht, and, eitheh
with blank or ball cahtyidge--as you, Genehal Cahhathers, may
dihect--meet the enemy as ouah troops dyive them back, and thus pehvent
them seeking the coveh of the trees against us. This being done, send a
scout, mounted if possible, to guahd against attack from the left; post
pistol sentinels round the buildings, and fohm the rest of the available
fohce into an attacking pahty occupying the strategic point examined by
Mr. Tehhy and me: I allude to the plantation to the reah of the right
wing. Just as soon as the enemy comes up to occupy that position, chahge
them like bulldogs and drive them as fah as possible towahds the road,
and at last bring them undeh the guns of our friendly foht. That, I
think, is bettah than losing heaht by watching all night long and
endangehing the safety of the ladies. Such, gentlemen, is my humble
counsel."

"Hark till him, now, jantlemen; pay attintion till him, all av yeez,"
exclaimed Mr. Terry; "fer 'tis the wurrud av a sowldjer and an
offisher."

"Assume command, Colonel, if you please. We are all ready to obey
orders," said the Squire. "Is that not the case, friends?"

To this the whole company answered "Yes," and Colonel Morton at once
gave his commands.

The garrison was paraded on the lawn, its armament strengthened by two
rifles borrowed in the neighbourhood, of which the Squire carried one
and the lawyer the other. The post office had been cleared out of its
complete stock of powder and shot by Carruthers, early in the morning,
to the no little disgust of the Grinstun man when he went for his mail.
"Volunteehs foh the foht, foh mounted patyol, foh plantation
picket--three!" called out the colonel. Perrowne volunteered for the
first, as likely to have most influence with the Richards. "Blank
cartridge," said the Squire, as he rode away amid much waving of
handkerchiefs. "Oi'm yer picket, cornel," said Mr. Terry, stepping out
of the ranks with his rifle at the shoulder in true military fashion.
"Ef it's a gennelman wot knows riden, sah, and kin fiah a pistol or
revolvah, I respectuously dedercates my feeble servishes," volunteered
Mr. Maguffin, who mounted and patrolled poor Nash's beat, with a
revolver handy; while the veteran ran at a regular double to the far end
of the strip of bush. "The Squiah had bettah take the field, as he knows
the ground and I do not," said the colonel; "I will command the
gahhison. I shall want the captain, the doctah, Mr. Wilkinson and Mr.
Ehhol--four. My deah sistah-in-law can shoot; and so, I believe, can
Miss Halbeht, so we are seven."

"There's Wordsworth for you, Wilks, my boy," Coristine remarked, nudging
his right hand man.

"Corry, my dear fellow, whatever induced you to take that gun?" answered
the dominie, apprehensive for his friend's safety in the field.

"It's no gun, Wilks; it's a rifle. If I only get a sight at Grinstuns,
I'll commit justifiable homicide. Then I wish the Squire would punish me
by sending me down here for thirty days."

"The gahhison will take three paces to the fyont; quick, mahch!"
commanded the colonel.

The four came out in pretty straggling order, and the two ladies named
fell in beside them.

"Now, Squiah, I leave yoah command of five men, which Mr. Pehhowne will
soon augment to six, and Mr. Tehhy to seven, in yoah hands. If I have no
fuhtheh need of a mounted patyol, my sehvant will join the gahhison."

The colonel then left to post his sentries, which he did so judiciously
that three were enough, namely, the doctor, the minister and the
dominie. The ladies kept watch by turns on the front of the house. Soon
a voice was heard at the gate calling for Colonel Morton. The colonel
answered the summons in person. It was Maguffin dismounted, and behind
him came two men, honest farmers apparently, one of whom led the
coloured man's horse, while the other held his fowling piece at the
port, ready for action in Maguffin's rear.

"Maguffin," said the colonel, sternly, "consideh youhself undeh ahhest,
suh."

"I doan need ter hab ter, sah; that's jess wot I is this bressid minit."

"Good evening!" said the two farmers, amiably, and the colonel returned
the salutation. "Good evening, gentlemen! but I feah you have made a
mistake in ahhesting my sehvant."

"When a naygur on a fine beast gallops down on two quiet folk, and
orders them to go back, disperse, and surrinder, and them coming to see
after the safety of their children and friends, the only one thing to
do, if you have your guns along, is to arrest the naygur."

"Do I undehstand, Maguffin, that you ordehed these wohthy people to go
back, dispehse, and suhhendah without any wahhant?"

"And presinted his pistil, too," continued the tall man, who had already
spoken, and who was the coloured man's guard.

"Have you no answah, Maguffin?"

"I fought, Cunnell, I was ter patterole this heah road and repawt all
the folkses I see on or off'n it."

"Yes, repoht to me, as youh officeh, suh."

"Oh, I fought yoh meant to repawt em wif a revolvah, sah."

"I suppose, gentlemen, you will let my sehvant go, when I say I deplohe
his foolish mistake, and apologize foh his insolence?

"To be shure, sir," replied the guard; "give the man his horse,
Annerew."

Maguffin remounted, and, receiving more minute instructions from his
master, returned to his patrol duty.

"We're just coming in to help the Squire, and me to look after my
childer, Tryphena and Tryphosa and Baby Rufus. When the Baby didn't come
back this mornin', I said to his mother, 'Persis' says I, 'I must go and
see the boy.' So here I am. My name is Hill, sir, Henry Cooke Hill, and
this is my neighbour, and some day, perhaps, Rufus's father-in law,
Annerew Hislop"--then in an undertone--"a very dacent man, sir, though a
Sesayder."

"Is that the case?" asked the colonel with eagerness, advancing towards
Andrew. "Were you on ouah side, suh, in the wahah?"

"Naw, naw, surr, I'm no sodjer, but a humble maimber o' the pure gospel
Secession kirk. As the fufty-fufth parryphrase says:--

     With heevenly wappons I have focht
     The baittles o' the Lord."

"Ah yes, pahdon me my mistake. Come in, gentlemen; the Squiah will be
happy to see you."

Maguffin's captors entered, were warmly greeted by their friends in hall
and kitchen, partook of a hasty supper, and were ready for the
engagement of the night.

Perrowne, who was a good rider, soon made his appearance, reporting that
the Richards were only too glad to make the desired repulse of the evil
crew from their neighbourhood, and, as members formerly of a volunteer
company, understood something of military tactics. The parson also
reported that he had nearly fallen in with the advancing attacking force
of, he should say, twenty men; but, sighting them ahead, he advanced
slowly until he saw them move solidly to his left into the fields, with
the evident intention of coming at the house through the strip of bush.
The villains could not be far off. "Now, Squiah," said the colonel,
"hasten, suh, to join Mr. Tehhy; a few minutes make all the diffehence
in case of an attack."

The Squire had now nine men under his command, including his
father-in-law, for Ben and Timotheus were safely back, having passed the
formidable Maguffin. The other six were Sylvanus and Rufus, Messrs.
Hill, Hislop, Perrowne, and Coristine. All were armed with loaded guns
and rifles; the carbine and the blunderbuss remained to guard the house.
Rapidly they reached the bush which hid them from view, and rejoiced the
veteran's heart with their array.

"Now, grandfather," said Carruthers, "you must get us all into shape."

"Well now, we'll make belave this is a bittillion, an' you're cornel,
an' Oi'm sargint-major. It's ten shtrong we are, an' there's three
roifles an' two double barrels anyhow. You git in the rare, Cornel an'
Mishter Coristine an' Mishter Parrowne an' Ben Toner; the rist av yeez
shtay where yeez are, till I say 'Extind!' thin, tin paces apart for the
front rank, an' tin for the rare rank; but the rare alternatin' wid the
front. Whin Oi say, 'Front rank!' that rank'll diliver it's foire, an'
go on wid its loadin' behind a three, moind! an' so on wid the rare. By
the powers, here the varmints come. Shtiddy min, lishten till me an' be
quoiet--Extind!"

There were some loudly beating hearts at that moment, for the enemy was
in force, and partly armed with guns of some sort. Instead of advancing
across the fields, as the defenders had hoped, they descended to the
creek, in order to find cover from the bushes on its bank, until they
reached the piece of wood. The veteran, telling his command to preserve
its formation, wheeled it to the right, and ordered perfect silence.
Leaving his rifle at his post, he slipped from tree to tree like a cat,
having thrown off his shoes for the purpose. When he returned, the
enemy, moving almost as silently, had entered the bush, but,
anticipating no sentry at that point, had sought no cover. "Shtiddy, now
min," whispered the sarjint-major; "take good aim, Front Rank, Riddy!"
Five guns rolled out a challenge to the invaders, and, before they had
time to seek cover, came, "Rare Rank, Riddy," and his own rifle led the
other four weapons of the second line. "Are yeez loaded, front an'
rare?" asked the ancient warrior; and, satisfied that all were, he put
himself in the front and ordered a charge to outflank the enemy and
hinder them getting away among the bushes. All perceived his intentions,
except, perhaps, the two Pilgrims and Toner, who, however, were borne
along by the rest. Dashing through the creek, part of the force volleyed
the miscreants from there, and drove them into the open, while the
remaining part kept them from seeking refuge in the bush. The Squire's
men had the shelter of the brook alders and willows, now, and, led by
Mr. Terry, in single file, at a rate almost as rapid as that of Rawdon's
retreat, faced now and again to the left to fire, and loaded as they
ran. At last the shelter ceased, and all were in the open, both pursued
and pursuers. "Kape it up," cried the indomitable veteran; "don't give
the murtherin' blagyards a minit's resht!" Up, up the hill, they chased
the said blackguards, until they reached the road. Within the skirting
rail fences the Squire kept his men, faint but pursuing, and firing an
occasional shot to lend the speed of terror to the miscreants' heels. In
an hour from the beginning of the pursuit, the hunted Rawdonites were at
the wild lands on the lakes, and prepared to enter the forest and make a
stand or hide; when Carruthers cried: "Down flat on your faces every
man," and five reports from in front rang through the air. The Richards
were on guard, but either Perrowne had forgotten to tell them about
blank cartridge, or they did not think proper to obey the order. "Come
on a bit farther, lads, till we find where these villains turn in,"
cried the Squire. In another minute the victors combined with the
Richards' party, and chased the thoroughly demoralized Rawdonites, whose
guns and pouches strewed the ground, to a desolate rocky spot beside a
swamp, where felled trees lay in indescribable confusion, over which the
fugitives scrambled in desperate haste for home. The lawyer caught sight
of a figure that he knew, far up the rocky slope, preparing to leap down
from a prostrate trunk resting on three or four others, and aimed his
rifle at it. The Squire threw up the weapon just in the nick of time.
"It's ower gude a death for the likes o' him, Coristine. Gie him time to
repent, an' let the law tak' its coarse. The cunning scoundrel! Even at
the risk o' 's life he wadna let us ken whaur his waggon road is, but
I've a thocht, man, that it's yonner whaur the rock rises oot o' the
swamp." Then the good Squire took off his hat, and thanked God for the
defeat of the evil doers.

Light though the night was, to continue the pursuit would have been the
height of folly. The force was mustered and inspected by the so-called
Colonel Carruthers, and the Sergeant-Major Terry. Including themselves,
it was found to consist of no fewer than seventeen persons, one of whom
was a woman, and the other a lad of about fifteen years of age, Matilda
Nagle and her boy Monty. "I will show you where the road is," she said
to the Squire; "it is hard to find, but I know it. When Stevy tried to
find it, Harding and he put him to sleep, so that I couldn't wake him
up. Harding is asleep now too; I put him, and Monty helped, didn't you,
Monty?"

Carruthers looked, and saw that the woman's right hand and that of the
idiot boy were alike stained with blood. All his own men were safe and
sound, not a scratch on any one of them. The veteran's rapid tactics had
given the enemy hardly an opportunity to return the fire, and had
destroyed their aim from the very beginning. All honour to the
sergeant-major! All had behaved well. Father Hill and his friend Hislop
felt like boys; and while the Sesayder took a fatherly interest in
Rufus, the parent of Tryphena and Tryphosa was pleased with the bearing
of the Pilgrims. Ben Toner's conscience was a little troubled about his
treatment of old man Newcome, but he also had a feeling that he was
getting nearer to Serlizer. The veteran and Mr. Perrowne were filled
with mutual admiration; and Coristine felt that that night's work had
brought to his suit, as an ordinary year's acquaintance could not have
done, the vote and influence of the Squire. The victors gathered up the
spoils of the vanquished, and, by a unanimous vote, handed them over to
the grateful Richards, whom Carruthers and Perrowne warmly thanked for
their timely aid. "It's about time, Squire, we crushed them fellows
out," said father Richards, to which the Squire replied: "If you and
your sons are ready, we'll do it to-morrow as soon as the inquest is
over."

"Boys," asked Richards, "are you fit for a man hunt to-morrer?"

"Fitter'n a fiddle," answered the boys; "then we can go fishin' where we
durn please."

They bade their allies good bye, carrying their spoil with them, and
twelve persons set out for a six-mile tramp home.

"Yeez can march at aise, march aisy, boys," ordered the veteran; and the
party broke up into groups. The woman clung to the Squire, and the boy
to Sylvanus, who had made whittled trifles to amuse him. Mr. Hill
cultivated Timotheus, and formed a high opinion of him. Rufus, of
course, addicted himself to his future father-in-law, the Sesayder. Mr.
Terry thought it his duty to hold out high hopes to Ben in regard to the
rescue of Serlizer; and Perrowne and the lawyer journeyed along like
brothers. There was a light in the post office, and the post-mistress at
the door asked if the doctor had gone home yet, for two wounded men had
sought shelter with her, and told her that one named Harding was lying
down the hill near by. The Squire promised to bring the doctor to the
wounded, and asked his father-in-law and Coristine, as if they were his
nearest friends, to go down and see if they could find the wounded
Harding. They went down and found him, but he was dead, with two of the
Bridesdale kitchen-knives planted in his heart. In part, at least, the
murder of Nash was avenged. They picked the slain assassin up and
carried him to the road, where the post office stood, and deposited the
body in an outbuilding to await the verdict of the morning.

Meanwhile, the dominie was happy; his rival, the parson, his tormentor,
the lawyer, were away, and even that well-meaning Goth, the tired
Captain, was asleep in the guard-room, opposite a half-empty glass of
the beverage in which he indulged so rarely, but which he must have
good. The doctor's lively daughter had left Mrs. Du Plessis to guard the
front of the house, and was talking to her father on his beat, and he
had a suspicion that Mrs. Carmichael was wrapping that cloud again round
the minister's neck. When the battle commenced below, the colonel was
everywhere, directing Maguffin, inspecting the posts, guarding on all
sides against the possibility of the enemy's attack being a mere feint.
All unknown to the rest of the company, Miss Carmichael was up in the
glass-enclosed observatory at the top of the house, without a light,
watching the movements of the hostile ranks beyond the bush, and
inwardly praying for the success of the righteous cause and for the
safety of those she loved. Of course her uncle John was among them, and
the simple-hearted old grandfather of her young cousins, and even, in a
way, Mr. Perrowne, who had behaved bravely, but there was a tall,
unclerical form, which Mr. Terry and the Squire had difficulty in
keeping up with, that her eye followed more closely. Every report of the
lawyer's rifle seemed to press a warm spot on her maiden cheek, and then
make the quick blood suffuse her face, as she thought of the morning and
Mr. Wilkinson. That gentleman was happy on guard at the top of the hill
meadow, for a tall female figure, muffled up slightly as a preventive to
chill from the night dews, came down the path towards his post, eager
for news from the seat of war.

"Be careful, Miss Du Plessis, I beg of you!" implored the dominie;
"heavy firing is going on not far off, and a stray bullet might easily
find its way hither. Permit me to conduct you to a place of safety." So
he led her with grave courtesy within the gate, and placed her on a
garden seat in front of two trees large of bole, and interceptive of
possible missiles. Of course, his own safety was a matter of no moment;
he went out of the gate and to the utmost limit of his watch to gain, by
eye and ear, tidings of the progress of the skirmish, which he returned
every minute or two to report to the anxious young lady. Thus it was
that, when the colonel came to inspect the posts, he found two sentinels
at each, pertaining to different sexes. Returning to his sister-in-law
on the verandah, he explained to that lady the peculiar difficulty of
his position.

"You see, my deah sistah, that this is altogetheh contyahy to militahy
discipline, and I ought to ordeh all undeh ahhest, but, were I to do so,
madam, where would my sentinels come from?" Miss Du Plessis perceived
the difficulty, as she handled the colonel's silver-mounted revolver,
with an air of old practice; and proceeded to ask what her
brother-in-law knew of the young gentleman who was furnishing Cecile
with information of the fight. Thereupon the colonel launched out into a
panegyric of the dominie's noble qualities, imputing to him all that
Coristine had done on his behalf, and a chivalrous Southern exaggeration
of the school-master's learning and expressions of sympathy. "Marjorie
appears to think more highly of the other pedestrian," remarked Mrs. Du
Plessis, to which Colonel Morton replied that Mr. Coristine was indeed a
handsome and excellent young man, but lacked the correct bearing and
dignified courtesy of his friend, and, he should judge, was much his
inferior in point of education. When the tide of battle rolled away to
the right, altogether out of sight and almost out of hearing, the double
sentries were still at their posts, no doubt conversing with all
propriety, but of what, they only individually knew. Even Miss Halbert
did not confide to others the substance of a favourable criticism on Mr.
Perrowne to which she treated her worthy father.

It was between one and two in the morning when the victorious army
returned, and was received with open arms, literally in the case of the
Squire and the veteran, and of Mr. Hill and Rufus in the kitchen,
metaphorically in that of the remaining combatants. Mr. Carruthers
released the doctor, and took him to visit the wounded at the post
office. The minister and the dominie were also relieved, and Mr. Hill
and the Sesayder, at their own request, put in their vacant places;
while Maguffin dismounted, and, being armed with a gun and set in the
doctor's post, constituted a guardian trio with his late captors. Of
course, the warriors and past sentries had to eat and drink in guard
room and kitchen, the latter apartment being more hilarious than it
would have been had the seniors on duty formed part of its company.
There was no old Bourbon for the colonel, but he managed to find a fair
substitute for it, and informed Coristine, in answer to that gentleman's
enquiry, how he happened to arrive so speedily at Bridesdale.

"It was Satuhday, suh, when my sehvant and I ahhived in Tohonto, and I
met my deah sisteh in-law. At once, I sent Maguffin back by rail with
the hohses to Collingwood, giving them Sunday to recoveh from the
effects of the jouhney, tyavel by rail being vehy hahd on hohses. This
mohning, or, ratheh I should say yestehday mohning, Madame Du Plessis
and I went to Collingwood by rail, where my sehvant had secuhed her two
places in the mail caht, and I had the honouh of escohting her to this
pleasant place, and of beholding my chahming niece for the fihst time. I
was indeed vehy fohtunate in ahhiving when I did, to be able to
contribute a little to the secuhity of Bridesdale."

"You are doubtless aware, Colonel, that our enemies of to-night are in
unlawful possession of Miss Du Plessis' property?"

"Suh, you astonish me. As her natuhal guahdian, I cannot, though in a
foheign land, allow that foh a day, suh."

"We think, at least Squire Carruthers thinks, of attacking them in
force, after the double inquest to-morrow."

"Then, Mr. Cohistine, I shall claim the privilege of joining yoah fohce
as a volunteeh. I wish the ground were fit foh cavalhy manoeuvehs, suh."

"We may need a few mounted men, as we hope to discover a masked road."

"That is vehy intehesting, suh. Will you kindly explain to me the
chahacteh of the ground?"

The lawyer told all that he knew of the region, from hearsay and from
personal experience. The supposed masked road, the actual rocky ascent
covered with felled timber, an abatis, as the colonel called it, the
access by water, and the portcullis at the narrows, were objects of
great interest to the old soldier. He enquired as to the extent of the
means of transportation, the probable numbers of the available force,
and other particulars; and, when the weary Squire returned and bade all
good people go to rest, if they could not sleep, in view of past
wakefulness and the morrow's work, he begged, as a perfectly fresh man,
to be excused and left in command of the guard, adding: "I shall study
out a thyeefold convehging attack on the enemy's position, by wateh and
by land, with cavalhy, infantry and mahines." The guard-room company
joined in a laugh at the military joke, after which they dispersed, with
the exception of the Captain, whom it was a pity to disturb, and
Carruthers, who lay down upon a sofa, while the colonel went out to
inspect his posts.

The pedestrians occupied a large, double-bedded room at the right corner
of the house, above the verandah. The dominie was sleeping peacefully,
but the lawyer had not even removed his clothes, with the exception of
his boots, if they may be so called, as he lay down upon his bed to
rest, with a window half open in front of him. Precisely at the moment
when, the night before, he had discovered the incipient conflagration,
there came to his nostrils the smell of unctuous fire. Pocketing his
loaded revolver, he stepped out of the window on to the sloping verandah
roof, off which, in spite of his efforts, he slid heavily to the ground.
At once he was seized with no gentle hands by at least three persons,
who turned out to be Mr. Hill, the colonel, and Maguffin. "Catch that
boy," he cried, as soon as they perceived their mistake, referring to a
juvenile figure that he had seen slipping back towards the meadow.
Sentry Hislop would probably have caught him, but there was no
necessity. The idiot boy was in the arms of his wakeful mother, who,
thinking he was going to Rawdon's quarters, as he probably was,
intercepted him, saying: "Not back there, Monty, no, no, never again!"
So deeply had his unnatural father, with brutal threats, impressed the
lesson of incendiarism upon the lad that, all mechanically, he had
repeated the attempt of the previous night. Fortunately for Coristine's
hands, there was a garden rake at hand to draw out from under the
verandah two kitchen towels, well steeped in coal oil, the fierce flame
from which had already charred three or four planks of the floor. Two
pails of water relieved all apprehensions; but the Squire awoke Sylvanus
and ordered him to take Monty into his room, and, with his companions,
be responsible for his safe keeping. Then, turning to the lawyer, and
laying a friendly hand on his shoulder, he said: "If ye canna sleep, ye
had better come in and tak' the Captain's chair; he's awa til 's bed,
puir man." So Coristine entered the porch, and, as he did so, heard a
voice above say: "No, Cecile, it is not your hero; it is mine again."
"What are thae lassies gabbin' aboot at this time o' nicht?" said the
Squire, harder of hearing. "Gang awa to the land o' Nod, and dinna spoil
your beauty sleep, young leddies." The apostrophized damsels laughed
lightly, whispered a few more confidences, and then relapsed into
silence. John Carruthers had a high opinion of his niece, and said some
very nice things about her, but, so far short did they fall of the
lawyer's standard of appreciation, that he regarded them almost as
desecrations. Still, it was very pleasant to be on such friendly terms
with the Squire of the neighbourhood, the master of hospitable
Bridesdale; and Miss Carmichael's uncle. "A splendid honest fellow," he
said to himself, "as good every bit as Wilks' foreign aristocracy!" From
time to time the colonel looked in upon the pair, and remarked that the
contents of the Squire's decanter pleased him as well as Bourbon or
Monongahela.

When daylight came, the weary sentries were dismissed to the kitchen,
where, under Tryphena's direction, the insane woman took much pleasure
in providing for their creature comforts. The restraints upon Mr.
Maguffin's eloquence being removed, it flowed in a grandiloquent stream.
"Lave the cratur to me, Annerew," whispered Mr. Hill; "lave the nagur to
me, and if I don't flummix and flabbergast his consayted voccabuelary, I
was never a taycher." Then, turning to the coloured gentleman, he
remarked in an incidental sort of way: "Were you ever in the company of
deipnosophists before, Mr. Magoffin, deipnosophists mind! enjoyin' a
gastromical repast?"

Mr. Maguffin's eyes expanded, and his jaw dropped.

"Yoh's got the devantidge ob yoh 'umble sarvant, Mistah Hill."

"It's not possible that a gentleman of your larnin' is ignorant of such
simple, aisy polysyllables as them?"

"I'se afeard yoh's got me this time, sah."

"It stands to raison that there's limits to everybody's voccabuelary,
onless it's a great scholard like Mr. Wilkinson; but I thought, perhaps,
it was for a school taycher you would be settin' up?"

"Oh my! no, Mistah Hill, my edurecation was passimoniously insurficient.
Most all my bettah class language I'se acquied fom clugymen ob de Baktis
pussuasion."

"And they never tayched ye deipnosophist nor gastromical?"

"No, sah, they didn't, I'se humblerated ter confess."

The old schoolmaster looked at Mr. Hislop with a serious expression of
mingled incredulity and commiseration, saying: "Such ignerance, Annerew,
such ignerance!"; and somehow Mr. Maguffin did not see his way to
gathering up the broken threads of conversation.

Timotheus was despatched by the Squire to summon a brother J.P., and the
township constable, in order that immediate action against known
criminal parties might be taken, as well as to notify the farmers
adjacent that they were expected to sit in a coroner's jury. Having made
all necessary legal arrangements, the Squire returned to the colonel,
who, from a memorandum before him, sketched the plan of campaign. He
proposed to put the five Richards as marines under the command of the
Captain to break down the grating between the third and fourth lakes,
and push on to attack the enemy from that side. He wanted four mounted
men armed with revolvers, and with stout sticks in lieu of swords,
fearless horsemen whom he could lead through swamp or over obstacles to
hold the masked road. The remaining body under the Squire, he thought,
might follow the track of the fugitives of the night, and constitute the
main besieging force. As to those who should perform the respective
duties, apart from the persons named, the Squire suggested waiting till
the inquests--which would bring some additions to the local
population--were over. He hoped much from his fellow justice of the
peace, Mr. Walker. Tom Rigby, an old pensioner, and the township
constable, would probably have his hands full looking after the
prisoners. Fortunately, the post office store of ammunition was not yet
exhausted, to say nothing of that contained in various flasks and shot
belts, and in the shape of cartridges. The colonel, apropos of warlike
weapons, bemoaned the absence of bayonets, and warmly advocated a
proposition of the lawyer's, that each combatant should carry, slung
over the shoulder or in such way as not to interfere with the handling
of his gun, a strong stick like those proposed by the commander-in-chief
for his cavalry. Toner and Rufus were immediately roused from their
slumbers, and sent to cut the requisite bludgeons, and drill them with
holes to pass a cord through. Shortly after they had departed on their
errand, the household awoke to life and activity, and, through casually
opened doors, there came the gratifying odours of breakfast in
preparation.




CHAPTER XII.

     Mr. Bangs Accredits Himself--Silences Squire Walker--Constable
     Rigby in the Kitchen--The Inquests--Arrests, and Mr. Newberry--The
     Beaver River Contingent--Mr. Bangs and the Squire Consult--The Army
     Prepares--Wilkinson's Heroics--Mr. Bigglethorpe on Fishing.


When Timotheus returned, he was not alone; a slightly built man of
medium stature, and rather flashily attired, rode beside him. The Squire
strode to the gate, to learn that the younger Pilgrim had accomplished
his various missions successfully, and to be presented by him, in his
usual clumsy way, to Mr. Bengs, a friend of Mr. Nash as was. "Yore men
is right, Squire; my neme is Bengs, Hickey Bengs, end pore Nesh sent for
me to kem end help ferret out a geng of dem excise slopers, end here I
find my pore friend merdered. I tell you, Squire, it's too dem bed, O,
too dem bed!"

The Squire felt he must be cautious these times, but that did not hinder
him being hospitable. "Come in, Mr. Bengs, and breakfast with us. My man
will put your horse up. I have Nash's papers in my possession from his
own hand, and, if I find they confirm your story, we will all be glad to
take you into our confidence. You, of all men, understand the necessity
for caution, and will, I hope, not take my precaution amiss."

"O Lud, no, Squire; yo're pretty shore to find letters frem me ameng
pore Nesh's papers, or some memorenda about me. H.B., you know, Hickey
Bengs."

Timotheus led the new detective's horse away, and the gentleman himself
entered the house and office with the Squire. "Coristine," said the
latter, familiarly addressing the lawyer, "would you mind looking up
Errol quietly and sending him here?"

Of course he didn't mind, and soon returned with the minister. Both
noticed that the Squire had two loaded pistols on the table before him,
the stranger being on the other side. "You can remain, Coristine. I must
introduce you, and the Reverend Mr. Errol, my fellow trustee in the
matter of these papers, to Mr. Bengs. Mr. Coristine is in the law, Mr.
Bengs."

The dapper gentleman with the red tie and large scarf pin bowed amiably
to the two witnesses of the interview, and Mr. Carruthers, with the
minister by his side, proceeded to examine the papers. "Here it is," he
said, after a few minutes of painful silence, "but what in aa the
warld's the meanin' o't? B.R.--B.T.--R.C.P. The date is Saturday night."

"I think I know," interrupted the lawyer. "How will this do: Beaver
River, Ben Toner, Roman Catholic Priest?"

"The very thing! Well, here's Sabbath. Prom. cum S.W.L.C. sup. eq."

Coristine had written the words down to study them. At last he said:
"It's a mixture of French, Latin, and English abbreviations; Promenade
or walk with Schoolmaster Wilkinson, Lawyer Coristine on the horse."

"Eh, man!" ejaculated the pleased Squire; "I'll hae to turn lawyer
mysel'. Now, here's later doon, the same day--B.D.--S.C.--P.O. scripsi
H.B. ven. inst. Come, my prophetic friend."

Triumphantly, the lawyer rolled out: "Bride's Dale, Squire Carruthers,
Post Office. I have written H.B. to come instanter."

"Have you his letter, Mr. Bengs?" the Squire asked, and at once it was
produced with the Flanders post mark on it, written on the Bridesdale
paper, and in Nash's peculiar way. Still Mr. Carruthers doubted. How
could he be sure that the letter had fallen into the right hands, or
that this smooth-spoken swell was not a cunning agent of Rawdon's?

"John," said the minister, stooping, and lifting something off the
carpet, "here's a bit of paper you've dropped out of the pocket-book, or
perhaps out of that bookie you're reading from."

The Squire eyed the paper, and then, stretching his arm over the table,
shook the detective warmly by the hand. "It was very foolish of me, Mr.
Bangs, not to have seen that at first. It gives notice of your arrival,
and describes you perfectly. There's a bit of Latin, Mr. Errol, you
might ask our friend. It seems to be a sort of watchword with a
countersign."

The minister took the paper and read, "quod quaeris?" whereupon the
detective smiled, and answered promptly, "molares ebrii."

"What in aa the warld's yon, Coristine?" enquired the Squire.

"Mr. Errol asked Mr. Bangs, 'What are you looking for?' and he answered,
'For full grindstones.'"

"When a man is _ebrius_, John," continued the minister, "he's no' just
sober. Weel, weel, the catechis is over, and ye can tak' puir Nash's
frien' into our plans. Thank Providence, there's the breakfast gong."

The ladies were astonished to see the new arrival enter the dining-room,
the breakfast-room table being too small, with his three inquisitors. He
was quite polite, however, though a little stiltedly so, as if not to
the manner born. Mr. Terry insisted on vacating his seat in Mr. Bangs
favour. He said: "There's a foine Oirishman from the narth by the name
av Hill Oi wud be plazed to have some conversation wid, so yeez 'll jist
koindly ekshcuse me all," and left for the kitchen. There were sixteen
people at the table, so when Squire Walker turned up, Marjorie, who had
been brought in to equalize the sides, had to yield her place to him,
and follow the veteran to the lower sphere, in one apartment of which
the children, under Tryphosa's rule, had a separate table. To this Mr.
Terry invited his countryman, the old schoolmaster, who, in spite of his
recent deipnosophistic repast with Mr. Maguffin, was ready for something
warm. He confidentially whispered to Mr. Terry that no doubt nagurs had
sowls and were human, but he wasn't pudden' fond of their society. In
the dining-room, Mr. Bangs and Squire Walker, in the centre of the
table, were in exile, for Wilkinson and the Captain flanked the former,
and Coristine and Mr. Perrowne the latter. Mrs. Du Plessis sat between
Carruthers and Mr. Thomas; Miss Halbert between the minister and Mr.
Perrowne; Miss Du Plessis between the dominie and the doctor; and Miss
Carmichael between Coristine and the colonel. Mrs. Carruthers, who
occupied one end of the table, had the colonel on her right, and her
sister-in-law, who took the other end, was supported in the same way by
the host. Squire Walker, a portly man, but not too heavy for exercise,
with a baldish head and large reddish whiskers, sporting a velveteen
shooting coat, high shirt collar, and large blue silk scarf with white
spots, was a man of much intelligence and a good talker. His
conversation compelled attention, and, like the glittering eye of the
ancient mariner, held, now Mr. Perrowne and now the lawyer from much
pleasanter ones with their respective ladies. He seemed to take a
fiendish pleasure in capturing Wilkinson from Miss Du Plessis, and the
Captain from her mother, and even sent his conversational shafts far off
to the Squire and the doctor, and to the presiding matrons. Mr. Errol
and the colonel were happily sheltered from him. Perhaps the new
detective perceived the state of unrest and terrible suspense in which
many of the company were on account of Squire Walker's vagaries, and
chivalrously sought to deliver them. Eyeing keenly the autocrat of the
breakfast table, he remarked, "I'm afraid you heve fergotten me,
Squire?"

"Don't think I ever had the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir."

"Oh, perdon me, you hed though. Two years ago, a large, stout, heavy
bearded men kem to yore ohffice, with a yeng Cuban who could herdly
speak a word of Inglish, asking you to commit him fer smeggling
cigars--"

"Haw! haw! haw!" laughed Mr. Walker, "and you were the bearded man were
you, eh?"

"Do please favour us with the whole story, Mr. Bangs," asked the
hostess.

"Go on, Bangs," added its victim, "I don't mind, haw! haw!"

"The Squire asked the big revenue detective how he knew the cigars were
smeggled, and he said that nobody could pay the duty and sell these
cigars for seven dollars a hendred. The Squire asked to see the cigars,
and while the pore yeng Cuban with the bleck mousteche stood twirling
his sombrero and looking guilty, he took one, smilt it, and then smouked
it. He said to the big detective, 'I won't let you hev a warrent for
that pore foreigner on any sech evidence, for I ken bey the very same
cigar at Beamish's for five dollars.' The detective said, 'Are you shore
the cigar is the same?' when the Squire pulled a drawer open end brought
out a box of the identical erticles. Then, the big men thenked him,
hended him a revenue card, end took the pore Cuban away. Next day
Beamish's was raided, end Nesh and I kem in for quite a rewerd."

"Then the detective was Nash?" asked Mr Walker.

"Yes, Nesh, with a big men's clowthes on, padded out."

"And what were you in the matter?"

"Oh, I wes the pore yeng Cuban thet could herdly speak Inglish."

"I don't think he can yet," whispered Miss Carmichael to Coristine, who
thought it an immense joke.

"So you made Squire Walker an informer against his will, Mr. Bangs,"
said Carruthers.

"Yes; but it was complimentary, too. We knew if there were any good
cigars in the village, the Squire's wes the best place to look for
them."

"You should have had me up for having smuggled goods in my possession,"
said the complimented talker.

"No, no, Squire; you see you were the next thing to Queen's evidence,
and they always go scotfree."

"A receiver and Queen's evidence! and the miserable little Cuban! Haw!
haw! haw!"

That is the story of how Squire Walker was silenced.

After breakfast there were prayers, as usual, conducted by the two
clergymen, and when they were over, the three J.P.'s, Doctor Halbert
being one, assembled for consultation in the office. Tom Rigby, the
constable, reported himself to the magistrate's court, and thereafter
adjourned to the kitchen, there to hold converse with his brother
veteran, Mr. Terry. Tom was tall, and as straight as if he had swallowed
a ramrod. He gave the military salute with great precision and
regularity. He was a widower, and a frequent visitor in the Bridesdale
servants' quarters, whence it was commonly reported that he had an eye
on Tryphena. Sylvanus had heard of this, with the effect that he lost no
opportunity of running down the trade of a soldier, and comparing it
most unfavourably with the free, rollicking life of the heaving sea. To
hear Sylvanus speak, one would imagine that the _Susan Thomas_ was
annually in the habit of circumnavigating the globe. The children's
breakfast was over, and they were all out in the garden picking certain
permitted flowers, and presenting them to their favourites among the
guests; but Mr. Terry had still remained, conversing with Mr. Hill,
whose book-larnin' was so voluminous that he made slow progress with his
breakfast, having had his cold tea thrice removed by his eldest daughter
and replaced with hot. When Rigby entered and saluted, the veteran rose
and returned the salute. "Good morning, Sergeant Terry! was it company
colour sergeant or on the staff you were, sir?"

"Lasht noight, Carporal Rigby, Oi was sargint-major for the firsht toime
in my loife. I wuz promawted loike."

"That would be in the volunteer service, Sergeant-major."

"Yiss; but we had a rale cornel in command that's been through the
Amerikin war, they till me."

"Sergeant-major, there are no American soldiers."

"Shure, an' Oi'm thinkin', corporal," said the veteran, feeling a
metaphorical thrid on the tail av his coat. "Oi'm thinkin' there's some
pretty foine foightin's been done in Ameriky; Oi've sane it, carporal,
wid my own two eyes."

"A dog can fight, Sergeant-major, and cats are tantamount to the same
thing; but where, I say, is the soldierly bearing, the discipline, the
spree-doo-cor, as they say in France? Sergeant-major, you know and I
know that a man cannot be a tailor today and a soldier to-morrow, and an
agent for pictorial family bibles the day after."

"I dunno, for you see you're a conshtable an' Oi'm a hid missenger in a
governmint ahffice in the city."

"A soldier, Sergeant-major, can always serve the country, is, even as a
soldier, a government officer; that is a very different thing,
Sergeant-major."

"The cornel here was tillin' me there was min in his rigiment that was
merchints an' lawyers an' clerks, an' shtudints, as good sowldjers as
iver foired a carrboine or drawed a shabre on the inimy."

"That was a case, Sergeant-major, of mob meeting mob. Did these men ever
charge as our cavalry charged at Balaclava; did they ever stand,
Sergeant-major, as we, myself included, stood at Inkerman? Never,
Sergeant-major, never! They might have made soldiers, if taken young;
but, as they were, they were no more soldiers than Sylvanus Pilgrim
here."

"You shet up yer tater-trap, Consterble Rigby, an' don't go fer to abuse
better men nor you aint," angrily interrupted the subject of the
corporal's unflattering comparison. Then, seeing the veteran, hopeless
of convincing his opponent, retire to the garden to join the children,
Sylvanus waxed bold. "A soldier, Trypheeny, a common soldier! Ef I owned
a dawg, a yaller dawg, I wouldn't go and make the pore beast a soldier.
Old pipeclay and parade, tattoo and barricks and punishment drill, likes
ter come around here braggin' up his lazy, slavish life. Why don't he
git a dawg collar and a chain at wonst and git tied up ter his kennel.
Ef you want a man, Trypheeny, get one as knows

     A life on the ocean wave
     And a home on the rollin' deep,

none o' your stiff starched, nigger driven, cat o' nine tails, ornery
common soldiers."

Tryphena snickered a little, but the constable went on with his
breakfast, not deigning to waste a syllable on such unmilitary trash as
Sylvanus, with whom it was impossible to reason, and to come to blows
with whom might imperil his dignity. Some day, perhaps, Pilgrim might be
his prisoner; then, the majesty of the law would be vindicated.

A messenger came and summoned the constable to accompany the coroner,
Dr. Halbert, to Richards, and bring the body of the murdered detective
to the post office. On such an occasion, the pensioner's dignity would
not allow him to drive the waggon, so Rufus had to be pressed into the
service. Squire Walker, as the presiding magistrate, in view of
Carruthers personal connection with the death of the subject of the
jury's verdict, appointed the detective temporary clerk of the court
that should sit after the inquests were over. Fearing that few of the
settlers warned would turn out as jurors, through fear of the Select
Encampment people, the master of Bridesdale chose a sufficient number of
men for the purpose from the present sojourners at his house. These,
some time after the doctor's departure, sauntered leisurely towards the
most public place in the neighbourhood. Arrived at the post office, they
found a large unfinished room in an adjoining building prepared for the
court. This building had been begun as a boarding house, but, when
almost completed, the conviction suddenly came to the post office people
that there were no boarders to be had, all the transients of any
financial value being given free quarters in the hospitable mansion of
the Squire. Hence the house was never finished. The roof, however, was
on, and the main room floored, so that it had been utilized for church
and Sunday school purposes, for an Orange Lodge, for temperance and
magic lantern itinerant lectures, and for local hops. Now, with the dead
body of Harding laid out upon an improvised table of rough boards on
trestles, it assumed the most solemn aspect it had ever exhibited. Three
oldish men were there, whom people called Johnson, Newberry, and
Pawkins; they were all the summoned jurors who had responded. Soon, from
the other side, the waggon came in sight, and when it came forward, the
remains of Nagle, alias Nash, were lifted reverently out and into the
hall, where they were placed beside those of one of his murderers. The
elder Richards accompanied the doctor, in order to give his testimony.
The mad woman and her son were also there, in charge of Sylvanus and Ben
Toner. Just as the party prepared to constitute the coroner's court, a
stumpy figure on a high stepping horse came riding along. He was well
disguised, but several persons recognized him. "Seize him," cried Squire
Carruthers. "It's Grinstuns," said the lawyer. "Stop him!" shouted
Bangs. But, Rawdon, having seen what he wanted, wheeled his horse and
galloped away. There was neither saddled horse to pursue him, nor rifle
to bring him down. "All the better," remarked Mr. Walker to his brother
J.P.'s; "had he seen mounted men and fire-arms among us, he'd have smelt
a rat. As it is, he thinks we are on the defensive and moving slowly."
It was evident, from what people heard of the presiding magistrate's
conversation, that the court had decided in favour of measures
offensive.

It was easy to get twelve good men and true for the first inquest. In
addition to Johnson, Newberry, and Pawkins, there were the constable and
Mr. Terry, Messrs. Hill and Hislop, Sylvanus, Timotheus, and Rufus, with
Mr. Bangs and Maguffin. The colonel was an alien, and Carruthers did not
care to sit on the jury. Dr. Halbert presided, flanked by his fellow
justices, and Wilkinson, though a minor witness, was made clerk.
Several persons identified the slain Nagle or Nash, and gave evidence as
to his relations with Rawdon's gang. Ben Toner's information and
Newcome's attested confession were noted. Mr. Errol and Coristine,
backed by the Captain and Ben, told how the body was found. Wilkinson
and Perrowne related their share in conveying the corpse to Richards'
house, and Richards confirmed their story. The coroner himself, having
examined the body, affirmed that the deceased came to his death by a
fracture of the skull, inflicted by a heavy blow from some blunt
instrument from behind, followed by a pistol shot in front through the
temple. Two persons, evidently, were concerned in the murder. Who were
they? Matilda Nagle was sworn. She repudiated the name of Rawdon. She
testified that a man called Harding brought her a note from her long
lost brother Steven, asking her to meet him at the barred gate in the
narrows at a certain hour late on Monday morning. She went, but Rawdon
would not let her go beyond the barred gate, so she called Stevy over.
He came to the foot of a tree, where Rawdon told her she must stay; and
then she saw Harding run up behind him and hit him over the head with an
iron bar, and he fell down and went to sleep. Did Rawdon shoot him? She
shivered, and didn't know, nor could any cross examination extract this
evidence from her. Harding knocked him down with the iron bar, and he
went to sleep, and she couldn't wake him. Then she went to the corpse
and cried: "Oh, Stevy, Stevy, wake up, do wake up quick, for he'll come
again." The court and jury were deeply affected. Old Mr. Newberry, the
foreman of the jury, brought in the verdict to the effect that the
deceased was murdered by a blow from an iron bar administered by one
Harding, producing fracture of the skull, and by a pistol shot in the
left temple by some unknown person. Thus the first inquest came to an
end. The second inquest would have been a matter of difficulty, on
account of the large number of people supposed to be implicated in
Harding's death, had not Ben Toner, who had been called out of court,
returned with three good men and true, namely Mr. Bigglethorpe, M.
Lajeunesse, and a certain Barney Sullivan. These three parties, moved by
the entreaties of Widow Toner, had set out early in the morning to look
up the missing Ben; and were so delighted with their success, and so
tired with their walk, that they were willing to sit on anything, even a
coroner's jury. Accordingly, a new jury was empanelled, consisting of
Messrs. Johnson, Newberry, and Pawkins, Bigglethorpe, Lajeunesse and
Sullivan, Errol, Wilkinson and Richards, with the Captain, Mr. Bangs,
and Squire Walker. The latter was chosen foreman. The coroner himself
acted as clerk. Ben Toner had seen the deceased in company with one
Newcome, and had heard him addressed as Harding. The coroner testified
to having examined the body, which exhibited no shot wound of any kind,
but the forehead was badly bruised, evidently by a stone, as gritty
particles were to be seen adhering to it, and two table knives were
still resting in the neighbourhood of the heart. The jury examined the
corpse, and, led by the foreman under guard of the constable, went out
across the road and over the fence into the field where Mr. Terry and
Coristine found the dead Harding lying. The place was well marked by the
beaten down grass, blood stains on a large boulder and on the ground,
and by the finding of a loaded revolver. Carefully examining the spot,
the detective pointed out, at last, the very root, not more than three
quarters of an inch thick, which formed a loop on the surface of the
ground, in which the unfortunate man's foot had caught, precipitating
him upon the stone. Every member of the jury having examined it, Mr.
Bangs took out his knife and cut it away in order to prevent similar
accidents in future. The coroner did not think the blow sufficient to
kill the man, though it must have rendered him insensible. The killing
was done by means of the knives. These were identified by the Squire and
Timotheus as belonging to the Bridesdale kitchen. There was neither time
nor necessity for prolonging the examination. Matilda Nagle and her son
Monty, with much satisfaction, confessed that they had followed the
Bridesdale force and had seen the man fall, that she had turned him over
on his back and struck him to the heart with the knife she carried,
which she left there, because she had no further need for it. Her son
had followed her example. The jury retired, or rather the court retired
from the jury, and, when Squire Walker called the coroner in again, he
read the second verdict, to the effect that the deceased Harding, while
in a state of insensibility owing to a fall, had been murdered by one
Matilda Nagle with a table knife, and that her son, commonly known as
Monty, was accessory to the deed. The double inquest was over, and the
bodies were transferred to coarse wooden shells, that of Nagle being
claimed by his fellow detective, and Harding's being left for a time
unburied in case some claimant should appear.

The magistrates, and Mr. Bangs as clerk, now sat in close session for a
little over half an hour, inasmuch as they had already come to certain
conclusions in the office at Bridesdale. One result of their conference
was the arrest of the madwoman and her son, much to the regret of the
Squire, Mr. Errol, and many more. Rigby was ordered to treat them
kindly, and convey them, with a written order signed by the three
justices, to the nearest town, there to hand them over to the police
authorities to be forwarded to their appropriate lunatic asylum. Old Mr.
Newberry, whom the case had very much affected, volunteered to accompany
the criminals, as he had to go to town at any rate, and offered to drive
them and the constable there, and take his wife as company for the
insane Matilda. Accordingly, he brought round the waggon in which he had
driven up, and took the constable and his prisoners away towards his own
house, which was on the road to their destination. The Squire and his
battalion were much relieved to find that they were not responsible for
Harding's death, although the fact reflected on their aim as
sharpshooters. The two wounded men were informed that a magistrates'
court was sitting, but evinced no anxiety to lodge a complaint against
any person or persons in connection with their injuries. The coroner
paid Messrs. Johnson and Pawkins their fee as jurymen, and, with the
Squire's permission, invited them to dine at Bridesdale; but they
declined the invitation with thanks, and returned, in company, to the
bosom of their families. The lawyer, filled with military zeal as a
recruiting officer, seeing that the new Beaver River contingent was
armed, asked Carruthers if he had room for them.

"The mair the merrier," answered the Squire, and bade him invite them.
So Coristine invited the three to dinner, and to help in the support of
the justices in the afternoon. Barney Sullivan said he wasn't going to
leave Ben. Mr. Bigglethorpe, as a fisherman, had always wanted to see
these lakes, and, if it would help the cause of good fishing, he was
ready to lend a hand to drive out poachers and pot-hunters. Pierre
doubted how Madame would take his absence; of course there was Bawtiste,
but, well yes, for the sake of the poor dead M'syae Nash and Meestare
Veelkeenson, he would stay. Que dommage, Meestare Bulky was not there, a
man so intelligent, so clever, so subtle of mind! Mr. Bigglethorpe was
introduced to the drawing-room, but Pierre, though invited, would not
enter its sacred precincts. He accompanied Barney to the kitchen, and
was introduced by Ben to the assembled company. His politeness carried
the servants' quarters by storm, and wreathed the faces of Tryphena and
Tryphosa in perpetual smiles. Mr. Hill and the Sesayder succumbed to his
genial influence, and even the disheartened Maguffin, though deploring
his poor English and lack of standing colour, confessed to Rufus that
"his ways was kind o' takin'."

"Squire Carruthers," said the detective, as they re-entered the office,
"there is wen thing you failed to have den at the inquest."

"What is that, Mr. Bangs?"

"To search the bedy of the men, Herding; bet I attended to thet, and
found pore Nesh's letter to his sister. Pore Nesh mest hev lost his head
for wence, since he trested thet dem villain. I seppowse there's no such
thing as a kemera ebout here?"

"No; what did you want a camera for?"

"To phowtogreph this Herding; there's a mystery about him. Nesh trested
him, and he terned out a dem traitor. Nesh mest hev known him before; he
would never trest a stranger so. Is there no wey of taking his
likeness?"

"There's a young lady staying here, you saw her at breakfast, Miss Du
Plessis, who's very clever with brush and pencil, but it's no' a very
pleasant task for a woman."

"No, but in the interests of jestice it might be well to risk offending
her. If you will reintroduce me more formally, I will esk the lady
myself."

Mr. Bangs was escorted to the garden, where the lady in question was
actually sketching Marjory and the young Carruthers in a variety of
attitudes. To the Squire's great astonishment, she professed her
readiness to comply with the detective's desire in the afternoon, if
somebody could be left to accompany her to the post office adjunct.

"How long will it take, Miss Du Plessis?" he asked. "A few minutes," she
answered, "a quarter of an hour at most."

"Then, if you will allow me, I shell be heppy to be your escort, and
indicate the features that should be emphasized for purposes of
recognition. As I ride, I ken easily overtake the perty." This being
agreed to, Mr. Bangs asked Carruthers to let him look over Nash's last
memoranda, as they might be useful, and any recently acquired papers.
Among the latter, taken from Newcome, was a paper of inestimable value
in the form of a chart, indicating, undoubtedly, the way to the abode of
Serlizer and the Select Encampment generally. In the memoranda of Nash's
note-book the detective found a late entry F. al. H. inf. sub pot. prom,
monst. via R., and drew the Squire's attention to it. "Look here,
Squire, et our dog Letin again; F. perheps Foster alias H, Herding,
informer, under my power (that's through some crime entered in this
book), premises to show the way to Rawdon's. This premise was made last
Tuesday, at Derham, a whole week ago."

"Why is Harding called an informer?"

"Because he belengs to an infamous cless raised up by our iniquitous
kestoms administration. These informers get no selery, bet are rewerded
with a share of the spoil they bring to the depertment. Semtimes they
accuse honest men, and ectually hev been known to get them convicted
falsely. Semtimes they take bribes from the greatest scoundrels, and
protect them in their villainy. Nesh thought he hed this fellew safe by
the law of fear; bet fear and envy and the dread of losing Rawdon's
bribes, combined in his treacherous heart to make a merderer of him."

"But Nash couldn't have written that letter last week. He knew nothing
of his sister's whereabouts till yesterday morning."

"Exectly; see here is the nowte, a sheet out of this very book fowlded
ep. End it says: 'Meet me at wence, not later than noon, outside the
barred chennel. You say he followed Rawdon from the powst office; then,
at sem point behind Rawdon, this Herding must hev terned ep, end, O dem
the brute if he is dead! hev cheated the cleverest fellow in the
service."

"But why should he have killed him? Why not leave that to Rawdon?"

"Rawdon's kenning and deep. When he knew it wes Nesh, he got a fright
himself end then frightened Herding into doing it. I'll bet you whet you
like, thet revolver found with his body is the kelibre of the bellet
wound in pore Nash's head. I'll look when I go ep this efternoon. His
trick was to lay it all on Herding; I shouldn't wender if he towld thet
med woman to kill him. It's jest like him, dem the brute!"

In order that due preparations, in the shape of accoutrements, might be
made, and after dinner delay avoided, the Squire and the colonel
assembled the forces. Including the absent Richards family, the
upholders and vindicators of the law numbered twenty-six. The Captain
had already signified to Richards senior his willingness to take command
of the scow and its complement of five men, armed with guns, and with
axes for cutting away the barrier at the narrows. There was much romance
about this side of the campaign, so that volunteers could have been got
for marine service to any extent; but the means of transportation were
limited, and even that able-bodied seaman Sylvanus had to be enrolled
among the landsmen. Happily Tom Rigby was not there to see him descend
once more to the level of military life. The colonel, rejoicing in
Newcome's chart of the marked road, called for cavalry volunteers.
Squire Walker, Mr. Bangs and Maguffin, having their horses with them,
naturally responded. It then came to a toss-up between Mr. Perrowne and
Coristine; the parson won, and the disappointed lawyer was relegated to
the flat feet. As the doctor had been major in a volunteer regiment, the
Squire ceded the command of the infantry to him. It was proposed to have
at least one man behind as a home guard, but nobody was prepared to
volunteer for this service, Messrs. Errol, Wilkinson, and Lajeunesse,
who were severally proposed, expressing their sense of the honour, their
high regard for the ladies, and anxiety for their well-being, but
emphatically declining to be absent from the common post of duty and
danger. Miss Halbert voiced the opinion of the fair sex that, being
eight in number, including the maids, they were quite able to defend
themselves. Nevertheless, the Squire inwardly determined to send old
Styles, the post office factotum, back with Miss Du Plessis. The main
attacking force of infantry consisted of Doctor Halbert, in command,
sergeants Carruthers and Terry and their two squads, the first
comprising privates Errol, Wilkinson, Coristine, Bigglethorpe,
Lajeunesse, and Hill; the second, privates Hislop, Toner, Sullivan, Hill
junior, and the two Pilgrims. Then, arms were inspected, and the twenty
bludgeons dealt out, five for the cavalry, and fifteen for the infantry.
Most of these had attachments of stout common string, but those of the
three commanders, the Squire, the two clergymen, and the two
pedestrians, were secured with red window cord, a mark of preference
which rejoiced the hearts of three of them, namely, the younger men.
With doubtful hands the dominie received his gun, and the minister more
boldly grasped a similar weapon. At the request of the colonel the
cavalry were served with a hasty luncheon, and thereafter set forward,
with the exception of the detective, Miss Du Plessis' escort, to patrol
the road and open communication with the Richards for the purpose of
intercepting the enemy's possible scouts. Two waggons were ordered to
take the infantry to the lake settlement, so that they might be fresh
for the work before them.

In his martial accoutrements, the dominie's soul was stirred within him.
He repeated to his bosom friend pieces from Körner's Leyer und Schwert,
but as the lawyer's acquaintance with the Teutonic tongues was limited,
including _sauer kraut, lager bier, nix kum araus, donner-wetter_, and
similar choice expressions, he failed to make an impression. Nobody in
the house knew German, unless it were Tryphena and Tryphosa, who had
picked up a little from their mother, and, of course, he could hardly
lie in wait to get off his warlike quotations on them. Ha! he remembered
Wordsworth, and rolled forth:--

     "Vanguard of liberty, ye men of Kent!

            *       *       *       *       *

     They from their fields can see the countenance
     Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance,
     And hear you shouting forth your brave intent."

Still failing to awake a responsive echo in the heart that once beat in
poetic unison with his own, he turned to Mrs. Du Plessis, and, alluding
to the departed colonel, recited in her native tongue:--

     "Honor al Caudillo,
     Honor al primero,
     Que el patriota acero
       Oso fulminar.
     La Patria afligida
     Oyo' sus acentos,
     Y vio' sus tormentos,
       En gozo tornar."

"That is very pretty, Mr. Wilkinson, and I thank you much for recalling
the pleasant memories of my early speech. Is there not an English
translation of these words?"

"There is, Mrs. Du Plessis, by Sir John Bowring, It is:--

     Hail, hail to the Chieftain,
     All honour to him
     Who first in the gleam
       Of that light bared the sword!
     The drooping land heard him,
     Forgetting her fears;
     And smiled through her tears,
       As she hung on his word."

The dominie had thought only to give expression to the poetic fervour
called forth by the circumstances, but accomplished a good deal more,
the establishment of a common ground between himself and the nearest
relative of a very charming and cultivated young lady. The said young
lady came up to join in the conversation, and request Mr. Wilkinson to
repeat all that he knew of the battle hymn. The lawyer was secretly of
the opinion that his friend was making an ass of himself, and that, if
he were to try that poetry quoting business on Miss Carmichael, he would
soon discover that such was the case. Yet, if the Du Plessis liked that
sort of thing, he had no right to interfere. He remembered that he had
once been just such an ass himself, and wondered how he could have so
far strayed from the path of common sense. It was worse than Tryphosa
and Timotheus sitting down to sing with a hymn-book between them.

"What are you doing out in the garden all by yourself, Eugene?" asked a
small voice. He looked down and saw Marjorie fingering the barrel of his
rifle. "Don't you know," she continued, "that all the people have gone
in to dinner?"

"Did the gong sound, Marjorie?"

"To be sure it did. Tell me, what were you thinking about not to hear
it?"

"I was thinking about a dear little girl called Marjorie," answered the
prevaricating lawyer, picking the child up and bestowing a hearty salute
upon her lips.

"You're a very good boy now, Eugene; you get a clean shave every day. Do
you go to Collingwood for it in the night time, when I am in bed?"

"No, Marjorie; I get the cat to lick my face," the untruthful man
replied.

"What? our pussy Felina that spits at Muggy?"

"The very same."

"Then I'll ask Tryphosa's father if he would like to have the loan of
Felina. Don't you think she would do him good."

Coristine laughed, as he thought of Mr. Hill's stubbly countenance, and
carried "the darlin'" into the house.

At the dinner table he found himself punished for his day-dreaming.
Bangs was on one side of Miss Carmichael, and Bigglethorpe on the other,
and he was out in the cold, between the latter gentleman and the
minister. Mr. Bigglethorpe resumed the subject of fishing, and
interrogated his right hand neighbour as to his success at the River. He
laughed over the so-called mullets, and expressed a fisherman's contempt
for them as devourers of valuable spawn, relating also the fact that, in
the spring, when they swarm up into shallow parts of the stream, the
farmers shovel them out with large wooden scoops, and feed them to the
pigs or fertilize the land with them. Finding he had more than one
auditor, the fishing store-keeper questioned the Squire about the
contents of his brook, and, learning that dace, chubs, and crayfish were
its only occupants, promised to send Mrs. Carruthers a basket of trout
when the season came round. In order to give a classical turn to the
conversation, the dominie mentioned the name of Isaac Walton and
referred to his poor opinion of the chub in the river Lea. "I know the
Lea like a book," said Mr. Bigglethorpe, "and a dirty, muddy ditch it
has got to be since old Isaac's time. When I was a schoolboy I went
there fishing one afternoon with some companions, and caught not a
single fish, hardly got a nibble. We were going home disappointed, when
we saw a man at the reservoir above the river, near the Lea bridge, with
some eels in a basket. They were queer looking eels, but we bought them
for sixpence, and one of our fellows, called Wickens, put them in his
fishing can; then we maide for home. Before we could get there we had to
cross a pretty rough part of the Kingsland road. It was pretty dark,
but, of course, the shops were all lit up and we sawr a lot of boys,
common cads, coming our wy. Just in front of a public house they called
out 'Boots, Boots! fish, fish!' and out caime a stout lad of about
eighteen to lead the gang. Three of us clubbed our rods over them,
briking the top joints, of course, but Wickens wouldn't fall in with us.
So Boots ran after him, followed by a crowd. When Wickens sawr he
couldn't escype, he opened his can, took out an eel and slapped it over
Boots' fyce. The beggar just yelled, 'O, Lawr, water snykes!' and he
ran, and Wickens after the crowd like mad, slashing 'em with the water
snykes. O dear, O dear, I shall never forget those snykes to my dying
dy."

"Are there any water snakes in our rivers in Canada?" enquired Mrs. Du
Plessis.

"Oh yes, ma'am," answered the fisherman, "I imagine those lykes we are
going to visit this afternoon are pretty full of snykes. Mr. Bulky,
whose nyme is known to Mr. Coristine, I'm sure, wears long waterproof
boots for wyding in the Beaver River--"

"But, Mr. Bigglethorpe," asked the fair questioner, "how can one ride in
a river?"

"Excuse me, ma'am, I did not say riding, I said wyding, walking in the
water. Mr. Bulky was wyding, one morning, with rod in hand, when, all of
a sudden, he felt something on his leg. Looking down, he sawr a big
black water-snyke coiled round his boot, and jabbing awy at his leg. It
hung on to him like a boa-constrictor, and squeezed his leg so tight
that it gyve him a bad attack of gout. He had to get on shore and sawr
it in two with his knife before the snyke would leave go. Fortunately,
the brutes are not venomous, but that beggar's teeth scratched Mr.
Bulky's boots up pretty badly, I must sy."

When they rose from the table, Miss Carmichael went up to the lawyer and
said: "Please forgive me for punishing myself between Mr. Bangs and Mr.
Bigglethorpe. I sigh for good English." The lawyer answered, all
unwittingly, of course, in his worst brogue: "Miss Carrmoikle, it's my
frind Wilks I'll be aafther gitten' to shtarrt a noight school to tayche
me to shpake Inglish in aal its purity." To this there could be but one
response: "Go away, you shameful, shameless, bad man!" It pleased the
lawyer better than a more elegant and complimentary remark.




CHAPTER XIII.

     Walk to the P.O.--Harding's Portrait--The Encampment
     Besieged--Wilkinson Wounded--Serlizer and Other Prisoners--No
     Underground Passage Found--Bangs and Guard Remain--The Constable's
     New Prisoners--Wilkinson a Hero--The Constable and Maguffin--Cards.


There was no room for twenty persons in two waggons, yet twenty proposed
to go, seventeen to the seat of war, and three to the post-office. As
those three were the young ladies of the house, all the warriors offered
to surrender their seats to them. They refused to accept any surrender,
preferring to walk, whereupon Messrs. Errol, Wilkinson and Coristine
thought an after-dinner walk the height of luxury. Mr. Bangs saw he was
not wanted as a fellow pedestrian, and mounted his horse instead of
having him trot behind a waggon. The vehicles, or at least one of them,
received instructions to wait at the post-office for the three members
of squad No. 1. The walk was strictly proper, Mr. Errol taking Miss
Carmichael, the dominie Miss Halbert, and the lawyer Miss Du Plessis.
"What a goose you are, Mr. Wilkinson," said his fair companion. "What a
goose you are to leave Cecile, whose footsteps you fairly worship, and
to come and walk with a girl for whose society you don't care a penny."

"I should care more for Miss Halbert's society if she did not say such
unjustifiable things."

"Cecile," called the young lady, "I want to change escorts with you; I
like pleasant society."

The dominie felt as if a big school-girl had declined to receive a
reprimand from the principal, and coloured with vexation, but Miss Du
Plessis calmly turned and said: "If Mr. Wilkinson is tired of you
already, Fanny, I suppose I must send Mr. Coristine to comfort you,"
whereat Mr. Errol and his companion exchanged a smile.

"Did the villain shoot Wordsworth at you, Miss Halbert, or was it Hans
Breitmann in the original, or a Spanish _cantinella_, or some such
rubbish? If I was Miss Du Plessis I'd wear a signboard over my ears, 'No
poetical rubbish shot here;' perhaps that might fix him."

"Cecile is sentimental: she dotes on poetry."

"Pardon me for saying I don't believe it. I offered to recite my
original poem on the Grinstun man to her, and she didn't seem to want to
hear it."

"How ungrateful and unsympathetic! You will favour me with it, will you
not?"

"With the greatest pleasure in the world. You know it's awful
balderdash, but here goes."

The original poem was recited with appropriate gestures, intended to
imitate the walk of the hero of the piece and his various features. The
people in front turned their heads to look at the performance and take
in the words. Not to laugh was almost an impossibility, but the dominie
succeeded in doing the impossible, and frowned heavily. He felt that his
unworthy friend was bringing disgrace upon the causes of poetry and
pedestrianism. When her laughter subsided, Miss Halbert said: "There is
one thing I want to ask you seriously, Mr. Coristine." "Name it," he
answered, "even to the half of my fortune." "It is to look after papa,
and see that he does not expose himself too much to danger. I asked Mr.
Perrowne too, but he is with the horsemen, you know." This last was said
with a peculiarly arch smile, which convinced the lawyer that Perrowne
was in deeper than was generally suspected. The first thought that
followed in Coristine's mind was what awful cheek he had been guilty of
in following Perrowne's precedent in drop the handkerchief. He managed,
however, to assure the lady that he would do his best to watch over the
safety of her father and Squire Carruthers, the latter words being
spoken loud enough for Miss Carmichael to hear. When the post-office was
reached Mr. Bangs dismounted, was ready to receive the ladies; and the
three escorts, shaking hands warmly with each of their fair companions,
entered the remaining waggon and drove away, the buts of their firearms
rattling on the floor, and the suspended bludgeons playfully flogging
their shoulders.

It was ghastly work propping up the dead murderer's shoulders in the
shell, and placing a rest for his head. The jaw had been tied up, but
the eyes would not close; yet, staring though the face was, it was not a
repulsive one. The ordinary observer could not read what Bangs saw
there, greed and hypocrisy, envy, treachery, murder. While Miss Du
Plessis went on calmly sketching, the other girls turned their heads
away. No one cared to break the stillness by a word. The detective went
out and secured the services of Styles to accompany the ladies home, and
remain at Bridesdale till the armed band returned. Then he went over to
the shell in which the body of his brother detective lay, and, nobody
looking at him, allowed himself the luxury of a few tears, a silent
tribute to the man he honoured. When the sketch was completed, he warmly
thanked the artist, and told her that he never would have dreamt of
proposing such a task, but for his desire to do justice to his dead
friend, whom an informer named Flower had greatly injured in the
department. The department had faith in his cleverness all along, but
suspicions had been cast upon his honesty, which embittered his days,
along with troubles that were then only known to himself.

Bangs was not a detective, but a man of warm, brotherly heart, as he
told the tale of the outwardly always cheerful, but inwardly
sore-hearted, Nash, cut off in the midst of his years and usefulness.
Then old Styles appeared, and, with a salute, the detective mounted and
rode away to join the forces in front, while the ladies journeyed
homeward. Mr. Bangs soliloquized as he rode rapidly on. "Boys read
detective stories, and think our life an enviable one. They dowte on
the schemes, the plots and counterplots, the risks, the triumphs, and
look beyond to fame and rewerd, but they know nothing of the miserable
envies and jealousies, the sespicions, the checks and counterchecks, and
the demnable policy of the depertment, encouraging these irresponsible
informers, dem 'em, to break up all legitimate business and merder
honest men. O Nesh, my pore dead friend, yo're avenged in a wey, bet
who's going to avenge yore pore sister, and even this devil of a Flower
or Herding, whose death lies at the door of that greater devil of a
Rawdon?"

The expedition was waiting for him at Richards', the colonel in command.
The scow had departed in charge of the captain, who had orders to do
nothing to the barrier till he heard a signal shot; then he was to
respond with the unmistakable blunderbuss, and batter down the
obstruction. Squire Walker, Mr. Perrowne, and Maguffin had patrolled,
without meeting even a passing team or wayfarer; but the colonel judged
it best to get off the road without delay. Accordingly the waggons were
left in Richards' shed, and the infantry doubled forward after the
colonel and Bangs. When the rocky ascent was reached, over which the
fugitives of the night before had clambered, a halt was called, and the
colonel gave Dr. Halbert instructions. Just where the rock rose out of
the swamp, Sergeant Terry's squad entered, and easily wheeled round
large trunks of trees resting on stone pivots, revealing a good
waggon-track, the masked road. This the cavalry occupied, looking to the
priming of their pistols, and bringing their clubs into handy positions.
The Squire's squad scaled the height near the road, and Mr. Terry's took
ground farther to the right. The doctor led the way in front of and
between the two sections. The cavalry moved slowly, keeping pace with
the climbers. Soon the crest was reached, and the main body began to
descend gradually, when the dominie slipped and his piece went off, the
trigger having caught in his red window cord, startling the echoes. Then
came the diffusive boom and crackle of the blunderbuss, and the doctor,
inwardly anathematizing Wilkinson, hurried his men on. They heard axes
at work, as if trees were being felled; it was the Captain and the
Richards at the barrier. No enemy appeared on the rocks, but pistol
shots warned them that there was collision on the road, and the doctor
called the second squad to wheel towards it. The dominie, on the left of
the first, saw what was going on below. Revolvers were emptied and clubs
brought into requisition. He could not load his old muzzle-loading piece
to save his life, but he knew single stick. Two men were tackling the
brave old colonel, while a third lay wounded at his horse's feet. The
dominie sped down to the road like a chamois, and threw himself upon the
man on the colonel's right, the dissipated farmer. He heard a shot, felt
a sharp pain in his left arm, but with his right hit the holder of the
pistol a skull cracker over the head, then fainted and fell to the
ground. His luckless muzzle-loader was never found. The colonel had
floored his antagonist on the left, and turned to behold the dominie's
pale face. Leaving the command to the doctor, he dismounted and put a
little old Bourbon out of a pocket flask into his lips, and then
proceeded to bandage the wound. Wilkinson had saved his life; he was a
hero, a grand, cultivated, sympathetic, chivalrous man, whom the colonel
loved as his own son. When he came to, were not the very first words he
uttered enquiries for Colonel Morton's own safety? Maguffin, having
felled his man, held his master's horse.

Squire Walker, Mr. Perrowne, and Bangs galloped on, the latter eager to
seize Rawdon. They and the infantry squads came almost simultaneously
upon the select encampment, which was simply a large stone-mason's yard,
full of grindstones in every state of preparation, and bordered by
half-a-dozen frame buildings, one of which, more pretentious than the
others, was evidently the dwelling-place of the head of the concern. Two
simple-looking men in mason's aprons stood in the doorway of another,
having retired thither when they heard the sound of firing. This was
evidently the boarding-house of the workmen, and an object of interest
to Ben Toner, who, with his friends Sullivan and Timotheus, pushed past
the two stonecutters, immediately thereafter arrested by Sergeant Terry,
and invaded the structure. Soon Ben reappeared upon the scene,
accompanied by a young woman whose proportions were little, if at all,
short of his own, and calling aloud to all the company, as if he had
accomplished the main object of the expedition, "It's all raight, boys,
I've got Serlizer!" Behind the happy pair came an old woman, gray,
wrinkled, and with features that bore unmistakable traces of sorrow and
suffering. "Hev they ben good to you, Serlizer?" asked Mr. Toner, after
he had in the most public and unblushing manner saluted his long lost
sweetheart. The large woman raised her bared arms from the elbow
significantly, and replied, with a trace of her father's gruffness, "I
didn't arst 'em; 'sides I allers had old Marm Flowers to keep 'em off."
The expedition was demoralized. The colonel and his servant were with
the dominie on the road. Ben, with Timotheus and Sullivan, was rejoicing
in Serlizer; while Mr. Hislop and Rufus were guarding the captured
stone-cutters. Sylvanus, not to be outdone by his companions of the
second squad, attached himself, partly as a protector, partly as a
prisoner's guard, to Mrs. Flower, the keeper of the boarding-house.
Sergeant Terry, without a command, followed what remained of the first
squad in its search for Rawdon. The first person he came upon, in his
way down to the water, was Monsieur Lajeunesse, who could run no
farther, and, perspiring at every pore, sat upon a log, mopping his face
with a handkerchief.

"A such coorse 'ave I not med, Meestare Terray, sinsa zat I vas a too
ptee garsong." Mr. Terry understood, owing to large experience of
foreigners, and could not permit the opportunity of making a
philological remark to pass, "D'ye know, Mishter Lashness, that Frinch
an' the rale ould Oirish is as loike as two pays? Now, there's garsan is
as Oirish a worrud for a young bhoy as ye'll find in Connaught. But juty
is juty, moy dare sorr, so, as they say in the arrmy, 'Fag a bealach,'
lave the way." The sergeant's next discovery was the doctor, borne in
the arms of the lawyer and the dismounted parson. He had sprained his
ancle in the rapid descent to which his zeal had impelled him, and had
thus been compelled to leave the Squire in command. Mr. Hill had been
left behind on the left of the encampment with the horses of the three
dismounted cavaliers, Squire Walker, Mr. Perrowne, and the detective, so
that Sergeant Carruthers, now acting colonel, had with him a mere
corporal's guard, consisting of Messrs. Errol and Bigglethorpe.

The junction of the land forces with those operating on the water was
effected in good order, the latter being intact under command of the
captain, but the former exhibiting, by their terribly reduced numbers,
the dreadful fatality of war. Squire Walker and Mr. Bangs alone
represented the cavalry; Carruthers and his corporal's guard, the first
squad, and the veteran all alone, the second squad of the infantry. Even
this remnant had its deserter, for, during the conversation between the
Squire and the Captain, private Bigglethorpe stole away, and when next
seen was standing far out upon a dead hemlock that had fallen into the
lake, fishing with great contentment, and a measure of success, for
bass. The numbers of the force were soon augmented by the appearance of
the doctor and his bearers. The disabled physician was accommodated with
a seat on the bottom of the scow, two of the Richards boys being
displaced in his favour. The Captain reported a prize in the shape of a
handsome varnished skiff, which he found drawn up on some skids or
rollers at the foot of a great mass of rock, that seemed as if cut all
about in regular form, in readiness for quarrying. The finding of the
boat just opposite it, the worn appearance of the ground, the absence of
moss or any other growth on the severed edges of the square mass of
limestone, led the detective to ask if there was any report of a
subterraneous passage in connection with this mysterious region. The
doctor, whom his former guide had taken by water, and insisted on
blindfolding at a certain point, was sure that he had walked some
distance on rock, and, although the lamp-lit room, in which he had seen
his patients, was lined with wood, and had blinds on apparent windows,
he doubted much that it was built in the open air. Then, Coristine
remembered how the dissipated farmer had coupled Rawdon's geology with
trap rock, as well as with galena, quartz and beryl. Knives were
produced and thrust into the seams at the top and on the two sides, as
far as the blades would go, but along the bottom there was no horizontal
incision answering to that above; it was perpendicular towards the
earth, and of no great depth.

It was decided, in the meanwhile, to leave the Captain with Richards
senior, his youngest son, and Mr. Bigglethorpe, who declined to leave
his sport, as a guard on the skiff and the adjoining mysterious stone.
The rest of the party returned to the encampment, to consult with the
colonel and learn the reason of his absence. Pierre Lajeunesse was found
where Mr. Terry had left him, and gladly accepted an arm up the hill.
Arrived at the stone-yard, the Squire and Coristine learnt with concern
of the dominie's wound, but were rejoiced to find it was nothing more
serious, and that his was the only casualty, besides the doctor's.
Squire Walker and Mr. Bangs accompanied the colonel, whom Coristine
relieved in attendance upon the dominie, and Maguffin, to look for the
felled accomplices of Rawdon, but, of the four who certainly were
knocked insensible by the clubs, not one was to be found, nor was there
any sign that the pistols of the cavalry had taken effect on the other
three. The whole seven had escaped. Meanwhile Rawdon's house and all the
other buildings had been searched by Carruthers, without a single
incriminating thing, save a half empty keg of peculiar white spirits,
being brought to light. The stables contained many horses; and strong
waggons, such as those seen by the pedestrians at the Beaver River, were
in the sheds. The stone-cutters and the women professed to know nothing,
and, save in the case of the woman called Flower, Bangs was of opinion
that they spoke the truth. All the men could tell was that Rawdon paid
them good wages, so that they were able to live without work all winter;
that six other men worked for him elsewhere and came to the
boarding-house for their meals, but did not sleep there; that one of
them had got hurt in the back, and was away in the hospital, and that
two teamsters had left shortly before the intruders arrived, along with
the remaining five. They had also seen Rawdon ride in that morning, but
did not know where he had gone. Did they know of any underground vaults
or trap doors, or any buildings apart from those in the encampment? No,
they had seen none; but, three years ago, before they returned to work
in the spring, there must have been quarrymen about, for enormous
quantities of stone were lying ready for them, which they had not taken
out. Mrs. Flower declined to answer any questions, but did not scruple
to ask if the Squire and others had seen anything of a man called
Harding. When she learned the man's fate, as she sat in a low chair,
she rocked it to and fro and groaned, but shed no tear nor uttered an
articulate syllable.

Bangs would not give up the search, nor would he leave the place. There
was food enough in the boarding-house, and he would remain, even if he
had to stay alone. Squire Walker had to be home for an engagement early
in the morning; the two clergymen had to prepare for Wednesday evening's
duty, and had pastoral work before them; the colonel could not leave the
man who had saved his life. The doctor and the dominie were
incapacitated; Ben Toner was worse than useless over Serlizer; Pierre
dreaded his beloved Angelique's ire if he remained away over night; and
Sullivan's folks might be kinder anxious about him. Messrs. Hill and
Hislop also thought they had better be going. Thus the army melted away.
Everybody insisted on the Squire going home, and getting a good night's
rest. When, with difficulty, persuaded to do so, he offered to leave
Timotheus as his substitute, if that worthy were willing. Timotheus
consented, whereupon Sylvanus and Rufus volunteered, it being understood
that Ben Toner and Maguffin would do their work about the kitchen and
stables, while Serlizer helped the Bridesdale maids. Two other
volunteers were Mr. Terry and the lawyer; and two of the Richards
offered to watch with Mr. Bigglethorpe on the lake shore. Thereupon, the
three members of that gallant family withdrew to the lake, and, while
one boarded the scow and helped his father and younger brother, under
the Captain's directions, to paddle home, the others hailed the
fisherman and asked if he was going to remain. "I'm here for the night,
boys," replied the man of the rod. "I'll turn up that skiff against the
wind and dew, light a fire by the water, and, early in the morning, have
the loveliest bass fishing I've had for many a day. Oh yes, I'm here.
D'ye see my gun lying about anywhere?" Mr. Bigglethorpe's gun was found,
and deposited in the skiff. While this was going on below, Ben Toner
harnessed up a team, hitched them to a waggon, for which he found seats
by depriving other waggons of their boxes, and prepared to take the
wounded dominie, his affectionate friend, the colonel, with Serlizer and
the woman Flower, to Bridesdale. The last named person insisted upon
going at once to see the dead body of Harding. The two stone-cutters
also asked to be allowed to accompany the two props of the encampment
boarding house. Mr. Hill rode the colonel's horse, and the Squire, that
of the detective. Along the once masked, but now unmasked, road, the
procession of waggon, horsemen, and footmen, passed, waving a farewell
to the allies of Mr. Bangs who held the fort. It should be added that
Sylvanus accompanied them as far as the Richards' place, to obtain the
Captain's permission for his volunteering, and to bring the borrowed
waggon back.

At Richards' the waggons were brought out. One was devoted to the two
injured men, the dominie and the doctor, with their attendants, the
colonel and the Captain, and Barney Sullivan as driver. The other was
driven by Ben, with Serlizer beside him. It also contained the woman
Flower, Mr. Errol, Mr. Lajeunesse, and Mr. Hislop. The cavalry,
consisting of Squire Walker in command, Mr. Perrowne, Carruthers, Hill,
and Maguffin, trotted forward, and the infantry and prisoners,
comprising Tom Rigby, who turned up at the Lake Settlement, and the two
masons, followed in the rear. The constable was angry; he had lost his
prisoners of the morning. Having arrived at Mr. Newberry's hospitable
house, and being asked to take some refreshments, which, esteeming the
objects of his care to be simple souls, he had no hesitation in doing,
he was amazed, on his return to the waggon, to find his captives gone.
At once he started in pursuit, but, up to the time of his arrival at the
Lake Settlement, he had seen no trace of the fugitives. Accordingly, the
corporal made the present life of the two stone cutters a burden. He
searched them for concealed weapons, and confiscated the innocent pocket
knives with which they shred their plug tobacco; he forbade them to
smoke; and, finally, tied the left hand of the one to the right of the
other to prevent their running away, of which they disclaimed any
intention. The cavalry came first to the gate of Bridesdale, and
reported the casualties, Perrowne proudly relating that he and
Coristine, who was "now end of a good fellow," had carried the doctor to
the scow, which he called "the bowt." Ben Toner's waggon came next,
having dropped Mrs. Flower at the post office, where, a little later,
the constable landed his prisoners. Her companion Serlizer sought the
kitchen with Ben, while Mr. Errol joined his brother divine; but
Messrs. Hislop and Lajeunesse, with Mr. Hill, waited only for Sylvanus'
appearance to take their homeward journey. At last the ambulance waggon
drove slowly up, and tender hands lifted out the disabled and the
wounded. Miss Halbert and Miss Carmichael relieved the Captain of his
patient, who managed to hop cheerfully into the house, with an arm on
each of their shoulders. The Squire and the colonel helped the dominie
along, and up to a special single room which was to be his hospital, and
which Mrs. and Miss Du Plessis and Mrs. Carruthers were prepared to
enter as nurses, so soon as his bearers had put him to bed. Then the
doctor came up with his instruments, cut off the colonel's improvised
bandage and the shirt sleeve, bathed the wound, found and extracted the
bullet, and tied all up tight. The meek dominie bore it all with
patience, and apologized to his surgeon for giving him so much trouble
while he himself was suffering. The three ladies brought the wounded
hero all manner of good things that sick people are supposed to like or
to be allowed to eat and drink, and Wilkinson was in a _dolce far
niente_ elysium. Little Marjorie, having knocked timidly at the door,
came in with some square gaudily-covered books under her arm, and asked
if Mr. Wilks would like her to read to him. She offered the victim his
choice of "Puss in Boots," "Mother Goose," and "Nursery Rhymes"; but
Miss Du Plessis, who, at the sufferer's request, was looking up in
Wordsworth that cheerful theme, The Churchyard in "The Excursion,"
interposed, saying, some other day, when Mr. Wilkinson had grown
stronger, he might perhaps be able to make a selection from her juvenile
library. Marjorie told her cousin that she was sure, if it had been her
Eugene who was sick, he would have liked her to stay and read to him.
She had told Eugene to marry Cecile, but she would never do so any more;
she would give him all to cousin Marjorie.

The three squires sat in council, and agreed to dismiss the nominal
captives on condition of their promising to appear when wanted as
witnesses. This Serlizer at once agreed to. Mr. Walker rode to the post
office and exacted the promise from Mrs. Flower and the masons, thus
depriving the constable of his prey. He was compelled to untie their
hands, and restore the confiscated pocket knives. The masons were
invited to supper at Bridesdale, as was the woman; but the men proposed
to go on to the River, as they had money to pay their way; and Mrs.
Flower, who would not leave Harding's body, was given in charge to the
post mistress. The supper tables in hall and kitchen were very different
from those of the previous night. In the latter, Ben Toner, the
constable, and Maguffin had each a lady to talk to. Their superiors
missed the company of the lawyer, the detective, and Mr. Bigglethorpe,
to say nothing of Mr. Terry. The doctor was stretched out upon a sofa in
the office, where his daughter waited on him, assisted by Perrowne, who
had to carry the other articles of food while she preceded him with the
tea. Miss Du Plessis, similarly helped by the colonel, attended to the
wants of the dominie. Consequently, the steady members of the supper
circle were the three matrons and Miss Carmichael, with Squires Walker
and Carruthers, Mr. Errol, and the Captain. All agreed that Wilkinson
had done a very fine thing, and Mrs. Du Plessis was warm in his praise.
"The only men that stuck to me," said the Squire, "were Mr. Errol and
Bigglethorpe, and even Bigglethorpe went off fishing as soon as he came
to the water, so that I may say Mr. Errol was my only faithful
adherent." The ladies all looked with much approbation on the blushing
minister, and Mrs. Carmichael showed her approval by immediately
refilling his cup. Squire Walker whispered in his ear: "Fine woman, Mr.
Errol, fine woman, that Mrs. Carmichael! Is she a widow, sir?" Mr. Errol
did not like this whispering at table, especially on such a subject, but
he replied affirmatively in as brief a way as possible, and went on with
his repast. The Captain said that his mill was clean run out of gear
with all these starboard and port watches and tacks to every point of
the compass; and, when conversation lagged, Carruthers fairly nodded
over his plate. Nevertheless, after supper, the occupants of the kitchen
were called in and prayers were held, in which Mr. Errol offered
petitions for the bereaved, the suffering, and the criminal, and
committed the watchers at the post of danger and duty to the care of
their Heavenly Father, to all of which Mr. Perrowne responded with a
hearty Amen. Then, the parsons insisted on going home to their boarding
houses, and Squire Walker mounted his horse for home. Anxiously, Mrs.
Carruthers asked her husband if he anticipated danger where her father
was, and Miss Carmichael asked the Captain the same question, without
mentioning anyone, but having Coristine in view. Both endeavoured to
reassure the minds of the half tearful women, after which they carried
the doctor upstairs, and all went to bed. Fearing that the idiot boy
might repeat his double attempt to fire the verandah, Mr. Perrowne had
told Muggins to lie there and watch it, and there the faithful dog lay
the whole night through, to the satisfaction of the inmates of
Bridesdale, although happily nothing happened to test his quality as a
watch dog.

In the kitchen, Mr. Maguffin considered himself, next to Tryphena and
Tryphosa, the representative of the family, as the deputy of Timotheus
and the servant of the colonel. Ben Toner was his ally in war, but had
no local standing, and the pensioner was simply an intruder. Yet, with
cool effrontery, the corporal sat in the place of honour beside
Tryphena, and regaled her with narratives of warfare, to which she had
listened many times already. Ben and Serlizer were still full of one
another's society. He had comforted her heart, if it needed any
comforting, over the condition of her father, whom he and Timotheus had
treated so cavalierly, and urged her not to go home any more, but to
come and help the old woman. With a bad example before her at home, and
very far from improving ones at the Select Encampment, Serlizer was yet,
though not too cultivated, an honest steady girl, and was pleased to
learn that Ben had really turned over a new leaf. She gave her
sweetheart to understand that she had kept her own money, not being such
a fool as to let the old man get his hands on it, and that it was safe
in the bundle she had brought from the boarding-house, whereupon Ben
said she had better put that bundle away in a safe place, for you
couldn't tell what kind of characters might be about. Mr. Maguffin heard
these words, and, taking them to himself, waxed indignant.

"Ef yoh'se diloodin' ter this pressum comperny, Mistah Tonah, I wants
ter say I takes the sponsability ob these young ladies on my shouldahs,
sah, the shouldahs ob Mortimah Magrudah Maguffin, sah. Foh what remains
ober ob the mascline paht ob it, I ain't no call foh ter spress mysef.
It kin speak foh itsef."

The corporal glowered, and smote the table with his fist.

"Pardon my indignation, Miss Hill! This creature, with no military or
other standing that I know of, calls me, a retired non-commissioned
officer of the British army, it. In India, where I served, I called such
things _chakar_ and _banda_, the very dust beneath my feet, Miss
Tryphena; and it was as much as their life was worth to call me less
than _sahib_. And, now that I have retired on a pension, with my medals
and clasps, and am an officer of the law, a black man, a _kali_,
presumes to _it_ me. I have known a _kali chakar_ killed, yes killed,
for less. 'Corporal,' said the commanding officer to me, 'Corporal
Rigby,' said he, many a time, 'order one of your men to call up that
black dog of mine!' I assure you he did, Miss Hill."

"I doan' take no erbuse ner nigger talk in this yere house, where I'm
takin' Timothis' place, an' where my bawss is mighty high ercount, no,
not fom consterbles nor no nuther white tresh. I didn't go foh ter call
Mistah Rigby _it_, Miss Tryphosy, I swan ter grashus I didn't. I
spressed the pinion as all the comperny as isn't ladies is it and so it
is it."

"Ef you go a ittin' of me Maguffin," struck in Ben, "I'm buzz sawed and
shingled of I don't hit you back fer what you're ma guvin us." Then he
opened up his mouth and laughed, and Serlizer laughed, and the Hill
girls. Even Maguffin displayed his ivories, and remarked: "Mistah Tonah,
foh a gennelman what ain't trabbled none, yoh'se mighty smaht."

"Oh, Serlizer," said Ben, "we don't go traavellin' much; we ain't like
the rollin' stones as don't gaythyer no mawss."

"When the cunnel and me was ridin' ter Tronter, laast Sat'day,"
continued Mr. Maguffin, "the cunnel he began egspashuatin' on the things
he see. 'That there mawss' says he, 'at Hogg's Holler, minds me ob two
coloured men was habin' a counterbessy on they bawsses. Says one of the
gennelmen, "My bawss," (the cunnel says massa, but that's a name I doan'
take to) "my bawss says he ain't like yoh bawss, trabellin' around all
the time and gatherin' no mawss." "No," said the other coloured
gennelman, "but my bawss gathers what yoh bawss want mighty bad, and
that's a heap ob polish."'"

"For polish," remarked Constable Rigby, turning to Tryphena, "for
polish, Miss Hill, commend me to an English army officer."

"My bawss," said Maguffin, "is an officer and a gennelman, and yoh
cayn't beat him foh polish nohow."

"There are no officers and no soldiers in America," replied the
pensioner.

"Oh, Mr. Rigby," interrupted Tryphosa, "I remember reading in my history
that the American soldiers beat the British army many times in the
Revolutionary War."

"Flim-flam. Miss Tryphosa Hill, garbled reports! The British army never
has been beaten, never can be beaten. I belonged to the British army,
Miss Hill, I beg pardon, Miss Tryphosa, and know what I assert from
experience."

"Le'ss stop this jaw and have a game o' keerds," suggested Serlizer.

Ben seconded his lady love's proposal, and thought a game of euchre
would pass away the time. The constable said euchre was no game. There
was only one game at cards, and that was whist. The man or woman who
could not play whist was uneducated. Sarah Eliza professed a preference
for High, Low, Jack, and the Game; any saphead could play that. She
wasn't a saphead herself, but there might be some about. Maguffin
regretted that in the Baktis pussuasion cards were not allowed; and the
Hill girls had distinctly promised their mother to play no games of
chance. As, however, none of the parties owned a pack of cards, nor knew
where to find one, further controversy on the subject was useless.
Tryphosa, looking intelligent, left the room, and speedily returned with
a little cardboard box in her hand, labelled Countries, Cities,
Mountains, and Rivers, with which Timotheus had once presented her. She
said it was an improving game, and that all could play it. The shuffling
and dealing, of course, presented an almost unavoidable chance element,
but, apart from that, the game was a matter of science, of geographical
knowledge. Now the Hill girls were educated, as Mr. Rigby said; and he,
having travelled far as a soldier, was not deficient in geographical
lore; but what about the other three?

"Oh!" ejaculated Miss Newcome, "at them there keerds, I guess we jist
are sapheads. Ain't that so, Ben?"

Ben said "I guaiss"; and Mr. Maguffin added: "joggrify, entermoligy,
swinetax, and paucity was teached me, but I done clar forgit how they
run, it's so long sence."

It was, therefore, agreed to play a triangular game, the pair having the
most books to be winners, and have the right to shuffle and deal for the
following trial of skill. The contending pairs were the pensioner and
Serlizer, Ben and Tryphosa, Maguffin and Tryphena, partners were allowed
to help each other. While the British Islands, Turkey, Russia, and India
were being played, Rigby and Miss Newcome were triumphant, but when it
came to any other part of the world, especially to America, with the
exception of Canada, where Serlizer scored her one victory, that pair
was helpless. Maguffin acquired a book by his own unaided wisdom, that
of the Southern United States; otherwise Tryphena inspired him. Ben had
an unavailing contest with Miss Newcome over Canada, and saw her make up
the book and slam it on the table with mingled feelings of pride in her,
and mortification for his own want of success. But, as he said, Tryphosa
was "a daisy and parlyzed the hull gang." Laurel after laurel she took
from the brow of the travelled pensioner; she swooped down upon Tryphena
and Maguffin, and robbed them of books wholesale, till Mr. Toner
remarked that she had "quayte a libery"; in her hands the strapping
Serlizer was helpless as a child. Magnanimously, she allowed Ben to
shuffle and Serlizer to cut, then Ben again to deal.

The second game was more exciting. Mr. Maguffin, naturally quick and
possessing a memory cultivated by closely following the prelections of
his coloured Baptist religious instructors, rapidly seized the hitherto
unknown combinations, and astonished Tryphena with his bold independence
of action. The constable's mind worked more conservatively, as became
his rank and profession, and Serlizer was worse than useless to him,
but, by chance, they had magnificent hands. He piled up India in quick
marching time, as he hummed "The British Grenadiers," and accompanied it
with a drum beat of his right foot on the floor. Calcutta, Bombay, and
Madras, Indus, Ganges, and Godavery, Himalayas, Ghauts, and Vindhyas,
lay captured at his right hand. Ben won Ireland from him, but he
annexed England, Scotland, and Turkey. Once more Serlizer took Canada,
and, owing to Mr. Toner's imperfect shuffling, laid complete books of
Egypt, Australia, and Brazil upon the table. The stars fought against
Tryphena and Tryphosa, and, in spite of Mr. Maguffin's gallant struggle
against fate, the pensioner took the honours. Then Miss Newcome favoured
him with a friendly kick under the table, accompanied by the elegant
expression: "Bully for you, old man!" Next, the victorious damsel
shuffled, allowed Tryphena to cut, and dealt out the cards for the third
game. This time the deal was fair, and Mr. Rigby, glancing over his
partner's capacious hand, beheld there no prospect of continued good
fortune. Tryphena was on her mettle as a geographer, and Maguffin had
stowed away in his all-embracing memory the names of half the globe's
prominent features in city, river, and mountain. He wrested half India
and all Russia from the pensioner, captured the whole of the United
States, Canada, Mexico, and various states of South America. Almost the
entire continent of Europe succumbed to Tryphena. Tryphosa fought
doggedly, and encouraged Ben to continue the unequal contest, but the
constable and Serlizer yielded up card after card with the muteness of
despair. Mr. Maguffin was transported with joy, when his partner counted
up their united books, amounting to more than those of both the other
pairs put together.

"I'se larned moah joggrify this heah bressid night nor I'd git in six
mumfs er schoolin'. Hit makes me feel kind er smaht all ober, but not
smaht enough foh ter ekal you, Miss Trypheeny, ner yoh pah. Ain't he
jest a smaht man, foolin' me on Typernosties and Gasternickle, words I
nevah knowed afoah, yah! yah! yah!"

A new game was in progress, when a tap came to the inside door, and,
immediately thereafter, a figure in a dressing gown appeared, partly
thrust into the half-opened entrance. "Do you know Tryphena," said a
pretty voice, "that it is very late, long past midnight, and you two
girls have to be up by six o'clock at the latest! Take Sarah with you,
and go to bed. Toner, you know Timotheus' room, and had better get some
rest, which I am sure you need." As the four parties addressed somewhat
sheepishly departed, Mrs. Carmichael turned to the remaining card
players, who were standing, corporal Rigby at military attention, and
said, with a somewhat tremulous accent: "There's a large fire out in the
Lake Settlement direction, but I cannot bear to awaken Mr. Carruthers or
the other two gentlemen, for he is very tired, and they are much older
and require rest also. Perhaps, Maguffin, you will be kind enough to
saddle a horse quietly, and find out where it is and see that my father
and Mr. Coristine are safe."

"I'se ony too pleased ter obey yoh commandemens, marm, wif percision an'
dispatches," answered the coloured gentleman, hasting stablewards.

"As constable, ma'am, if I may be allowed to speak," said Corporal
Rigby, saluting for the second time, "as constable, it is my duty to be
present at all township fires, for the purpose of keeping order and
directing operations. I shall, therefore, with your permission, ma'am,
respectfully take my leave."

"It is a long way, constable, and you and I are not so young as we once
were--"

"Pardon an old soldier's interruption, ma'am, but you are as young as
ever you were, the youngest married lady I know."

"Thank you, corporal! What I meant to say was that you had better get
Maguffin to saddle a horse for you, as the distance is great."

"You are very good, ma'am, but I never served in the cavalry. I belonged
to Her Majesty's Foot Guards, ma'am, and could not possibly insult the
memory of my old comrades lying in Crimean graves, by putting the legs,
that a merciful Providence furnished me to march with, across the back
of a horse. Had I even served in the Artillery or in the Engineers, I
might have been able to comply with your kind request. Being what I have
been, I must proceed without delay to the seat of the conflagration. I
have the honour, ma'am, of saluting you. Good night!"

So Maguffin quietly escaped from the stables, and rode rapidly towards
the fire, which shed its lurid light far over the clouded sky; and the
pensioner trudged after him on foot, with his official baton under his
arm, to make that conflagration acquainted with the law.




CHAPTER XIV.

     Picnic Supper--Sentries--Sylvanus' Silence--Coristine and
     Bigglethorpe Hear Sounds--Invaders Repelled--Fire and
     Explosions--Victims Walled In--Water Retreat in the Rain--The
     Constable Secures Mark Davis--Walk Home in the Rain--Bangs and
     Matilda--Into Dry Clothes--Miss Carmichael's Mistake--A Reef in Mr.
     Bangs--Ben has no Clothes--Three Young Gentlemen in a Bad Way.


Mr. Bangs had no fewer than eight men under his command, Bigglethorpe
and the two Richards at the water, and Coristine and the veteran, the
two Pilgrims and Rufus, up above. The latter tired themselves out, under
the detective's direction, looking for an opening in the ground, but
found none, nor anything that in the least resembled one. Some of the
searchers wondered why the chimney in Rawdon's house was so
unnecessarily large and strong, but no examination about its base
revealed any connection between it and an underground passage. The
detective, in conference with Mr. Terry and the lawyer, decided on four
sentries, namely one each at the house and the lake, as already set, one
at the road looking towards the entrance, and the other half way between
the lake and the house, to keep up the connection. Some bread and meat
and a pot of tea, with dishes, were sent down to the three men on the
shore by the hands of Timotheus, but they rejected the cold meat, having
already made a fire, and broiled the bass caught by Mr. Bigglethorpe.
They had a very jolly time, telling fish stories, till about eight
o'clock, and the fisherman of Beaver River was in wonderful spirits over
the discovery of a new fishing ground. If those lakes had only contained
brook trout he would move his store to the Lakes Settlement; as it was,
he thought of setting up a branch establishment, and getting a partner
to occupy the two places of business alternately with him. The Richards
boys were pleased to think that their new acquaintance was likely to be
a permanent one, and made Mr. Bigglethorpe many sincere offers of
assistance in his fishing, and subordinate commercial, ventures. At
eight Mr. Bangs came down the hill, and posted one of the Richards as
sentry, while the fisherman indulged in his evening smoke, preparatory
to turning in under the skiff with his friend Bill. "I went that fire
put out, gentlemen," said the detective, "net now, but say efter ten
o'clock, as it might help the enemy to spy us out," to which Bill
Richards replied: "All right, cap'n; she'll be dead black afore ten."
Rufus was placed on the hill side to communicate between the distant
posts; Timotheus overlooked the encampment; and Sylvanus was given the
station on the road. Mr. Bangs walked about nervously, and the lawyer
and Mr. Terry, bringing some clean coverlets out of the boarding-house,
spread them on the chip-covered ground, and lay down to smoke their
pipes and talk of many things. "Oi tuk to yeez, sorr," said the veteran
with warmth, "soon as Oi mit ye in the smokin' carr, and to think what a
dale av loife we've seen since, an' here's you an' me, savin' yer
prisince, as thick as thaves."

Nothing of any moment occurred till within a quarter of ten, when
Sylvanus saw two figures suddenly start up close by him on the right. At
first, he thought of challenging them, but seeing one was a woman, and
remembering the going over the Squire gave him about capturing Tryphosa,
he resolved to await their arrival. Both figures greeted him joyfully by
his name, for it was his two proteges, the crazy woman and her son, who
had escaped the constable and lain concealed until darkness veiled their
movements. "Has Steevy woke up yet?" she asked the sentinel, quietly.

"Not as I know on," responded the elder Pilgrim.

"Then we will slip quietly into the house, and get some supper for
Monty, and go to bed. It's tiresome walking about all day," she
continued.

"Don't you two go fer to make no noise, 'cos they's sentries out as
might charlinge yer with their guns," remarked the compassionate guard.

"No," she whispered back; "we will be still as little mice, won't we,
Monty? Good night, Sylvanus!" The boy added, "Good night, Sylvy!" and
the sentinel returned the salutation, and muttered to himself: "Pore
souls, the sight on 'em breaks me all up."

Sylvanus should have reported these arrivals, when the detective came
to relieve him, and put Mr. Terry in his place, but he did not. He had
forgotten all about them, and was wondering if that "kicked-out-of
service old ramrod, the corpular, was foolin' round about Trypheeny."
Coristine relieved Timotheus; Bill Richards, Rufus; and Mr.
Bigglethorpe, Harry Richards. The relieved men went to sleep on the
quilts and under the skiff. Mr. Bangs came up every quarter of an hour
to the lawyer, and asked if he had heard a noise about the house, to
which the sentinel replied in the affirmative every time; whereupon the
detective would take a lamp and search the building from top to bottom
without any result. Once, after such a noise, that sounded like some
heavy article being dragged along, Coristine thought he heard the words:
"Keep quiet, Tilly," and, "Take it hoff," but he was not sure. The night
was cloudy and dark, and the mosquitoes' buzzing sometimes had a human
sound, while the snoring of the Pilgrims, and the restless moving of the
horses, brought confusion to the ear, which sought to verify suspected
articulations. Had he known that Matilda Nagle was about the house, he
would not have let Bangs rest until the mystery was solved. He did not
know; and, being very tired and sleepy, was inclined to distrust the
evidence of his senses and lay it to the charge of imagination.

Down by the water's edge Mr. Bigglethorpe sat on a stone in front of the
carved out block, thinking of the best fly for bass, and of a great
fishing party to the lakes that should include Mr. Bulky. Standing up to
stretch his legs and facing the block of limestone, he thought he saw a
narrow line of light along the left perpendicular incision. Moving over,
he saw the same perpendicular line on the right. Just then the clouds
drifted off the moon, and he convinced himself that the light lines were
reflections from the sheen that glimmered over the lake. He also thought
he heard a whining noise, such as a sick person or a child might make,
and then a rough voice saying: "Stow that now!" but Richards, like the
two Pilgrims above, was snoring, and Harry had a slight cold in his
head. "What a stoopid, superstitious being I should become," said the
fisherman to himself, "if I were out here long all alone." But, hark!
the sound of paddles softly dipping came from the left, and at once the
sentry lay down behind the upturned skiff, and, gun in hand, listened.
He poked Richards with his foot, and, as he awoke, enjoined silence.
Richards crawled out, and quietly replaced the boat in its original
position. There were now two on guard instead of one. The boat entered
the lake. It was the scow, Richards' scow, and Harry was indignant.
There were five men in it, and they were talking in a low tone.

"Quite sure them blarsted Squire folks has all gone home, Pete?"

"Sartin, I seen 'em, the hull gang's scattered and skee-daddled, parsons
an' all."

"Where's the blarsted light, then?"

"Seems to me I kin see long, thin streaks. O Lawr, boys, Rodden must ha'
been hard put, when he drapped the block into the hole. It's shet up
tight. Hev ye got the chisel and mallet?"

"They're all right."

"Then less git ashore and drap the block out, though it's an orful pity
to lose it in the drink."

"Carn't we git the blarsted thing back to its place agin?"

"Onpossible; wild horses couldn't do it."

Harry whispered to Bigglethorpe: "What'll we do?" and the fisherman
answered: "Our duty is to fire, but we weren't told to kill anybody.
Don't you fire till I reload."

Then Bigglethorpe called out: "Surrender in the Queen's name," and fired
above the scow. Two or three pistol shots rattled over the sentries'
heads, and flattened themselves on the rock behind. "All ready!" said
the storekeeper, and Harry let fly his duck shot into the middle of the
crowd, who paddled vigorously from the shore. Bill Richards, having
alarmed the upper sentries by the discharge of his gun, came running
down, with the Pilgrims and Rufus, led by the detective, not far behind
him. "Shove out the skiff," called Bigglethorpe. The Richards shoved it
off, and Bill rowed, when the two sentries got on board. "Go it, Bill,
after the old tub," cried Harry; "we'll soon catch up." The Rawdon gang
worked hard to get to the narrows, but found it hopeless. "Give it to
them," shouted Bangs from the shore; and in response, the guns rang out
again, while Bill strained every muscle to the utmost. The punt
grounded on the shore above the narrows, and four of the men jumped out
into the water and fled up the bank, firing their pistols as they
retired. The punt was captured, and brought back to the guarded beach,
with a wounded man and some tools in the bottom. Only by swimming, or by
a long detour of very many miles, could the four fugitives find their
way back to the shore they had sought in vain.

The wounded man was taken out of the punt and laid on the beach. "Is he
dead?" asked Bigglethorpe. "No," answered the detective, feeling the
head of the victim, and inspecting him by the aid of matches struck by
the smoker Sylvanus; "it's a good thing for him thet yore two gens were
louded with deck shot end thet they sketter sow, else he'd a been a dead
men. He's got a few pellets in the beck of his head, jest eneugh to sten
the scoundrel for a few minutes. Ah, he's hed a creck owver the top of
his head with a cleb, the colonel's werk, very likely."

"Do you want him kept?" enquired Mr. Bigglethorpe, as sentry.

"Oh, dear me, yes; he's Rawdon's chief men. I wouldn't lose him fer a
hendred dollars. Rufus, do you mind blowing his brains out if he
attempts to escaype?"

The good-natured Rufus said he didn't mind watching the prisoner, but he
imagined clubbing would be kinder than blowing out his brains.

"All right!" answered the detective, "all right, so long as you keep him
safely."

So Mr. Bangs went back to the house, followed by Sylvanus, Timotheus and
Bill Richards, the last of whom resumed his post, namely the trunk on
which Pierre Lajeunesse had rested.

When the encampment was reached, Mr. Bangs asked Coristine if he had
been smoking on guard or lighting matches, but he had not. He asked Mr.
Terry the same question, which the old soldier almost took as an insult.
"An' is it to me ye come, axin' av Oi shmoke on guarrd, an' shpind my
toime loightin' matches loike a choild? Oi've sane sarvice, sorr, and
nobody knows betther fwhat his juty is."

"I sincerely beg your pardon, Mr. Terry. Please excuse my enxiety; I
smell fire."

"Don't mintion it, sorr, betune us. Faix, an' it's foire I shmill an'
moighty sthrong, too."

The detective came back to the front of the house, and saw the fire that
had broken forth in a moment, and was flaming in every room of basement
and upper storey, a fire too rapidly advanced to be got under, even had
the means been at hand.

"Quick, Sylvanus, Timotheus, get out the horses and any other live
stock," he cried; but the lawyer had been before him, and the two
Pilgrims and he were already leading the frightened animals past the
house and on to the road, where they turned their heads outward and
drove them along. Forgetting their watch, Mr. Terry and Bangs himself
helped, until every living creature, as they thought, was safely away on
the road to the Lake Settlement. Then, two figures, that the guilty
Sylvanus knew, came out of the door of the boarding house, and the
flames leaped out after them. The woman came up to Coristine, and said:
"I know you; you helped to carry poor Steevy, who is not awake yet. He
said it was cold down there, so Monty and I have made a fire to keep him
warm." The lawyer thought she meant that her dead brother was cold. As
to the fire, when he saw Monty, it did not astonish him; but how came
they both there through the guard?

The frame buildings, their light clapboards dried by the summer sun,
burned furiously, and the flames roared in the rising wind. The sheds
and stables caught; the fire ran over the ground, in spite of the dew,
catching in shrubs and fallen timber, and even climbing up living trees.
Back the beholders were driven, as far as Bill Richards' post, by the
terrible glare and heat of the conflagration. Leaving Bigglethorpe on
sentry, and Rufus over the prisoner, Harry came running up to learn what
was the matter, and to tell of noises like human voices and hammer blows
behind the slab of rock. Then, as the fire in the house burned down to
the ground, there was an explosion that seemed to shake the earth, and a
column of fire sprang up the standing chimney, side by side with another
less lofty and more diffused from the right of the building. Report
after report followed, and the whole party, half terror-stricken,
descended to the beach. Rufus, with Bigglethorpe's help, had
considerately transferred his prisoner to the punt, and guarded him
there. The store-keeper, taking chisel and mallet in hand, was striking
off chip after chip of rock, in answer to muffled cries from within; and
now the big rock had moved half an inch. Still the brave man worked away
amid the continued explosions, and in spite of the advancing fire. The
block continued to slide, and Bigglethorpe cried: "Take the boats out of
the way, and get back from me, or you will all be crushed in a minute."
The punt was out of danger, but Bill Richards, with a single movement,
shoved off the skiff, and, kneeling on her stern, sent her far out into
the lake. Then he rowed the boat rapidly back into a place of safety.
The slab was still sliding, and had cleared the rock out of which it had
been cut by an inch. A human hand was thrust out, a dumpy, beringed
hand, bleeding with the effort; a most audible voice cried "For God's
sake, 'urry!" and then there came a perfect Babel of explosions, and the
gallant deliverer was forcibly drawn out of a fierce river of liquid
fire that streamed down into the lake, and burned even out on the water.
The fisherman was badly burnt, hair, beard and eyelashes almost singed
off; but still he thought of rescue. "Fire at that miserable little chip
that holds it," he cried; "fire, since you can't hit it otherwise. Oh,
for an asbestos suit, and I would have styed." They fired pistol and gun
with no effect, till the lawyer, out in the skiff with Bill, got his
rifle sighted to the point in the blue flame, where he thought the
preventing ridge ought to be. He fired at close range, the ball hit the
rock projection, and at once the great block slid away into the lake,
with a splash that damped the flames with a column of spray, and
revealed an awful corridor of fire. No living creature was there, but
the detective, dipping his feet in the lake, took a boat hook out of the
returning skiff, and then, standing in the flames, hauled out two
charred masses, and extinguished them in the shallow water by the shore.

Mr. Terry came running down and crying: "Out on the wather wid yeez,
ivery mother's son av yeez; the foire's spreadin' an' the threes is
fallin'; fer yer loife, min." Mr. Bangs, still in command, asked:--

"How many will the skiff howld, Bill?"

"Seven, anyway," replied the Richards of that name.

"Mr. Coristine and Mr. Terry take commend and choose crew."

"Come, Matilda and Monty," said the lawyer.

"Come on, Sylvanus, Timotheus, Rufus," cried Mr. Terry.

"I'll row," said the Irishman.

"And me, too," added Sylvanus.

"Look after my prisoner, Mr. Bangs," cried Rufus; and the skiff went out
to sea.

Bill transferred himself to the scow, with his brother Harry and Mr.
Bigglethorpe. The detective lifted the two charred masses to the
opposite side of the middle thwart from that against which the prisoner
lay. Then, Bill and Bigglethorpe having taken the bow, he and Harry took
the stern, and the scow followed the skiff. For a time the two boats
stood stock still, fascinated by the awful scene. The explosions were
over, but the forest was blazing fiercely, and up towards the
smouldering buildings, but underground, blazed a vault of blue fire that
reached up to the standing brick chimney of Rawdon's house. Hundreds of
animals were in the water around them, squirrels and snakes and
muskrats, even mice, swimming for dear life. Then, pitter, patter, came
the rain, hissing on the flames. It fell more heavily; and the lawyer,
having doffed his coat to row, threw it over the woman's shoulders,
while Mr. Terry put that of Sylvanus about the boy. "Lead on, Mr.
Coristine," cried the detective; and the skiff shot through the narrows,
with the punt hard after it. The rain fell in torrents and drenched the
occupants of both vessels; but those whose faces were towards the stern
could see the bush-fire still raging. "The rain'll stop it spreadin',"
Bill called out cheerfully, and the lawyer rejoiced, because the fire
was on Miss Du Plessis' land. Long was the journey, tired were the
rowers and paddlers, and draggled was the crew, or rather draggled were
the crews, that reached the Richards' homestead. The prisoner was awake
by this time, had been so all along since he was deposited in the punt,
and a paddle had splashed his face. When walked ashore, he had made a
dash for liberty, but Mr. Bangs had brought him up short. "Yore in too
great a herry, Merk Devis," he had said; "we went you, my men, and we'll
hev you, dead or alive." So Mark Davis, since that was the name of
Wilkinson's dissipated farmer, had to fall into line and march to the
Richards' place. There the party found Maguffin and the constable.

The colonel's servant had been much closer to the conflagration, but,
having seen no sign of any person there, nothing but a number of
startled horses, and the fire having taken possession of the sides of
the masked road, he had retired to the nearest house. He at once
enquired after the safety of Mr. Terry and the lawyer, and, finding that
they and all the rest of the party were safe, rode back at his utmost
speed to report. The constable, rejoiced at seeing his prisoners again,
was about to rearrest them, when Coristine and Sylvanus interposed, the
latter threatening to thrash the pipe-clay out of the pensioner's "old
putrified jints" if he touched the boy. The Crew meant petrified, but
the insult was no less offensive to the corporal on account of the
mistake. As a private individual in the Squire's kitchen, Mr. Rigby was
disposed to peace and unwilling to engage in a contest with big-boned
Sylvanus, but, as a constable on duty, he was prepared to face any
number of law-breakers and to fight them to the death. Drawing his
baton, he advanced, and only the commands of his legal superior, Mr.
Bangs, backed by the expostulations of the pseudo sergeant-major Terry,
induced him to refrain from recapturing his former prisoners, and from
adding to them the profane Pilgrim who had been guilty of interfering
with an officer in the discharge of his duty. Finally he was mollified
by being put in possession of a really great criminal, Mark Davis, whom
he at once searched and deprived of various articles, including a
revolver, all the chambers of which were fortunately empty. Then,
producing his own revolver, the corporal gave it to his prisoner to
smell, remarking that, if he tried any nonsense, he would have a taste
of it that he would remember. Mrs. Richards was busy reducing the
inflammation of Mr. Bigglethorpe's burns. She insisted that he should go
no farther that night, and the whole Richards family, which had greatly
taken to the fisherman, combined to hold him an honoured prisoner. Mr.
Bigglethorpe consented to remain, and the Bridesdale contingent bade him
and his hosts good night. The constable went first with his prisoner,
followed by Matilda Nagle, between the lawyer and the detective. Monty
came next, clinging to Sylvanus and Mr. Terry, while Timotheus and Rufus
brought up the rear. Mrs. Richards had furnished the woman and her boy
with two shiny waterproofs, called by the young Richards gum coats, so
that Coristine and Sylvanus got back their contributions to the wardrobe
of the insane, but, save for the look of the thing, they would have been
better without them, since they only added a clammy burden to thoroughly
water-soaked bodies.

Still the rain fell in torrents. It trickled in many rills off the
penthouses of the pedestrians' headgear; from the lapels of coats and
from waistcoats it streamed down, concentrating itself upon soggy knees.
Broad sheets, like the flow of a water-cart, radiated from coat tails of
every description; and rivers descending trouser-legs, turned boots and
shoes into lakes, which sodden stockinged feet pumped out in returning
fountains. Happily there was no necessity for using gun or pistol, since
these weapons shared in the general pervading moisture. Yet the corporal
marched erect, with his left hand on his prisoner's shoulder. Poor
Matilda was cheerful, though shivering, and, turning round to her boy,
said; "It is a good thing, Monty, that we lit the fire when we did, for
it would be very hard to light one now;" to which the lad answered, "I
hain't a goin' to light no more fires no more." Sylvanus and the veteran
had been telling him what a bad thing it was to set houses on fire, and
the hypnotized boy, freed apparently from the mesmeric bond by the death
of his unnatural father, responded to the counsels of his new friends.
The influence lasted longer with Matilda, for as, in spite of the
absorbing rain, her companions were able to make a study of her talk,
they observed that it was controlled by one or two overmastering ideas,
which were evidently the imposition of a superior will. In his
dog-Latin, which he presumed the poor woman could not understand, Mr.
Bangs said to the lawyer: "_Oportet dicere ad Doctorem dehypnotizere
illem feminem._" To this elegant sentence Mr. Coristine briefly
answered, "_Etiam_," but soon afterwards he asked: "Where did you pick
up your Latin, Mr. Bangs."

"I wes at school, you know where, with pore Nesh; _mulier nescit
nomen_. We both took to Letin, because we could talk without being
understood by the common crowd. You find velgar criminals thet know some
French, German, Spenish or Portegese, bet none thet know Letin. In
dealing with higher class criminals we used our own gibberish or
artificial shibboleth."

"A sort of Volapuk?"

"Exectly; pore Nesh was ohfelly clever et it."

"I am going to kill Mr. Nash as soon as I can find him," interrupted the
woman, in an amiable tone of voice, as if she proposed to discharge some
pleasant duty.

The men shuddered, and Mr. Bangs said: "You know, my dear Matilda, what
the Bible says, Thou shelt not kill. You surely would not kemmit the sin
of merder?"

"I am not to mind what the Bible says, or what Steevy says, or what
clergymen or any other people say. I am only to do what he says, and I
must."

"Did he tell you to light thet fire?"

"Not that fire, but the other said it was cold down there."

"Why did he not come up?"

"Because I covered the trap over with the big stones, and Monty helped
me."

"Surely he didn't tell you to dreg the stones on to the trep?"

"Yes, he did, but not then. It was before, when Flower wanted to get up,
and crawl away and tell, because he thought he was going to die."

"Was Flower down there with him?"

"Yes; that's why Monty and I put the big stones on the trap."

"Flower was hert, wesn't he, shot in the beck, I think?"

"Yes; he crawled in all the way on his hands and knees, and I helped his
wife to tie him up, till the doctor came, the morning that I found
Steevy."

"How do you know thet Stephen wes esleep?"

"He told me."

"_Deminus Coristinus, mulier non est responsibilis pro suis ectionibus.
Facit et credit omnia qua mendet enimel mertuus._"

"_Eheu domine!_" replied the lawyer; "_sic est vita dolorosa!_"

Bridesdale was all lit up, and the front door was open to receive the
soaked wayfarers, but no one could be induced to enter it. Mr. Terry
asked Honoria to leave his dry suit and a pair of shoes at the kitchen,
when he would take them to the carriage house, and change there. The
lawyer and the detective had no dry suit, so Mrs. Carruthers brought
them some of her husband's clothes, and two umbrellas, under which they
carried their bundles, wrapped in bath towels, to the place the veteran
had chosen. While the three drawing-room guests stripped, rubbed
themselves down with the grateful towels, and put on their dry attire,
the kitchen filled up with the humid and steaming Pilgrims, Rufus, the
idiot boy, and his mother. Constable Rigby lodged his prisoner on some
straw in an empty stall in the stable, and, producing a pair of
handcuffs, which he had left there, secured him, fastening also a stall
chain round one of his legs with a padlock. The constable was severe,
but he had lost two prisoners the previous day, had been abused by
Sylvanus Pilgrim, and was very wet and tired. To the credit of Sylvanus
be it said, that he came out with Ben Toner's clothes, and lent them to
his elderly rival, and actually carried the corporal's wet garments into
the kitchens, there to hang with a large assortment of others, drying
before the two stoves, in full blast for the purpose. The gum coats had
fairly protected the clothes of Matilda and Monty, but their feet needed
reclothing, and it took some time to dry their heads. Maguffin had taken
off his wet things, and was asleep in the loft bed, keeping one ear open
for the safekeeping of the colonel's horses. Tryphena and Tryphosa were
both up; and into their hands Rufus consigned the dripping habiliments
of their two admirers as well as his own, his fraternal relation
allowing him to appear before the ladies of the kitchen in a long white
garment with frills that had never been constructed for a man. "Guess it
ain't the last time you'll have to dry them clothes, gals," said the
sportive Rufus, skipping along in his frilled surplice, when Tryphena
chased him out of the apartment with a sounding smack between the
shoulders. Tryphena hesitated to send the mad woman into the room in
which Serlizer was sleeping, not knowing the nature of their relations
at the Select Encampment. Matilda, however, evidenced no intention of
retiring, or feeling of drowsiness. She talked, with the brightness and
cheerfulness of other days, and in a gentle, pleasant voice, but on
strange wild themes that terrified the two young women. Monty looked at
the fire and then at Tryphosa, saying: "I hain't a goin' to light no
more fires no more." "Why?" asked Tryphosa, and the answer came, which
revealed a genuine working of the intellect: "'Cos Sylvy says hit's
wicked." His mother turned, and said: "Monty, you must not mind what
Sylvanus says or anybody else; you must mind what he says."

The boy looked his mother full in the face, and replied in a very
decided tone, "Hi'm blowed hif I do!"

In the forepart of the house, only the ladies were up. The doctor and
the colonel, the captain and the Squire, slept the sleep of tired men
with good consciences, and the wounded dominie was enjoying a beautiful
succession of rose-coloured dreams, culminating in a service, at which a
tall soldierly man in appropriate costume gave away into his hand that
of a very elegant and accomplished lady, saying, as he did so, "Can I do
less for the heroic saver of her uncle's life?" Mr. Terry's appearance,
on entering to salute his daughter, exacted no remark. The lawyer looked
somewhat bucolic, but highly respectable. But poor little Mr. Bangs was
buried in clothing, and tripped on his overflowing trowser legs, as he
vainly strove to put his right hand outside of its coatsleeve, for the
purpose of shaking hands with the company. Mrs. Carmichael took pity on
him, and turned back his cuffs, and, his hands being thus of use to him,
he employed them to do the same with the skirts of his trousers. The
usually polite veteran took Coristine to a corner of the room, and,
between violent coughs of suppressed laughter, said: "Och, Misther
Coristine, it's the dumb aguey I'll be havin' iv his clawthes is not
droied soon. It's Bangs by name he is and bangs by natur'. Shure, this
bangs Banagher, an' Banagher bangs the world." The young ladies had not
yet entered the apartment, and the three night-watchers were busy
relating to the three matrons the terrible events of the night. The
lawyer was sitting with his back to the door, conversing with Mrs.
Carruthers, when Miss Carmichael came tripping in, followed by Miss Du
Plessis and Miss Halbert. The lawyer's hair was brown, and so was her
uncle's. The coat was the Squire's, and the white collar above it. So
she slipped softly up to the back of the chair, took the brown head
between her hands, and administered a salute on the forehead, with the
words: "Why, Uncle John!--," then suddenly turned and fled, amid the
laughter of the veteran and his daughter, and the amused blushes and
smiles of her mother. The other young ladies came forward and joined in
the conversation, but Miss Carmichael did not show her face until the
family was summoned for prayers. The colonel came down in his usual
urbane smiling way, saying that he had taken the liberty of looking in
upon his dear friend and prisoner, and was rejoiced to find that he had
spent a good night. The captain could be heard descending the staircase,
and telling somebody that he was becalmed again with a spell of foul
weather. The somebody was the Squire, who insisted that thieves had been
through his wardrobe, and then eagerly asked for news from the
encampment. All were shocked beyond measure when they heard of the
terrible tragedy. "I wished the man no good," said the Squire, with a
regretful expression on his manly face, "but, if he had been ten times
the deep dyed villain he was, I couldn't have dreamt of such an awful
fate for him." The captain remarked that in the midst of life we are in
death, that the ways of Providence are mysterious, and that where a man
makes his bed he must lie down, all of which he considered to be good
Scripture and appropriate to the occasion. "Yoah fohce met with no moah
casualties, I hope, Captain Bangs? I do not see our fishing friend, Mr.
Bigglethorpe; is he safe, suh?" These questions led to an account of the
fisherman's heroic attempt to release the self-imprisoned occupants of
the underground passage, of his wounds, and of the subsequent exploits
of the lawyer and the detective. Coristine escaped upstairs to put
himself in shape for breakfast, and to visit his wounded friend. He
found that gentleman progressing very favourably, and perfectly
satisfied with his accommodation.

After morning prayers, conducted by the Squire with unusual solemnity,
the lawyer asked Miss Carmichael if she alone would not shake hands with
him, making no allusion to any previous encounter. She complied, with a
blush, and seemed pleased to infer that the Captain, above all, had not
heard of her mistake. The two had no time for explanations, however, as,
at the moment, Messrs. Errol and Perrowne, who had been told there was a
fire out towards the Lake Settlement, came in to learn about it, and
were compelled to sit down and add something substantial to their early
cup of coffee. They reported the rain almost over, and the fire, so far
as they could judge from the distance, the next thing to extinguished.
Once more the trays were in requisition for the invalids, and again the
colonel and Mr. Perrowne acted as aids to Miss Du Plessis and Miss
Halbert. Just as soon as he could draw her attention away from the
minister, Coristine remarked to Miss Carmichael: "I have the worst luck
of any man; I never get sick or wounded or any other trouble that needs
nursing." The young lady said in a peremptory manner, "Show me your
hands;" and the lawyer had to exhibit two not very presentable paws. She
turned them palms up, and shuddered at the scorched, blistered and
scratched appearance of them. "Where are Mr. Errol's gloves I put on
you?"

"In the pocket of my wet coat in the kitchen."

"Why did you dare to take them off when I put them on?"

"Because I was like the cat in the proverb, not that I was after mice
you know, but I couldn't fire in gloves."

"Well, your firing is done now, and I shall expect you to come to me in
the workroom, immediately after breakfast, to have these gloves put on
again. Do you hear me, sir?"

"Yes."

"And what else? Do you mean to obey?"

"Oh, yes, Miss Carmichael, of course, always, with the greatest joy in
the world."

"Nobody asked you, sir, to obey always."

"I beg your pardon, Miss Carmichael, I'm afraid I'm a little confused."

"Then I hope you will not put me to confusion, as you did this morning."

"I'm awfully sorry," said the mendacious lawyer, "but it was the coat
and collar, you know." Then most illogically, he added, "I'd like to
wear this coat and this collar all the time."

"No, you would not; they are not at all becoming to you. Oh, do look at
poor Mr. Bangs!"

The detective's sleeves were turned back, thanks to Mrs. Carmichael,
but, as he sat at breakfast, the voluminous coat sagged over his
shoulder, and down came the eclipsing sleeve over his coffee cup. When
he righted matters with his left hand, the coat slewed round to the
other side, knocked his fork out of his hand, and fell with violence on
his omelet. The Captain looked at him, and bawled: "I say, mate, you've
got to have a reef took in your back topsel. You don't mind a bit of
reef tackle in the back of your coat, do you, John?" The Squire did not
object; so Miss Carmichael was despatched to the sewing room for two
large pins, and she and the Captain between them pinched up the back of
the coat longitudinally to the proper distance, and pinned the detective
up a little more than was necessary.

"Whey," asked he of his nautical ally, "em I consistent es a cherecter
in bowth phases of my berrowed cowt?"

"I know," chuckled the Captain; "'cause then you had too much slack on
your pins, and now you've got too much pins in your slack, haw! haw!"

"Try egain."

Coristine ventured, "Because then your hands were in your cuffies, but
now your coffee's in your hand." This was hooted down as perfectly
inadmissible, Miss Carmichael asking him how he dared to make such an
exhibition of himself. Mr. Errol was wrestling with something like
Toulouse and Toulon, but could not conquer it. Then the detective said:
"If the ledies will be kind eneugh not to listen, I should enswer,
Before I wes loose in my hebits, end now I em tight."

Of course the Captain applauded, but the lawyer's reprover remarked to
him that she did not think that last at all a nice word. He agreed with
her that it was abominable, that no language was strong enough to
reprobate it, and then they left the table.

There was trouble in the kitchen. Timotheus and Maguffin had each a
Sunday suit of clothes, which they had donned. Sylvanus and Rufus having
special claims on Tryphena, she had put their wet garments in a
favourable place, and, being quite dry, handed them in to her befrilled
brother, early in the morning, through a half open doorway. The
constable, attired in the garb presented to him by Sylvanus, having
fastened his prisoner securely with a second stall chain, entered the
house, and politely but stiffly wished the cook and housemaid "Good
morning." Breakfast was ready, and then the trouble began. Ben had no
clothes, and the boys enjoyed the joke. The company was again a large
one, for Serlizer and Matilda Nagle were added to the feminine part of
it, and the constable and the boy brought its male members up to six,
exclusive of the prostrate Ben. Mr. Terry had temporarily deserted the
kitchen. Mr. Toner's voice could be heard three doors off calling for
Sylvanus, Timotheus, Rufus, Mr. Rigby and Mr. Maguffin. These people
were all smilingly deaf, enjoying their hot breakfast. Then, in despair,
he called Serlizer.

"What's the racket, Ben?"

"My close is sto-ul, Serlizer."

"They's some duds hangin' up here and in the back kitchen to dry. Praps
yourn's there."

"No, Serlizer, myuns never got wayt. You don't think I was sech a blame
fooul as to go out in that there raiun do you?"

"Didn't know but what yer might."

"Whey's them close, anyway?"

"I don't know nuthun 'bout yer clothes. Most men as ain't marrd looks
after they own clothes."

"Is that you Ben?" asked the more refined voice of Tryphena, in a tone
of surprise.

"Yaas, Trypheeny, that's jest who it is. Saay, ken you tayl me what's
come o' my close?"

"They are here, Ben, close to the table;" whereupon all the company
glanced at Mr. Rigby, and choked.

"Cayn't you take 'em off what they're on, and saynd one of the boys in
with 'em, Trypheeny?"

The cook coloured up, and laughter could no longer be restrained. The
constable laughed, and the contagion spread to Matilda and her boy.

"Dod rot it?" cried Mr. Toner, indignantly; "what are you fools and
eejuts a screechin' and yellin' at? Gimme my close, or, s'haylp me,
I'll come right out and bust some low down loafer's thinkin' mill."

"Now, be quiet, Ben," answered Tryphena, "and I will send Rufus in with
your breakfast. You shall have your clothes when they are ready."

So, Rufus took in a plentiful breakfast to his friend Toner, who sat up
in the big bed to enjoy it. "I'm powerful sorry for you, Ben," remarked
the Baby. "You don't think Serlizer could ha' come in and taken your
clothes out into the rain, do you?"

"Hev they been out in the rain, Rufus?"

"Why yes, didn't you know that much? If it hadn't been for the
constable, they might ha' been out there yet. I'd say thank ye to him if
I was you, Ben."

"Consterble Rigby!" shouted Toner.

"At your service, sir," replied the pensioner.

"I'm awful obligated to you, consterble, fer bringin' in my wayt close."

"Do not speak of it, sir," replied Mr. Rigby, with a large piece of
toast apparently in his mouth; "I am proud to do you a service, sir."

Ben was a big man, and somewhat erratic in his ways, so the constable
retired, and came back in his own garb, which he had carried out with
him. "I think, Miss Hill," he said, "that Mr. Toner's clothes are now
dry enough for him to wear them with safety. What do you think, Miss
Newcome?"

"Guess we kin take them off now," answered Serlizer.

"Serlizer," growled Ben, "you're an old cat, a desprit spiteful
chessacat, to go skylarkin' on yer own feller as never did yer no harm.
Gerlong with yer!"

Rufus came in for the breakfast things, and deposited Ben's clothes on
the bed. "It wasn't Serlizer, Ben, sure; If I was you I'd try the
nigger. Them darkies are always up to tricks."

Mr. Toner got into his clothes, resolved to have it out with somebody,
even if Rufus himself should prove to be the traitor. When, a few
minutes later, Mr. Terry, smoking his morning pipe, foregathered with
Ben in the stable yard, and asked him what he was after now, the answer
he gave was: "Lookin' araound fer somebody to whayul!" to which the
veteran replied: "Bin, my lad, it's aisy talkin'."

When the men were out of the kitchen, Mrs. Carruthers and her
sister-in-law came in to see the mad woman and her boy. The boy they
knew already, and had always been kind to, giving him toys and other
little presents, as well as occasional food and shelter. They were much
taken with the mother's quiet manners, and, having heard that she had
been a milliner, invited her to join them in the workroom. But, when
they unitedly arrived at the door of that apartment, they speedily
retired to the parlour, and there engaged in conversation. Mrs. Du
Plessis was upstairs, with the colonel to play propriety, sponging the
dominie's face and hands, and brushing his hair, as if he were her own
son. Every now and again Colonel Morton came up to the bedside, saying:
"Be kind to him, my deah Tehesa, and remembeh that he saved the life of
yoah poah sistah Cecilia's widowah." So the stately Spanish lady shook
up the wounded man's pillows, while the colonel put his arm around him
and held him up; and then, as he sank back again, she asked. "Are you
strong enough to have Cecile come up and read to you?" Wilkinson, sly
dog, as the Captain called him, said it was too much trouble to put Miss
Du Plessis to; but his objections were overruled. Soon a beatific vision
came once more on the scene, and Wordsworth was enthroned as the king of
poets. Miss Halbert and Mr. Perrowne were in the garden, and the
clergyman had a rose in his button hole which he had not plucked
himself. If he had not been in holy orders, he would have thought Miss
Fanny was awfully jolly. Then he said to himself, that holy orders don't
hinder a man being a man, and Miss Fanny was, really was, awfully jolly,
and boarding in the houses of uncultivated farmers was an awful bore.
But this was nothing to what was going on in the studiously avoided work
room. The lawyer's hands were being washed, because a voice from an
arch-looking face said that he was a big baby, and didn't know how to
wash himself. It was quite a big baby in size and aspect that was soaped
and glycerined, and had some other stuff rubbed into his hands by other
pretty hands, one of which wore the victim's ring. Corry felt that he
could stand it, even to the putting on of the minister's gloves. When
she had finished her work, the hospital nurse said, "that silly little
Marjorie, angry because Cecile would not allow her to read fairy
stories to Mr. Wilkinson, surrendered you to me."

"O Marjorie, my darlin', and would you throw your lovely self away on a
poor, stupid, worthless thing like me?"




CHAPTER XV.

     Miss Carmichael Snubs and Thinks--The Constable and the
     Prisoner--Matilda and the Doctor--The Children Botanize--Pressing
     Specimens--Nomenclature--The Colonel Makes a Discovery--Miss
     Carmichael Does Not Fancy Wilks--Mr. Newberry Takes Matilda--Mr.
     Pawkins Makes Mischief and is Punished--Rounds on
     Sylvanus--Preparations for Inquest


"Mr. Coristine, I never gave you permission to call me by my Christian
name, much less to think that I accepted Marjorie's foolish little
charge. I am sorry if I have led you to believe that I acted so bold, so
shameless a part."

"Oh, Miss Carmichael, forgive me. I'm stupid, as I said, but, as the
Bible has it, I'll try and keep a watch on the door of my lips in
future. And you such an angel of mercy, too! Please, Miss Carmichael,
pardon a blundering Irishman."

"Nonsense," she answered. "I have nothing to pardon; only, I did not
want you to misunderstand me." The gloves were on, and she shook hands
with him, and laughed a comical little insincere laugh in his face, and
ran away to her own room to have a foolish little cry. She heard her
friend Cecile reading poetry to the wounded Wilkinson, and, looking out
of her window, saw Mr. Perrowne helping her uncle to lift the doctor's
chair out into the garden, and her mother, freed from conversation with
the madwoman, plucking a flower for Mr. Errol's coat. There, too, was a
young man, his hands encased in black kid gloves, sitting down on a
bench with Mr. Terry, and with difficulty filling a meerschaum pipe. She
thought he had a quiet, disappointed look, like a man's whose warm,
generous impulses have been checked, and she felt guilty. It was true
they had not known one another long, but what was she, a teacher in a
common school, that was what people called them, to put on airs before
such a man as that? If it had been Mr. Wilkinson, now; but, no; she was
afraid of Mr. Wilkinson, the distant, the irreproachable, the autocratic
great Mogul. She looked down again, through the blinds of course.
Marjorie Thomas was on the lawyer's knee, and Marjorie Carruthers on the
veteran's. The Captain's daughter was combing Coristine's brown hair
with her fingers, and pointing the ends of his moustache, much to the
other Marjorie's amusement and the lawyer's evident satisfaction. Miss
Carmichael inwardly called her cousin a saucy little minx, resenting her
familiarities with a man who was, of course, nothing to her, in a way
that startled herself. Why had he not saved somebody's life and been
wounded, instead of that poetic fossil of a Wilkinson? But, no; it was
better not, for, had he saved the colonel's life, Cecile would have been
with him, and that she could not bear to think of. Then, she remembered
what Corry had told her of the advertisement to the next of kin. Perhaps
she would be wealthy yet, and more than his equal socially, and then she
could condescend, as a great lady, and put a treasure in those poor
gloved hands. Where would they all have been without these hands, all
scarred and blistered to save them from death? Everybody was very unkind
to little Marjorie's Eugene, and failed to recognize his claims upon
their gratitude. Oh, that saucy little minx, with her grand assumptions
of proprietorship, as if she owned him, forsooth!

Mr. Bangs called the justices to business. There was a prisoner to
examine, and two charred masses of humanity for the coroner to sit upon.
So a messenger was sent off to summon the long-suffering Johnson,
Newberry, and Pawkins, for the coroner's inquest, and the doctor was
carried back into the office for the examination of the prisoner, Mark
Davis. The two Squires sat in appropriate chairs behind an official
table, at one side of which Mr. Bangs took his seat as clerk. Constable
Rigby produced his prisoner, loaded with fetters. "Has this man had his
breakfast, Rigby?" asked the Squire. "Certainly not, Squire," replied
the constable. "Then take him at once to the kitchen, take off these
chains and handcuffs, and let him have all that he can eat," replied the
J.P., sternly. The corporal's sense of rectitude was offended. The idea
of feeding criminals and releasing them from irons! The next thing would
be to present them with a medal and a clasp for each new offence against
society. But, orders were orders, and, however iniquitous, had to be
obeyed; so Davis was allowed to stretch his limbs, and partake of a
bountiful, if somewhat late, morning meal. "To trespass upon your
kindness, Miss Hill, with such as this," said the apologetic constable,
pointing to his prisoner, "is no act of mine; Squire Carruthers, who, no
doubt, thinks he knows best, has given orders that it has to be, and my
duty is to carry out his orders to the letter." Breakfast seemed to
infuse courage into the dissipated farmer. When it was over, he arose,
and, without a note of warning, doubled up the stiff guardian of the
peace, and made for the door, where he fell into the arms of the
incoming Serlizer. She evidently thought that Mark Davis, smitten with
her charms, was about to salute her, for, with the words "Scuse me!" and
a double turn of her powerful wrists, she deposited the assailant upon
the floor. Sadly, but officially, the constable crawled over and sat
upon the prostrate form of the would-be fugitive from justice. The
prisoner squirmed, and even struck the doubled-up corporal, but the
entrance of Ben Toner put an end to that nonsense, so that, handcuffed
and chained once more, the desperate villain was hauled into the
presence of the magistrates. In dignified, but subordinate, language,
Mr. Rigby related the prisoner's escapade, and, by implication, more
than by actual statement, gave the J.P.s to understand that they knew
nothing about the management of offenders against the law. They were,
therefore, compelled to allow the handcuffs to remain, but summoned
sufficient courage to insist on the removal of the stable chains.

"What is your name, prisoner?" asked Squire Carruthers.

"Samuel Wilson," answered the man.

"Oh! kem now," interposed Mr. Bangs, "thet's a lie, you know; yore name
is Merk Devis, end yore a brether of Metthew Devis of the Peskiwenchow
tevern, end you were Rawdon's right hend men. We know you, my led, so
down't you try any alias games on us."

"Ef you know my name so mighty well, what do you want askin' for't?"

"To see if you can speak the truth," replied Carruthers.

"What other prisoners hev you got asides me?"

"That is none of your business," said the Squire.

"If I might be ellowed to seggest, Squire," whispered the detective, "I
think I'd tell him. Whet do you sey?"

"Go on, Mr. Bangs."

"Well, my fine fellow, the Squire ellows me to sey thet the ethers are
Newcome, the stowne ketters, and the women."

The name of Newcome disconcerted Mark, but he asked, "Whar's Rawdon and
old Flower?"

"Didn't you see?" asked Mr. Bangs.

"I seen the fire all right, but they wasn't such blame fools as to stay
there when there was a way out up atop."

"The epper wey wes clowsed," said the detective.

"Was they burned alive then?"

"Yes, they were berned to eshes."

"O Lord!" ejaculated the prisoner, and then, wildly: "What do you want
along of me anyway?"

The magistrates and Mr. Bangs consulted, after which the doctor
answered: "We want information from you on three points: first, as to
the attempt of Rawdon's gang to burn this house; second, as to the
murder of Detective Nash; and, third, as to the whole secret of Rawdon's
business at the Select Encampment. You are not bound to incriminate
yourself, as every word of this preliminary examination may be used
against you, but, on the other hand, if you make a clean breast of what
you know on these questions, your confession will go a long way in your
favour with judge and jury."

"Suppose'n I don't confess not a syllabub?"

"Then, we shall commit you, all the same, to the County Gaol, to stand
your trial at the assizes."

"That's all right, I'll stand my durned trile. You don't get nawthin
out'n me, you misable, interferin', ornary, bushwhackin' jedges!"

"Don't strike him, Rigby!" commanded Carruthers; for the constable,
shocked and outraged by such indecorous language in a court of justice,
was about to club his man. Then he added: "The colonel's servant,
Maguffin, is going to town on business, and will drive you so far, and
help to guard your prisoner. You can tie him up as tight as you like,
without being cruel or doing him an injury. We shall have to do without
you at the inquest."

Accordingly, while Mr. Maguffin brought round a suitable vehicle, and
received his commissions from the colonel, the commitment papers were
made out, and Constable Rigby securely fastened the worst criminal that
had ever come into his hands. The said criminal did a little hard
swearing, which called the long unused baton into active service. Davis
was quiet and sullen when the buggy, under the pensioner's command,
wheeled away in search of connections for the County Gaol.

The two bodies were still lying in their shells, with ice about them, in
the unfinished annex of the post office. It was, therefore, decided to
hold the new inquest in the Bridesdale coach house, as also more
convenient for the doctor, whose sprain might have been aggravated by
driving. While Ben Toner was sent with a waggon to the Richards, to
bring the ghastly remains snatched from the flames out of the punt, and
to convey three members of that family to the coroner's jury, Mr. Bangs
explained to Doctor Halbert his and the lawyer's thought regarding
Matilda Nagle. The doctor consented, and the detective went to find the
patient, who was busy and cheerful in the sewing room with Mrs.
Carruthers. He told her that she was not looking well, and had better
come with him to see the doctor; but, with all the cunning of insanity,
she refused to go. He had to go after Coristine in the garden, and take
him away from Marjorie. With the lawyer she went at once, identifying
him, as she did not the detective, with her brother Stevy. Mechanically,
she sat down by the kind doctor's chair, and seemed to recognize him,
although he did not remember her. After a few enquiries as to her
health, he took one of her hands in his, and, with the other, made
passes over her face, until she fell into the mesmeric sleep. "Your
husband, Mr. Rawdon, is dead," he said; "you remember that he died by
his own hand, and left you free." The woman gave a start, and seemed to
listen more intently. "You will kill nobody, hurt nobody, not even a
fly," he continued. "Do you remember?" Another start of comprehension
was made, but nothing more; so he went on: "You will read your Bible
and go to church on Sundays, and take care of your boy, and be just the
same to everybody as you were in the old days." Then, with a few counter
passes, he released her hand, and the poor woman told him all that he
had enjoined upon her, as if they were the resolutions of her own will.
She was not sane, but she was free from the vile slavery in which her
inhuman keeper had held her. Moreover, she understood perfectly that
Rawdon was dead, yet without manifesting either joy or grief in the
knowledge. The lawyer led her back to the workroom, where she confided
her new state of mind to Mrs. Carruthers, greatly to that tender-hearted
lady's delight. The doctor did not think it necessary to practise his
art upon the lad Monty, in whom the power of Rawdon's will was already
broken, and upon whom his changed mother would, doubtless, exert a
salutary influence.

Coristine had nothing to do, and almost dreaded meeting Miss Carmichael,
which he probably would do if he remained about the house and grounds.
Therefore he got out the improvised vasculum, and invited Marjorie and
the older Carruthers children to come with him down to the brook to look
for wild flowers. This met with the full approval of the young people,
and they prepared at once for the botanizing party. The Captain saw
Marjorie putting on her broad-brimmed straw hat, and enquired where she
was going. She answered that she was going buttonizing with Eugene, and
he said that he guessed he would button too, whatever that was. A very
merry little group frisked about the steps of the two seniors, one of
whom was explaining to the older, nautical party that he was on the hunt
for wild flowers.

"Is it yarbs you're after?" asked the Captain.

"Well, not exactly, although I want to get a specimen of every kind of
plant."

"You don't want to make medicine of 'em, Mandrake, Snakeroot, Wild
Sassyperilly, Ginsing, Bearberry, Gentian, Cohosh and all that sort o'
stuff, eh?"

"No; I want to find out their names, dry and mount them, and classify
them according to their kinds."

"What good are they agoin' to do you?"

"They will help me to know Nature better and to admire God's works and
His plan."

"Keep on there, mate, fair sailin' and a good wind to you. No pay in
it, though?"

"Not a cent in money, but lots of pleasure and health."

"Like collectin' post stamps and old pennies, and butterflies, and
bugs."

"Something, but you see scenery and get healthy exercise, which you
don't in stamp and coin collecting, and you inflict no suffering, as you
do in entomologizing."

"I can tell trees when they're a growin' and timber when its cut, but I
don't know the name of one flower from another, except it's garden ones
and common at that. Hullo, little puss, what have you got there?"

Marjorie, who had run on in advance and was not by any means ignorant of
the flora of the neighbourhood, had secured three specimens, a late
Valerian, an early spotted Touch-me-not, and a little bunch of
Blue-eyed-grass. Coristine took them from her with thanks, told her
their names and stowed them away in his candle box. The zeal to discover
and add to the collection grew upon all the party, the Captain included.
Near the water, where the Valerian and the Touch-me-not grew, Marjorie
Carruthers found the Snake-head, with its large white flowers on a
spike. Another little Carruthers brought to the botanist the purple
Monkey flower, but the Captain excelled his youthful nephew by adding to
the collection the rarer and smaller yellow one. Then the lawyer himself
discovered another yellow flower, the Gratiola or Hedge Hyssop, at the
moment when Marjorie rejoiced in the modest little Speedwell. Once more,
the Captain distinguished himself by finding in the grass the yellow
Wood-Sorrel, with its Shamrock leaves, which, when Marjorie saw, she
seemed to recognize in part. Then, crossing the stepping stones of the
brook, she ran, far up the hill on the other side, to a patch of shady
bush, from which she soon returned victorious, with a bunch of the
larger Wood-Sorrel in her hand, to exhibit the identity of its leaves,
and its delicate white blossoms with their pinky-purple veins. By the
time the other juveniles brought in the blue Vervain, pink Fireweed and
tall yellow Mullein, the botanist thought it about time to go home and
press his specimens.

Miss Carmichael met the scientists at the door, looking, of course, for
the children and Uncle Thomas, who was never called by his Christian
name, Ezekiel. Learning the nature of the work in hand, she volunteered
the use of the breakfast-room table. The lawyer brought down his strap
press, and, carefully placing oiled paper between the dried specimens
and the semi-porous sheets that were to receive the new ones, proceeded
to lay them out. The new specimens had all to be examined by the
addition to the botanical party, their botanical and vulgar names to be
recited to her, and, then, the arranging began. This was too monotonous
work for the Captain, who carried the children off for a romp on the
verandah. Marjorie stayed for a minute or so after they were gone, and
then remembered that she had not given papa his morning button-hole.
Coristine was clumsy with the flowers, owing to the gloves he said, so
Miss Carmichael had to spread them out on the paper under his direction,
and hold them in their place, while he carefully and gradually pressed
another sheet over them. Of course his fingers could not help coming
into contact with hers. "Confound those gloves!" he thought aloud.

"Mr. Coristine, if you are going to use such language, and to speak so
ungratefully of Mr. Errol's gloves, which I put on your hands, I shall
have to leave you to put up your specimens the best way you can."

"O Miss Carmichael, now, please let me off this once, and I'll never do
it again. You know it's so hard working in gloves. Understand me as
saying that botanically, in a Pickwickian sense as it were, and not
really at all."

"You must not say that, either botanically or any other way."

"To hear the faintest whisper of your slightest command is to obey."

It was delicate work arranging these little Speedwells, and Gratiolas,
the Wood-Sorrels, and the smaller Monkey-flower. Hands had to follow
very close on one another, and heads to be bent to examine, and
sometimes there was just a little brush of brown and golden hair that,
strange to say, sent responsive tingles along the nerves, and warm
flushes to cheek and brow. What a hopeless idiot he was not to have
foreseen the possibility of this, and to have brought home twice the
number of specimens! Alas! they were all in the press. But, a happy
thought struck him: would Miss Carmichael care to look at the dried
ones, some of which had kept their colour very well? Yes, she had a few
minutes to spare. So, he brought chairs up to the table, and they sat
down, side by side, and he told her all about the flowers and how he got
them, and the poetry Wilks and he quoted over them. Then the specimens
had to be critically examined, so as to let Miss Carmichael learn the
distinctive characteristics of the various orders, and this brought the
heads close together again, when suddenly their owners were started by
the unexpected clang of the dinner gong. "Thank you so much, Mr.
Coristine," said the lady, frankly; "you have given me a very pleasant
half hour." The lawyer bowed his acknowledgment, but said, beneath his
moustache: "Half an hour is it? I thought it was a lifetime rolled up in
two minutes, no, one."

What did those deceitful men, Errol and Perrowne, mean, by saying they
had to go away to get up their Wednesday evening talk, and to visit
their parishioners? There they were, in their old places at the table,
Mr. Errol at Mrs. Carmichael's right, and apparently on the best of
terms with her, and Mr. Perrowne dancing attendance upon Miss Halbert
and her invalid father. Mrs. Du Plessis thought she would take up Mr.
Wilkinson's dinner with the colonel's help, as Cecile had been reading
to him so long. Accordingly, the Captain talked to that young lady,
while Mr. Bangs monopolized Mrs. Carruthers. There was a little
commotion, when Mr. Bigglethorpe walked in, and received the sympathetic
expressions of the company over his singed face and scorched hands. In
spite of these, the sufferer had been up early fishing, just after the
rain. Fortunately, he continued, there was no cleared land about the
lakes, hence there were very few grasshoppers washed in by the heavy
downpour. Had there been, he wouldn't have got a fish. But he had got
fish, a big string of them, in splendid condition. He had left some with
his kind entertainers, the Richards, but had plenty remaining, which he
had left in the kitchen in care of the young woman with the
unpronounceable Scripture name. "Now," said the fisherman, "a nime is a
very important thing to a man or a woman. Why do people give their
children such awful names? Bigglethorpe is Dinish, they say, but Felix
Isidore is as Latin as can be. They called me 'fib' at school."

"'Tis the hoighth av impartance to have a good name, say Oi," added Mr.
Terry. "Moy fayther, glory be to his sowl, put a shaint's name an me,
an' I put her own mother's name, the Howly Vargin rist her, on Honoria
here. 'An', savin' all yer prisinces, there's no foiner Scripcher name
than John; how's that, Squoire?"

"It suits me well enough, grandfather," replied Carruthers. The Captain
was feeling uneasy. He didn't want Ezekiel to come out, so he asked Miss
Du Plessis how her young man was. Such a question would have either
roused Miss Carmichael to indignation or have overwhelmed her with
confusion, but Miss Du Plessis, calm and unruffled, replied: "I suppose
you mean Mr. Wilkinson, Captain Thomas. He has been very much shaken by
his wound, but is doing remarkably well."

"Fwhat's Mishter Wilkison's name, Miss Ceshile, iv it's a fair quishtyon
to ax at yeez?"

"It is Farquhar, is it not, Mr. Coristine?"

Mr. Coristine said it was, and that it was his mother's maiden name. She
was a Scotchwoman, he had heard, and a very lovely character. The
colonel had just returned from his ministrations. "Did I heah you
cohhectly, Mr. Cohistine, when I thought you said that ouah deah young
wounded friend's mothah's name was Fahquhah, suh?"

"You did, Colonel Morton."

"And of Scottish pahentage?"

"Yes."

"Do you know if any of her relatives were engaged in the Civil Wahah,
our civil wahah?"

"I believe her brother Roderic ran the blockade, and fought for the
South, where he fell, in a cavalry regiment."

"Be pleased, suh, to say that again. Rodehic Fahquhah, do you say?"

"His full name, I have seen it among Wilkinson's papers, was Roderic
Macdonald Farquhar."

"Tehesa, my deah," said the colonel, his voice and manner full of
emotion, as he turned towards his sister-in-law, "you have heard me
mention my bosom friend, Captain Fahquhah?"

"Yes, indeed, many times," replied the lady addressed.

"And ouah deah boy upstairs, the pehsehveh of my pooah life, is his
nephew, his sistah's son. I was suah there was something drawing me to
him. I shall make that brave boy my heih, my pooah deah comhade
Fahquhah's nephew. What a fohtunate discovehy. Kindly excuse me, madam,
and you my deah ladies, and you Squiah; I must go and tell my deah boy."
So the colonel bowed to Mrs. Carruthers, and went out, with his
handkerchief up to his face.

After the colonel left the table, the Captain looked over at his niece,
saying: "Too late, Marjorie, my lass, too late! Didn't play your cards
right, so you're cut out. Shifted his sheet anchor to the t'other bow,
Marjorie."

Miss Carmichael was annoyed with good reason, and, in order to put a
stop to such uncalled for and vulgar remarks, said, playfully, but with
a spice of malice: "Take care, Uncle Thomas, or, as that funny
theological student said to the people who were talking in church, 'I'll
call out your name before the haill congregation.'" This terrible threat
caused Ezekiel to subside, and carry on a less personal conversation
with Miss Du Plessis. Then Mr. Terry came to the fore again.

"My little grandchilders' coushin, Mishter Coristine, do be sayin' yer
name is Eujane, an' that's Frinch, isn't it?"

"Yes," replied the lawyer; "my mother was of Huguenot descent, and her
name was Du Moulin. Some say that the Irish Mullens were once Du
Moulins. That I don't know, but I'm not like the man-servant who applied
for a situation, saying: 'Me name is Murphy, sorr, but me family came
from France.' Coristine, I think, is good Irish."

The name craze spread over the whole table. Miss Halbert thought Basil a
lovely name. It was Greek, wasn't it, and meant a king? Mr. Perrowne
thought that the sweetest name in the world was Frances or Fanny. Mr.
Errol affected Marjorie, and Mrs. Carmichael knew nothing superior to
Hugh.

"What made you so savage with the Captain for coupling your name with
Wilks?" asked the lawyer in an undertone.

"Because he is the last man in the world I should want my name to be
coupled with."

"Oh, but that's hard on Wilks; he's a glorious fellow when you get to
know his little ways."

"I don't want to know Mr. Wilkinson's little ways. I am sorry for his
wound, but otherwise I have not the remotest sympathy with him. He
strikes me as a selfish, conceited man."

"Not a kinder soul breathing, Miss Carmichael."

"Yes, there is."

"Who, then?"

"Yourself."

"Miss Carmichael, you make me the proudest man in the world, but I'm not
fit to black Wilks' boots."

"Well, I will not be so rude as to say I think you are. But, never talk
that way to me again, if you want me to like you. I will not have you
demeaning yourself, even in speech, before Cecile's friend. Now,
remember, not a word!"

The test was a severe one between loyalty to his old friend and devoted
obedience to the girl he loved. As all the memories of past friendship
came before him, he was inclined to be obdurate. Then, he looked at the
golden hair which had brushed his awhile ago, and, as the head
straightened up, at the pretty petulant lips and the blue eyes, lustrous
with just a moist suspicion of vexation and feeling, and he wavered. He
was lost, and was glad to be lost, as he whispered: "May I say it?"

"Yes; speak out, like a man, what you have to say."

"It's a bargain, Marjorie; never again!"

Somehow his right hand met her left, and she did not snatch it away too
quickly. Then he said: "You won't hate poor Wilks, my old friend,
Marjorie?"

She answered "No," and turned her face away to ask some trivial question
of the Squire, who knew a good deal more than he saw any necessity for
telling.

The kitchen party still kept up its numbers. True, the absence of the
constable and Maguffin left two serious blanks in the diversified talk
of the table, but the place of these gentlemen was taken by no fewer
than six persons, the three Richards and the three jurors, so that the
dinner party numbered fifteen, of whom four were women. Old whitehaired
Mr. Newberry, with the large rosy face, smooth, save for two little
white patches of side-whiskers, took possession of Matilda Nagle, and
rejoiced in her kindly ways and simple talk. He was a Methodist, and a
class-leader and local preacher, but a man against whom no tongue of
scandal wagged, and whose genuine piety and kindness of heart were so
manifest that nobody dreamt of holding up to ridicule his oft homely
utterances in the pulpit. If he could do good to the poor demented woman
and her afflicted boy, he would, and he knew that his little
quaker-bonneted wife would second him in such an effort. So he tried to
gain her confidence and the boy's, and, after a while, found that
Matilda would like to help Mrs. Newberry in her household duties, and
have Monty learn useful work on the farm. When informed by the fatherly
juror, in answer to her own questions, that she would not be expected to
hurt a fly, and would be allowed to go to church, read her Bible and
take care of her boy, she expressed her readiness to go away with him at
once. Mr. Newberry felt a few qualms of conscience in connection with
fly killing, but, having made an express stipulation that mosquitos and
black flies should not be included in the bond, he became easier in
mind, and said that, with Mrs. Carruthers and the Squire's permission,
he would drive her home in the afternoon. Mr. Johnson and the elder
Richards discussed local politics, and the tragedy calling for the
inquest; but Mr. Pawkins attached himself to the boys, and consequently
to the girls. This gentleman had brought his six feet of bone and
muscle, topped with a humorous face, from which depended a Lincoln
beard, from the States, and was now, for many years, as he said, "a
nettrelized citizen of Kennidy." This disappointment at the absence of
the constable was something pitiful, he did so want "to yank and rile
the old Britisher." Still, that was not going to deprive him of his
innocent amusement. He looked around the company and sized it up,
deciding that he would leave the old folks alone, and mercifully add to
them the crazy people; this still left him a constituency of nine, with
large possibilities for fun.

"Rufus," remarked Mr. Pawkins, "I seen your gal, Christy Hislop, along
o' that spry sot up coon, Barney Sullivan, daown at the mill. He's a
cuttin' you aout for sutten, yes sirree, you see if he ain't."

"What's the use of your nonsense, Mr Pawkins? Barney went home along o'
fayther and old man Hislop, and I guess he turned in to say we was all
right."

"If Andrew knowed you'd called him old man Hislop, he'd fire you aout o'
the back door mighty suddent. When I see a spry, set up, young feller
and a likely heifer of a gal a saunterin' through the bush, sort o'
poetical like, daown to the mill, it don't take me two shakes to know
that suthin's up. You're a poor, rejected, cast off, cut aout strip o'
factory cotton."

"What do you mean, Mr. Pawkins?"

"I mean overalls, and it's all over with you, Rufus." Having planted
this well-meant thorn in the breast of the younger Hill, and excited the
commiseration of his sisters, the lover of innocent amusement turned to
Ben, and asked that gentleman, whose attentions to Serlizer were most
open and above board, "sence when he got another gal?"

Mr. Toner turned angrily, and asked what Mr. Pawkins was "a givin' him."

"I never see Bridget naow but she's a cryin' and rubbin' her eyes most
aout with her cuffs," said the cheerful Pawkins; "she allaowed to me
you'd the nighest thing to said the priest was ony waitin' for the word
to splice; and here you air, you biggermus delooder, settin' along o'
Newcome's gal as if you'd got a mortgage on her. Arter that, the sight
ain't to be sawed that'll make me ashamed o' my feller-creeters, no
sirree, boss, hull team to boot, and a big dog under the waggin!" Mr.
Pawkins sniffed vehemently, and Ben and his affianced bride blushed and
drew apart.

"Is that so, Ben?" asked Sarah Eliza in a half whisper.

"S'haylp me, Serlizer," replied the injured Toner in a similar voice,
"that there Pawkins is the cussidest, lyinest old puke of a
trouble-makin' Yankee as aiver come to Cannidy."

"Are you engaged to Biddy Sullivan, Ben?"

"No, I tell you, naiver said a word to Barney's sister I wouldn't say to
any gal."

"Then, what did Barney come here lookin' for you for?"

"So did the tavern keeper and the store keeper, 'cause mother axed 'em,
I suppose; you don't think they want me to marry their wives, do you?"

"Wives an' darters is different things, Ben. Ef I'd thought you had been
havin' goins on with Biddy, I'd flog the pair of you."

"S'haylp me, Serlizer, it ain't so. Ef it was, you could whayull me till
I was stripy as a chipmunk."

"Talkin' abaout whalins," remarked the mischief-maker, who kept one ear
open, "Miss Newcome's paa is jest a waitin' to git up and git araound,
to give somebody, as ain't fer off'n this table, the blamedest,
kerfoundedest lammin' as ever he knowed. He wants his gal home right
straight for to nuss him, so's he kin git araound smart with that
rawhide that's singein' its ends off in the oven."

"What's dad got agin you, Ben?" enquired Miss Newcome.

"Oh nawthin'; it's only that Pawkins' double-treed, snaffle-bitted,
collar-bladed jaw." Mr. Pawkins smiled, but Ben and Serlizer were more
uncomfortable than Rufus and his sisters.

The naturalized Canadian turned his attention else where. "I'm kinder
amazed," he remarked, eyeing first Sylvanus and then Timotheus, "to see
you two a settin' here, as cam as if you never done nothin' to be sorry
for. I s'pose you know, if you don't you had orter, that there's a
war'nt aout agin the two Pilgrims for stealin' aout o' the Peskiwanchow
tavern, or ho-tel, as Davis calls his haouse. I calclate the constable
'll be back with that war'nt afore night. I'd make myself skeerce if I
was in your shoes."

"O Sylvanus!" ejaculated Tryphosa.

"O Timotheus!" added Tryphosa.

"It's a lie!" cried Rufus; "it's a mill dam, boom jam, coffer-dam lie,
and I won't believe a word of it."

"Fact all the same," said Mr. Pawkins, calmly, "they air guilty, the two
on 'em, of stealin' aout o' the Peskiwanchow ho-tel."

"What did they steal out?" asked the Richards boys.

"Clothes, I guess, boots, some money, books, I don't know all what, and
it don't consarn me any; but them boys had best look spry and git aout
o' this." With these words, the gentleman of American extraction
finished his last piece of pie.

Sylvanus rose cheerfully. He was so radiant over it that Tryphena
thought him really handsome. He whispered to Rufus and to Ben; then
remarked to Timotheus that he had perhaps better remain, in case the
Squire should send for him. Next, he turned to Mr. Pawkins, and said: "A
man mought as well be hung fer a sheep as fer a lamb, Mr. Pawkins, and
sence they's a warn't out to 'raist me and Timotheus, we ain't a goin'
to put the law to no more trouble 'bout a new one. Ef you'll come
outside, I'll show you some o' them things we stoled out'n the
Peskiwanchow tav." So Sylvanus took the accuser of the brethren by one
arm, and Rufus linked his lovingly in the other, while Ben, with a
glance of intelligence at Serlizer, and another at his top boots,
followed. Mr. Pawkins, confident in his smartness and in the ignorance
of the simple-minded Canucks, went quietly with the courteous criminal
and his cut-out friend, till, passing the stables, they led him through
a broad gate into the meadow. Then he hesitated.

"The stoled things, leastways some on 'em, 'll be at the foot o' this
yere slope soon's we will; so hurry, old man!" said Sylvanus. Mr.
Pawkins demurred. "Look here, boys," he said, "a joke's a joke, ain't
it? D'ye see, you did, the pair on you, steal aout of the hotel. I
didn't go to say you took anythin' as didn't belong to you. I reckon
your brother had clothes, and money, and books thar, and so, you and him
took 'em aout. Lem me go, boys!"

Sylvanus and Rufus were obdurate. "Boost him, Ben," cried the former:
"we ain't no time ter spend foolin' with the likes o' him."

Mr. Toner raised his boot and said, "One fer Serlizer!" which made the
joker proceed. He had several other ones, before he was run down to the
creek--for Timotheus and Tryphena, and Tryphosa, and Christie Hislop,
and Barney and Biddy Sullivan, and old man Newcome. Ben's boot did
capital service. With difficulty the executioners found a hole in the
creek about two and a-half feet deep, in which, at full length and with
great gravity, they deposited the exile from the States. Then, they
guessed the Squire, or the Captain, or somebody, would be wanting them,
and skipped lightly back to the house. They knew Mr. Pawkins would
follow, since he was the last man in the settlement to miss his juror's
fee of one dollar. After their return, there was a good deal of
merriment in the kitchen, and the two Richards boys roundly upbraided
the elder Pilgrim for depriving them of a share in the fun. "He baygged
an' prayed for massy," said Mr. Toner, with a grim smile, "but we was
the most onmassifullest craowd you ever see."

Timotheus, still in Sunday garb, took his work-a-day suit, now quite
dry, and went to meet Mr. Pawkins. Introducing him to the stable, he
soon had that gentleman relieved of his wet toggery, when voices were
heard without. It was the colonel, bringing his sister-in-law to see his
horse, as a sort of relief to the strain on his feelings, consequent
upon his interview with Wilkinson. Mr. Pawkins had only got Timotheus'
flannel shirt on, when the stable door opened. "Shin up that ladder into
the loft, Mr. Pawkins," cried the benevolent Pilgrim, and the spectacle
of a pair of disappearing shanks greeted the visitors on their entrance.
Timotheus had escaped into the coach-house, but all the clothes, wet and
dry, save the shirt, lay over the sides of an empty stall. Immediately
the colonel perceived the vanishing heels of the Yankee, he interposed
his person between them and Mrs. Du Plessis. "My deah Tehesa," he said,
hastily, "I think we had bettah retiah foh the pehsent, and visit the
stables lateh in the day." Mrs. Du Plessis, however, once no mean judge
of horseflesh, was scanning the good points of her brother-in-law's
purchase, and seemed indisposed to withdraw. Soon a head and a pair of
flannel shirted arms appeared, hanging over the loft trap, and a voice
hailed the colonel.

"Say, mister, you ain't a goin' to bring no wimmen folks up this here
ladder, be you?"

"Cehtainly not, suh!" answered the colonel, with emphasis.

"If it won't hurt you, I wisht you'd sling up them dry paants and things
daown there."

The colonel looked at the man, and then at the articles, with
impatience. Then he got a pitchfork, on the prongs of which he
collected the garments, one by one, and so handed them up to Mr.
Pawkins, who was still minus necktie, socks and boots. Before, however,
he was ready for these, the visitors had retired, leaving him to
complete his toilet in private. Hearing steps again, he hurriedly picked
up his wet clothes and re-ascended the ladder. The colonel had evidently
asked Sylvanus to take the place of Maguffin about the two horses, for
he was the newcomer. Now, Mr. Pawkins bore no malice, but, when jokes
were going, he did not like to be left the chief victim. He had had some
fun out of the boys; now he would have some more. The Yankee could mew
to perfection. He began, and Sylvanus called the strange cat. It would
not come, so he climbed the ladder after it, and had almost reached the
top, when, with vicious cries, the animal flew at him, seized him by the
back of the neck, and drew blood that he could feel trickling down his
back. Tugging ineffectually at the beast, he ran out to the kitchen,
calling upon everybody to take off that mad cat that was killing him.
The cat was taken off, amid shrieks of laughter, and proved to be Mr.
Pawkins' rolled up wet trousers and vest, the water from which was the
blood imagined by Sylvanus. The owner of the garments entered
immediately behind his victim, and from his banter the elder Pilgrim
gladly escaped to resume his stable duties, feeling that he had been
demeaned in the eyes of the laughing Tryphena.

Timotheus and Ben were busy cleaning out the coach house, putting tables
and seats into it, and generally preparing for the inquest. Mr. Bangs,
at the coroner's request, empanelled the jury, consisting of the Squire,
the captain, and the two clergymen, the three Richards, the three cited
jurors, with old Styles from the post office, and Ben Toner. The charred
masses of humanity, pervaded by a sickening smell of spirits, were taken
from the waggon, and placed in rough board shells, decently covered over
with white cloths. The woman called Flower was brought from the post
office, and kept in custody, till she gave her evidence; and Bangs
himself, with Messrs. Terry, Coristine, and Bigglethorpe, Sylvanus,
Rufus, and Timotheus were cited as witnesses. Some evidence was also
expected from Matilda and her son. When the coach house doors were
thrown open, all hilarity ceased--even the children seemed to realize
that something very solemn was going on. A weight of trouble and danger
was lifted off many hearts by the terrible tragedy, yet in no soul was
there the least feeling of exultation. The fate of the victims was too
awful, too sudden for anyone to feel aught but horror at the thought of
it, and deep sorrow for one at least who had perished in his sins. The
light-hearted lawyer took one look at the remains of him, whom, within
the past few days, he had seen so often in the full enjoyment of life
and health, and resolved that never again, in prose or verse, would he
speak of the person, whose crimes and cunning had returned so avengingly
upon his own head, as the Grinstun man. Mr. Pawkins joked no more, for,
with all his playful untruthfulness, he had a feeling heart. The most
unconcerned man outwardly was Mr. Bangs, and even he said that he would
willingly have given a hundred dollars to see his prisoner safely in
gaol with the chaplain, and afterwards decently hanged. The doctor was
carefully carried out, and set in the presiding chair as coroner over
the third inquest within two days.




CHAPTER XVI.

     Inquest and Consequences--Orther Lom--Coolness--Evening
     Service--Mr. Pawkins and the Constable--Two Songs--Marjorie, Mr.
     Biggles and the Crawfish--Coristine Falls Foul of Mr. Lamb--Mr.
     Lamb Falls Foul of the Whole Company--The Captain's Couplet--Miss
     Carmichael Feels it Her Duty to Comfort Mr. Lamb.


It is unnecessary to relate the details of the inquest. By various
marks, as well as by the testimony of the woman Flower and of Mr. Bangs
and his party, the remains were identified as those of Rawdon and his
wounded henchman Flower. Some of the jurymen wished to bring in a
verdict of "Died from the visitation of God," but this the Squire, who
was foreman, would not allow. He called it flat blasphemy; so it was
altered to: "Died by the explosion of illicit spirits, through a fire
kindled by the wife of the principal victim, Altamont Rawdon." Nobody
demanded the arrest of Matilda; hence the Squire and the doctor did not
feel called upon to issue a warrant for that purpose. The widowed and
childless Mrs. Flower, for the so-called Harding was her son, claimed
his body, and what remained of her husband's; and asked Mr. Perrowne to
read the burial service over them in the little graveyard behind his
humble church. Mr. Bangs, his work over, got the use of a waggon and the
services of Ben Toner, to take his dead comrade's coffin to Collingwood.
Nobody claimed the remains of Rawdon, till old Mr. Newberry came
forward, and said he would take the shell in his waggon, with the woman
and the boy, and give it Christian burial in the plot back of the
Wesleyan church. "We can't tell," he said, "what passed between him and
his Maker when he was struggling for life. Gie un the bainifit o' the
doot." So, Ben and Serlizer rolled away with Bangs, and Nash's coffin;
and Matilda and her son accompanied Rawdon's remains, in Mr. Newberry's
waggon. At the same time, with the sad, grey-haired woman as chief
mourner, and Mrs. Carmichael beside her, a funeral procession passed
from Bridesdale to the post office, and thence to the English
churchyard, where old Styles and Sylvanus dug the double grave, around
which, in deep solemnity, stood the Captain and Mr. Terry, the minister
and the lawyer, while Mr. Perrowne read the service, and two victims of
Rawdon's crime and treachery were committed, earth to earth, dust to
dust, and ashes to ashes. Immediately the grave was covered in, the
doubly-bereaved woman slipped away, and was never again heard of. There
appeared no evidence, far or near, that she had done away with herself;
it was, therefore, concluded that she had a child or children elsewhere,
and had gone to hide the rest of her wasted life with them. The two
clergymen went their ways to their lodgings, and the Bridesdale party
walked silently and sorrowfully home.

Mr. Bigglethorpe wanted to go back with the Richards, so that he might
have another morning's fishing; but Mrs. Carruthers thought he had
better take Mr. Bangs' room, and nurse his eyes and other burned parts
before going home. Marjorie and her young cousins dragged him off, after
his green shade was put on, to the creek, and made him rig up rods and
lines for them in the shape of light-trimmed willow boughs, to which
pieces of thread were attached with bent pins at the other ends.
Fishing with these, baited with breadcrumbs, they secured quite a number
of chub and dace, and made the valley musical with their laughter at
each success or mishap, by the time the Bridesdale people returned from
the impromptu funeral. The Squire was busy in his office, looking over
Nash's legacy, preparatory to sending it to Bangs, who had begged him to
forward the documents without delay. The only thing of note he found
was, that Rawdon did not bank his money; he had no bank account
anywhere. Where did he stow away the fortune he must have made? There
was a note of the casual conversation of an assumed miser with Rawdon,
in which Rawdon was represented as saying: "Dry sandy soil, well drained
with two slopes, under a rain-shed, will keep millions in a cigar box."
That the Squire noted; then he sealed up the rest of the papers, and
addressed them to Hickey Bangs, Esq., D.I.R., ready for the post in the
morning. The colonel, Mrs. and Miss Du Plessis were all in Wilkinson's
room. The colonel was commenting upon the four poor souls that had gone
before God's judgment seat, three of them, probably, with murder on
their hands; and thanked God that his boy had died in the war, brave and
pure and good, with no stain on his young life. "When my boy was killed,
my deah Fahquhah, I felt like the Electoh Palatine of the Rhine, when
young Duke Christopheh, his son, fell at Mookerheyde, accohding to
Motley: he said ''Twas bettah thus than to have passed his time in
idleness, which is the devil's pillow.' Suh, I honouh the Electoh
Palatine foh that. What melancholy ghaves these pooah creatuhes fill."
Then Mrs. Du Plessis wept, mildly, and Miss Du Plessis, and they all had
to wipe a few tears out of Wilkinson's eyes. Had Coristine been there,
he would have been scandalized. The lawyer's lady-love was engaged in
very prosaic work in the sewing-room, with her aunt, running a
sewing-machine to make much-needed clothes for the unhappy woman, whom
the coroner's jury, by a euphemism, called Rawdon's wife. The two had
seen her off in charge of good old Mr. Newberry, and had promised to
send her the work, which she herself had begun; and, now, they were
toiling with all their might to redeem the promise, as early as
possible, in spite of the tears that would come also into their foolish
eyes, blurring their vision and damping their material. Coristine, who
longed for a sight of fresh young life after the vision of death, did
not know what kept that young life within, and, like an unreasonable
man, was inclined to be angry. He was overwrought, poor fellow,
sleepless and tired, and emotionally excited, and, therefore, ready for
any folly under the sun.

Mrs. Carmichael had entered the house, with the Captain and Mr. Terry.
The lawyer remained alone in the garden, waiting for something to turn
up. Something did turn up in the shape of the stage on its way to the
post office, which dropped its only passenger at the Bridesdale gate.
The passenger was a young fellow of about twenty-five, rather over than
under middle height, of good figure, and becomingly dressed. His
features were good enough, but lacked individuality, as did his combined
moustache and side whiskers, that formed a sort of imperfect W across
his face. He held his nose well up in the air, spoke what, in his
ignorance, he fondly imagined to be aristocratic English, and carried,
with an apologetic and depressed air, a small Gladstone bag. The
newcomer dusted his trouser legs with a cane utterly useless for walking
purposes; then, adjusting his eye-glass, he elevated it towards the
solitary occupant of the garden, as he entered the gate. "Haw, you sir,"
he called out to him; "is this, haw, Mr. Corrothers' plaice?" Coristine
was nettled at the style of address, but commanded himself to reply as
briefly as possible that it was. "Miss Morjorie Cormichael stoying
here?" continued the stage passenger. "Miss Carmichael is here,"
responded the lawyer. "Haw, I thort so. Just you run in now, will you,
ond tell Miss Morjorie thot on old friend wonts to speak to her." The
lawyer was getting furious, in spite of himself. Taking his pipe out of
his pocket, and proceeding to fill it with all apparent deliberation and
calmness, he replied: "So far as I have the honour of Miss Carmichael's
acquaintance, she is not in the habit of receiving visitors out of
doors. There are both bell and knocker on the door before you, which
servants will probably answer; but, if that door doesn't suit you, you
will probably find others at the back." With this ungracious speech, he
turned on his heel, lit his pipe, and puffed vigorously along the path
towards the meadow gate. Then, he strolled down the hill and met the
returning fishers, the two youngest in Mr. Bigglethorpe's arms, and with
their arms about his neck. Coristine indulged in a kissing bee with the
rest of them, so as to assure himself that he was the true old friend,
the genuine Codlin, while the other man was Short. "Marjorie," he said,
as that fishing young lady clung to him, "there's a duffer of a dude,
with an eye-glass, up at the house, who says he's an old friend of your
cousin Marjorie; do you know any old friend of hers?" Marjorie stopped
to think, and, after a little pause, said: "It can't be Huggins." "Who
is Huggins, Marjorie?" asked the lawyer. "He's the caretaker of
Marjorie's school."

"Oh no, this dude is too young and gorgeous for a caretaker."

"Then, I think I know; its Orther Lom."

"Who is Orther Lom?"

"I don't know; only Auntie Marjorie said, she wouldn't be astonished if
Orther Lom was to come and find cousin Marjorie out, even away up here.
It must be Orther Lom."

This was all the information the lawyer could obtain; so he and Marjorie
joined Mr. Bigglethorpe and the other anglers, and talked about making
domestic sardines and smelts of the chub and dace they had caught.

The summons to tea greeted the wanderers before they had had time to
cleanse their hands of fishy odours; consequently Mr. Bigglethorpe and
the lawyer were a minute or two late. They found the man of the
eye-glass seated on one side of Miss Carmichael, and, as she beckoned
the fisherman to the other, she introduced her protegé to him as Mr.
Arthur Lamb, a very old friend. Miss Halbert made way for Coristine
beside her, and he congratulated her on the doctor's reappearance at the
table.

"Mr. Coristine," said Miss Carmichael, and the lawyer, with a somewhat
worn society face, looked across.

"Mr. Lamb, who is an old friend of ours, tells me he met you in the
garden, but you did not introduce yourself. Let me introduce you, Mr.
Lamb, Mr. Coristine."

Coristine gave the merest nod of recognition, and went on talking to
Miss Halbert. He thought Perrowne was right; there was some
satisfaction conversing with a girl like that, a girl with no nonsense
about her. The minister's gloves had got fishy, handling Marjorie's
catch, so he had taken them off when preparing himself for tea, and had
left them in his room. Miss Carmichael looked at the burnt hands, and
felt disposed to scold him, but did not dare. Perhaps, he had taken the
gloves off intentionally. She wished that ring of his were not on her
finger. Between Mr. Lamb and Miss Halbert, she felt very uncomfortable,
and knew that Eugene, no, Mr. Coristine, was behaving abominably. The
colonel and his belongings had been so much about the wounded dominie
all afternoon, that Mrs. Carruthers insisted on her right, as a hostess,
to minister to him, while her sister-in law presided in her stead.
Coristine at once rose to help the hostess, and regained his spirits,
while rallying his old friend over the many attentions he was receiving
at the hands of the fair sex. He could hardly believe his eyes and ears
when he beheld the meek and helpless creature who had once been the
redoubtable Wilkinson. How had the mighty fallen! "We'll put you in a
glass case, Wilks, like the old gray horse that was jined to the
Methodis, and kicked so high they put him in the museum."

"Corry," interrupted the still correct dominie, "I have no sympathy with
that rude song; but if you will quote it, please adhere to the original.
It was 'my old aunt Sal that was joined to the Methodists,' not the old
gray horse."

"Thanks, Wilks, thanks, I'll try and remember. Any more toast or jam,
old boy?"

"No, I have a superabundance of good things."

"Well, see you again, sometime when I have a chance. You're pretty well
guarded you know. Au revoir."

Coristine followed Mrs. Carruthers down stairs; while the dominie
sighed, and said: "It seems as if nothing will give that boy stability
of character and staidness of demeanour."

"Who is going to service to-night?" asked the Squire. Mrs. Carruthers
could not, because of the children; the doctor was unfit to walk; and
the colonel and Mrs. Du Plessis had so much to say to each other over
their dear boy that they desired to be excused. Mr. Bigglethorpe said
he was a church-going man, but hardly cared to air his green shade in
public; whereupon Mr. Terry volunteered to remain and smoke a pipe with
him. Mrs. Carmichael and her daughter signified their intention of
accompanying the Squire, and Mr. Lamb at once asked permission to join
them. Miss Halbert stated that she would like to go to week service, if
anybody else was going. Of course, the lawyer offered his escort, and
Miss Du Plessis and the Captain begged to be included. Thus, four of the
party set out for Mr. Perrowne's mid-week service, and four to Mr.
Errol's prayer meeting. Mr. Lamb did not get much out of Miss Carmichael
on the way, and Miss Halbert thought her escort unusually absent-minded.
Coming home, Mr. Perrowne deprived Coristine of his fair charge, and Mr.
Errol relieved the Squire of his sister. Accordingly, the freed
cavaliers drew together and conversed upon the events of the day. Good
Mr. Carruthers was startled, when the lawyer expressed his intention of
leaving in the morning, as he could be of no further use, and felt he
had already trespassed too long upon his generous hospitality.

"Noo, Coristine," he said, falling into his doric, "what ails ye, man,
at the lassie?"

"My dear Squire, I have none but the kindest and most grateful thoughts
towards all the ladies."

"Weel, weel, it's no for me to be spierin', but ye maun na gang awa
frae's on accoont o' yon daft haveral o' a Lamb."

"Who is this Mr. Lamb?"

"I ken naething aboot him, foreby that he's a moothin' cratur frae the
Croon Lans Depairtment, wi' no owre muckle brains."

Dropping the subject, the Squire proceeded to tell what he had found in
Nash's papers, and proposed an expedition, ostensibly for fishing, in
which the two of them, providing themselves with tools, should prospect
for the hidden treasure of the former master of the Select Encampment.
As it was unlikely that any claimant for Rawdon's property would appear,
all that they found would belong to Matilda and her boy, unless it were
judged right to indemnify Miss Du Plessis for any injury done to her
land. There was no reason for the lawyer's departure. He had another
week of leave, which he did not know how to put in. True, he could not
remain until Wilkinson was perfectly well, but it would seem heartless
to desert him so soon after he had received his wound. He had thought of
writing the Squire about Miss Carmichael's position as her deceased
father's next of kin, but it would save trouble to talk it over. All
things considered, Mr. Carruthers did not find it a difficult task to
make his pleasant new acquaintance reconsider his decision and commit
himself to an indefinite prolongation of Bridesdale hospitality. Yet, as
he entered the gate, he almost repented his weakness, on hearing the
eye-glassed Lamb say: "What ohfully jawlly times we hod, Morjorie, when
you and I were sweethorts." He wished that he could recall some
frightfully injurious and profane expression in a foreign tongue, with
which to anathematize the wretched, familiar, conceited Crown Lands
Department cad. While the Squire joined the doctor and the Captain in
the office, he went over to a corner in which the pipes of the veteran
and Mr. Bigglethorpe were still glowing, and, lighting his own, listened
to their military and piscatorial yarns.

Rufus had remained at Bridesdale, at the urgent entreaty of his sisters
and the Pilgrims; but the sight of the people going to prayer meeting
smote his conscience. He knew his father and mother would be at meetin'
in their own church, and that there would be a good deal of work to do.
Besides he hadn't brought home the team from Mr. Hislop's since the bee.
Nothing would stop him, therefore; he shouldered his gun, and, bidding
all good bye, started for home. Nobody was left in the kitchen but the
two maids and the two Pilgrims. Yes, there was one more, namely Mr.
Pawkins, who was afeard his duds warn't dry. The nettrelized citizen of
Kennidy was telling stories, that kept the company in peals and roars of
laughter, about an applicant for a place in a paper mill, who was set to
chewing a blue blanket into pulp, who was given a bottle of vinegar to
sharpen his teeth with, and who was ignominiously expelled from the
premises because he didn't "chaw it dry"; about a bunting billy goat;
and a powerful team of oxen, that got beyond the control of their
barn-moving driver, and planted the barn on the top of an almost
inaccessible hill. Mr. Pawkins complimented the young women, and drew
wonderful depths of knowledge out of Sylvanus and Timotheus. But, when a
vehicle rolled into the stable yard that brought the constable and
Maguffin to join the party, the quondam American citizen waxed jubilant,
and beheld endless possibilities of amusement. "Good evenin',
consterble," said Mr. Pawkins, blandly.

"Good evening, sir, at your service," replied the pensioner.

"Pawkins is my naum, consterble, kyind er Scotch, I reckin. They say
pawky means sorter cute an' cunnin', like in Scotch. Never was thar
myself, to speak on, but hev seed 'em."

"The Scotch make good soldiers," said Mr Rigby.

"Yaas; I reckin the oatmeal sorter stiffens 'em up."

"There are military authorities who assert that the Scotch are the only
troops that can reform under fire; but that is a mistake. In that
respect, sir, the Guards are equal to any other Household Troops."

"Fer haousehold trooeps and reformin' under fire, you had orter ha seen
aour fellers at Bull Run. When the shooten' begun, all the Bowery plug
uglies, bred to cussin' and drinkin' and wuss, dropped ther guns and
fell on ther knees a reformin'; then, when they faound they couldn't
reform so suddent, they up on ther two feet and started fer the
haoushold. Eurrup ain't got nuthin' ter ekal aour haousehold trooeps."

"You mistake me, Mr. Pawkins; the Household Troops in infantry are the
Guards and Highlanders, whose special duty it is to guard the royal
household."

"Is it big?"

"Is what big, sir?"

"Why, the household! How many storeys is ther to it besides the attic
and basement? Hev it got a mansard?"

"The Household, sir, dwells in royal palaces of great dimensions. It is
the royal family and their attendants over whom the Guards watch."

"That's the Black Guards, ain't it?"

"No, sir; you are thinking of the Black Watch, a name of the
Forty-second Highlanders."

"D'ye hear that, you Sambo? You orter go and git draafted inter that
corpse, and go araound breakin' the wimmin's hyearts in a cullud flannel
petticut."

"There are no negroes, sir, in the Black Watch," interposed the
corporal.

"See heah, yoh Yankee Canajiun," answered Mr. Maguffin with feeling,
"fo' de law ob this yeah kintry I'se jess es good a man as yoh is. So
yoh jess keep yoh Samboo in yoh mouf atter this. Specks yoh'se got a
mighty low down name yohsef if t'was ony knowed by respeckable pussons."

"My name, Mr. Julius Sneezer Disgustus Quackenboss, my name is Pawkins,
great grandson of Hercules Leonidas Pawkins, as was briggidier ginral
and aijicamp to George Washington, when he drummed the haousehold
trooeps, and the hull o' the derned British army, out'n Noo Yohk to the
toon o' 'Yankee Doodle.'"

The constable turned pale, shivered all over, and swayed about in his
chair, almost frightening the mendacious Yankee by the sight of the
mischief his words had wrought. Tryphena, however, quickly filled the
shocked corporal a hot cup of tea, and mutely pressed him to drink it.
He took off the tea at a gulp, set down the cup with a steady hand, and,
looking Mr. Pawkins in the face, said: "I regret, sir, to have to say
the word; but, sir, you are a liar."

"That's true as death, consterble," remarked Timotheus, who did not
share the hostile feelings of Sylvanus towards Corporal Rigby; "true as
death, and the boys, they ducked him in the crick for't, but they's no
washin' the lies out'n his jaws."

Mr. Pawkins looked as fierce as it was possible for a man with a merry
twinkle in his eyes to look, and roared, "Consterble, did you mean that,
or did you only say it fer fun like?"

Mr Rigby, glaring defiance, answered, "I meant it."

"Oh waall," responded the Yankee Canadian, mildly, "that's all right;
because I want you to know that I don't allaow folks to joke with me
that way. If you meant it, that's a different thing."

"What your general character may be, I do not know. As for your remarks
on the British army, they are lies."

"I guess, consterble, you ain't up in the histry of the United States of
Ameriky, or you'd know as your Ginral Clinton was drummed aout o' Noo
Yohk to the toon o' 'Yankee Doodle.'"

"I know, sir, that a mob of Hanoverians and Hessians, whom the Americans
could not drive out, evacuated New York, in consequence of a treaty of
peace. If your general, as you call him, Washington, had the bad taste
to play his ugly tune after them, it was just what might be expected
from such a quarter."

"My history," said Tryphosa, "says that the American army was driven out
of Canada by a few regulars and some French-Canadians at the same time."

"Brayvo, Phosy!" cried Timotheus.

"I assert now, as I have asserted before," continued Corporal Rigby,
"that the British army never has been defeated, and never can be
defeated. I belong to the British army, and know whereof I speak."

"Were you in the American war, Mr. Pawkins?" asked Tryphena.

"Yaas, I was thar, like the consterble, in the haouse hold trooeps. When
they come araound a draaftin', I skit aout to Kennidy. I've only got one
thing agin the war, and that is makin' every common nigger so sassy he
thinks he's the ekal of a white man. Soon's I think of that, the war
makes me sick."

"It is the boast of our Empire," remarked the pensioner, grandly, "that
wherever its flag floats, the slave is free."

"It's a derned pity," said Mr. Pawkins; "that there boy, Julius Sneezer
Disgustus Quackenboss, ud be wuth heaps more'n he is, if his boss jest
had the right to lick him straight along."

"Who," shrieked Maguffin; "who'se yar Squackenbawsin' an' gibbin' nigger
lip ter? My name's Mortimah Magrudah Maguffin, an' what's yourn?
Pawkins! Oh massy! Pawkins, nex' thing ter punkins. I cud get er punkin,
an' cut a hole er two in it an' make a bettah face nor yourn, Mistah
Pawkins, candaberus, lantun jaw, down east, Yankee white tresh. What you
doin' roun' this house, anyway?"

"Arrah, hush now, childher!" said Mr. Terry, entering from the hall.
"The aivenin's the time to make up aall dishputes, an' quoiet aal yer
angry faylins afore yeez say yer worruds an' go to shlape, wid the howly
angels gyardin' yeez. Good aivenin', Corporal."

"Good evening, Sergeant-Major."

"Mr. Terry," asked Tryphosa, timidly, "will you play a game at Cities,
Rivers and Mountains? We were waiting for even numbers to begin." The
veteran, who knew the game, agreed. Gallantly, the gentlemen asked the
two ladies to choose sides, whereupon Tryphena selected Mr. Pawkins,
Maguffin and Sylvanus; Mr. Terry, the constable, and Timotheus fell to
Tryphosa. Peace once more reigned, save when the great-grandson of the
brigadier general was detected in looking over his opponent's cards and
otherwise acting illegally.

Bigglethorpe and the lawyer entered the house, not far from bed time.
The company was in the drawing-room, and a lady was at the piano
singing, and playing her own accompaniment, while Mr. Lamb was standing
beside her, pretending to turn over the music, of which he had as little
knowledge as the animal whose name he bore. The song was that beautiful
one of Burns,

     O wert thou in the cauld blast
     On yonder lea, on yonder lea,

and, though a gentleman's song, it was rendered with exquisite taste and
feeling. The singer looked up appealingly at Mr. Lamb twice, solely to
invoke his aid in turning the music leaf. But, to Coristine's jealous
soul, it was a glance of tenderness and mutual understanding. Four long
days he had known her, and she had never sung for him; and now, just as
soon as the Crown Land idiot comes along, she must favour him with her
very best. He would not be rude, and talk while the singing was going
on, but he would let Lamb do all the thanking; he wasn't going shares
with that affected dude. The music ceased, and he turned to see whom he
could talk to. Mrs. Carmichael and Miss Halbert were busy with their
clerical adorers. The colonel and Mrs. Du Plessis had evidently bid
their dear boy good night, for they were engaged in earnest
conversation, in which he called her Terésa, and she called him Paul as
often as colonel. Miss Du Plessis was turning over the leaves of an
album. He went up to her, and asked if she would not favour the company
with some music. "Instrumental or vocal, Mr. Coristine?" she asked. "Oh,
vocal, if you please, Miss Du Plessis; do you sing, 'Shall I wasting in
despair,' or anything of that kind?" Miss Du Plessis did not, but would
like to hear Mr. Coristine sing it. He objected that he had no music,
and was a poor accompanyist. Before the unhappy man knew where he was,
Miss Du Plessis was by Miss Carmichael's side, begging her dear friend
Marjorie to accompany Mr. Coristine. She agreed, for she knew the song,
and the music was in the stand. Like a condemned criminal, Coristine was
conducted to the piano; but the first few bars put vigour into him, and
he sang the piece through with credit. He was compelled, of course, to
return thanks for the excellent accompaniment, but this he did in a
stiff formal way, as if the musician was an entire stranger. Then they
had prayers, for the gentlemen had come in out of the office, and,
afterwards, the clergymen went home. As the inmates of Bridesdale
separated for the night, Miss Carmichael handed the lawyer his ring,
saying that since his hands were fit to dispense with gloves, they must
also be strong enough to bear its weight. He accepted the ring with a
sigh, and silently retired to his chamber. Before turning in for the
night, he looked in upon Wilkinson, whom he found awake. After enquiries
as to his arm and general health, he said: "Wilks, my boy, congratulate
me on being an ass; I've lost the finest woman in all the world by my
own stupidity." His friend smiled at him, and answered: "Do not be
down-hearted, Corry; I will speak to Ceci--Miss Du Plessis I mean, and
she will arrange matters for you." The lawyer fervently exclaimed: "God
bless you, Wilks!" and withdrew, not a little comforted. We cannot
intrude into the apartment of the young ladies, but there was large
comfort in their conversation for a person whose Christian name was
Eugene. If he only had known it!

By the constable, Ben Toner, and other messengers, Mr. Bigglethorpe had
acquainted his somewhat tyrannical spouse that he was staying for a
while at the Flanders lakes to enjoy the fishing. Mr. Rigby had brought
from the store his best rods and lines and his fly-book. He was,
therefore, up early on Thursday morning, lamenting that he was not at
Richards, whence he could have visited the first lake and secured a mess
of fish before breakfast. He was sorting out his tackle in the office,
when Marjorie, an early riser, came in to see if Uncle John was there.
When she found out the occupant, she said: "Come along, Mr. Biggles, and
let us go fishing, it's so long before breakfast." Fishing children
could do anything with Bigglethorpe; he would even help them to catch
cat-fish and suckers. But he had an eye to business. "Marjorie," he
asked, "do you think you could find me a pickle bottle, an empty one,
you know?" She thought she could, and at once engaged 'Phosa and 'Phena
in the search for one. A Crosse and Blackwell wide-mouthed bottle,
bearing the label "mixed pickles," which really means gherkins, was
borne triumphantly into the office. Mr. Bigglethorpe handled it
affectionately, and said: "Put on your hat, Marjorie, and we'll go
crawfish hunting." Without rod or line, the fisherman, holding the
pickle bottle in his left hand, and taking Marjorie by the right, walked
down to the creek. On its bank he sat down, and took off his shoes and
socks, an example quickly and joyfully followed by his young companion.
Then he splashed a little water on his head, and she did the same; after
which they waded in the shallow brook, and turned up flat stones in its
bed. Sometimes the crawfish lay quite still, when Mr. Bigglethorpe,
getting his right hand, with extended thumb and forefinger, slily behind
it, grasped the unsuspecting crustacean at the back of his great
nippers, and landed him in the bottle filled with sparkling water.
Sometimes a "craw," as Marjorie called them, darted away backward in a
great hurry, and had to be looked for under another stone, and these
were generally young active fellows, which, the fisherman said, made the
best bait for bass. It was wild, exciting work, with a spice of danger
in it from the chance of a nip from those terrible claws. Marjorie
enjoyed it to the full. She laughed and shrieked, and clapped her hands
over every new addition to the pickle bottle, and Mr. Biggles was every
bit as enthusiastic as she was. Soon they were aware of a third figure
on the scene. It was the sleepless lawyer. "Come in, Eugene," cried
Marjorie; "take off your shoes and stockings, and help us to catch these
lovely craws." He had to obey, and was soon as excited as the others
over this novel kind of sport.

Coristine looked up after securing his twelfth victim, and saw four
figures sauntering down the hill. Three were young ladies in print
morning gowns; the fourth was the ineffable dude, Lamb. At once he went
back, and put himself into socks and boots, turning down his trouser
legs, as if innocent of the childish amusement. "Haw," brayed Mr. Lamb,
"is thot you, Cawrstine? Been poddling in the wotter, to remind yoursolf
of the doys when you used to run round in your bare feet?" Outwardly
calm, the lawyer advanced to meet the invaders. Bowing somewhat too
ceremoniously to the three ladies, who looked delightfully fresh and
cool in their morning toilets, he answered his interlocutor. "I am sure,
Mr. Lamb, that it would afford Mr. Bigglethorpe and Marjorie additional
satisfaction, to know that their wading after crawfish brought up
memories of your barefooted youth. Unfortunately, I have no such
blissful period to recall." Mr. Lamb blushed, and stammered some
incoherencies, and Miss Carmichael, running past the lawyer towards
Marjorie, whispered as she flitted before him, "you rude, unkind man!"
This did not tend to make him more amiable. He snubbed the Crown Land
gentleman at every turn, and, more than usually brilliant in talk,
effectually kept his adversary out of conversation with the remaining
ladies. "Look, Cecile!" said Miss Halbert; "Marjorie is actually joining
the waders. "Mr. Lamb stroked his whisker-moustache and remarked: "Haw,
you know, thot's nothing new for Morjorie; when we were childron
together, we awften went poddling about in creeks for crowfish and
minnows." Then he had the impertinence to stroll down to the brook, and
rally the new addition to the crawfishing party. To Coristine the whole
thing was gall and wormwood. The only satisfaction he had was, that Mr.
Lamb could not summon courage enough to divest himself of shoes and
stockings and take part in the sport personally. But what an
insufferable ass he, Coristine, had been not to keep on wading, in view
of such glorious company! What was the use of complaining: had he been
there she would never have gone in, trust her for that! Wilkinson and he
were right in their old compact: the female sex is a delusion and a
snare. Thank heaven! there's the prayer gong, but will that staring,
flat-footed, hawhawing, Civil Service idiot be looking on while she
reattires herself! He had half a mind to descend and brain him on the
spot, if he had any brains, so as to render impossible the woeful
calamity. But the fates were merciful, sending Mr. Lamb up with Marjorie
and Mr. Bigglethorpe. Now was the angry man's chance, and a rare one,
but, like an angry man, he did not seize it. The other two ladies
remarked to each other that it was not very polite of three gentlemen to
allow a lady, the last of the party, to come up the hill alone. What did
he care?

At breakfast, Miss Carmichael sat between Messrs. Bigglethorpe and Lamb,
and the lawyer between Miss Halbert and the veteran. "Who are going
fishing to the lakes," asked the Squire, to which question the doctor
replied, regretting his inability; and the colonel declined the
invitation on account of his dear boy. Mr. Lamb intimated that he had
business with Miss Du Plessis on Crown Land matters, as the department
wished to get back into its possession the land owned by her. This was a
bombshell in the camp. Miss Du Plessis declined to have any conference
on the subject, referring the civil servant to her uncle, to Squire
Carruthers, and to her solicitor, Mr. Coristine. The lawyer was disposed
to be liberal in politics, although his friend Wilkinson was a strong
Conservative; but the contemptible meanness of a Government department
attempting to retire property deeded and paid for in order to gain a few
hundred dollars or a new constituent, aroused his vehement indignation,
and his determination to fight Lamb and his masters to the bitter end of
the Privy Council.

"Mr. Lamb," said the colonel, "is yoar business with my niece
complicated, or is it capable of being stated bhiefly?"

"I can put it in a very few words, Colonel," replied the civil service
official; "the deportment hos received on awffer for Miss Du Plessis'
lond which it would be fawlly to refuse."

"But," interposed the Squire, "the department has naething to dae wi'
Miss Cecile's land: it's her ain, every fit o't."

"You don't know the deportment, Squire. It con take bock lond of its
own deed, especially wild lond, by the awffer of a reasonable equivolent
or indemnity. It proposes to return the purchase money, with five per
cent. interest to date, and the amount of municipal toxes attested by
receipts. Thot is regorded os a fair odjustment, ond on Miss Du Plessis
surrendering her deed to me, the deportment will settle the claim within
twelve months, if press of business ollows."

"Such abominable, thieving iniquity, on the pairt o' a Government
ca'ain' itself leeberal, I never hard o' in aa my life," said the
indignant Squire.

"Do you mean to say, Arthur," asked Mrs. Carmichael, "that your
department can take away Cecile's property in that cavalier fashion, and
without any regard to the rise in values?"

"I'm ofraid so, Mrs. Cormichael."

"What have you to say to that, Mr. Coristine, from a legal standpoint?"
enquired Mrs. Carruthers.

"A deed of land made by the Government, or by a private individual,
conveys, when, as in this case, all provisions have been complied with,
an inalienable title."

"There is such a thing as expropriation," suggested Mr. Lamb, rather
annoyed to find a lawyer there.

"Expropriation is a municipal affair in cities and towns, or it may be
national and provincial in the case of chartered railways or national
parks, in all which cases remuneration is by arbitration, not by the
will of any expropriating body."

"The deportment may regord this as a provincial offair. Ot any rate, it
hos octed in this way before with success."

"I know that the department has induced people to surrender their rights
for the sake of its popularity, but by wheedling, not by law or justice,
and, generally, there has been some condition of payment, or something
else, not complied with."

"Thot's simple enough. A few lines in the bookkeeping awffice con
involidate the deed."

"One or two words, Mr. Lamb, and I have done; the quicker you answer,
the sooner Miss Du Plessis' decision is reached. Do you represent the
commissioner, the minister?"

"Well, not exoctly."

"Were you sent by his deputy, the head of the department?"

"Not the head exoctly."

"Is the name of the man, for whom your friend wants to expropriate Miss
Du Plessis' land, called Rawdon, Altamont Rawdon?"

"How did you know thot? Ore you one of the deportment outriggers?"

"No; I have nothing to do with any kind of dirty work. You go back, and
tell your man, first, that Rawdon is dead, and that in life he was a
notorious criminal; second, that Miss Du Plessis' land has been
devastated by the fire in which he perished; and, third, that if he, or
you, or any other contemptible swindler, moves a finger in this
direction, either above board or below, I'll have you up for foul
conspiracy, and make the department only too happy to send you about
your business to save its reputation before the country."

As Ben Toner and his friends in the kitchen would have said, Mr. Lamb
was paralyzed. While the lawyer had spoken with animation, there was
something quite judicial in his manner. Miss Carmichael looked up at him
from under her long lashes with an admiration it would have done him
good to see, and a hum of approving remarks went all round the table.
Then, in an evil moment, the young lady felt it her duty to comfort the
heart of poor Orther Lom, whom everybody else regarded with something
akin to contempt. She talked to him of old times, until the man's
inflated English was forgotten, as well as his by no means reputable
errand. The young man was quite incapable of any deep-laid scheme of
wrong-doing, as he was of any high or generous impulse. He was a mere
machine, educated up to a certain point, able to write a good hand, and
express himself grammatically, but thinking more of his dress and his
spurious English than of any learning or accomplishment, and the
unreasoning tool of his official superiors. He had been checkmated by
Coristine, and felt terribly disappointed at the failure of his mission;
but the thought that he had been engaged in a most dishonest attempt did
not trouble him in the least. Yet, had he been offered a large bribe to
commit robbery in the usual ways, he would have rejected the
proposition with scorn. Miss Carmichael, knowing his character, was
sorry for him, little thinking that his returning vivacity under her
genial influence smote Coristine's heart, as the evidence of double
disloyalty on the lady's part, to her friend, Miss Du Plessis, and to
him. Tiring of her single-handed work, she turned to Mr. Bigglethorpe,
saying: "You know Mr. Lamb, do you not!" The fisherman answered: "You
were kind enough to introduce us last night, Miss Carmichael, but you
will, I hope, pardon me for saying that I do not approve of Mr. Lamb."
Then he turned away, and conversed with the Captain. When the company
rose, the only person who approached the civil servant was the colonel,
who said: "I pehsume, suh, aftah what my kind friend, Mr. Cohistine, has
spoken so well, you will not annoy my niece with any moah remahks about
her propehty. It would please that lady and me, as her guahdian, if you
will fohget Miss Du Plessis' existence, suh, so fah as you are
concehned." This was chilling, but chill did not hurt Mr. Lamb. The
little Carruthers, headed by Marjorie, were in front of the verandah
when Miss Carmichael and he went out. Marjorie had evidently been
schooling them, for, at her word of command, they began to sing, to the
tune of "Little Bo Peep," the original words:--

     Poor Orther Lom,
     He looks so glom.

Miss Carmichael seized her namesake and shook her. "You naughty, wicked
little girl, how dare you? Who taught you these shameful words?" she
asked, boiling with indignation. Marjorie cried a little for vexation,
but would not reveal the name of the author. Some said it was the
doctor, and others, that it was his daughter Fanny; but Miss Carmichael
was sure that the lawyer, Marjorie's great friend, Eugene, was the
guilty party, that he ought to be ashamed of himself, and that the
sooner he left Bridesdale the better. Coristine was completely innocent
of the awful crime, which lay in the skirts of Marjorie's father, the
Captain, as might have been suspected from the beauty of the couplet.
The consequence of the poetic surprise was the exclusive attachment of
Miss Carmichael to the Crown Lands man, in a long walk in the garden, a
confidential talk, and the present of a perfectly beautiful button-hole
pinned in by her own hands.




CHAPTER XVII.

     The Picnic--Treasure Trove--A Substantial Ghost
     Captured--Coristine's Farewell--Ride to Collingwood--Bangs Secures
     Rawdon--Off to Toronto--Coristine Meets the Captain--Grief at
     Bridesdale--Marjorie and Mr. Biggles--Miss Du Plessis Frightens Mr.
     Lamb--The Minister's Smoke--Fishing Picnic.


After his Parthian shot, the Captain ordered Sylvanus to get out the
gig, as he was going home. Leaving Marjorie in the hands of her aunt
Carmichael, he saluted his daughter, his niece, and his two sisters in
law, and took their messages for Susan. There was grief in the kitchen
at the departure of Sylvanus, who expected to be on the rolling deep
before the end of the week. Mr. Pawkins and Constable Rigby had already
taken leave, travelling homeward in an amicable way. Then, Doctor
Halbert insisted on his vehicle being brought round, as there must be
work waiting for him at home; so a box with a cushion was placed for his
sprained leg, and he and Miss Fanny were just on the eve of starting,
when Mr. Perrowne came running up in great haste, and begged to be
allowed to drive the doctor over. With a little squeezing he got in,
and, amid much waving of handkerchiefs, the doctor's buggy drove away.
Mr. Lamb exhibited no desire to leave, and Miss Carmichael was compelled
to devote herself to him, a somewhat monotonous task, in spite of his
garrulous egotism. Timotheus, by the Squire's orders, harnessed the
horses to the waggonette, and deposited therein a pickaxe and a spade.
Mr. Bigglethorpe brought out his fishing tackle, joyous over the
prospect of a day's fishing, and Mr. Terry lugged along a huge basket,
prepared by his daughter in the kitchen, with all manner of eatables and
drinkables for the picnic. The lawyer made the fourth of the party,
exclusive of Timotheus, who gave instructions to Maguffin how to behave
in his absence. The colonel was with Wilkinson, but the ladies and Mr.
Lamb came to see the expedition under way. It was arranged that
Timotheus should drive the Squire and the lawyer to the masked road and
leave them there, after which he was to take the others to Richards
place, put up the horses, and help them to propel the scow through the
lakes and channels. Accordingly, the treasure seekers got out the pick
and shovel, and trudged along to the scene of the late fire. As they
neared the Encampment, their road became a difficult and painful one,
over fallen trees blackened with fire, and through beds of sodden ashes.
At the Encampment, the ground, save where the buildings had stood, was
comparatively bare. The lofty and enormously strong brick chimney was
still standing in spite of the many explosions, and, here and there, a
horse appeared, looking wistfully at the ruins of its former home.
There, the intending diggers stood, gazing mutely for a while on the
scene of desolation.

"'Sandy soil, draining both ways, and undercover,' is what we want,
Coristine," said the Squire. The two walked back and forward along the
ridge, rejecting rock and depression and timbered land. They searched
the foundations of houses and sheds, found the trap under Rawdon's own
house that led to the now utterly caved-in tunnel, and tried likely
spots where once the stables stood, only to find accumulations of
rubbish. A steel square such as carpenters use, was found among the
chips in the stone-yard, and of this Coristine made a primitive
surveyor's implement by which he sought to take the level of the ground.
"Bring your eye down here, Mr. Carruthers," he said. "I see," answered
the Squire; "but, man, yon's just a conglomeration o' muckle stanes."
The lawyer replied, "That's true, Squire, but it's the height of land,
and that top stone lies almost too squarely to be natural. Let us try
them at least. It will do no harm, and the day is young yet." They went
forward to a spot beyond the stone yard, on the opposite side from the
burnt stables, which they saw had once been railed off, for the
blackened stumps of the posts were still in the ground. It was a
picturesque mass of confusion, apparently an outcrop of the limestone,
not uncommon in that region. But the lawyer probed the ground all about
it. It was light dry soil, with no trace of a rocky bottom. Without a
lever, their work was hard, but they succeeded in throwing off the
large flat protecting slab, and in scattering its rocky supports. "Man,
Coristine, I believe you're richt." ejaculated the perspiring
Carruthers. Then he took the pick and loosened the ground, while the
lawyer removed the earth with his spade. "There's no' a root nor a
muckle stane in the haill o't, Coristine; this groond's been wrocht
afore, my lad." So they kept on, till at last the pick rebounded with a
metallic clang. "Let me clear it, Squire," asked the lawyer, and, at
once, his spade sent the sand flying, and revealed a box of japanned
tin, the counterpart of that discovered by Muggins, which had only
contained samples of grindstones. A little more picking, and a little
more spading, and the box came easily out. It was heavy, wonderfully
heavy, and it was padlocked. The sharp edge of the spade loosened the
lid sufficiently to admit the point of the pick, and, while Coristine
hung on to the box, the Squire wrenched it open. The tin box was full of
notes and gold.

"There's thoosands an' thoosands here, Coristine, eneuch to keep yon
puir body o' a Matilda in comfort aa' her days. Man, it's a graun'
discovery, an' you're the chiel that's fund it," cried the Squire, with
exultation. The lawyer peered in too, when, suddenly, he heard a shot, a
bullet whizzed past his ear, and, the next moment, with a sickening
thud, Carruthers fell to the ground. Coristine rose to his feet like
lightning, and faced an apparition; the Grinstun man, with pistol in one
hand and life preserver in the other, was before him. Without a moment's
hesitation he regained his grasp of his spade, and stretched the ghost
at his feet, mercifully with the flat of it, and then relieved his
victim of pistol and loaded skull-cracker. He heard voices hailing, and
recognized them as those of the veteran and the fisherman. He replied
with a loud cry of "Hurry, hurry, help!" which roused the prostrate
spectre. It arose and made a dash for the tin box, but Coristine threw
himself upon the substantial ghost, and a struggle for life began. They
clasped, they wrestled, they fell over the poor unconscious Squire, and
upset the tin box. They clasped each other by the throat, the hair; they
kicked with their feet, and pounded with their knees. It was Grinstun's
last ditch, and he was game to hold it; but the lawyer was game too.
Sometimes he was up and had his hand on his opponent's throat, and
again, he could not tell how, he was turned over, and the heavy squat
form of Rawdon fell like an awful nightmare on his chest. But he would
not give in. He saw his antagonist reach for a weapon, pistol,
skull-cracker, he knew not what it was, but that reach released one hand
from his throat. With a tremendous effort, he turned, and lay side to
side with his enemy, when Timotheus dashed in, and, bodily picking up
the Grinstun man in his arms, hammered his head on the big flat stone,
till the breathless lawyer begged him to stop. Up came Mr. Bigglethorpe
and Mr. Terry in great consternation, and gazed with wonder upon the
lately active ghost. "Make him fast," cried Coristine with difficulty,
"while I look after the poor Squire." So, Timotheus and the fisher took
off Rawdon's coat and braces, and bound him hand and foot with his own
belongings. But the veteran had already looked to his son-in-law, and,
from the picnic stores, had poured some spirits into his lips. "Rouse
up, John, avic," he cried piteously, "rouse up, my darlint, or Honoria
'ull be breakin' her poor heart. It's good min is scarce thim toimes,
an' the good God'll niver be takin' away the bist son iver an ould man
had." The Squire came to, although the dark blood oozed out of an ugly
wound in the back of his head, and the amount of liquor his affectionate
father-in law had poured into him made him light-headed. "Glory be to
God!" said the old man, and all the others gratefully answered "Amen."

The lawyer explained the circumstances, the excavation, the money, the
assault, to his deliverers; but the resurrection of the Grinstun man was
a mystery which he could not explain. Without being told, Timotheus,
whose arrival had been so opportune, ran all the way to Richards, and
brought from thence the waggon, along with Harry Richards, who
volunteered to accompany him, and Mr. Errol, who was visiting in the
neighbourhood. Young Richards brought an axe with him, and cleared some
of the obstructions of the once masked road, so that the vehicle was
able to get up within reasonable distance of the encampment. It was
desirable to get the Squire home, lest his injuries should be greater
than they supposed, and the prisoner ought to be in Mr. Bangs' hands at
once. Accordingly, Mr. Errol and Harry Richards offered to stay with Mr.
Bigglethorpe and carry out the original picnic, it being understood that
Timotheus would either call or send for them about four o'clock.

"Gin I'm gaun to be oot on the splore, I maun hae a bit smokie. Wha's
gotten a bit pipe he's no usin'?" asked the usually sedate minister.
Coristine handed over to him his smoking materials, penknife included;
and Mr. Errol, taking off his coat, sat down on a stone to fill the
pipe, saying, "Nae mair pastoral veesitation for me the day. Gin any
body spiers whaur I am, just tell them I'm renewin' my youth." Timotheus
and Harry carried the prisoner to the waggon, while the veteran and the
lawyer followed, leading the Squire, and carrying the box of treasure.
The fishermen came to see them off, and, then, they descended to the
lake shore and began the sport of the day. Timotheus drove, and the
Squire sat up between him and his affectionate father-in-law. The lawyer
was in the rear seat with the prisoner, who, for greater security, was
lashed to the back of it. Rawdon's revolver was in his captor's hand,
and his skull-cracker in a handy place. Several times, shamming
insensibility, the prince of tricksters endeavoured to throw his
solitary warder off his guard, but the party reached Bridesdale without
his succeeding in loosening a single thong. There was great
consternation when Timotheus drove up to the gate. The children had been
at their old game of the handkerchief, and Miss Carmichael was actually
chasing Orther Lom, to their great glee, and to Coristine's intense
disgust. Of course, they stopped when they saw the waggon and the
Squire's pale face. The colonel, who had been smoking his morning cigar
on the verandah, came forward rapidly, and, with Mr. Terry, helped the
master of Bridesdale to alight. Then, his wife and sister took the
wounded man in charge, and led him into the house, for he was thoroughly
dazed and incapable of attending to any business. "If you will allow me,
colonel," said the lawyer, "I will take charge of legal matters in this
case," to which Colonel Morton answered, "Most cehtainly, my deah suh,
no one moah competent."

Maguffin had come round to see if his services would be required, and
was appointed to mount guard over the prisoner in company with
Timotheus. To Mr. Terry the lawyer gave the heavy cash box, with orders
to put it in a safe place in the Squire's office. Then, Coristine went
up-stairs, washed and brushed away the traces of conflict, and knocked
at Wilkinson's door. A lady's voice told him to enter, and, on his
complying with the invitation, he beheld Miss Du Plessis sitting by the
bedside of his friend, with a book, which was not Wordsworth, in her
hand. "Please to pardon my intrusion, Miss Du Plessis; the Squire is
hurt, and we have captured Grinstuns, who was not burnt up after all. I
must see the prisoner safely caged, and have other business to attend
to, so that I have come to say good-bye. I am sure that you will take
every care of my dear friend here." After this little speech, hard to
utter, the lawyer shook his friend by the well hand, saying: "Good-bye,
Wilks, old boy, and keep up your heart; any messages for town?" Before
he had time to receive any such commissions, he shook hands warmly with
the lady, and vanished. Replacing Maguffin over Rawdon, he told him to
saddle a horse, and bring it round. His orders to Mr. Terry and
Timotheus were to secure their prisoner between them in some lighter
vehicle, and bring him with all speed to Collingwood, whither he would
precede them on horseback. He found the Squire in an easy chair in the
sitting room with three lady attendants. Shaking hands with the
half-unconscious man, he assured him that he would attend to the
business of the day, and then, with a few words of grateful recognition
to Mrs. Carruthers, bade all the ladies good-bye. "Hasten back," they
all said, and the kind hostess added: "We will think long till we see
you again." Walking back into the kitchen, he bestowed a trifle in his
most gracious manner, on Tryphena and Tryphosa, and then went forth to
look for Marjorie. As he kissed her an affectionate farewell in the
garden, the little girl intuitively guessed his absence to be no common
one, and begged her Eugene to stay, with tears in her eyes. But he was
obdurate with her and all the little Carruthers, on whom he showered
quarters to buy candy at the post office. Maguffin was there with the
horse, and, near the gate, was Miss Carmichael with that ineffable ass
Lamb. Looking at the latter as if he would dearly love to kick him, he
raised his hat to his companion, and extended his hand with the simple
words "Good-bye." Miss Carmichael did not offer hers in return; she
said: "It is hardly worth while being so formal over an absence of a few
hours." Coristine turned as if a serpent had bitten him, slipped some
money into Maguffin's hand, as that worthy held open the gate for him,
and vaulted on his horse, nor did he turn to look round so long as the
eyes of Bridesdale were on his retreating figure.

The lawyer rode hard, for he was excited. He went by Talfourd's house
like a flash, and away through the woods he had traversed on Nash's
beast that last pleasant Sunday morning. At the Beaver River he watered
his horse, and exchanged a word with Pierre and Batiste bidding the
former look out that no attempt at rescuing the prisoner should be made
in that quarter. Away he went, with madame's eyes watching him from
afar, up the ascent, and along the road to where the Hills dwelt at the
foot of the Blue Mountains. He doffed his hat to the old lady as he
passed, then breasted the mountain side. For a moment, he stood on the
summit to take in the view once more, then clattered down the other
side, and away full pelt for the town. Soon he entered Collingwood, and
sought the police headquarters without delay. Where was Mr. Bangs? He
was told, to his great delight, that the detective was in town, and
would report at four o'clock. It was now half-past three. Putting up his
horse at the hotel, the lawyer partook of a hasty meal at a restaurant,
and returned in time to meet Bangs on the very threshold. "Whet ere you
doing here, Lawyer Coristine?" he asked.

"You will never guess, Mr. Bangs."

"Any more trebble et Bridesdele?"

"No, but I'll tell you; we've caught Rawdon."

"Why, the men's dead, berned to a cinder, you know."

"No, he is not; that was some other man."

"Ere you shore, Mr. Coristine?"

"Perfectly. Mr. Terry and Timotheus are bringing him here now."

"Whet, only the two of them, and kemming pest the Beaver too?"

"Yes; there were no more to send. I warned Pierre Lajeunesse to be on
the lookout."

"Is your beast fit to trevel eny more?"

"I think so; it seems a strong animal."

"Then get on hersebeck quick! Here, kensteble, hend me two betons, and a
kerbine!"

When the lawyer returned with his hard-ridden steed, he found Mr. Bangs
mounted, with a baton by his side and a carbine slung behind him. Off
they went along the shore and up the hill. Descending, they saw the
buggy approaching slowly in the neighbourhood of the Hills' log shanty,
attended by four persons who seemed to be armed. Hastening down the
slope, they came up to it, and found the prisoner safe but awfully
profane. The foot guards were Ben Toner, Barney Sullivan, and Rufus
Hill, under the command of Monsieur Lajeunesse. They were relieved of
their self-imposed duty with many thanks, and Coristine shook hands with
the honest fellows, as he and the detective replaced them in escort
duty. Then Timotheus whipped up his horse, and they drove and rode into
town, an imposing spectacle for the eyes of the youth of Collingwood.

Bangs could hardly believe his eyes, and could not conceal his delight,
on beholding the murderer of his now buried friend. No pains were spared
for the safe-keeping of the notorious criminal. In the presence of a
magistrate, Coristine and Mr. Terry made affidavit as to his crimes and
capture. The latter and Timotheus also related his attempts to bribe
them into giving him his liberty, offering large sums and promising to
leave the country. "Now, Mishter Corstine," says the veteran, "it's
hoigh toime we was gettin' home. The good payple 'ull be gettin' onaisy
about yeez, 'an spashly Miss Carrmoichael that was gravin' sore to think
she niver said good-boye to yeez. Come, now, come away, an' lave the
baste in the shtable, for it's toired roidin' ye must be."

"I am not going back, Mr. Terry. I said good-bye to them all at
Bridesdale, and must hurry away to business. Perhaps Timotheus will ride
the horse, while you drive."

"Thet pore enimel isn't fit fer eny more werk to-night, Mr. Coristine.
I'll tell you, Mr. Terry, whet I'll do. I shell be beck here to-morrow
evening, end will ride the horse to Bridesdele. I've got a weggon and
team of the Squire's here, which yeng Hill will drive beck for me. Then
he ken ride pore Nesh's horse, and I ken get my own. Strenge they didn't
give you one of thowse beasts instead of the colonel's, Mr. Coristine."

"Is this the colonel's horse?"

"I should sey it is. You down't think eny ether enimel could hev brought
you elong so fest, do you?"

"God bless the kind old man!" ejaculated the lawyer.

"Mishter Corstine, dear, it'll be breakin' aall the poor childer's
hearts an' some that's growed up too if you 'll be afther lavin' us this
way," continued Mr. Terry; and Timotheus, whom his Peskiwanchow friend
rewarded, added his appeal: "I wisht you wouldn't go fer to go home
jess' yet. Mister." But all entreaties were unavailing. He and Mr. Bangs
saw the buggy off, and then retired to the hotel to get some supper. On
the way thither, he invested in a briar root pipe and some tobacco to
replace those he had given to Mr. Errol. They would be home from fishing
long ago, and perhaps good Bigglethorpe would take Miss Carmichael away
from that miserable Orther Lom. After supper, the two sat over their
pipes and a decoction of some kind in the reading-room, talking over the
sad and wonderful events of the past few days. Mr. Bangs took very
kindly to the lawyer, and promised to look him up whenever he came to
town. He advised him to keep silent about the discovery of Rawdon's
money, as the crown might claim it, and thus deprive poor Matilda Nagle
of her only chance of independence. He said also that he would instruct
the Squire in the same direction on the morrow.

That night, two gaol guards armed to the teeth arrived in police
quarters to take charge of Davis, but the bigger criminal was placed in
their care. Early in the morning there was a stir in the railway
station, when the handcuffed prisoners were marched down under strong
escort, and securely boxed up with their guards and Mr. Bangs. Many
rough characters were there, among whom the lawyer recognized Matt of
the tavern, and Bangs and he could have sworn to the identity of others,
whom the former had met in the cavalry charge on the masked road and
whom Coristine had seen and heard in the Richards' scow the night of the
catastrophe. They scowled, but attempted no rescue. Thanks to the
lawyer's generalship, things had been pushed through too quickly for
them to combine. For some time, Coristine travelled alone. There were
other people in the car, but he did not know them, nor did he care to
make any new acquaintances. All his friends were at Bridesdale, and he
was a homeless exile going back to Mrs. Marsh's boarding-house. At
Dromore, however, he caught sight of the wide-mouthed barrel of a
blunderbuss, and knew the Captain could not be far off. Soon that naval
gentleman got on board, helping Mrs. Thomas up to the platform, followed
by Sylvanus with the saluting weapon. They were to be his companions as
far as Barrie, and much the lawyer enjoyed their society. Marjorie was
the great subject of conversation, although, of course, the Captain had
to be enlightened in many points of recent history. He still thought
Wilkinson a sly dog, but wondered greatly at Coristine's going away.
Mrs. Thomas explained the relationship of Orther Lom. He had been a poor
neglected boy, when Marjorie Carmichael was a little girl, whom her
father, the member, had interested himself in, giving him an education,
and supporting him in part while at the Normal School in Toronto. Just
before he died, he exerted his influence to obtain a Government berth
for him, and that was the whole story. The lawyer saw it all now, and
learned too late what a foolish fellow he had been. Of course, there
were old times, and they had much to talk of, and she could not help
being civil to him, and being angry when he had reminded her father's
protegé of his early poverty. Coristine sighed, and felt that, if Lamb
had been present, he would have apologized to him. To cheer him up, the
Captain invited him to join Mrs. Thomas and himself on a cruise in the
_Susan_. He would have enjoyed it immensely he said, but, having made so
many assertions of pressing business in the city, he had to be
consistent and miserable. At Barrie, he bade his last friends adieu,
parted affectionately with The Crew, and then gazed longingly at the
spars of the _Susan Thomas_ in Kempenfeldt Bay. If only the Captain had
brought the two Marjories for a cruise, he would have shipped with him
for a month, and have let business go to the dogs. There were no more
objects of interest till he arrived in Toronto, took a streetcar, and
deposited himself, much to that lady's astonishment, in his bachelor's
quarters at Mrs. Marsh's boarding-house. After a special lunch, he sat
down to smoke and read a little Browning.

It was very late when Mr. Terry and Timotheus arrived at Bridesdale. All
the ladies had retired, with the exception of Mrs. Carruthers, who had
staid up to await her father's arrival. The gentlemen of the party were
the Squire, quite clear in head and not much the worse of his crack on
the skull, Mr. Bigglethorpe, and Mr. Errol, who had been induced to
continue his splore in the office. He was still renewing his youth, when
the veteran entered all alone, and said he didn't mind if he did help
Mr. Bigglethorpe with that decanter, for it was tiresome work driving.

"Where is Mr. Coristine, grandfather?" asked the Squire.

"It's in Collinwud he is an his way to Teranty."

"What! do you mean to say he has left us, gone for good?"

"That's fwhat it is. Oi prished 'em, an' porshwaded 'em, an' towld 'em
it was desprut anggery an' graved yeez wud aall be. Says he Oi've bud
'em aall good-boye an' Oi'm goin' home to bishness. It was lucky for
you, Squoire, that it wasn't lasht noight he wint."

"It is that, grandfather. I'd have been a dead man. He maun hae focht
yon deevil like a wild cat tae get oot o' the way o's pistols and
things."

"'Twas Timawtheus as kim up furrust an' tuk the thafe av a Rawdon out av
his arrums, for he grupped 'em good an' toight."

"Well done, Timotheus!" said Mr. Errol. "He's a fine lad, Mr.
Bigglethorpe, though a bit clumsy in his ways."

"We can't all be handsome, sir," answered that gentleman. "If he's got
the good principle in him, that's the mine thing, so I always say."

Mrs. Carruthers put her head into the smoke, coughed a little, and said:
"Come, father, supper is waiting for you in the breakfast room." The
veteran followed his daughter, and, over his evening meal, gave her a
detailed account of the proceedings of the afternoon. "And to go away
without a bite to eat, and ride all that distance, and leave his
knapsack and his flowers and I don't know what else behind him, what is
the meaning of it, father?"

"Honoria, my dear, I aalways thought women's eyes was cliverer nor
min's. There's a little gyurl they call Marjorie, an' she's not so
little as aall that, if she isn't quoite the hoighth av Miss Ceshile.
That bhoy was jist dishtracted wid the crool paice, that goes aff
philanderin wid the Shivel Sharvice shape av a Lamb. He didn't say it
moind in wurruds, but I see it was the killin' av 'em, an' he jist
coulden' shtand it no langer. Smaal blame to him say Oi!"

So grandfather got his supper, and went back to the office to finish his
pipe and his tumbler, while Timotheus was entertaining Tryphosa in the
kitchen. Mrs. Carruthers retired, but, first, she visited the young
ladies' apartment, and said, in a tone which she meant to be reproachful
as well as regretful: "Mr. Coristine has left us never to return." The
kindest-hearted woman in the world, having thrown this drop of
bitterness into her niece's cup, left her to drink it to the dregs.
Meanwhile Orther Lom was dreaming that he could not do better than marry
the Marjorie of his youth and begin housekeeping, in spite of tailors'
bills.

The sun rose bright on Friday morning, and, peeping in upon Mr.
Bigglethorpe in his room and upon Marjorie in the nursery bedroom, awoke
these two early birds. They met on the stairs and came down together.
The fisherman said he thought he would get his things bundled up,
meaning his gun and rods, and walk home to breakfast, but Marjorie said
he just wouldn't, for Eugene was gone, and, if he were to go, she would
have nobody. Well broken in to respect for feminine authority, save when
the fishing fit was on, Mr. Bigglethorpe had to succumb, and travel down
to the creek after crawfish, chub and dace. He told his youthful
companion fishing stories which amused her; and confided to her that he
was going to train up his little boy to be a great fisherman. "Have you
got a little boy, Mr. Biggles?" she asked, and then added: "How funny!"
as if her friend ought to have been content with other people's
children, and fish.

"What is his name, Mr. Biggles?" she enquired.

"He hasn't been christened yet, but I think I'll call him Isaac Walton,
or Charles Cotton, or Piscator. Don't you think these are nice nimes?"

"No, I don't. Woollen and Cotton and what Mr. Perrowne belongs to are
not pretty. Eugene is pretty."

Mr. Bigglethorpe laughed, and said: "I didn't say Woollen but Walton,
and I said Piscator, which is the Latin for fisher, not Episcopalian,
which Mr. Perrowne is."

"Why do you want to call him a fisher? It is like a Sunday School story
Marjorie read me, a Yankee book, about a little baby boy that was left
on a doorstep, and the doorstep man's name was Fish, and he had him
baptized Preserved because he was preserved, and he grew up to be a good
man and was called Preserved Fish. Wasn't that awful?"

"Oh very streinge! If my boy had been a little girl, I would have nimed
her Marjorie."

"See, Mr. Biggles, here she comes again, and Cecile, and, O horrors!
Orther Lom."

It was too true. The young ladies had come out to enjoy the morning air,
and, after a turn in the garden, had rushed to the hill meadow to escape
the Departmental gentleman, whose elegant morocco slippers they had
heard on the stairs. Spite of the morning dew he had pursued them, well
pleased with himself, and doubtful whom to conquer with his charms.

"O Mr. Biggles," continued Marjorie, "that horrid man got me a naughty,
cruel shaking, and he's sent my dear Eugene away never to come back any
more. I know, because I went into aunty's room when I got up; and she
told me."

"It's too bad, Marjorie. Who mide that little song on Mr. Lamb?"

"You'll never tell?"

"No."

"'Pon your honour?"

"'Pon my honour."

"It was papa, you old goosey."

"Not Mr. Coristine?"

"No, of course not."

"My I sy that it wasn't Mr. Coristine?"

"O yes, don't let them think any bad things about Eugene, poor boy."

"Good morning, Miss Carmichael," said Mr. Bigglethorpe, or rather he
bawled it; "will you come here a minute, please?"

Miss Carmichael gladly skipped down, leaving her companion a prey to the
gentleman of the morocco slippers.

"I want to clear our friend, Mr. Coristine, of a suspicion which you may
not have shired," said the fisherman. "He didn't mike that little piece
of poetry on Mr. Lamb that Marjorie and the other children sang
yesterday morning."

"Thank you, Mr. Bigglethorpe; I am very glad to hear it."

"Nasty pig!" said Marjorie to herself; "she drove Eugene away all the
same."

Meanwhile, Mr. Lamb was conversing with Miss Du Plessis.

"You don't seem to mind the doo, Miss Cecile."

"Oh, but I do," she answered.

"Your shoes are parfectly wat, sowking I should think."

"No, they are not wet through; they are thicker than you imagine."

"By the bye, where is his high mightiness, the lawyer, this mawrning?"

"Mr. Coristine has returned to the city."

"Haw, cawlled oway to some pettifogging jawb I suppowse?"

"Such as your Crown Lands case."

"Naw, you down't say, Miss Cecile, thot he's awff ofter thot jawb?"

"I cannot tell what Mr. Coristine may have to do in addition to that. He
did not confide his business to me."

"I wonder whot time the stage goes awff at!"

"It will pass the gate," said Miss Du Plessis, consulting her watch, "in
ten minutes."

"Haw, ofally onnoying you know, but I'll hov to pock up and leave before
breakfost. Please remember me to Morjorie, will you Cecile, if I shont
hov time to see her before I gow."

Mr. Lamb took his morocco slippers back to the house, and soon
reappeared at the gate, Gladstone bag and cane in hand, looking at the
approaching stage. It was filled up with a roughish crowd, all except
one seat in the back, into which he jumped. The driver flicked his
horses, and Bridesdale was relieved of the presence of Orther Lom.

"Marjorie," said Miss Du Plessis, "I have bad news for you."

"What is it, Cecile?"

"Your young man has called me by my Christian name, without even putting
Miss before it."

"Have you killed him and dug his grave with those eyes of yours?"

"No, I simply told him that Mr. Coristine had returned to Toronto,
perhaps on Crown Land business."

"Well?"

"It terrified him so, that he packed his valise forthwith and is gone."

"But how?"

"By the stage. Did you not hear the horn just now?

"No, I was too busy with that delightful Mr. Bigglethorpe. But do you
mean to tell me that Arthur has left without a farewell word to
anybody?"

"He said, 'Please remember me to Marjorie, will you, Cecile?' What do
you think of that?"

"What odious impertinence! I am glad the silly creature has gone, and,
were it not for the safety of your land, I wish he had never come."

"It was not he who saved my land, Marjorie."

"Oh, don't I know? Don't talk to me any more! You are hateful, Cecile!"

"If you can forget fifty acts of disinterested kindness, Marjorie, it
does not follow that I am to do the same." By which it will appear that
Miss Du Plessis had her orders to rub it in pretty hot to her friend,
and was rubbing it in accordingly, even though it did smart. Miss
Carmichael broke away from her, and ran to the house, leaving her once
dear Cecile to follow with Marjorie and Mr. Bigglethorpe.

At breakfast the Squire appeared quite picturesque, with a silk
handkerchief tied over his head to conceal and hold on what Marjorie
called a plaster of vinegar and brown paper, having reference to the
mishaps of Jack and Jill.

"Marjorie," said Mr. Carruthers, "ye ken what Jill got for lauchin' at
Jock's heed and the plaister."

"Yes, Uncle John, but mother isn't here to do it."

"Papa said I was to be your mother now, Marjorie," said Mrs. Carmichael.

"You've got a Marjorie of your own, Auntie, that needs to be punished
worse than me."

The colonel looked round the table anxiously, and then addressed the
hostess: "I fail to pehceive my deah friend, Mr. Cohistine, Mrs.
Cahhuthehs; I sincehely trust he is not unwell afteh his gallant fight?"

"I am sorry to say, Colonel, that Mr. Coristine has left us, and has
gone back to Toronto."

"O deah, that is a great loss; he was the life of our happy pahty,
always so cheehful, so considehate, ready to sacrifice himself and lend
a hand to anything. I expected him back on my hohse."

"Timotheus tells me that Mr. Bangs is going to bring your horse over
this evening."

"I'm gey and gled to hear 't, gudewife. I'd like weel tae hae anither
crack wi' Bangs. But it's an awfu' shame aboot Coristine; had it no'
been for his magneeficent pluck, fleein' on yon scoundrel like a lion,
I'd hae been brocht hame as deed as a red herrin'. Isna that true,
granther?"

"It's thrue, ivery worrud av it. Savin' the company, there's not a
jantleman I iver tuk to the way I tuk to that foine man, and as
simple-harrted and condiscindin' as iv he wor a choild."

"Where is that lazy boy Arthur, I wonder?" asked Mrs. Carmichael;
whereupon Miss Du Plessis told her story, and all joined in a hearty
laugh at Mr. Lamb's fright and sudden retreat.

Mr. Errol, feeling none the worse of the previous day's splore, and
still renewing his youth over the fish he and Mr. Bigglethorpe had
caught, suddenly remembered and confessed: "Dear me, Mrs. Carmichael, I
forgot that I had Mr. Coristine's merschaum, and his tobacco and
penknife. Puir lad, what'll he dae withoot his pipe?"

"You naughty man, Mr. Errol, is it possible that you smoke?"

"Whiles, mem, whiles."

"How many pipes a day, now, Mr. Errol?"

"Oh, it depends. When I'm in smoking company, I can take a good many, eh
Mr. Bigglethorpe?"

"Yesterday was a very special occaision, Mr. Errol. You called it
renewing your youth, you know, and nimed the picnic a splore."

"I felt like a laddie again at the fishing, Mrs. Carmichael, just as
light-hearted and happy as if I were a callant on the hills."

"And what do you generally feel like? Not an old man, I hope?"

"I'll never be a young one again, Mrs. Carmichael."

"Perfect nonsense, Mr. Errol! Don't let me hear you talk like that
again."

"Hearin's obeyin'," meekly replied the minister, showing that he was
making some progress in his mature wooing.

After breakfast, the company sat out on the verandah. The colonel had to
smoke his morning cigar, and courteously offered his cigar case to all
the gentlemen, who declined with thanks. "If it were not that I might
trouble the ladies," said the minister, "I might take a draw out of poor
Coristine's meerschaum." Mrs. Carmichael at once said: "Please do so,
Mr. Errol; the doctor smoked, so that I am quite used to it. I like to
see a good man enjoying his pipe."

"You are quite sure, Mrs. Carmichael, that it will not be offensive? I
would cut off my right hand rather than be a smoking nuisance to any
lady."

"Quite sure, Mr. Errol; go on and fill your pipe, unless you want me to
fill it for you. I know how to do it."

So, Mr. Errol continued the splore, and smoked the Turk's head. Mr.
Terry lit his dudheen, and Mr. Bigglethorpe, his briar. The Squire's
head was too sore for smoking, but he said he liked the smell o' the
reek. While thus engaged, a buggy drove up, and Miss Halbert and Mr.
Perrowne alighted from it, while Maguffin, always watchful, took the
horse round to the stable yard. The doctor had heard of Rawdon's
capture, and had sent these two innocents to see that all was right at
Bridesdale. Miss Halbert sat down by Miss Du Plessis, and the parson
accepting one of the colonel's cigars, joined the smokers. He also
regretted the absence of Coristine, a splendid fellow, he said, a
perfect trump, the girl will be lucky who gets a man like that,
expressions that were not calculated to make Miss Carmichael happy. Mr.
Perrowne had proposed and had been accepted. He was in wild spirits,
when Mr. Bigglethorpe startled the company by saying, "I've got an
idear!"

"Howld on to it, Bigglethorpe, howld on; you may never get another,"
cried the parson.

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Carruthers, who was shooing the children away
to Tryphosa.

"It's a united picnic to the likes. Who's got to sty at home?"

"I have for one," answered the Squire; "yon deevil o' a Rawdon has gien
me a scunner at picnics."

"I cannot go," said his wife, "for I have him and the children to keep
me."

"Paul, you must go, and Cecile also," interposed Mrs. Du Plessis; "I
will attend to the wants of our patient."

"Then," spoke up the fisherman, "we shall have Mrs. Carmichael and Mr.
Errol, Miss Halbert and Mr. Perrowne, the colonel and Miss Carruthers,
Mr. Terry and Miss Du Plessis, and, please Mrs. Carmichael, Marjorie and
me. Can ten get into one waggon?"

"O aye," replied the Squire, "the waggon'll haud nine, and Marjorie can
sit on Mr. Bigglethorpe's knees. Hi, Timotheus, get oot the biggest
waggon wi' three seats, quick, man!"

Once more, the mighty ham was carved into sandwiches, and others were
made of sardines and marmalade. Chickens were hastily roasted, and pies
and cakes, meant for dinner and tea, stowed away in baskets, with
bottles of ale and cider and milk, and materials for tea-making, and a
huge chunk of ice out of the ice-house, and a black bottle that Mr.
Terry eyed affectionately. "This is for you old men, grandpapa," said
Mrs. Carmichael to the veteran; "now, remember, none for these boys,
Errol and Perrowne." Mr. Terry replied: "To be sure, ma'am," but thought
in his heart, would it be him that would deprive the boys of a bit of
innocent recreation at such a time. Such a looking out there was of hats
and wraps, of guns and fishing tackle. The colonel was to drive in
person. Mr. Terry was to be chief of the commissariat under Mrs.
Carmichael. Mr. Bigglethorpe was to direct fishing operations, and
bring, with the assistance of Mr. Terry, the scow and Rawdon's boat to
the Encampment lake. Marjorie was wild with delight, and insisted on
going with the grandfather and dear Mr Biggles. It was ten o'clock when
all the preparations were concluded, and Timotheus brought round the
capacious waggon. All the household assembled to see the picnic party
off, and the young Carruthers lifted up their voices and wept. The whole
ten got in, but there was no free rollicking Irish voice to sing:--

     Wait for the waggon.
     And we'll all take a ride.




CHAPTER XVIII.

     At the Encampment--Botany--Fishing--Matilda--The New
     Lake--Tillycot--Luncheon--After Recreation--New Visitors to
     Tillycot--Edifying Talk--Songs on the Way Home--Mr. Bigglethorpe's
     Departure--Uncle and Niece--Mr. Bangs and Rufus--Ladies Catch a
     Burglar--The Constable Secures Him--Muggins' Death--Burglars
     Repulsed--Rebecca Toner--The Clergy Hilarious--A Young Lady Finds a
     Poem.


Mr. Bigglethorpe, Mr. Terry and Marjorie, with part of the picnic
material, got off the waggon at the Richards' place, and proceeded to
the lake. They found the punt there, but saw no sign of the skiff.
Marjorie inherited her father's love of the water, and greatly enjoyed
even the slow progress made by the paddles of her boatmen in the
unwieldy craft. Meanwhile, the waggon arrived as near the encampment as
it was possible to get; the company descended to the blackened ground;
and Mr. Perrowne found a path for the ladies up to the ruins. The
horses, sedate, well-behaved animals, were unhitched, and allowed to
pick about where they pleased, after which the three gentlemen carried
the wraps and picnic baskets and pails to where the ladies stood,
inspecting the ravages of the fire. Muggins had come with Mr. Perrowne,
and sniffed about, rediscovering the treasure hole which had so nearly
proved fatal to the Squire. It was agreed to go down to the water's
edge, and encamp upon some green spot, near good fishing, over which the
bush fire had not run. Such a place was found to the right of the
caved-in tunnel, a broad patch of fine-leaved native grass, shaded by
oaks and maples of second growth. There the provisions were deposited,
and, the rugs being spread over the grass, the ladies sat down to await
the arrival of the boat party. A good three-quarters of an hour passed
before they heard the splash of the paddles, and Muggins ran barking to
meet the intruders upon the sabbath stillness of the scene. While
waiting, Mrs. Carmichael and Mr. Errol took a stroll in the dark woods
adjoining, and brought back some floral specimens in the shape of
Prince's Pines, Pyrolas, and Indian Pipes, which were deposited in the
lap of the finder's daughter, with a suggestiveness that young lady felt
disposed to resent. However, Marjorie's voice was heard just then, and
thoughts and conversation were turned into other channels. "Where is the
skiff?" asked the fisherman, but nobody could enlighten him; they simply
answered that it was not there. The colonel remarked that its absence
looked suspicious, and bade them be on their guard. He, accordingly,
inspected the arms of the expedition, and finding them to consist of two
fowling pieces, those of Messrs. Perrowne and Bigglethorpe, and two
pistols borne by Mr. Terry and himself, was comforted. As the fisherman
had inaugurated the picnic, it was obviously his duty to act as master
of ceremonies. He proposed making two fishing parties, one off the scow,
and another off a pier, which he and the gentlemen were about to build
out from the shore below the picnic ground.

A large pine had been felled many years before, probably by lumbermen,
and two lengths of it, each about eight feet, had been rejected as
unsound. These the gentlemen, colonel included, got behind, and rolled
down into the water. Mr. Perrowne and the fisherman doffed their shoes
and socks, rolled up their trouser legs, and waded in to get the logs in
position as sleepers. Three spars of driftwood, bleached white, were
found along the bank, and were laid over the logs at right angles, and
kept in their places, as were the logs, by stakes hammered into the lake
bottom. Mr. Errol and Mr. Terry produced some planks, saved from the
fire that devoured the stables, and laid them over the erection, making
a substantial pier, that would have been the better of a few spikes to
steady the boards. Mr. Bigglethorpe provided rods and lines, and baited
the hooks for the ladies, with grasshoppers, frogs, crawfish and
minnows. The last were provided by Marjorie. At the fisherman's
suggestion, she had got from Tryphena a useless wire dish-cover that had
lost its handle, a parcel of oatmeal, and a two-quart tin pail. Mr.
Bigglethorpe had fastened a handle cut out of the bush to the dish
cover, thus converting it into a scoop-net. Barefooted, Marjorie stood
in the shallow water, scattering a little oatmeal, when up came a shoal
of minnows eager for the food thus provided. At one fell swoop, the
young fisherwoman netted a dozen of the shiny little creatures, and
transferred them all alive to the tin pail. Mr. Errol had a great mind
to join her in this exciting sport, but was not sure what Mrs.
Carmichael would think of it. The possibility that he might have become
Mr. Coristine's father-in-law also tended to sober the renewer of his
youth. As Marjorie had practically deserted her friend for the minnows,
Mr. Bigglethorpe invited her cousin to accompany him, with Miss Halbert
and Mr. Perrowne, in the scow, which paddled off to try how the fishing
was at the narrows. The colonel did not care to fish; it was too dirty
work for him. Neither did the remaining ladies show any appetite for it;
but Mr. Errol and the veteran manned the lately constructed pier, and
beguiled some bass that came seeking shelter from the sun beneath it.
While the gentlemen were thus engaged, the colonel lying on his back
near Marjorie's fishing ground, indulging in a second cigar, the two
ladies strolled away, followed by Muggins, to look for more flowers.
After they had gone about a hundred yards to the right, the dog ran on
before them, barking furiously. Mrs. Carmichael clutched her companion's
arm and stood still. "It may be a wild beast, Cecile, or some of those
terrible men. Let us go back at once." But Miss Du Plessis calmly
answered, "It may be only a bird or a squirrel; dogs often make a great
fuss over very little." So they stood and waited.

Muggins' barking ceased. The reason was apparent in the sound of a
gentle voice they both knew, saying, "Poor Muggins, good doggie, has he
come back again to his old friends?" It was the voice of Matilda Nagle,
and she seemed to be alone. Taking heart, the two ladies went in its
direction, and, guided by Muggins, who came back to lead them, they
descended to a little bay with a sandy beach, where, in the skiff, sat
the woman they sought. She was neatly dressed, and wore a large straw
hat. When they greeted her, she showed no astonishment, but invited them
to enter the skiff and see the pretty place she had back there. Miss Du
Plessis hardly cared to accept the invitation, but the curiosity of the
older lady was aroused and she pressed her companion to comply. Bringing
the bow of the skiff into the shore, Matilda told them to enter the boat
and walk back to the stern. When they had taken their seats, the stern
was depressed, and the bow floated clear of the sand. Then, with every
motion of an accomplished oarswoman, she rowed the skiff along the
shore, altogether out of sight of the other picnickers in scow and on
pier. After a few strokes, she told her companions to lower their heads,
and, ducking her own, shot the boat through what had seemed a solid bank
of foliage, but which was a naturally concealed channel, out into one of
the loveliest little lakes eye ever rested upon. No fire had touched its
shores, which were wooded down to the sandy margin, the bright green
foliage of the hardwood in the foreground contrasting with the more
sombre hues of the pines and hemlocks beyond. In little bays there were
patches of white and yellow water lilies, alternating their orbed
blossoms with the showy blue spikes of the Pickerel weed, and, beyond
them, on the bank itself, grew many a crimson banner of the Cardinal
flower. Another little bay was passed with its last rocky point, and
then a clearing stood revealed, void of stump or stone or mark of fire,
covered with grass and clover, save where, in the midst of a little
neglected garden, stood the model of a Swiss chalet. "Do not be afraid!"
said the woman, catching sight of Mrs. Carmichael's apprehensive look;
"there is nobody in it or anywhere near. We are all alone; even Monty
would not leave his work to come with me." Thus reassured, the party
landed, gathered a few late roses and early sweet peas, and then
proceeded to inspect the chalet. The whole building and everything in it
was in admirable taste, even to the library smoking-room, which was only
disfigured by ugly spittoons and half-burned cigars. Many books were
there, chiefly on chemistry, geology and mineralogy, and there was a
large cabinet full of geological specimens, betokening much research and
abundant labour in their preparation and classification.

The whole thing was so unexpected, so surprising, that the picnic ladies
had to rub their eyes to be sure that it was not a dream; but their
astonishment was increased when the woman turned to the younger one and
said, "I know you are Miss Du Plessis, for I heard you called so at
Bridesdale." Miss Du Plessis answered that she was right. Then Matilda
said, "This is all your land, and of course, the land carries the
buildings with it. I have forgotten a great many things, but I remember
that, you see. So Tillycot is yours too; besides I do not want to stay
here any more. Good-bye, I am going home to Monty." At first, the two
ladies were afraid she was going to take the skiff away and leave them
in the house, but she did not. In spite of their entreaties, she walked
quickly up the grassy slope at the back, and disappeared in the forest
beyond. "Is it not wonderful?" asked Miss Du Plessis. "Come, Cecile,
hasten back, or those poor people will be starving," answered the more
practical Mrs. Carmichael.

On their return to the skiff, the presiding matron, while Miss Du
Plessis rowed, unfolded a long piece of yellow leno she had picked up in
one of the rooms. The channel was quite visible from, what may now be
called, the Tillycot end, but when the passengers ducked their heads and
emerged, they saw there would be difficulty in finding it from the other
side. Accordingly, Mrs. Carmichael bade her companion keep the boat
steady, while she stood up, and fastened the strip of gauze to two
saplings, one on either side of the opening, making a landmark visible
immediately the point was passed that intercepted the picnic party from
their view. Rowing round this point, the two travellers appeared, to the
astonishment of the fishers on punt and pier. The colonel was stretched
out on the grass asleep, and Marjorie, having deserted her minnows, was
tickling him about the ears with a long blade, greatly enjoying his
occasional slaps at the parts affected, and his muttered anathemas on
the flies.

"Oi'm thinkin', Mishtress Carrmoikle, it's gettin' toime fer the aitin'
an' drhinkin', wid your lave, mum; but fwhere did yez foind the
skifft?" Brief explanations followed to the veteran and Mr. Errol, who
were at once put under orders, the one to light a fire and produce the
tea-kettle, the other to fill two pails with clean water, and put a
piece of ice in one of them. Soon the colonel and Marjorie came to help,
the cloth was laid, the sandwiches, chickens, pies and cakes, placed
upon it, and everything got in readiness for the home-coming of the
punt. "O Aunty," said Marjorie, "this would be so lovely, if only poor
Eugene were here too."

"So it would, dear," answered the sympathetic aunt and mother, "but we
must try to make the best of it without him."

The kettle boiled under Mr. Terry's superintendence, the tea was infused
in the little Japanese tea-pot, and the colonel, taking from his
waistcoat pocket a silver whistle that had done duty for a cavalry
trumpet in former days, blew a signal for the information of the
punters. In a minute they arrived, bearing two grand strings of fish,
only the strings that went through the gills of the bass were hazel
twigs. Then there was washing of hands without soap, Mr. Bigglethorpe
showing his companions how to improvise a substitute for Pears' by
pulling up the pretty little water-lobelia and using the unctuous clay
about its spreading roots for the purpose. All sat about the
table-cloth, Mr. Perrowne said, "For what we are about to receive," and
the _al fresco_ repast began. Mrs. Carmichael dispensed the tea, and was
displeased with Mr. Errol for declining a cup just then, because he was
busy with a corkscrew and an ale bottle. Mr. Perrowne joined him with
another; but the fisherman said ale made him bilious and his name was
not William. So Mr. Terry produced his special charge, and treated the
colonel first, then Mr. Bigglethorpe, and finally his honoured self. The
boys, as the matron had termed the two clergymen, seemed to be happy
with their beer, somewhat to his sorrow. "It takes moighty little,
cornel, to shatishfy some payple, but there's aall the more av it for
the risht av us."

Miss Halbert said that Basil had eaten ten sandwiches, two plates of
chicken, and an extra drumstick in his hand, a whole pie, and she
couldn't count the cake. There were also some empty beer bottles at his
feet. He said he was perfectly ashamed of Fanny's appetite, and would
have to petition the Bishop for an allowance from the mission fund, if
she was going through life at the same rate.

"If we only had ouah deah boy with us, Cecile, what a pleasuhe it would
be," remarked the colonel in a personal way, that caused even the
stately Miss Du Plessis to blush.

"Eugene would be better than the whole lot," added Marjorie, with an
injured air, and added: "If some people I know hadn't been pigs, he
would have been here, too." Mrs. Carmichael called her niece to order,
and told the gentlemen they might go away to their pipes and cigars,
while she and the young ladies put away the things. The black bottle
trio adjourned to a shady nook by the shore, and carried three tumblers
and a pail of iced water with them. The bottle revealed its neck from
Mr. Terry's side pocket. The colonel handed his cigar case again to Mr.
Perrowne, who selected a weed, but could not be prevailed upon to fetch
a tumbler. Mr. Errol also declined the latter, having the fear of Mrs.
Carmichael before his eyes, but, withdrawing a short distance in his
brother clergyman's company, he filled the Turk's head, and said he felt
twenty years younger. All sorts of banter and pleasant talk went on
between the smoking gentlemen and the working ladies. Mr. Errol
distinguished himself above his brethren by bringing up water from the
lake and by carrying pailfuls of dishes down to it, for which he
received great commendation. Mr. Perrowne had his ears boxed twice by
Miss Halbert, it was said, for cheek. Mr. Terry was called upon to
deliver up his sacred charge, but demurred. When the ladies made a raid
upon his party to recover it, he fled, but Marjorie caught him by the
coat-tails, and the spoil was wrested from him, although not before he
had poured himself out a final three fingers in his tumbler. Filling it
up with ice-water, he drank to the success of the picnic, and especially
to absent friends. Mr. Bigglethorpe had been so long fishing in the sun
that he thought a rest would do him good. Accordingly, he lay down on
his back with his hat drawn over his eyes, and composed himself to
sleep. Finally, the clergymen went over to where Mrs. Carmichael was
sitting with Miss Halbert and Marjorie, while Miss Du Plessis, having
had a chat with Miss Carmichael, invited her uncle and the veteran to
go for a row in the skiff. At first, these gentlemen were disposed to
decline, but, when they learned that there was something to be seen,
they changed their minds, and accompanied her and Miss Carmichael to the
shore.

The colonel was entranced with the little lake, the clearing, and the
chalet, as were Miss Carmichael and Mr. Terry. It was decided that a
guard, in the form of a caretaker, should be put over the place as soon
as possible, and it was suggested that Timotheus and Tryphena would make
an ideal pair of guardians. While much of the land round about might be
cleared to advantage, it was agreed that the wood around Tillycot lake
should be left intact, save the breadth of a road to the main highway.
Then they fell to discussing Rawdon, a man plainly of extensive reading,
of scientific attainments, of taste in architecture and
house-furnishing, and yet an utterly unprincipled and unscrupulous
villain. "One would think," said Miss Carmichael, "that the natural
beauties of a place like this would be a check upon evil passions and
the baser part of one's nature." But the colonel answered, "In the
wahah, Miss Cahmichael, I have seen soldiehs, even owah own soldiehs,
wilfully and maliciously destyoying the most chahming spots of scenehy,
without the least pohfit to themselves or matehial injuhy to the enemy.
The love of destyuction is natuhal to ouah fallen human natuhe." Mr.
Terry corroborated this statement, and added, "Faix, it sames to me
there's jist two sarts an koinds av payple in the wurruld, thim as
builds up an' thim as batthers down. For moy paart, I'd lafer build a
log shanty an' clane a bit land nor pull a palish to paces." Miss Du
Plessis assented, but drew attention to the fact that Rawdon had
cleared, built up, and beautified the place, and improved his mind on
the one hand, while he was warring against society and law, robbing and
even murdering, on the other. "Mr. Errol said once," rejoined Miss
Carmichael, "that there are two opposite natures, an old man and a new,
in all human beings, as well as in those who are converted, and that no
contradiction of the kind is too absurd for human nature." "Mistah Ehhol
is quite right, my deah Miss Mahjohie, as all expehience attests. Bret
Hahte has shewn it from a Califohnian standpoint. I have seen it in
times of wanah and of peace, bad men, the bent of whose lives was
destyuction, risking evehything to save some little memohial of a dead
motheh or of a sweetheaht, and good men, the regular couhse of whose
cahheah was to do good, guilty of an occasional outbuhst of vandalism."

"Thrue fer yez, cornel, ivery bit. There was a little whipper-snapper av
a Shunday Shcool shuperintindent out in a lake, about a hundrid moiles
frum the city, wid some dacent lads; and, afore they knowed where they
was, the cratur had sit a foine grane oisland a foire for the fun, he
sid, av sayin' the blaze. Oi'd loike to have had the shuperintindin' av
him fer foive minutes."

The explorers were making their way back to the skiff when the colonel,
who had gone back for his handkerchief which he had dropped, said:
"There is a pehson coming down towahds the house, a woman appahently."
Miss Du Plessis looked up the hill, and saw who it was. "It is Matilda
Nagle," she said; "see, she is going back again." At once Miss
Carmichael ran up the hill after the retreating figure, and, as she was
a good runner, and the poor wanderer was tired, she soon overtook her.
Taking both her hands in her own, and kissing the woman, she said: "Come
with us, Matilda, and we will drive you home." The half-witted creature
responded to the caress, and allowed herself to be led to the boat. "I
lost my way," she said. "It is a new road I had never been on before,
and I got turned round and came back here three times, and I am very
tired." The colonel and Mr. Terry made her enter the boat before them,
and then Miss Du Plessis and the veteran rowed the party back to the
picnic ground, Miss Carmichael, at her friend's suggestion, removing the
landmark put up by her mother as they passed out of the channel. At once
Matilda was taken to the shady retreat where Mrs. Carmichael and Miss
Halbert were, and all the ladies waited upon her with what was left of
the eatables and drinkables, in spite of Mr. Perrowne's appetite. Then,
Mr. Terry and Mr. Bigglethorpe went after the horses, and harnessed them
to the waggon. The fisherman came back to summon the party and help to
carry the baskets. Mr. Errol and Mr. Perrowne agreed to row the punt
back to the Richards, and walk the rest of the way, as the addition of
Matilda to the company would make riding uncomfortable if they did
otherwise. The picnickers were safely seated, the baskets and the
strings of fish stowed away, and the Colonel again took the reins for
his party of nine. The two clergymen returned to the scow and paddled
home, singing songs, one of which Mr. Perrowne gave in genuine cockney
style to a Primitive Methodist hymn tune

     "Oh we was rich and 'appy once,
     And we paid all we was due,
     But we've sold our bed to buhy some bread,
     And we hain't, got nowt to do;
         We're all the way from Manchesteher.
         And we hain't got nowt to do.

     "Oh him as hoppresses the pooer man
     Is a livin on humin' lives,
     An I will be sarved in tohother land
     Like Lazarius and Dives,
         And will be sarved in tohother land
         Like Lazarius and Dives."

Mr. Errol applauded the song, but thought it was hardly right to put a
hymn tune to it. He said he "minded an auld Scotch song aboot the
barrin' o' the door." So he sang:--

     "It fell aboot the Martimas time,
     And a gay time it was then O,
     When our gude wife got puddins to mak',
     And she biled them in the pan O.
         The barrin' o' oor door weel, weel, weel.
         And the barrin' o' oor door, weel."

Thus, lightening the journey, they arrived at the last lake, said
how-d'ye-do to the Richards, and tramped home. "How are you feeling now,
Mr. Errol?" asked his comrade. "Man, it's just as I tellt ye, I'm
renewin' my youth."

It was just about six when the pedestrians arrived at Bridesdale. Mr.
Newberry had been there, anxious about his charge, and had joyfully
hailed her appearance in the waggon. Mr. Bigglethorpe insisted on going
home; so, after a whispered consultation with Miss Halbert, Mr. Perrowne
offered him the doctor's carriage, if he would call in and tell Dr.
Halbert that his daughter and all the Bridesdale people were safe, which
he agreed to do. The colonel and Miss Du Plessis were up with the dear
boy, whose name and virtues Miss Carmichael could hardly hear mentioned
with civility. Marjorie fairly wept over the leave-taking of Mr.
Biggles, but commanded herself sufficiently to beg that he would not
christen that baby Woollens, Cottons or Piscopalian. He said
emphatically that he would not, and then departed, taking home a string
of bass to propitiate Mrs. Bigglethorpe. The tea party, spite of Miss Du
Plessis' marvellous story of Tillycot, was very slow. The newly engaged
couple were full of each other. Mrs. Du Plessis, her daughter and the
colonel had Wilkinson on the brain, Mrs. Carmichael and the minister
were self-sufficient, and Mr. Terry was discoorsin' to his daughter,
Honoria. The only free person for Miss Carmichael was the Squire, and
happily she sat at his left.

"Marjorie, lassie," said Uncle John, "you're no lookin' weel."

"That's not very complimentary, uncle; but I am quite well."

"Yon block o' a Lamb has been wearin' ye, I'm thinkin'."

"Not at all, uncle; his gifts and graces are not adequate to that."

"Did Coristine tell ye o' that adverteesment in the Barrie paper?"

"Yes."

"Did he say he had dune onything aboot it?"

"Yes, he said he had written to the Edinburgh lawyer and to other people
about it."

"That was unco gude o' the lad, Marjorie."

"Yes, it was very kind."

"What garred the laddie gang awa before the time, lassie?"

"How should I know, uncle?"

"Wha sud ken were it no you, Marjorie, my pet?"

"I am not in Mr. Coristine's confidence."

"I'se warrant ye, Marjorie, he's just bitin's nails to the quick at yon
Mrs. Swamp's that's he no here the nicht."

"Oh nonsense, uncle, why should he be so foolish? If he wanted to stay,
there was no one to hinder him."

"Weel, weel, lassie, we'll hear frae him sometime aboot yon neist o' kin
business. Aiblins, ye'll be a braw leddy wi' a gran' fortune yet, and
turn up your bonnie bit nose at puir lawyer chappies."

"I don't want to turn up my nose at Mr. Coristine, uncle. I think it
was very splendid of him to fight for you as he did; but I knew nothing
about that when he said good-bye, and I wouldn't shake hands with him."

The Squire put up his hand and stroked his niece's hair. "Puir lassie!"
he said, "it's a gran' peety, but ye're no feelin' half as bad as he is
the noo, gin I ken the lad, and I think I dae."

It was ten when Mr. Bangs brought home the colonel's horse, and Rufus
rattled the missing waggon and team into the stable yard. The latter
joyfully saluted his sisters, shook hands with Timotheus, and
courteously responded to the greeting of Maguffin. Mr. Bangs, declining
any solid refreshment, entered the office, where, besides the Squire,
Mr. Errol and the veteran were established. The picnic ladies were tired
and had gone to rest, and the colonel was relating the events of the day
to the wakeful dominie. Mr. Bangs gave his company an account of the
safe lodgment of Rawdon and Davis, and mentioned incidentally that he
had seen Mr. Coristine alight from the train at Toronto and go up town.
He also cautioned the Squire against divulging the secret of the exhumed
box of money, if he wished to save it for Matilda Nagle.

"Squire," he said, "I don't went to elerm you, bet I'm efreid there's
gowing to be more trebble to-night; I saw thet tevern-keeper from
Peskiwenchow, Devis' brether, et the stetion this merning, with sem of
the fellows we fought et the Enkempment. They're not in Kellingwood now,
end yeng Hill tells me he saw strenge men kemming this way in the
efternoon. I towld yeng Hill to bring his gen, and I brought my mounted
petrol kerbine."

"This is terribly vexatious, Mr. Bangs, just as we thought all our
troubles were over."

"It is, bet I think it will be their lest ettempt, a final effort to get
meney and revenge. We must wound es many ef them es we ken, end ellow
the survivors to kerry off the dead end wounded. Thet will be the end of
it. I met Toner, end he tells me old Newcome is ep and eway. Toner kent
come, for Newcome hes threatened to bern down his house."

A gentle rap at the door interrupted the conversation. The Squire went
to open it, and saw his niece in night attire, with a pale, scared
face, hardly able to speak. "What is the matter, Marjorie?"

"There's a man in Mr. Coristine's room, either in the cupboard-wardrobe
or under the bed," she answered, and slipped quietly upstairs to her own
apartment.

Quickly the information was imparted, and the detective at once took
command.

"Mr. Terry, I know you are a good shot. Tek my kerbine which is loaded,
and wetch the windows of Mr. Coristine's room outside. Give Mr. Errol a
pistol, Squire, and kem on. Ah, Mr. Perrowne, we went you, sir; bring
that lemp end follow us."

All obeyed, and slipped up stairs with as little noise as possible. Mr.
Bangs opened the door and listened. Intuitively, he knew that Miss
Carmichael was right; somebody was in that room. Whispering to Mr. Errol
to guard the door, and to the Squire to stand by the wardrobe, he took
the lamp from Mr. Perrowne and flashed it under and over the bed. There
was nobody there. In a moment, however, the wardrobe door burst open,
the Squire was overturned, the light kicked over and extinguished, and
Mr. Errol pushed aside, when three feminine voices called: "Help,
quick!" and, tumbling over one another into the hall, the clever lookers
for burglars found their man in the grasp of three picturesque figures
in dressing gowns. They were at once relieved of their capture, and many
anxious enquiries were made as to whether they had received any injuries
from the felonious intruder. It appeared that they had not received any
of importance, and that Miss Carmichael was the first to arrest the
flight of the robber.

The household was aroused. The colonel came down with his pistols.
Timotheus, Rufus and Maguffin awaited orders, so he ordered them to arm,
and posted them as sentries, relieving Mr. Terry from his watch on the
windows. Then the examination of the prisoner began. He was the youth
who had driven the buckboard over for the doctor on the eventful Monday
morning. His name was Rawdon, but he was not the son of Altamont Rawdon.
His father's name was Reginald, who was Altamont's brother.

"Where is your fether?" asked Mr. Bangs.

"I dunno," he answered, sulkily.

"Then I ken tell you. He is dead, berned to death by yore precious encle
Eltemont."

"O my God!" exclaimed the youth; "is that so?"

"Esk any of these gentlemen, end they will tell you that yore fether end
old Flower were berned to death, end thet a keroner's jury set on their
remains, which are buried."

"You say as 'ow my huncle Haltamont did that?"

"Yes, I do, end, whet's more, you know it."

Having terrorized his victim, and antagonized him to Rawdon, the
detective drew from him the information that five men, three of Rawdon's
old employees, the tavern-keeper Matt, and Newcome, were coming at
midnight to burglarize the house and get possession of the dug-up
treasure. He confessed that he had slipped into the house while the
party was away picnicking, and, knowing that Coristine had left without
his knapsack, had looked round till he found a room with knapsacks in
it. There he intended to remain till his confederates should require his
services to open the house to them.

"Who towld you thet awful lie ebout Rawdon's meney being in this house?"

"Matt knew. Uncle Monty guv it 'im by signs, I guess. Oh, he's O.K., he
is."

"Well, sir, yore a prisoner here, end if things don't turn out es you
sey, I'll blow yore brains out."

"For goodness sake don't be aisty, mister. I've told you the 'ole truth,
I swear."

Mr. Bangs next found out that the robbers were coming in a waggon, which
would halt some distance to the left of the house, and that their plan
was to set one man at the end of the hall to hinder communication with
the servants' quarters, and two on the upper landing to command the
front and back stairs, while the remaining burglars ransacked the office
and any other rooms in which plunder might be found. The youth's
appointed mission was to fire the house, when the search was completed.
Hardly had this information been received when Maguffin's challenge was
heard, and a well-known voice in military accents replied "A friend."
The colonel went out, and brought in Corporal Rigby, panting for want of
breath.

"You've been running, Rigby," said the astonished Squire.

"Duty required it, sir," replied the constable, saluting; "I have come
at the double, with trailed arms, all the way from Squire Halbert's.
This is his rifle I am carrying. The enemy is on the move, sir, in
waggon transport." "You are jest in time, kenstable," remarked Mr.
Bangs. "Miss Kermichael and the ether ledies hev jest keptured an
impertent prisoner. Hev you yore hendkeffs?"

"I have, sir, and everything else the law requires." Mr. Terry handed a
glass to the breathless constable, who bowed his respects to the company
generally, smacked his lips as a public token of satisfaction, and
proceeded to handcuff and search his prisoner. Several blasting
cartridges with long fuses, and other incendiary material, were the
results of the last operation.

"If I had my way with him, sergeant-major," the constable remarked,
while taking his man under the veteran's command, to the stable, "I
would borrow an old chair from the back kitchen, not the front,
sergeant-major, tie him to it, and set off all these cattridges under
him. He would not go to heaven, sergeant-major, but they would help him
a bit in that direction. The man that would cattridge a house with
ladies in it should be made a targate out of, sergeant-major."

"Poor, deluded crathur!" replied Mr. Terry, "it's but a shlip av a bhoy,
it is, wid a burnt up father, that's been shet on to mischief by thim as
knows betther. Kape him toight, Corporal Rigby, but be tindher wid the
benoighted gossoon." Mr. Bangs ordered all lights out, save one in the
thoroughly darkened office, and another in the closet back in the hall,
which had no window. He called in the three sentries, ordered the
constable to maintain silence in the stable, and slipped out to
reconnoitre. The colonel, the Squire and Maguffin prepared their pistols
for the first volley on the housebreakers. The clergymen, with Timotheus
and Rufus, got their guns in order for the second. It was almost on the
stroke of midnight when the detective slipped in and closed the door
after him. "They are here," he whispered; "wait for me to ect! Now, not
another word." Silent, as if themselves conspirators, the eight men
crouched in the darkened hall, listening to steps on the soft grass of
the lawn. There was the low growl of a dog, a short bark, and then a
muttered oath, a thud, and a groan that was not human. Poor Basil
Perrowne ground his teeth, for he had heard the last gasp of the
faithful Muggins. A hand was on the outside knob of the door. Mr. Bangs
turned the key and drew back the catch of the lock, when two men thrust
themselves in. "Ware's the lights, you blarsted fool?" one of the
ruffians asked. The detective drew back, and the others with him, till
all five had entered. Then Mr. Perrowne threw open the office door, and
Timotheus that of the linen closet. In the sudden light cast on the
scene the pistol men fired and the burglars tumbled back, two hanging on
to three. "Don't shoot," cried Mr. Bangs to the gunners, "but kem on,
fellow them up." After the fugitives they went, not too quickly,
although the bereaved parson was longing for a shot at the murderer of
Muggins. The burglars were on the road, and the waggon, driven by a
woman, was coming to meet them. "Now then," said the detective, as a
couple of revolver shots whizzed past him, "give the scoundrels thet
velley, before there's any denger of hitting the woman." The four guns
were emptied with terrible effect, for the woman had to descend in order
to get her load of villainy on. The detective gave but one minute for
that purpose, and then ordered a pursuit; but the waggon had turned,
and, spite of screams and oaths that made hideous the night air, the
woman drove furiously, all unconscious, apparently, that her course
betrayed itself by a trail of human blood. "Nen ere killed outright,"
remarked Mr. Bangs, "bet I downt believe a single mether's sen of them
escaped without a good big merk of recognition."

"Do you think we have seen the last of them, Bangs?" asked the Squire.

"Certainly! This wes a lest desperate effort of a broken-up geng."

"I wonder who that woman can have been," said Mr. Errol. "I know most of
the people about here by sight."

"She's a very clever yeng woman," Mr. Bangs answered, evasively.

"It'll no be Newcome's daughter?" half asked the Squire.

The detective drew Mr. Carruthers aside, and said: "It wes to hev been
Serlizer, bet she wouldn't gow, even if Ben hed ellowed her; bet a nice
gel from wey beck, a cousin of Ben's, whom he had never seen before, end
who hed just called on Mrs. Towner in the efternoon, offered to take her
place. Her neme is Rebecca Towner, a very nice young person."

"Losh me, Bangs, you're an awfu' man! What deevilment is this ye've been
at?"

"I didn't went you to shoot Rebecca Towner, because, next to pore Nesh,
she is our best female personater, end her name, when she takes off
these clowthes, is Cherley Verley."

"So, you brocht thae villains here by deputy?"

"Yes; they hed to kem, you know, bet I didn't know anything ebout thet
boy end their plans, except in a general way. Rebecca woun't leave the
pore fellows till they're pretty sick."

Bridesdale was lit up again, for nobody cared to go to bed. The ladies
came down to see that the belligerents were safe, and Miss Carmichael
and her brave companions received the meed of praise and thanks their
splendid services deserved. Sorry for the injuries of the would-be
robbers, and perhaps murderers, the Squire was nevertheless relieved in
mind by the success of the night's work. In his satisfaction he entered
the kitchen, and ordered late supper for his allies in that quarter.
Then he summoned Constable Rigby from the stable, bidding him bring his
prisoner with him, and give him something to eat. The constable declined
to sit in a prisoner's presence in an unofficial capacity, but had no
objection to feeding him. When, therefore, the young intruder had eaten
his supper, his gaoler standing by, he was reconducted to the separate
stable, handcuffed, chained, and locked in, the key being deposited in
the constable's pocket. Then, and only then, did Mr. Rigby unbend, and,
after supper, indulge with his five companions, male and female, in the
improving geographical game of cards. The dining room bell occasionally
called Tryphosa away, when, as a matter of course, Timotheus played for
her. The colonel, with a cigar in his lips, and a substitute for fine
old Bourbon in his hand, went up-stairs to enlighten his dear boy as to
the doings of the night, and, especially as to dear Cecile's magnificent
courage. The dominie was terribly concerned about that lady's
single-handed contest with the desperate robber, and would not be
satisfied until she came in person to let him know she was not hurt in
the least, that Marjorie deserved all the credit of the capture, and
that the unhappy youth had seemed so taken aback by the character of his
hall assailants as to be almost incapable of resistance. The colonel
smoked, and sipped, and smiled incredulously, as much as to say, You may
believe this young person if you like, my dear boy, but there is
somebody who knows better, and can make allowance for a young lady's
charming self-depreciation. Mrs. Carruthers, grateful for the safety of
her husband and her father, and Mrs. Carmichael, for that of her brother
and Mr. Errol, were prepared to be hospitable to a degree. The minister
had another opportunity of praising the toddy which the latter lady
brewed, and Mr. Perrowne said: "It isn't half bad, you know, but I
down't know what Miss Crimmage's Band of Howpe would think of it, if she
knew the two temperance champions were imbibing at three o'clock in the
morning." The minister remarked that he didn't care for all the
Crimmages in the world, nor the Crummages either, whatever he meant by
that, for there was no such name in the neighbourhood. "Basil," said
Miss Halbert, "you had better take care. I shall not allow you any
toddy, remember, but shall subscribe for the Montreal _Weekly Witness_".
Mr. Perrowne put a little out of the decanter into his tumbler, with a
practised air very unlike that of a Band of Hope patron, saying:
"Drowned the miller, Fanny! Must take time by the forelock, if you are
going to carry out your threats. But I think I'll drop you, and ask Mrs.
Carmichael to have compassion on me. She wouldn't deprive a poor man of
his toddy, would you now, Mrs. Carmichael?"

"Mrs. Carmichael," said Mr. Errol, answering for that lady, "would hae
mair sense," which shut the parson effectually out of conversation in
that quarter.

Miss Carmichael listened to the conversation, and beheld the minister
renewing his youth. She heard Mr. Bangs entertain her uncle with
stories about a certain Charley Varley, and Mr. Terry say to Mrs Du
Plessis, "Whin I was in Sout Ameriky wid the cornel, God save him." She
saw her friend Fanny exciting the lighter vein in the affianced
Perrowne, and knew that Cecile was upstairs, the light of the dominie's
eyes. There was a blank in the company, so she retired to the room in
which she had found the burglar, and looked at the knapsacks there. She
knew his; would it be wrong to look inside? She would not touch Mr.
Wilkinson's for wealth untold. If he had not wanted his knapsack opened,
he should not have left it behind him. But it was open; not a strap was
buckled over it. The strap press was there, and a little prayer-book,
and a pocket volume of Browning, some cartridges and tobacco, and an
empty flask, and a pair of socks and some collars. What was that? A
sheet of paper that must have fallen out of Browning. It had fluttered
to the floor, whence she picked it up, and it was poetry; perhaps the
much-talked-of poem on the Grinstun man. No, it was another, and this
was how it ran, as she read it, and hot and cold shivers ran alternately
down her neck:--

     The while my lonely watch I keep,
     Dear heart that wak'st though senses sleep
       To thee my heart turns gratefully.
     All it can give to thee is given.
     From all besides, its heartstrings riven.
       Could ne'er be reft more fatefully.

     For thou art all in all to me,
     My life, my love, my Marjorie,
       Dow'ring each day increasingly
     With wealth of thy dear self. I swear
     I'll love thee false, I'll love thee fair.
       World without end, unceasingly.

"O, Eugene, Eugene," she sobbed to herself, "why would you go away, when
everybody wanted you, and I most of all?" Then she put the things back
into the knapsack, all but the sheet of paper, which she carried away,
and thrust into the bosom of her dress, as she saw Miss Du Plessis
approaching. In common with the other ladies of the house, they retired
to their rooms and to bed, leaving the gentlemen to tell stories and
smoke, and otherwise prepare themselves for an unsatisfactory breakfast
and a general disinclination for work in the morning. In the back of
the house, geographical studies continued to flourish, the corporal and
Maguffin contending with the ladies for educational honours, now being
lifted up to the seventh heaven of success, and, now, depressed beneath
the load of many adverse books. All the time, a little bird was singing
in Miss Carmichael's sleeping ear, or rather in that which really does
the hearing, certain words like, "My life, my love, my Marjorie," and
then again "I'll love thee false, I'll love thee fair, world without
end, unceasingly." When she awoke in the morning, the girls told her she
had been crying in her sleep, and saying "O Eugene!" which she
indignantly denied, and forbade them to repeat.




CHAPTER XIX.

     The Glory Departed--The Mail--Coristine's Letters to Miss
     Carmichael, Mrs. Carruthers and the Dominie--Sylvanus to
     Tryphena--Burying Muggins--A Dull Week--A Letter From Coristine and
     Four to Him--Marjorie's Letter and Book--Telegram--Mr. Douglas and
     Miss Graves--Reception Parties--The Colonel and Marjorie.


After breakfast on Saturday morning, Mr. Bangs departed, riding his own
horse, while Rufus bestrode that of his late friend Nash. As the colonel
had no need for the services of Maguffin, that gentleman drove the
constable and his prisoner in a cart between these two mounted guards.
The clergymen went home to look over their sermons for the morrow, and
to make good resolutions for pastoral duty in the week to come, not that
either of them was disposed to be negligent in the discharge of such
duty, but a week of almost unavoidable arrears had to be overtaken. The
Squire was busy all day looking after his farm hands, and laying out
work to be commenced on Monday morning; and Mr. Terry went the rounds
with him. The colonel's time was spent largely in conversation, divided
between his dear Farquhar and his dearer Teresa. When not engaged in
helping the hostess and her sister in-law in the press of Saturday's
household work, the young ladies were in consultation over the new
engagement, the ring, the day, the bridesmaids, the trousseau, and other
like matters of great importance. Marjorie took her young cousins
botanizing in honour of Eugene, and crawfishing in memory of Mr.
Biggles; then she formed them into a Sunday school class, and instructed
them feelingly in the vanity of human wishes, and the fleeting nature of
all sublunary things. Even Timotheus could not be with Tryphosa as much
as he would have desired, and had to console himself with thoughts of
the morrow, and visions of two people in a ferny hollow singing hymns
out of one hymn-book. The glory seemed to have departed from Bridesdale,
the romance to have gone out of its existence on that humdrum Saturday.
The morning passed in drudgery, the dinner table in prosaic talk, and
the hot afternoon was a weariness of the flesh and spirit. Just about
tea time the mail waggon passed the gate; there was nobody in it for
Bridesdale. When the quiet tea was over, the veteran lit his pipe, and
he and Marjorie went to the post office to enquire for letters, and
invest some of Eugene's parting donations in candy. Half the mail bag
and more was for the Squire, the post-mistress said, and it made a large
bundle, so that she had to tie it up in a huge circus poster, which,
being a very religious woman, she had declined to tack up on the
post-office wall. "Marjorie," whispered Mr. Terry, so that the
post-mistress could not hear, "I wudn't buoy any swates now, for I
belave there's a howll box iv thim in the mail for yeez." Accordingly,
they left without a purchase, to the loss of the candy account at the
store.

The circus poster and contents were deposited on the office table, and
Mr. Carruthers called big Marjorie to sort the mail. So Miss Carmichael
appeared, and gave him his own letters and papers. There were two from
India for Mr. Terry, that had been forwarded from Toronto, and one from
the same quarter for aunt Honoria. Some United States documents were the
colonel's property, and a hotel envelope, with a Barrie postmark, bore
the name of Miss Tryphena Hill. The bulk of the mail was in one
handwriting, which the Bridesdale post-mistress had seen before. Only
two letters were there, a thick one for aunt Honoria, and one of
ordinary size for Mr Wilkinson, but there were several papers and
magazines for that invalid, and at least half a dozen illustrated papers
and as many magazines or paper-bound books for herself, which she knew
contained material of some kind in which she had expressed an interest.
Then came three large thick packages, one marked "Misses Marjorie,
Susan, and Honoria Carruthers," another "Masters John and Michael
Carruthers," and the third "Miss Marjorie C. Thomas and Co." The young
lady with the Co. laid violent hands upon her own property; but that of
the young Carruthers was given to their mother, along with her letters.
Miss Du Plessis, failing to receive anything of her own, carried the
dominie's spoil to him, and found that some of the magazines, though
sent to his name, were really meant for her, at least dear Farquhar said
so. Mrs. Carruthers opened her Toronto letter and read it over with
amusement. Then she held up an enclosure between forefinger and thumb,
saying, "You see, Marjorie, it is unsealed, so I think I must read it,
or give it to your mother to read first, in case it should not be right
for you to receive it." But Miss Carmichael made a dash at the document,
and bore it off triumphantly to her own room, along with her literary
pabulum. It was dated Friday afternoon, so that he could not have been
long in the city when he wrote it, and ran thus:--

     _My Dear Miss Carmichael_,--I wish to apologize to you very humbly,
     and, through you, but not so humbly, to Mr. Lamb, for any harsh,
     and apparently cruel, things I said to or about him. Your aunt,
     Mrs. Thomas, whom I met, with the Captain and Sylvanus, on their
     way to the schooner, enlightened me regarding Mr. Lamb's history,
     of which I was entirely ignorant while at Bridesdale. I should be
     sorry to think I had been guilty of wilfully wounding the feelings
     of anyone in whom you take the slightest interest, and I trust you
     will pardon me for writing that, apart from my natural gratitude
     for your patience with me and your kindness to me, a mere stranger,
     there is no one in the world I should be more sorry to offend than
     yourself.
     Believe me,

                     My dear Miss Carmichael,
                               Ever yours faithfully,
                                               EUGENE CORISTINE.

     P.S.--I have taken the liberty of addressing to you some trifles I
     thought might interest the kind friends at Bridesdale.     E.C.

The note was satisfactory so far as it went, but there was not enough of
it; no word about the gloves, the ring, the half confession, the
promise, no word about coming back. Still, it was better than nothing.
Eugene could be dignified too; she would let everybody see that letter.

"I hope you had a nice letter, Marjorie?" asked Mrs. Carruthers. "You
would like, perhaps, to read what Mr. Coristine has to say to me." Her
niece replied that the letter was quite satisfactory, and the ladies
exchanged documents. That of Mrs. Carruthers read:--

     _Dear Mrs. Carruthers_,--Since I left your hospitable mansion I
     have been like a boy that has lost his mother, not to speak of the
     rest of the family. I look at myself like the poor newsboy, who was
     questioned about his parents and friends, and who, to put an end to
     the enquiries, answered: "Say, mister, when you seen me, you seen
     all there is on us." Please tell Marjorie Thomas, and your own
     little ones, that, perhaps, if I am good and am allowed, I may run
     up before the end of next month, to see if the fall flowers are
     out, and if they have left any crawfish and shiners in the creek.
     Will you kindly give the inclosure to Miss Carmichael, with whom,
     through my foolishness, I had an awkward misunderstanding that
     still troubles me a good deal. If I had known I was offending her,
     I would not have done it for the world. I cannot sufficiently thank
     you for your great kindness to my friend Wilkinson and me, nor
     shall I soon forget the happiest days of my life in your delightful
     home. Please make my sincere apologies to the Squire, and any other
     dear friends whom I may have left abruptly, under the peculiar
     circumstances of my departure. Remember me gratefully to Mrs.
     Carmichael, Mrs. Du Plessis, and the young ladies, and give my love
     to all the children.
                      I am, dear Mrs. Carruthers,
                              Very sincerely and thankfully yours,
                                                       EUGENE CORISTINE.

     P.S.--Please forgive me for sending a few bonbons for the children
     by this mail.                                            E.C.

"That's a very nice gentlemanly letter, Marjorie," said Mrs. Carruthers,
returning it.

"I like yours better, Aunty; it is not so stiff."

"Nonsense, you silly girl. I am only 'dear' and you are 'my dear.' He
thinks of me as a mother, and of you as the chief person in the world. I
think you are getting vain and greedy, Marjorie. Well, I must put these
bonbons away, or the children will see them, and will be making
themselves too ill to go to church. Where is cousin Marjorie?"

"Oh, she is off with her box. Very likely she is giving some to uncle
and grandpa. It's a great pity the Captain is not here; he has a sweet
tooth. Do you know Tryphena has a letter from Sylvanus?"

"That accounts for her delay with the dishes. What other letters did you
get?"

"None; only a lot of books, magazines, and illustrated papers from Mr.
Coristine for the family."

"For the family, Marjorie?"

"Yes; did you not read the postscript?"

"To be sure I did; but you know better than to take that
literally,--Marjorie, I think you're deep, deep."

"Do you think he will come here next month?"

"I am going to command my niece, Marjorie Carmichael, or to ask
Marjorie's mother, to answer his letter for me, and to insist upon his
coming back as soon as possible."

The aunt and niece had a kissing match, after which the latter said:
"Thank you, aunt Honoria," and went out of the room, ready for the
congratulations of the Bridesdale world.

Meanwhile Miss Du Plessis, having laid the dominie's wealth of postal
matter before his eyes, at his request read the solitary letter.

     _My Dear Wilks_,--I hope that, under your excellent corps of nurses
     and guardian angels, you are gradually recovering from your
     Falstaffian encounter with Ancient Pistol. Don't let Miss Du
     Plessis see this or she'll faint. I had a toughish ride to
     Collingwood, and part of the way back, the latter at the suggestion
     of Hickey Bangs. If I were as plucky for my size as that little
     fellow is, I could face a regiment. He got the prisoner safely
     caged, which is the proper thing to say about gaol birds. I came
     down with him and his select party this morning, meeting Captain
     and Mrs. Thomas and The Crew on the way. They wanted me to go on a
     cruise. The kindness of the whole Carruthers family is like the
     widow's curse; it's inexhaustible. Having been badly sold, however,
     over a Lamb, and cheap, too, I was not eligible for more sail. I
     write this, Wilks, more in sorrow than in anger, but I do hanker
     after those jolly Bridesdale days. Mrs. Marsh received me
     cordially, but not in character; she was the reverse of martial.--

"Really, Farquhar, this is very terrible," said Miss Du Plessis,
laughing; "I hardly know whether to go on. Who knows what dreadful
things may be before us?"

"The taste, Cecile, is shocking; otherwise any child might read his
letters."

"I left off at 'martial.'"

     I went to the office, very unlike the Squire's, and pulled White
     _off his_ stool before he knew I was there. He told me I had just
     come in the nick of time, for he wants to go to some forsaken
     watering place down the Gulf--as Madame Lajeunesse said "Law
     baw"--and that immediately. So, I get my two weeks next month, by
     which time I hope to have got that next of kin matter straightened
     out. Then, if I'm let, I'll go up and have my _golf_ with Mr. Errol
     on his links. How are his links matrimonial progressing, and
     Perrowne's, not to mention those of Ben Toner, Timotheus, yourself,
     and other minor personages? Will you commission me to buy the ring?--

"Really, dear, I think I must stop."

"Please do not, dear; there is not much more, is there?"

"Not much, but it is so personal!"

     The York Pioneers are having an exhibition of antiques; couldn't
     you get somebody to send down our two knapsacks, it seems such an
     age since we started them? Ask Miss Du Plessis and Miss Carmichael
     what they meant giggling at them at the Brock Street station and on
     the train that Tuesday morning.--

"Farquhar, did he, did you think it was Marjorie and I who did that,
what he calls giggling?"

"I certainly never thought you did, and I think it is only his banter."

"Neither Marjorie nor I could have so disgraced ourselves. Did you not
see the school-girls behind us? I was ashamed of my sex."

"When you write Corry for me, you must give him a talking to for that."

"Very well; where was I, oh, yes, 'Tuesday morning.'"

     I send a few lines by post. If there is anything in the world I can
     do for you, Wilks, let me know. If my presence can help you at all,
     I'll run up at a moment's warning. Love to all at Bridesdale. Sorry
     I made an ass of myself running away. Mail closes and must stop.

                             Your affectionate friend,
                                            EUGENE CORISTINE.

     P.S.--Tell Errol to keep that pipe as a memorial of a poor deluded
     wretch who had hoped one day to call him by the paternal name.
     Fancy having the good minister for a step father-in-law! No such
     luck, as Toner would say. Adieu                         E.C.

"Is she fond of him, Cecile?"

"Yes, very much so."

"Is it not a pity, when they think so much of one another, that a mere
trifle should keep them apart, perhaps for ever?"

"Yes it is, but I am not sorry for Marjorie. Kind heart and all, she
ought to have had more sense and more forbearance than to have openly
preferred that selfish creature, Mr. Lamb, to your warm-hearted friend."

"Corry is the soul of honour and generosity, Cecile, in spite of his
hideous taste in language."

"That is a mere eccentricity, and does not affect his sterling
qualities. I shall make it my duty to speak to Marjorie again. Good
night, Farquhar dear!"

"Good night, Cecile, my darling, my guardian angel, as Corry rightly
says."

Miss Tryphena Hill was reading Sylvanus' letter in the kitchen, first to
herself. It ran as follows:--

                                     _A Board_ THE SUSAN THOMAS
                                                        Friday noon.

     _My ever of thee I'm fondly dreaming, Tryphena_,--U sed my spelins
     was caple of beterment so I got the tittle out of a song buk in the
     cars and wrot it down in the end lefe of the litel testymint you
     giv me wile the capen and the nusboy was int lukin on. How duz it
     tak yor i. The capen he brung Mrs. T long for a sale. I see Mr.
     Corstoene in the cars lukin poekit lik wat is the mater of him. He
     wooden cum long on the skuner. Giv my luv to Tryphosa and Timotheus
     i can get there names all rite out of the testymint NEW TESTAMENT
     Now my ever of thee Tryphena I am orf wunc more on the oshin waive
     and the hevin depe and If i never more cum bak but the blew waives
     role over yor Silvanus, the TESTAMENT dont spel it with a why, i
     left my wil at farthys in the yaler spelin buk on the sheluff nere
     the side windy levin all my property to my saley Tryphena. I wud of
     kist u of i had dard beefor I leff wen I am more prospuz i wil dar
     of I get slaped for it The capen has fyred the blungeybush and i
     must go ashore with the dingy and get the tavun boy to get ma a
     nenblope out of the orfis

                             Yore onley luving afekshunit saler boy
                                                      SYLVANUS PILGRIM.

Just as Tryphena had finished this touching epistle, a knock came to the
kitchen door. She opened it, and Mr. Perrowne appeared. "Is Timotheus
here?" he asked. Timotheus himself answered, "Yaas sir!" when the parson
said, "Would you mind bringing a spaide to help me to bury my poor
dawg?" The willing Pilgrim rose, and went in quest of the implement,
while Mr. Perrowne walked round to the verandah, under which lay the
inanimate form of his long lost canine friend, over which he mourned
sincerely. The Squire and Miss Halbert came out to assist at the
obsequies, and were soon joined by Miss Carmichael and Mr. Terry, all of
whom regretted the loss of poor Muggins, the children's friend.

"Do you think you will ever see your dog again, Basil?" asked the
doctor's daughter.

"I down't know," replied the parson. "He was part of the creation that
St. Paul says is growning and waiting for the redemption of the body
from pain and disease and death. It used to be said that man ownly is
naturally and necessarily immortal, but that is rubbish, built up on a
pantheistic idea of Platow. If God continues the life of man beyond this
world, I see no reason why He should not continue that of a dawg which
has shared man's fight here below. There are some such good dawgs, don't
you know, moral, kind, faithful dawgs!"

"Is it not the poor Indian who thinks his faithful dog shall bear him
company in another world?" asked Miss Carmichael.

"Yes, it is Low; but really, in the great Sanscrit epic of the Bharatan
war, King Yoodistheer is represented as refusing immortality, unless the
god Indra will let him take his dawg to heaven along with him."

"And left his wife behind, did he not? He did not even hold her
something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse."

"Ow, now, I think Draupadee died before him. Still, it is a strange fact
though that some people do love animals better than human beings."

"D'ye ken why?" asked the Squire, with a glance at his niece. "It's
because they're no as exacting and fashious as beass."

"Well, there's a lesson for you, Fanny. Good-night. I must gow to my
sermon and the hymns." So Mr. Perrowne departed, and the mourners
returned to the house.

On Sunday it rained; nevertheless all went to their respective churches,
except the Carruthers children, whom Tryphena kept in order, and the
colonel, who sat with Wilkinson. Both clergymen preached impressively
with reference to the events of the past week, and, at the close of the
services, they both repaired to Bridesdale for dinner. In the afternoon
they rode to their respective stations, but the Squire stayed at home to
teach the children and read to them, while they devoured the contents of
the lawyer's elaborate boxes. Tryphosa and Timotheus had to do their
singing in the kitchen, in which they were joined by Tryphena and
Maguffin. The latter had a very soft rich voice, and made a great
addition to the musical performance. The colonel smoked an after dinner
cigar, and Mr. Terry a pipe, on a dry part of the verandah. The young
ladies overhauled the entire collection of literature sent to Miss
Carmichael and to Wilkinson, and read a good many things that were not
for Sunday. As to the three matrons, it is nobody's business what they
did with their afternoon. Mr. Perrowne came back to his Fanny in the
evening, and Mr. Errol, to have "a crack" with Mrs. Carmichael. Monday
was fair enough to permit of a game of golf between the parsons, with
the colonel and the veteran for spectators. Miss Halbert went home in
the evening, and so, except for the wounded dominie upstairs and the
colonel, things went on in the usual jog-trot way, for Miss Du Plessis
had been at Bridesdale before. Letters and papers came from Coristine to
the bedridden dominie, and another package for Marjorie, before Saturday
night, but none for anybody else, for the reason that Miss Du Plessis
had written him simply at Wilkinson's dictation, and Mrs. Carruthers and
Miss Carmichael had not written at all. In her round of household duties
and the care of a young family, the former had forgotten all about her
letter, and the latter did not know what to say for herself, and did not
feel disposed to humiliate her sense of self-respect by reminding her
aunt of her promise. Another Sunday passed without other incident than
Mr. Errol's visit. Mr. Perrowne spent most of his spare time at the
Halbert's. But, Monday night's post brought an official envelope,
type-written, from the offices of Tylor, Woodruff and White for Miss M.
Carmichael. She opened it, with a feeling of irritation against
somebody, and read the wretched type-writing:--

     _Dear Madam_,--I have the honour to inform you that I have received
     a cable message from Mr. P.R. Mac Smaill, W.S., of Edinburgh, to
     the effect, that, as very large interests are involved in the case
     which I had the honour to claim on your behalf as next of kin, his
     nephew, Mr. Douglas, sailed to-day (Saturday) for Montreal, vested
     with full powers to act in concert with your solicitors. As my firm
     has no written instructions from you to act in the matter, I am
     prepared to hand over the documents and information in my
     possession to the solicitors whom you and your guardians may be
     pleased to appoint to deal with Mr. Douglas on his arrival.
     Awaiting your instructions, I have the honour to remain,

                             Dear madam,
                                 Your obedient servant,
                                            EUGENE CORISTINE.

Nothing but the signature was in his writing; this was terrible, the
worst blow of all.

She took the letter to uncle John in the office and laid it down before
him. He read it gravely, and then bestowed a kiss of congratulation on
his niece. "I aye kennt your fayther was weel conneckit, Marjorie, but
lairge interests in the cen o' writers to the signet like Mac Smaill
means a graun' fortune, a muckle tocher, lassie. We maun caa' your
mither doon to talk it owre." So Mrs. Carmichael came to join the party.
Her daughter wished to appoint some other firm of lawyers in Toronto, or
else to leave all in the hands of Mac Smaill, but the Squire and Mrs.
Carruthers would not hear of either alternative. They knew Coristine,
and could trust him to work in the matter like one of themselves; so the
young lady's scruples were outwardly silenced, and the Squire was duly
authorized to conduct the correspondence with the lawyer. This he did in
twofold fashion. First he wrote:--

     EUGENE CORISTINE, ESQ.,
                Messrs. Tylor, Woodruff and White.

     _Dear Sir_, Although my niece, Marjorie Carmichael, is of legal
     age, it is her desire and that of her mother that I, in the
     capacity of guardian, should authorize you or your firm, as I
     hereby do in her name, to prosecute her claim as the heir of the
     late Dr. James Douglas Carmichael, M.P., to the fortune advertised
     by P.R. Mac Smaill, W.S., of Edinburgh as falling her late father,
     and to conduct all necessary negotiations with Mr. Mac Smaill and
     his clients in the case. Kindly notify me at once of your
     acceptance of the trust, and make any necessary demands for funds
     and documents as they may be required.              Yours,
                                                  JOHN CARRUTHERS, J.P.

The other letter was:--

     _My Dear Coristine_, What do you mean, you scamp, by frightening
     the wits out of my poor lassie with that typewritten bit of legal
     formality? I have a great mind to issue a warrant for your arrest,
     and send Rigby down with it, to bring you before me and Halbert and
     Walker. Man, we would put you through better than Osgoode Hall!
     But, seriously, we all want you to stick to this next of kin case.
     Spare no expense travelling about, especially if your travel is in
     this direction. I think you are not judging Marjorie fairly, not
     that I would throw my bonnie niece at the head of a prince of the
     blood, but I have taken a great liking to you, and I know that you
     have more than a great liking for her. So, no more nonsense.
     Honoria and Marjorie (Mrs. Carmichael), and all the rest of
     Bridesdale, send kind love and say "come back soon."
                                      Yours affectionately,
                                                  JOHN CARRUTHERS.

Mrs. Carruthers also wrote a note that will explain itself:--

     _Dear Mr. Coristine_,--Please to overlook my long delay in replying
     to your kind letter and in thanking you for your goodness to the
     children, who miss you very much, I intended to get Marjorie or
     her mother to write for me, but in the bustle of housework,
     preserving, and so on, forgot, which was not kind of me. Father
     desires me to remember him to you, and says he longs for another
     smoke and talk. The others have a delicacy in writing, so I am
     compelled to do it myself, though a very poor correspondent. John
     has told me about Mr. Douglas coming out to see about Marjorie's
     fortune. As I suppose he will want to see her and her mother, will
     you please bring him up yourself, and arrange to give us a long
     visit. Marjorie Thomas says there are many new flowers out, and
     that she and my little ones have hardly touched the creek since you
     left us.

                          With kind regards,
                                Your very sincere friend,
                                        HONORIA CARRUTHERS.

Coristine came home jaded on Wednesday evening. The day had been hot,
and in the absence of all the other principals, the work had been heavy.
He had interested himself, also, in lady typewriters since his return,
and had compelled some to take a much-needed holiday. Four unopened
letters from Bridesdale were in his pocket, which he had saved for after
dinner. At that meal, the young men of Mrs. Marsh's grown-up family
rallied him on his lack of appetite and general depression. He had not
made a pun for four days running, a thing unprecedented. Dinner over, he
slipped away to his rooms, lit a pipe, and read the letters, the
contents of two of which, three including the Squire's formal one, are
already known. Another, in a fine clerkly hand, was from Mr. Errol.

     _My Dear Mr. Coristine_,--A thousand thanks for the bonny pipe,
     which I fear you must have missed. I shall take great care of it as
     a memorial of pleasant, though exciting, days. I wish you were here
     to help Perrowne and me at our cricket and golf, and to have a
     little chat now and then on practical theology. My ministerial
     friend is that infatuated with Miss Halbert (they are engaged, you
     know) I can get very little out of him. Mrs. Carmichael sends her
     kind regards. Her daughter Marjorie is looking pale and lifeless, I
     do trust the dear lassie is not going like her poor father. We all
     love to hear her sing, but she has got that Garden of Gethsemane
     poem of his set to music. It is very beautiful but far too sad for
     her young life. I have been visiting your friend Mr. Wilkinson,
     pastorally, and am just delighted with him. He is a man of a very
     fine mind and most devout spirit. Miss Cecile and he will suit one
     another admirably. Colonel Morton is wearying for your society, and
     so is the good old grandfather. If it will not be putting you to
     too much trouble, will you ask your bookseller to get me a cheap
     Leipsic edition of Augustine's "De Civitate Dei," as I wish to
     polish up my patristic Latin, in spite of the trash written in it,
     that still defiles our theological teaching. I have been visiting
     Matilda Nagle, and even that old reprobate, Newcome, who got a
     terrible shaking in his last nefarious adventure. Matilda is doing
     remarkably well, and her boy is quite bright and intelligent. Half
     a dozen cases of sickness in my two charges have kept me from
     writing, especially as one was a case of infection. Haste ye back
     to all your warm friends here.

                                   Yours very faithfully,
                                                 HUGH ERROL.

The last was a stuffy envelope addressed correctly to Mister Eugene
Coristine, in the hand of a domestic, Tryphosa probably, and contained
some half dried flowers, among which a blue Lobelia and a Pentstemon
were recognizable, along with a scrap of a letter in large irregular
characters.

     _Derest Eugene_--Wat makes you stay sew long a way. This is meter
     as Pol sed to Petre put on the gridel and take of the heter. A lot
     more flours are out in bloome like the ones I send with my love so
     dear fete have been in the creke sints you went a way I think that
     pig is sory she made you go now the chilren granpa sed to me to
     rite you to come back for a smok. Dere mister Bigls has gone too
     and no nice one is left give my love to Tyler and say he must let
     you go for the house is sew quite their is no more fun in it. Feena
     got a funy leter from old Sil with moste orfle speling the pusy is
     well but pore Mug in ded. It was verry good of you to send me
     candes but I like to have you beter           Your litel love
                                                               MARJORIE.

The lawyer put this letter reverently away in a special drawer which
contained his peculiar treasures, but registered a vow to reprove his
little love for applying the word pig to a young lady. He did not know
whether to be glad or sorry that Miss Carmichael's case was left in his
hands. Of course he could not refuse it. If this man Douglas had to go
up to Bridesdale, he supposed he would have to introduce him, and watch
him on behalf of his client. A great heiress, perhaps with a title for
all he knew, would be very unlikely to take more than a passing interest
in her solicitor. Still, it cut him to the heart that the girl was as
Mr. Errol represented her. Doubtless she was quite right in not
acknowledging his business note in person. Then he laid down his pipe,
put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, exclaiming
bitterly, "O Marjorie, Marjorie."

Before the end of the week, the Squire received answers to his official
and non-official letters, accepting the trust confided to him, and
regretting that Miss Carmichael had given the writer no opportunity of
more fully explaining himself. The non-official letter also stated that
the lady's position was so much changed by the prospect of a large
fortune as to make it little less than dishonourable in him to press his
suit, at least in the meantime. Mrs. Carruthers also received a promise
that the lawyer would, if practicable, accompany Mr. Douglas to
Bridesdale. Mr. Errol reported a nice letter received by him from the
same quarter, along with the "Civitate Dei" and some reviews. Wilkinson
was in clover so far as papers and magazines were concerned, and both
Miss Carmichael and Miss Du Plessis were remembered with appropriate
literary pabulum of the same nature. More bonbons for the juveniles
arrived by Saturday night, and a letter for Marjorie.

     _My Dear Little Love, Marjorie._--It was very kind of you to
     remember your poor boy in his exile from home in the big, hot,
     dusty city. I liked your dear little letter very much, all except
     that one word about you know who. I am sure you did not think, or
     you would never have written so of one so good and kind to you and
     me. You will not say that any more I am sure. I have put your
     letter and the flowers you were so kind as to pick and dry for me
     in my best drawer where I keep my treasures. I send you a new
     picture book just out, with many coloured plates of flowers in it.
     When I come up you must tell me if you know their names. Please
     tell your cousins' grandpapa that I would like very much if he were
     here, or I were there, that we might have a nice quiet smoke and
     talk together. I am sorry poor old Muggins is dead. You did not
     tell me what killed him. Tryphena ought to make Sylvanus buy a
     spelling book to study while he is on watch in your papa's ship.
     Your papa and mamma asked me to go for a sail with them, but I had
     to go to town. Now, my little love, be very kind and nice to
     everybody, and above all to your dear cousins, big and little, and
     when I come up and hear how good you have been, we will fish in the
     creek on week days and sing some of those pretty hymns on Sunday.
     Do you ever go to see my poor sick friend Wilks? I think he would
     like to see a little girl some times. Try him with a bonbon and
     with the poetry under the pictures of flowers in your new book.
     Give my love to all the kind friends, and keep a great lot for your
     dear little self.

                         From your own                 EUGENE.

"Where is the book?" asked Marjorie, when the letter was read to her by
the lady whom she had written so slightingly of. Miss Carmichael looked
over her own mail matter, and found a large flat volume addressed Miss
Marjorie Carmichael, while the other packages bore simply Miss
Carmichael. She opened it up, and found the book demanded. The lawyer
had been so full of the name that he had written it mechanically,
instead of Miss Marjorie Thomas. Marjorie was not well pleased that her
cousin should have usurped her book, but loyalty to Eugene made her
suppress any expression of indignation. Mr. Terry had to read that
letter through his spectacles, and Tryphosa; and on Sunday she proposed
to invade the sanctity of Mr. Wilks' chamber and interest him in both
letter and book.

The Sunday came and went, and then the slow week dragged along. Whoever
would have thought that, a short time ago, they had been so cheerful, so
merry, even with danger threatening and death at their door. The dominie
was out of his room at last, walking about with his arm in a sling,
rejoicing in changes of raiment which Coristine had sent from his
boarding house by express and the mail waggon. The city clothes suited
him better than his pedestrian suit, and made him the fashionable man of
the neighbourhood. In conversation over his friend, he remarked that he
was pleased to find Corry toning down, writing quiet sensible letters,
without a single odious pun. "Puir laddie!" said the Squire, "if it wad
mak him blither, I could stan' a haill foolscap sheet o' them. I'm feard
the city's no' agreein' wi' him." Before noon on Friday there came a
hard rider to the Bridesdale gate, a special telegraph messenger from
Collingwood, with a telegram for Mrs. Carruthers. She took it hastily
from Timotheus, and, breaking the seal, read to the group gathered about
her: "If agreeable, Douglas and I will be with you by Saturday's stage.
Please answer by bearer. Eugene Coristine." The Squire, home a little
sooner than usual, said: "Let me answer that, Honoria," and retired to
his office. When he came out, it was with a written paper in his hand,
which he read for approval. "You and Douglas heartily welcome--will meet
you at station, so do not disappoint." This was accepted by a unanimous
vote; after which the messenger partook of a hasty meal, as did his
horse, and then galloped back to town. "The waggonette will hold six,"
said the Squire; "that's Coristine, Mr. Douglas and me. Who are the
other three? Will you no come, Marjorie? The ride'll dae ye guid, lass."

No, Miss Carmichael declined, and the Squire was inwardly wroth. Mrs.
Carmichael took the place offered to her daughter, and Marjorie Thomas
and Mr. Terry volunteered to make up the required number. It seemed
such a long time till Saturday morning, but Marjorie tried to shorten
it, by running everywhere and telling everybody that Eugene was coming.
The whole house caught the infection. Tryphena and Tryphosa were kept
busy, preparing already for a late six o'clock dinner on the morrow.
There was a putting of rooms in order for the coming guests, during
which Miss Carmichael, conscience stricken, returned the lawyer's verses
to the leaves of Browning. She dreaded meeting the author of them, and
found comfort in the fact that he was not coming alone. If she had not
been, in her own estimation, such a coward, she would have gone on a
visit to Fanny, but she dared not thus offend her uncle and aunt, and
desert her mother and Cecile. What was he coming for? She had not sent
for him. Why did she not want him to come? She did not know, and it was
the right of nobody to question her on the subject. She only knew that
she was very unhappy, and hoped she would not act stupidly before the
stranger from Edinburgh.

That night the Squire received a letter from Coristine, written on
Thursday, saying that Mr. Douglas had arrived, and was a very fine
fellow; and that, as soon as he had made up his mind to go to
Bridesdale, a telegram would be sent. He also requested Mr. Carruthers,
if it was not trespassing too far upon his kindness, to secure the
rooms, which the postmistress had told him she had to let, for Miss
Graves, a young lady in his firm's offices, who needed complete rest and
change of scene, and who would either go up by the stage on Saturday or
accompany Mr. Douglas and him at a later date. The letter was read at
the tea table, and Miss Du Plessis said she knew Marion Graves very
well, and was glad to think she would be so near, as she was a lovely
girl; but what a strange thing for Mr. Coristine to recommend her to
come to Flanders! "Oi'm thinkin'," remarked Mr. Terry, "that av the
young lady in dilikit loike, it 'ud be a marcy to kape her aff that
rough stage; so, iv yer willin', Squoire, I'll shtay at home an' lave my
place to put the poor lady in inshtid av me." Mrs. Carruthers would not
hear of the veteran's losing the drive, and resigned her seat. Honoria
would probably want her at any rate, so it was very foolish and selfish
in her to have thought of going. "There maun be some one o' the female
persuasion, as good old Newberry calls it, to invite Miss Graves and to
keep her company, especially if she's an invalid," said the Squire. "I
will go, uncle," said Miss Carmichael, quietly. The uncle was amazed at
this new turn things were taking, and arranged in his mind to have Miss
Graves and Mr. Douglas with him in the front seat, and Coristine between
the two Marjories behind. After tea, Timotheus and Maguffin were sent to
invite Miss Halbert and the two clergymen to the Saturday evening
dinner, but, by Mrs. Carruthers' directions, the postmistress was not
notified that her rooms were wanted. If Miss Graves were all that Cecile
said of her, she had remarked, she would be better at Bridesdale, and
would also be an acceptable addition to the number of their guests.

Saturday morning was a time of wild excitement for Marjorie. She went to
the brook by anticipation, to look at the sportive fish, and turned up a
flat stone or two, to be sure the crawfish, which the ignorant Timotheus
called crabs, were still there. She was prepared to report favourably on
the creek. Then she journeyed along the banks, looking for new flowers,
and over the stepping stones to the opposite shore, and up the hill to
the strip of brush, returning with a handful of showy wild blossoms.
Next, she visited the stable yard, and watched Timotheus and Maguffin
polishing up the waggonette and the harness of the horses. The colonel
was there, and, in answer to Marjorie's enquiry regarding his interest
in the scene, said: "You are not going to leave me behind, you little
puss, although you did not invite me. I have invited myself, and am
going to accompany you on hohseback."

"Are you going to take Guff too, colonel?"

"Who is Guff, my deah?"

"Don't you know Guff?"

"No; I am not awahe that I do."

     "Oh Guffee am de niggah
       Wif de tah on his heel;
     He done trabble roun' so libely
       Dat he's wuff a mighty deal."

"You do not shuhly mean Maguffin?"

"Of course I do; who else could be Guff?"

"No, I shall not take Maguffin, seeing we come right back. Had we been
going to put up anywheah, of couhse, he would have been indispensable."

"What a funny name! Do you mean the waggonette?"

"By what, Mahjohie?"

"By this fencepail?"

"Silly child, I did not say that. I said indispensable, which means,
cannot be done without."

"Oh!" answered Marjorie; "it's a long word, is it?"

There was no necessity for starting before ten, at which hour Timotheus
brought round the waggonette, and Maguffin the colonel's horse. The
Squire assisted the two Marjories to the front seat, and took his place
beside the younger. The colonel chivalrously bowed to the ladies while
on foot; then, he mounted his horse with a bound, and the transport and
escort trotted away. Mr. Terry, alone and neglected, betook himself to
the Carruthers children, who soon found many uses to which a
good-natured grandfather could be put, to the advantage and pleasure of
his grandchildren.




CHAPTER XX.

     The Collingwood Arrivals--Coristine Goes to the Post Office--Mr.
     Perrowne is Funny--Bang's Note and the Lawyer's Fall--Coristine in
     Hospital--Miss Carmichael Relents--Bangs on the Hunt--The
     Barber--Mr. Rigby on Wounds--Berry-Picking with the New
     Arrivals--The Lawyer's Crisis--Matilda's--Miss Carmichael in
     Charge.


The train had just come in when Squire Carruthers' party arrived at the
station, so nicely had he timed his driving. As there was nobody to hold
the horses, he kept his seat, while Coristine, looking faultlessly neat
in his town dress, came forward and assisted Miss Carmichael and
Marjorie to alight. Having asked the former's permission, the lawyer
introduced Miss Graves, a young lady not unlike Miss Du Plessis in
stature and carriage, but with larger, though handsome, features and
lighter complexion. Then, Mr. Douglas, a fine-looking blonde man of
masculine Scottish type, was made acquainted with his fair client, and
with her nominal guardian on the box. Finally, the colonel, standing by
his horse's head, bowed with genial dignity to the new arrivals, and
warmly pressed the hand of his dear boy's friend. The Squire's little
scheme was frustrated. His niece, without asking advice or permission
from anybody, placed Miss Graves beside the driver, and established
herself on the same seat, leaving Marjorie between the two gentlemen on
the one behind, after they had bestowed their valises and Miss Graves'
portmanteau in their rear. Beyond a ceremonious handshake, Miss
Carmichael gave Coristine no recognition, although she could not have
failed to perceive his delight at once more meeting her. To Miss Graves,
however, she was all that could be desired, cheerful, even animated, and
full of pleasant conversation. Marjorie kept her Eugene and the new
gentleman busy. She reported on the creek, and presented her faded
bouquet of wild flowers, which Eugene received with all the semblance of
lively satisfaction. She made many enquiries regarding the big girl in
front, and insisted especially on knowing if she was nice. Then she
turned to Mr. Douglas and asked his name.

"My name is Douglas," he answered.

"Oh, I know that, even Timotheus himself knows that. I mean what's your
real name, your very own, the name your mamma calls you?"

"She used to call me James."

"Oh; have you got a brother called John?"

"Yes; how did you know that?"

"Oh, I know. Then your papa's name is Zebedee, and your mamma's is
Salome."

"No, we are not those two James and Johns; they are dead."

"They are the only James and John I know."

"I don't think so. Your uncle, Dr. Carmichael, was called James Douglas,
like me."

"Marjorie's dead papa?"

"Yes; your cousin is a sort of far-away cousin of mine; so you must be
one of my cousins, too. What do you think of that?"

"I think it's nice to have a growed-up man cousin. I'll call you Jim."

"Marjorie!" said a reproving voice from the front seat; "you must not
talk to Mr. Douglas in that pert way."

"If my cousin lets me call him Jim, it's none of your business, cousin
Marjorie. You will let me, won't you, cousin Jim?"

"To be sure, if Miss Carmichael will allow me."

"I don't think it's fair to let her boss the whole show."

Mr. Douglas laughed loud and long over this expression, so novel to his
British ears.

"Where did you learn that, Marjorie?" asked Coristine.

"Oh, from Guff; there's heaps of fun in Guff."

Her companions occasionally took advantage of silent intervals to
discuss the scenery, and the Canadian lawyer pointed out spots,
memorable in the great pedestrian tour, to his Scottish compeer. Miss
Carmichael never turned, nor did she give Miss Graves a chance to do so;
but the Squire managed to sit sideways, without at all incommoding the
ladies, and, keeping one eye on his horses, at the same time engaged in
conversation with Marjorie's captives. The colonel also kept close to
the vehicle, and furnished Coristine with new information concerning his
wounded friend. Miss Graves was informed that she was not to be allowed
to go to the post office, and her protests were imperiously silenced by
Marjorie's "boss of the whole show." The horses, having come out
quietly, went home at a rattling pace, and, a good hour before dinner
time, the party arrived at Bridesdale, there to be greeted by Miss
Halbert and the parsons, in addition to the occupants of the house.
Wilkinson and Mr. Terry received Coristine with enthusiasm, but all the
ladies bore down upon the latest arrival of their sex and carried her
away, leaving the man, in whom they had expressed so much interest, to
feel as if there were a plot on foot to ignore him.

"It mast be very pleasant for you, Corry, to find all the ladies so
attentive to your lady friend," remarked the Dominie.

"Very pleasant for Miss Graves, no doubt; I can't say the same about
myself."

"I should have thought you would have regarded a compliment to her as
more gratifying than one to yourself."

"Haven't reached that heavenly stage of Christian self-abnegation yet,
Wilks."

"Perhaps I am mistaken in supposing you take a great interest in the
lady?"

"Interest, yes; great, more than doubtful. She's the third girl I've had
to send away for the good of her health. The other two knew where to go,
and went. She didn't; so I thought of establishing her at the post
office. I never dreamt the Squire would come for us till I got his
message. I meant to accompany her in the stage, and land her in the arms
of Mrs. Tibbs; but here we are, like a bridal party, with Marjorie for
bridesmaid and Douglas for best man."

"Thank you, Corry; you have relieved me from a great anxiety. Miss Du
Plessis thinks very highly of your ---- travelling companion."

"Douglas, do you mean?"

"No, the lady."

"Oh, bother the lady! Wilks, it's a doubly grave situation. If it wasn't
for Mr. Terry and Marjorie, I'd cut my stick. As it is, I'll run and
engage that post-office room for myself, and be back in time for dinner
or whatever else is up. Au revoir." With a bound he was off the
verandah, valise in hand, and away on to the road.

When Coristine returned, he was just in time for dinner. He had not been
missed; the entire interest of the feminine part of the community was
centred in Miss Graves. The Squire took her in, as the latest lady
arrival, while Mr. Douglas escorted the hostess. To his infinite
annoyance, Coristine, who had brought in Mrs. Du Plessis, was
ostentatiously set down by the side of his invalided type-writer, to
whom he was the next thing to uncivil. Miss Carmichael, between Mr.
Douglas and Mr. Errol, was more than usually animated and
conversational, to the worthy minister's great delight. The amusing man
of the table was Mr. Perrowne. His people were building him a house,
which Miss Halbert and he had inspected in the morning, with a view to
the addition of many cupboards, which the lady deemed indispensable to
proper housekeeping. Mr. Perrowne thought he would call the place
Cubbyholes; but Miss Du Plessis asked what it would really be, the
rectory, the vicarage or the parsonage? Miss Halbert suggested the
basilica, to which he replied that, while a good Catholic, he was
neither Fannytic nor a Franciscan. He derided his intended bride's taste
in architecture, and maintained that the income of a bishop would be
insufficient to stock half the storerooms and wardrobes, leaving all the
rest of the house unfurnished. As it was, he feared that the charming
Fanny would be in the predicament of old Mother Hubbard, while he,
unfortunately, would be in that of the dog. "In that case, Basil," said
Miss Halbert, "you would be like an inclined plane."

"How so?" enquired Mr. Perrowne.

"An inclined plane is a slope up, you know," answered the mischievous
bride elect.

"Talking about dawgs," remarked the victim of the terrible conundrum, "I
asked a little girl belonging to one of my parishoners what kind her
dawg was. She said it had been given to her as a spanuel, but she
thought it was only a currier."

"When I was at the school," said the Edinburgh gentleman, "a boy whom I
had offended some way, offered to make the like of me with a street cur
and an old gun. He said he could make 'one dowg less' in the time it
took to fire the gun."

"What did you do to that boy, Mr. Douglas?" asked Miss Carmichael.

"I left him alone, for he was a good deal bigger than me."

"You were not a Boanerges then?"

"No, I was James the Less."

"What are you dreaming about, Mr. Coristine," called the Squire, "to let
all this wild talk go on without a word?"

"I am sorry to say I did not hear it, Squire," replied the moody lawyer,
whose little conversation had been wholly devoted to Mrs. Du Plessis.

After dinner, the lawyer repaired to the Squire's office, and briefly
informed him, that the fortune in funds and property to which his niece
had fallen heir was valued at 80,000 pounds sterling, and that,
fortunately, there was no sign of any contest or opposition in the
matter. He also explained that, under the circumstances, he felt
constrained to take a brief lodging at the post office, and begged Mr.
Carruthers to apologize to his wife for the desertion of Bridesdale.
Then, he sought out Mr Terry in the garden and smoked a pipe with him,
while his new friend, Mr. Douglas, was chatting on the verandah between
Miss Carmichael and Miss Graves. Nobody else seemed to want him or care
for him; he had even lost his old friend Wilks, who was absorbed in his
beloved Cecile. The colonel was as bad with Cecile's mother, and Mr.
Errol with Mrs. Carmichael. The Squire was busy, so the veteran and he
were left alone. For a time, they smoked and talked, listening all the
while, as they could not fail, to the merry badinage of the party on the
verandah. At last he could stand it no longer. He rose, bade his
companion good-night, and strolled away on to the road. Once out of
observation from the house, he walked rapidly to his new quarters. "Is
that you, Styles?" asked Mrs. Tibbs, as he entered. He assured the
postmistress that he was not Styles, and asked if there was anything he
could do for her. "There is a letter here for Squire Carruthers, marked
'immediate,' and they have not been for their mail," she answered. So,
sorely against the grain, the lawyer had to take the letter and return
with it to Bridesdale. Mr. Carruthers was still in his office. He opened
the envelope and read:--

                                           COLLINGWOOD, Saturday, 12 m.
     _My Dear Squire,--_

     Rawdon and his nephew have broken gaol and escaped. Be on your
     guard. Will go to you as soon as possible.

                                          Yours truly,
                                                  J. HICKEY BANGS.

"This is bad news, Coristine. It seems as if we're never to hear the
last o' yon villain."

"I'm at your service, Squire."

"I canna thole to ask the colonel, puir man, to lose his nicht's rest,
an' I'm no ower sure o' his man. Sae, the granther an' I'll watch till
it's twal', if you wi' Timotheus 'll relieve us till two i' the mornin'.
What say ye to thon?"

"All right, I'll be here at midnight. Could you get me the cartridges
out of my knapsack upstairs?"

The Squire produced the cartridges, and the lawyer went back to his
post-office quarters.

Punctually at midnight he returned, and relieved Mr. Carruthers in
front of the house, while Timotheus took Mr. Terry's place behind. It
was after one when he saw a figure, which he did not recognize as
belonging to any one in the house, steal out of the front door with a
heavy burden. He ran towards the figure, and it stole, as rapidly as
possible, down the garden to the hill meadow. He knew it now, outlined
against the heavens, and fired his revolver. He knew that he had hit his
man, and that Rawdon was wounded in the body or in the upper part of a
leg. Hurriedly he pursued, entering the strip of woodland towards the
brook, when something fell upon him, and two keen qualms of pain shot
through his breast. Then he lay insensible. Meanwhile, a lithe active
form, leaving a horse tethered at the gate, had sprung to meet a second
intruder, issuing from the front door of Bridesdale. The opposing forces
met, and Mr. Bangs had his hands upon the younger gaol breaker. A loud
shout brought Timotheus on the scene, and the prisoner was secured. The
household was aroused. The Squire found his office a scene of confusion,
his safe broken open, the hidden treasure and many of his papers gone.
Inwardly he muttered maledictions on the sentry of the watch, little
knowing that the burglars had entered the house while he was himself on
guard. In his vexation, and the general excitement, with the presence of
Miss Graves and Messrs. Douglas and Bangs, the unhappy lawyer's absence
was overlooked. His shot apparently had not been heard. The vicinity of
the house was scoured for Rawdon, but without effect. He had got away
with his own money and many incriminating papers, to be a continued
source of annoyance and danger. Those who gave any thought to Coristine
imagined him asleep at the post office, and wondered at his
indifference. Chief among them were the dominie and Miss Carmichael.
There was little more rest that night in Bridesdale. One villain at
large was sufficient to keep the whole company in a state of
uncomfortable disquiet and apprehension. It was still dark, when old
Styles came to the gate and asked for Mr. Coristine, as he said the
crazy woman was at the post office, and Mrs. Tibbs wanted to know if she
could have the use of the spare room for the rest of the night. Then the
Squire was alarmed, and a great revulsion of feeling took place. The
man almost entirely ignored was now in everybody's mind, his name on all
lips but those which had been more to him than all the rest.

Stable lanterns were got out, and an active search began. Mr. Terry's
practiced ear caught the sound of voices down the hillside, and he
descended rapidly towards them. Soon, he came running back, tearing at
his long iron grey hair, and the tears streaming from his eyes, to the
place where his son-in law was standing. "Get a shate or a quilt or
something, John, till we take it out av that Och, sorra, sorra, the
foine, brave boy!" At once, Mr. Douglas and Timotheus accompanied the
Squire to the little wood, and beheld the owners of the voices, Mr.
Newcome and his intending son-in-law, Ben Toner.

"Aw niver tetched un, Ben. Aw wor jest goan troo t' bush, when aw
stoombled laike over's carkidge and fall, and got t' blood on ma claws,"
said the former to his captor.

"S'haylp me," replied Ben, "ef I thunk it was you as killed the doctor,
I'd put the barl o' this here gun to your hayd and blow out your
braiuns."

"Don't let that man go," said the Squire to Toner.

"Ain't that what I come all this way fer?" answered the lover of
Serlizer.

The Squire and the veteran, with terrible mental upbraidings, raised the
body from its bed of leaves and wood-mould and placed it reverently upon
the sheet, which it stained with blood at once. Then, while the colonel
held one lantern and Wilkinson the other, Mr. Douglas and Timotheus took
the other corners of the simple ambulance, and bore their burden to the
house. In his own room they laid Rawdon's victim, removed the clothing
from his wounds, washed away the clotted blood, only to despair over the
flow that still continued, and rejoiced in the fact that life was not
altogether extinct, when they handed him over to the care of the three
matrons. While the colonel was sending Maguffin in search of the doctor,
the voice of Squire Halbert was heard in the hall, saying he thought it
must have been Miss Carmichael who had summoned him, at any rate it was
a young lady from Bridesdale. He stanched the bleeding, administered
stimulants, and ordered constant watching. "The body has suffered
terribly," he said, "and has hardly any hold upon the soul, which may
slip away from us at any moment." The good doctor professed his
willingness to stay until the immediate crisis from loss of blood was
overpast. To all enquiries he answered that he had very little hope, but
he sent the kind ladies away from the death-like chamber, and
established himself there with Wilkinson, who would not leave his
friend.

The light of a beautiful Sunday morning found Miss Du Plessis, Miss
Halbert, and Miss Graves in bitter sorrow, and little Marjorie beside
herself with grief. The very kitchen was full of lamentation; but one
young woman went about, silent and serious indeed, yet tearless. This
was Miss Carmichael. The doctor had come down to breakfast, leaving the
dominie alone with the patient, when she took a tray from Tryphena, and
carried up the morning repast of the watcher. Then, for the first time,
she got a sight of the wounded man, whose eyes the doctor had closed,
and whose jaw by gentle pressure he had brought back, till the lips were
only half parted. She could hardly speak, as she laid a timid hand on
her late principal's shoulder, directing his attention to the breakfast
tray. "Look away, please, for Cecile's sake if not for mine," she
managed to stammer, and, as he turned his head aside, she flung herself
upon her knees beside the bed, and took the apparently dead man's hand
in her own, covered it with tears and kisses, and transferred the ring
she had once worn back to her own hand, replacing it with one of her own
that would hardly slip down over the bloodless emaciated finger. Quietly
she arose, and noiselessly left the room, when the dominie returned to
his watching and administration of stimulants. When she came down
stairs, outwardly calm but looking as if she had seen a ghost,
everybody, who was in the secret of past days, knew, and respected her
silence. Even Mr. Douglas, who had thought to improve his distant
cousinship, read there the vanity of all his hopes, and bestowed a
double share of attention upon Miss Graves, charming in her genuine
sorrow over her considerate employer. Nobody cared to go to church, but
the good Squire pointed out that few could be of any service at home,
and that, if ever they had need of the comforts of religion, it was at
such a time. So Mr. Perrowne and Mr. Errol each received a quota of
grief-stricken worshippers from Bridesdale, and, at the close of their
respective services, mingled heartfelt expressions of sorrow with
theirs. The clergymen declined to intrude upon the saddened household,
until they could be of some service, so the worshippers returned as they
went.

Mr. Bangs and the doctor were the lights of the dinner table, their
professional acquaintance with all sorts of trouble hindering them from
being overcome by anything of the kind. The former had sent for Mr.
Rigby, and had placed the two prisoners in his charge, thus releasing
Timotheus and Ben Toner. The latter reported that his patient was
restored to animation, but this restoration was accompanied with fear
and delirium, the effects of which on a rapidly enfeebled body he
greatly dreaded. If he could keep down the cerebral excitement, all
might be well, and for this he depended much on the presence with the
sufferer of his friend, Mr. Wilkinson. Just as he said this, the
dominie's voice was heard calling for assistance, and the doctor and the
Squire sprang upstairs. The patient had broken his bandages, and was
sitting up fighting with his attendant, whom in his delirium he
identified with Rawdon. It was almost ludicrous to hear him cry, as he
clutched at Wilkinson's throat: "Ah, Grinstuns, you double-dyed villain,
I've got you now. No more free circus for you, Grinstuns!" With
difficulty the three men got him down, and bandaged him again; but his
struggles were so violent that they feared for his life. He recognized
none of them. Little Marjorie heard his loud shouts, and ran to save her
friend from his murderers, as she thought them to be. The Squire would
have repelled her intrusion angrily, but Doctor Halbert said: "Come,
little girl, and tell your poor friend he must be quiet, if he wants to
live for you and the rest of us." It is hard to say what prompted her,
but she took out a little tear-soaked handkerchief and laid it on
Coristine's shoulder, calling, "Eugene, you silly boy". The silly boy
closed his staring eyes, and then opened them again upon the child. "Is
that you, pet Marjorie?" he asked feebly; and she sobbed out: "Yes,
Eugene dear, it's me; I've come to help you to get well."

"Thank you, Marjorie; have I been sick long?"

"No, just a little while; but the doctor says you must be very very
still, and do just what you're told. Will you, Eugene?"

"Yes; where's your cousin, Marjorie?"

"Can you turn your head? If you can, put it down, and I'll whisper
something in your very own ear. Now listen! don't say a word till I come
back. I'm going to bring cousin Marjorie to you." Then she slipped away
out of the room.

"Doctor," said the Squire in a shaky voice, "we had aa better gang awa
oot o' the room till the meetin's owre." So the three men withdrew to
the hall as the two Marjories entered.

"Eugene," whispered little Marjorie, "have you been good while I was
away, and not spoken?"

"Not a word, Marjorie," breathed rather than spoke the enfeebled lawyer.

"I have brought cousin Marjorie to you. You must be very good, and do
all she says. Give me your hand." She took the limp hand, with the ring
on the little finger, and placed it in her cousin's; then, with a
touching little sigh, departed, leaving the two alone. Their hands lay
clasped in one another, but they could not speak. His eyes were upon
her, all the fierce light of delirium out of them, in spite of the fever
that was burning in every limb, resting upon her face in a silly wistful
way, as if he feared the vision was deceptive, or his prize might vanish
at any moment. At last she asked: "Do you know me, Mr. Coristine?" and
he murmured: "How could I help knowing you?" But, in a minute, he
commanded himself, and said: "It is very kind of you to leave your
friends and come to a stupid sick man. It is too much trouble, it is not
right, please go away."

"Look me straight in the face, Eugene," said Miss Carmichael, with an
effort. "Now, tell me, yes or no, nothing more, mind! Am I to go away?"
As she asked the question, her face bent towards that of the sufferer,
over which there passed a feeble flush, poor insufficient index of the
great joy within, and then, as they met, his half-breathed answer was
"No." She commanded silence, shook up his pillows, bathed his forehead,
and in many ways displayed the stolen ring. He saw it, and, for the
first time, perceived the change on his own hand. Then, she ordered him
to go to sleep, as if he were a child, smoothing his hair and chanting
in a low tone a baby's lullaby, until tired nature, with a heart at
peace, became unconscious of the outer world and slumbered sweetly. On
tiptoe, she stole to the door, and found many waiting in the hall for
news. Proudly, she called the doctor in and showed him his patient, in
his right mind and resting. "Thank God!" said the good man, "he is
saved. We must come and relieve you now, Miss Carmichael." But she
answered: "No, my place is here. If I want assistance I will call my
uncle or Mr. Wilkinson." Doctor Halbert told the joyful news to the
Squire and the assembled company. The clergymen would not arrive till
tea time, so Mr. Carruthers, as the priest of the family, gathered the
household together, and, in simple language but full of heart, thanked
God for the young life preserved. The doctor went away home, but without
Miss Fanny, and, as he drove off, remarked to the Squire, significantly:
"There is no medicine in the world like love," a sentiment with which
the Squire thoroughly agreed.

The evening was a very pleasant one. Messrs. Errol and Perrowne rejoiced
to hear the good news from the sick room, and Mrs. Carmichael gave the
former to understand, in a vague, yet to his intelligence perfectly
comprehensible, way, that the assurance of her daughter's future
happiness would remove a large obstacle in the way of her becoming the
mistress of the manse. Mr. Perrowne appreciated Dr. Halbert's
consideration in leaving his daughter at Bridesdale. The Du Plessis
quartette were even farther advanced than the Carmichael four; and
consequently Miss Graves was left to the entertainment of Mr. Douglas.
The patient upstairs awoke, feeling very stiff and sore, but quite
rational, and almost too happy to speak, which was a good thing, as his
strength was that of a baby. He had to be lifted and turned, and propped
up and let down, which the Squire generally did for him, under the head
nurse's instructions, received from the doctor. Then he had to be fed,
and begged to have his moustache curtailed, so as to facilitate the
task. Two little hands, a comb, and a pair of scissors went to work,
and, without annihilating the hirsute adornment, so trimmed it as to
reveal a well-curved upper lip, hitherto almost invisible. It is
astonishing what a sense of proprietorship this "barberous operation,"
as she termed it, developed in the heiress, who thought more of it than
of her prospective thousands. It was past ten o'clock before she
consented to yield her post to the devoted Wilkinson, who already began
to look upon her as a sister, and to whom she gave directions, with all
the gravity and superior dignity of an experienced nurse. The colonel
would willingly have taken his turn in the sick room, but Mr. Terry, Mr.
Douglas, and the Squire insisted on relieving him. Mr. Bangs was away
with Ben Toner and two guns hunting for the Grinstun man. The watchers
got along very well through the night, with the exception of the
veteran, who was a little too liberal in the application of stimulants,
which led to a reappearance of fever, and necessitated his calling in
the aid of the ever-willing and kindly Honoria. Both the clergymen had
volunteered to sit up with him, whom they were proud to call their
friend, but it was not considered fair to impose upon them after the
labours of their hardest day.

The morning saw Miss Carmichael in the sick room again, putting things
to rights, purifying and beautifying it, as only a woman can, with the
romantic and tearful, Shakespeare loving Tryphosa in her train. Poor
little neglected Marjorie, who had performed for her young self an art
of heroic sacrifice in handing over her own Eugene to her unworthy
cousin, was allowed, a great and hitherto unheard of reward, to bring
the patient an armful of flowers from the garden, gathering any blossoms
she chose, to fill vases and slender button-hole glasses in every
corner. She was even permitted to kiss Eugene, although she protested
against the removal of that lovely moustache. She offered to bring
Felina to lick off the stubble on her friend's chin, but that friend, in
a wheezy whistling voice, begged that Maguffin might be substituted for
the cat, in case pussy might scratch him. Maguffin came with the
colonel's razors, and Marjorie looked on, while he gave the author of
his present fortunes a clean shave, and made ironical remarks about
moustache trimming. "Guess the man what trimmed yoh mustash fought he
was a bahbah, sah?" The patient smiled seraphically, and whistled in
his throat. "Never want to have a better, Maguffin."

"It's awful, Guff, isn't it?" asked Miss Thomas, and continued, "it
quite gives me the horrows!"

"Dey's bahbahs and dey's bahbahs," replied the coloured gentlemen, "and
I doan want ter blame a gennelum as cayn't help hisself."

The barbering completed, Marjorie junior was dismissed with her ally
Guff, and the senior lady of that name reigned supreme. The eyes of the
feeble invalid, whose heart had been hungering and thirsting for love
during a month that had seemed a lifetime, followed her all over the
room, and almost stopped beating when she went near the door. But she
came back, and held that hot fevered hand on which her modest ring
glistened, and cooled his brow, and made him take his sloppy food, and
answered back in soft but cheery tones his deprecating whispers. She had
him now safe, and would tyrannize over him, she said; till, spite of the
weakness and the sharp pains, his eye began to twinkle with something of
the old happy light that seemed to be of so long ago, and, smilingly, he
murmured: "We are not ready for our graves yet." Miss Carmichael looked
severe, and held up a warning finger. "Repeat that, Eugene, and I will
send her to take care of you at once," she said; "that is, if she will
leave her dear Mr. Douglas for a poor bed-ridden creature like you." As
an affectionate salute followed these words, it may be presumed they
were not so harsh as they sounded. The doctor came in time for
breakfast, but, before partaking of that meal, he visited his patient,
eased his bandages, looked to the wounds, and praised the nurse. "He
could not be doing better," he said, as he cheerfully descended to the
breakfast table.

The constable had respected the sanctity of the Sabbath, and was still
in the kitchen, while his prisoners languished in the stables. Tryphena
presided over the morning meal, at which Timotheus and Ben sat; and
Tryphosa, who had just descended from her labours in the sick room, was
giving them so touching and poetical an account of the invalid and his
nurses that Timotheus began seriously to consider the propriety of
having some frightful injury inflicted upon his own person. Mr. Toner
related for the tenth time how the spurious doctor had cured him, and
then proceeded to tell of Serlizer's wonderful skill in pulling through
her shot-riddled old reprobate of a father, till "he was eenamost as
good as new and a mighty sight heavier 'n he was, along o' the leaud in
his old carkidge." Constable Rigby laughed at the wounds of the day, and
characterized them as mere scratches, unworthy of mention in casualty
despatches. "There was a man of ours, an acting corporal, called
Brattles, in the melee at Inkerman, who broke the tip of his bagginet
off in one Rooshian, and the butt of it in another. Then he had nothing
to do but to club with what the French call the crosse. He forgot that
he had not emptied his gun of the last charge so, just as he had floored
his fourth Rooshian, the piece went off into his left breast, and the
bullet ran clear down him and came out of his boot under the hollow of
the left foot. Captain Clarkson thought he was done for; but Brattles
asked him for two champagne corks, plugged up the incoming and the
outgoing wounds with them, and stuck to it till the Rooshian bugles
sounded the retreat. That I call a wound to speak of." Tryphena, who had
listened to this story of her elderly admirer with becoming gravity,
ventured to ask: "Do officers carry champagne corks about with them on
the battle-field, Corporal Rigby?"

"Not all officers, Miss Hill. I never heard that Lord Raglan or Sir
Colin did. But the young fellows, of course. How else could they blacken
each other's faces?"

"Do they do that?"

"Regular. There was a subaltern they called Baby Appleby, he was so
white-skinned and light-haired. Well, one night we had to turn out for
an alarm in the dark, and charged two miles up to the rifle pits of the
first line. When we came back, the colonel halted us for inspection
before dismiss. When he came to Mr. Appleby, he turns to his captain and
says: 'Where did you get this nigger in uniform, Ford?' The captain
looked at him and roared, for poor Mr. Appleby was as black as Maguffin.
The gentlemen had amused themselves corking him when he was asleep."

"Yoh finds it mighty easy, consterble, ter say disrespeckshus remahks on
cullud folks," said the temporary barber, entering at that moment. "Ef
the Lawd made as dahk complected, I specks the Lawd knowed what He was
a doin', and didn't go foh ter set white folks a-sneezin' at 'em. I'se
flissertaten myself ebery day yoh cayn't cohk me inter a white folks."

"They's whitewaush, Maguffin," interpolated Ben. "A good heavy coaut o'
whitewaush 'ud make a gashly Corkashun of you."

"Yah! yah! yah! I'se got a brudder as perfesses whitewashin' an'
colourin'. When he's done got a job, he looks moh like the consterble's
brudder nor myuns, yah! yah! yah!"

The corporal frowned, and went on with his breakfast, while Mr. Maguffin
gave an account of his shaving adventure, and of the sight of that poor
man whose moustache had been trimmed by a non-professional.

Ben was soon after called by the detective to re-engage in the hunt for
Rawdon, who was now known to be wounded, and, therefore, to be lurking
somewhere in the neighbourhood. Mrs. Carmichael accompanied Mr. Errol on
a visit to Matilda Nagle at the post office. The absence of the minister
made the morning game of golf impossible, so that Mr. Perrowne had to
surrender himself to the care of Miss Halbert, which he did with a fine
grace of cheerful resignation. Mr. Douglas expressed a desire to take a
walk in the surrounding country, and the dominie echoed it, with the
condition that the ladies should share in the excursion. The Squire and
Mrs. Carruthers were busy; the doctor had his patient to look after, and
expected to be summoned to the other at the post office; and Mr. Terry
occupied himself with the children. But Mrs. Du Plessis and her
daughter, Miss Graves, Miss Halbert, and, of course the colonel and Mr.
Perrowne, were willing to be pedestrians, if the proposers of the tramp
promised not to walk too fast. There was a pretty hillside, beyond
Talfourds on the road towards the Beaver River, from which the timber
had once been removed, and which was now covered, but not too thickly,
with young second growth; and thither the party determined to wend their
way. Marjorie had intended to stay at home, in the hope of being allowed
to see Eugene again, but the doctor had begged her to leave him alone
for a day or two, and now the prospect of blackberry and thimbleberry
picking on the hillside was too much for her to resist. Gaining
permission from her aunt, she loaded Jim with baskets and little tin
pails, and led him away to the road between herself and Miss Graves. The
other gentlemen relieved the burdened Edinburghian of portions of his
load, and fell into natural pairs with the ladies, Miss Du Plessis and
Wilkinson bringing up the rear. There was a pleasant lake breeze to
temper the heat of the fine August morning, which gave the dominie
license to quote his favourite poet:--

     And now I call the pathway by thy name,
     And love the fir-grove with a perfect love.
     Thither do I withdraw when cloudless suns
     Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong.

Anticipating the thimbleberries, he recited:--

     Thy luscious fruit the boy well knows,
     Wild bramble of the brake.

Miss Du Plessis liked that sort of thing. It was a blessed relief from
type-written legal business letters. So she responded in the lines of
Lamartine:--

     Mon coeur à ce réveil du jour que Dieu renvoie,
     Vers un ciel qui sourit s'éleve sar sa joie,
     Et de ces dons nouveaux rendant grace au Seigneur,
     Murmure en s'éveillant son hymne intérieur,
     Demande un jour de paix, de bonheur, d'innocence,
     Un jour qui pèse entier dans la sainte balance,
     Quand la main qui les pèse à ses poids infinis
     Retranchera du temps ceux qu'il n'a pas bénis!

By this it will appear that the two were admirably suited to each other,
finding in their companion peculiar excellences they might have vainly
sought among a thousand on Canadian soil. "This is a morning of
unalloyed happiness, Farquhar," remarked Miss Du Plessis in prose, and,
in the same humble style of composition, he answered: "Thank God,
Cecile! Think what it might have been had the worst happened to poor
Corry!"

"As it is," replied that lady, archly, "the worst has turned out for the
best."

"As it was with me," the dominie humbly responded, and relapsed into
silence.

Meanwhile, Marjorie trotted on ahead, and, her eyes, made observant by
former botanical expeditions on a small scale, found the purplish blue
five-flowered Gentian by the open roadside, the tall orange Asclepias
or Butterfly Weed, and the purple and yellow oak leaved Gerardias or
False Foxgloves in grassy stretches among the second growth. These she
bestowed on Jim, who begged to be allowed to present the most perfect
specimens to Miss Graves. The walkers were now on the top of the hill,
and strayed off into the overgrown clearing. A shout from Marjorie
declared that the berries had been reached, and within five minutes the
whole party was engaged in gathering, what Mr. Douglas hailed with
delight as "brammles." Marjorie accused the colonel of picking for his
own mouth, but this was a libel. He picked for Mrs. Du Plessis, whom he
established under the shade of a straggling striped maple of tender
growth. That lady received the tribute of brother Paul very gracefully,
and darkened her lips with the ripe berries, much to the colonel's
amusement and their mutual gratification. Miss Halbert stood over Basil,
and so punished him with a sunshade, whenever he abstracted fruit for
personal consumption, that the man became infatuated and persisted in
his career of wrong doing, till he was deprived of his basket, which he
only received back after an abject apology delivered on his knees, and a
solemn promise to have regard to the general weal. Miss Du Plessis and
the dominie would have done well, had not the worship of nature and
human nature, in prose and in verse, withheld their hands from labour,
and fortunately, as Mr. Perrowne remarked, from picking and stealing.
Mr. Douglas was absorbed in admiration for Miss Graves, who, thinking
nothing of the handsome picture she made, attended strictly to business,
and roused him to emulation in basket filling. Marjorie, with her
oft-replenished tin can, aided them time about impartially, as the only
honest workers worthy of recognition. Steadily, they toiled away, until
the rising sun and shortening shadows, to say nothing of stooped backs
and flushed faces, warned them to cease their labours, and prepare to
take their treasures home. Then they compared baskets, to the exultation
of some and the confusion of others. Miss Graves and Mr. Douglas were
bracketed first with a good six quarts a piece. Miss Halbert came next,
with Mr. Perrowne a little behind. Miss Du Plessis and Mr. Wilkinson had
not six quarts between them; and, when Marjorie saw the colonel's
little pail only half full, she exclaimed: "O horrows!" and said it was
a lasting disgrace. But Mrs. Du Plessis smiled sweetly with her
empurpled lips, and the colonel did not mind the disgrace a particle.
They all went home very merry and full of innocent jocularity.

"Cecile," said the dominie, "I trust you will excuse the adjective, but
I should dearly love to hear Corry's jolly laugh just now. Poor fellow,
I think I could almost bear a pun."

The audacious Mr. Perrowne overheard the last words, and, with great
exuberance of feeling, propounded a conundrum.

"Mr. Wilkinson, why is a pun of our friend Coristine's like your sling?
D'ye give it up? Because there's now arm in it now. Ha! ha!"

They had only been a few hours away, but, when they returned to
Bridesdale, it did not require clever eyes to see that a great change
had taken place. The people were in the house, even the children, but
they were all very quiet. Neither the doctor nor the Squire was visible,
and instinctively the berry-pickers feared the worst. Mrs. Carruthers
told them that excitement had been too much for the enfeebled patient.
Happily, he was not strong enough to be delirious, but he seemed
sinking, and had fallen into unconsciousness, only muttering little
incoherences in his attenuated voice. Doctor Halbert hoped much from a
strong constitution, but work and worry had reduced its vitality before
the dreadful drain came on the life blood. Soon, he came down stairs
with the Squire, both looking very solemn. "Let me go to my friend,
Doctor," pleaded Wilkinson, and many other offers of service were made,
but the doctor shook his head. "Miss Marjorie is there and will not
leave him," he answered; "and, if she cannot pull him through, nobody
else can. When she wants help, she will summon you." Then, turning to
Mr. Errol, he said: "I will go with you now, and see to that poor woman
at the post office." The minister took the good doctor's arm, and they
went away dinnerless to attend to the wants of Matilda Nagle, suddenly
smitten down with fever while on the way to obey the imperious infelt
summons of the unseen Rawdon. Mr. Newberry was with her, having been
driven over by that strange mixture of humanity, Yankee Pawkins, and
Mrs. Tibbs was acting as the soul of kindness. The woman's case was a
remarkable combination of natural and mesmeric causes, but presented no
reason for serious apprehension. The doctor prescribed, and Pawkins
drove off at breakneck speed to get the prescription filled by the
medical student at his dispensary. Then, he and the minister returned to
the sobered and melancholy company at Bridesdale. "Resting, but hardly
breathing," was the bulletin that greeted them, when they enquired after
the solitary battler for life in the upper chamber. Yet he was not
alone; one sad stricken woman's heart was bound to that poor shadow of
former vital wealth forever.




CHAPTER XXI.

     Matilda Free--The Constable Captured--The Thunderstorm--Rawdon
     Found--The Lawyer Revives--Inquest--Mr. Pawkins
     Again--Expeditions--Greek--Committee of the Whole--Miss Graves and
     Mr. Douglas--Weddings--The Colonel, Wilkinson and Perrowne
     Off--Arrival of Saul--Errol, Douglas and Coristine
     Wedded--Festivities in Hall and Kitchen--Europe--Home--Two
     Knapsacks--Envoi.


That was a dreary Monday afternoon inside Bridesdale, in spite of the
beautiful weather without, for the shadow of death fell heavy and black
on every heart. Those who had shared in the morning's merriment felt as
if they had been guilty of sacrilege. Even Mr. Rigby exhibited his share
in the general concern by being more than usually harsh towards his
prisoners. About four o'clock there was an incident that made a little
break in the monotony of waiting for the death warrant. Old Styles
arrived, to say that the crazy woman was no longer crazy. Half an hour
before she sat up in bed and cried "Free at last!" and since then,
though the fever was still on her, her mind was quite clear. Doctor
Halbert took a note of the time, and wondered what the sudden and
beneficial change meant. Mrs. Carmichael and Mr. Errol sympathized with
him, rejoicing for the poor woman's sake. The detective and Ben Toner
came home, very tired and disgusted with their want of success. When
night came, the dominie again offered to stay with his friend, and, in
his anxiety, even forced himself into the sick room. Miss Carmichael was
very pale, but very quiet and resolute. "He is your dear friend, I
know," she said, calmly, "but he belongs to me as he does not to anybody
else in the world. I may not have him long, so please don't grudge me
the comfort of watching." Wilkinson had to go away, more pained at heart
for the sad eyed watcher awaiting the impending blow than for the
unconscious friend on whom it was to fall more mercifully. Mr. Bangs
took charge of the outside guard that night, in which the clergymen had
volunteered to serve. Mr. Rigby took a grey blanket out to the stables,
and lay down near his prisoners, with baton and pistol close at hand.
About eleven o'clock Ben Toner, on guard before the house, saw a female
figure approaching, and challenged. "Squit yer sojer foolins, Ben, and
leave me pass," came from the well known voice of Serlizer. "Is the gals
up in the kitchen?"

"They is," replied Mr. Toner, humbly and laconically; and his ladylove
proceeded thitherward. Miss Newcome looked in upon Tryphena, Tryphosa,
and Timotheus, Mr. Maguffin being asleep, and, after a little
conversation, guessed she'd go and see Ben. She had found out that the
constable had two prisoners in charge, quite incidentally, and listened
to the news as something that did not concern her. Instead of going to
see Ben, however, she visited the stables. The corporal was evidently
tired of lying in front of his captives, and probably proposed to
himself an improving game of geography over a mug of cider in the
kitchen, for he had risen and unlocked the door. Serlizer stood by it
with a stout handkerchief in her hand, in the middle of which was
knotted a somewhat soft and unsavoury potato. As Mr. Rigby slipped out,
after a glance at his shackled charges, that potato went across his
month, and was fastened in its place by the handkerchief, firmly, though
quickly, knotted at the back of his neck. The terror of Russians and
Sepoys struggled for liberty, but he was a child in the arms of the
encampment cook. Halters, ropes, and chains of many kinds were hanging
up, and with some of these the Amazon secured her prisoner in a stall.
Then she searched him, retaliating upon the constable the indignities he
had practised on his former victims. Handcuff and padlock keys were
found in his pockets, and with these she silently freed her venerable
father, who, in his turn, delivered young Rawdon from his bonds. "Now,
you two," said the rescuer, quietly, "go round the end of the stables,
cross the road into the bush beyont, and leg out fast as ye can. I'm
a-goin' ter foller, and, ef I see ye take a step 'campment way, I'll
have ye both hung, sure pop." Mr. Newcome gave the prostrate constable
two parting kicks in the ribs, and obeyed orders, while his affectionate
daughter followed, until she saw the fugitives safely on the homeward
road. Then she strayed back to the kitchen, and guessed, seeing Ben was
all safe, she'd go home, as the night was fine. She put in half an
hour's irrelevant talk with Mr. Toner after this, and, thereafter, left
him, suggesting, as she departed, that, when his watch was over, he
might look into the stables, where the horses seemed to be restless.

Simple-hearted Ben informed Mr. Bangs that he had heard noises in the
stables, which was not true. Proceeding thither with a lantern he found
only one prisoner, who, on examination, proved to be the constable. He
had attacked the unsavoury potato with his teeth as far as the tightness
of his gag allowed, and was now able to make an audible groan, which
sounded slushy through the moist vegetable medium. When released, he was
speechless with indignation, disappointment, and shame. Ben flashed the
lantern on the handkerchief, and recognized it as the property of a
young woman of his acquaintance, whereupon he registered an inward vow
to throw off a Newcome and take on a Sullivan. Bridget was better
looking than Serlizer anyway, and wasn't so powerful headstrong like.
Mr. Bangs came to see the disconsolate corporal, and Mr. Terry sought in
vain to comfort him. The detective was not sorry, save for the
possibility of the fugitives effecting a junction with Rawdon, who would
thus be at the head of a gang again. Otherwise, Newcome was not at all
likely to leave the country, and could be had any time, if wanted. As
for the unhappy lad, he had suffered enough, and if there were any
chance of his amending his company, Mr. Bangs was not the man to put
stumbling blocks in his way. But the demented constable, having
recovered his baton, began searching. He explored the stables, the
lofts, the coach-house, the sheds, examined every manger, and thrust a
pitchfork into every truss of hay and heap of straw. He came outside and
scrutinized the angle of every fence, poked every bush, peered under
verandahs, and, according to the untruthful and unsympathetic Timotheus,
rammed twigs down woodchucks' holes for fear the jail breakers had taken
refuge in the bowels of the earth. Ben and Maguffin brought him in by
force, lest in his despair he should do himself an injury, and sat him
down in an easy chair with the wished-for cider mug before him. He had
sense enough left to attach himself to the mug, and draw comfort from
its depths. Then he murmured: "Thomas Rigby, eighteen years in service,
promoted corporal for valour before the enemy, Crimean and Indian medals
and clasps, captured by a female young woman, bound and imprisoned by
the same, Attention! no, as you were!" Addressing Mr. Terry he
continued: "Sergeant Major, that woman, unless I find her, will bring my
grey hairs with sorrow to the grave."

"Come, come, now, corporal dear! shure it isn't the firsht toime a foine
lukin' owld sowljer has been captivated boy the ladies. Honoria's
blissed mother, rist her sowl in heaven, tuk me prishner wid a luk av
her broight black eyes, an', iv she wor livin', she cud do it agin."

With the morning came a thunderstorm, altogether unexpected, for
Monday's north-western breeze had promised fine and cooler weather. But
the south wind had conquered for a time, and now the two blasts were
contending in the clouds above and on the waters of the distant great
lake below. The rain fell in torrents, like hail upon the shingled roof;
the blue-forked lightning flashed viciously, followed instantaneously by
peals of thunder that rattled every casement, and made the dishes dance
on the breakfast table. The doctor had been with his patient; and as the
clergymen were about to conduct family worship, he whispered to them
that the soul might slip away during the terrors of the storm, as he had
often seen before. It was a very solemn and awful time. In vain Mrs.
Carmichael, aided by the other ladies, sought to make her daughter rest
or even partake of food. How could she? The storm outside was nothing to
that which raged in her own breast, calm as was her outward demeanour.
Marjorie crouched on the mat outside the bed-room door, and quietly
sobbed herself to sleep amid the crash of the elements. But, when
another sad dinner was over, the colonel and Mr. Terry bethought them of
asking the detective if he knew of the inner lake on the shore of which
Tillycot stood. He did not, but saw the importance of searching there.
As the last of the rain had ceased, he proposed to explore it, but told
the Squire, with whom he communicated, that the skiff his informants had
mentioned was not at the place where first found, or anywhere on that
lake. Therefore Mr. Perrowne and Mr. Douglas proposed to go with Ben
Toner to get the Richards' scow, and meet Mr. Bangs with the colonel and
Mr. Terry at the encampment. The two parties armed and drove away. One
of the Richards boys, namely Bill, joined the three watermen, and
together they propelled the punt to the extent of a punt's travelling
capacity; but it was between four and five when the explorers of
Tillycot, leaving Ben, Timotheus and Richards on the shore, entered with
difficulty through the veiled channel, into the beautiful hidden lake.
They saw the skiff on the shore near the house, and soon perceived the
numerous blood stains in it. They ran up the bank, entered the chalet,
and, at last, in the library, beheld him whom they sought, extended upon
the floor. He had died by his own hand, his fingers being still upon the
pistol whose bullet had pierced his brain. Mr. Bangs seized a scrap of
writing lying on the table, which ran thus:--

"Curse you, Tilly, for leaving me to die like a rat in a hole. I have
stood the pains of hell for thirty-eight hours, and can't stand them any
longer. They shan't take me alive. Box and that hound Carruthers' papers
are covered with brush and leaves under the last birch in the bush,
where I finished that meddlesome fool of a lawyer. You know why you
ought to give a lot to Regy's boy. It's all over. Curse the lot of you.
Here goes, but mind you kill that damnable Squire, or I'll come when I'm
dead and torture the life out of you."

No compassion could follow the reading of this document. There was
nothing of legal importance in the chalet, so Mr. Bangs, aided by Mr.
Terry and Mr. Douglas, carried the dead man to the punt, and the party
in it and in the skiff returned to the Encampment lake. Richards, Ben
Toner, and Timotheus carried the body up the hill to the waggon on the
masked road. Then they returned to the scow, while Mr. Bangs drove to
the post office annex, with the colonel and Mr. Terry, Mr. Perrowne and
Mr. Douglas. Ben Toner and Timotheus arrived in the other waggon, soon
after the ghastly burden had been deposited in the unfinished hall, and
were left in charge, while the others went home to inform the Squire and
the doctor. Having done this, the detective took the former to the
little wood, and, after a little searching, found the concealed box,
which held the incriminating papers as well as the original treasure.
But for Coristine's fatal shot, these would have been carried away. On
their return, Doctor Halbert said, after consulting Mr. Bang's paper:
"He took his life the very hour Matilda exclaimed 'Free at last.' The
neighbourhood and the whole country may breathe more freely now that he
is gone. Your poor friend upstairs, John, has not died in vain."

"But he's not dead, Halbert!" almost sobbed the Squire.

"Not yet," replied the doctor, gravely.

Coristine had survived the thunderstorm and the finding of Rawdon's
remains; and, now that all sympathy in the latter was forfeited, many a
one would gladly have gone to the sinking man who fired the shot to tell
him, in his own vernacular, that Grinstuns had ceased from troubling.
But few dared intrude upon the stillness of his chamber, from the door
of which Marjorie had to be carried bodily away. The villain dead, the
treasure and papers recovered, Matilda Nagle in her right mind,
confidence was restored in Bridesdale, and only one absorbing thought
filled all minds. Yet, while the colonel shared his cigar case with Mr.
Douglas, and Mr. Terry smoked his dudeen, Mr. Bangs wrote to Toronto an
account of the escaped prisoner's death, Miss Du Plessis resigned her
type writership to Messrs. Tylor, Woodruff, and White, Mr. Wilkinson
sent in to the Board of School Trustees his resignation of the
Sacheverell Street School, and the Squire, on behalf of his niece,
signified that her position in the same was vacant, and informed the
legal firm of the serious illness of their junior partner. The clergymen
returned to their lodgings and their duties, and the constable, having
no living criminal to watch over, relieved Timotheus and Ben Toner of
their care of the dead. Maguffin had summoned Messrs. Newberry, Pawkins,
and Johnson for the coroner's jury in the morning, and no excitement was
left at Bridesdale. When night came, all retired to rest, except the one
watcher by the bedside of despair. Early in the morning, when the sun
began to shine upon the night dews and peep through the casements, a tap
came to the dominie's door. He was awake, he had not even undressed,
and, therefore, answered it at once. He knew the pale figure in the
dressing gown. "Put on your pedestrian suit," she said with eagerness,
"and bring your knapsack with you as quickly as possible." He put it on,
although the arms of coat and shirt were ripped up for former surgical
reasons, and he objected to the blood marks on the sleeves. Then he took
up his knapsack, and went hastily to the sick room. His friend was lying
on his side, and looking very deathly, but he was speaking, and a wan
smile flitted over his lips. "Two knapsacks," he murmured, and, "Dear
old Wilks," and, "rum start." Miss Carmichael said: "Put yours here on
the table above his, where he can see them," and he obeyed. "Now, stand
beside them, and say 'Corry,' gently." The dominie could hardly do it
for a queer choking in his throat, but at last he succeeded in
pronouncing the abbreviation in an interrogative tone. "Wilks," wheezed
the sick man, "O Wilks, she called them pads!" and his eyes rested on
the knapsacks. "Stay with him," the nurse whispered, "while I call
Fanny." Soon Miss Halbert came, and, walking boldly but quietly up to
the bedside, asked: "Who are you calling she, you naughty boy that want
to leave us all?" With an effort, he answered: "I beg your pardon, Miss
Halbert, but you know you did call them pads." "Well, so they are, you
poor dear," she replied, bending over and kissing the white forehead,
for which it is to be hoped Mr. Perrowne absolved her; "but you must
stay here, for see, I have brought Marjorie to nurse you till you are
fit to carry a knapsack again." Then Miss Carmichael came forward, and
the patient became ceremoniously polite in a wheezing way, and was
ashamed of himself to be ill and give so much trouble; but he allowed
himself to be shaken up and receive his strengthening mixtures, and
behaved like a very feeble rational man with a little, but real, hold on
life. That was the turning point in the lawyer's career; and, when the
doctor descended from seeing him later in the morning, he announced that
the crisis was past, and that, with proper care, the Squire's
prospective nephew would live. Joy reigned once more in Bridesdale, from
Mr. Terry to Marjorie, and from the stately Mrs. Du Plessis to Maguffin
in the kitchen.

The only thing to mar the pleasure of that day was the inquest, and even
that brought an agreeable surprise. When Matilda Nagle was called, she
refused to acknowledge the name, insisting that she was Matilda Rawdon,
and producing from her pocket a much crumpled marriage certificate,
bearing the signature of a well-known clergyman who had exercised his
sacred office in a town within thirty miles of Toronto. This she had
taken from the library on the occasion of her last visit to Tillycot.
Old Mr. Newberry's face beamed with delight, and that of Mr. Bangs was a
curious study, revealing a mind which had joyfully come to a decision it
had been struggling after in the face of serious difficulties. When the
verdict of suicide was given, the jury dismissed, and he prepared, along
with the constable, to deliver over the body of the escaped prisoner
into the gaoler's hands, he bade Mrs. Rawdon an almost affectionate
goodbye, and made touching enquiries after the welfare of her son Monty.
As an honourable woman, she was received, in spite of her late husband's
character, and her own unconscious crimes, into the Bridesdale circle,
which, however, she soon left in the company of her benevolent host. The
Squire informed her that he had a large sum of money in keeping for her
and her son, and that Miss Du Plessis would either send her all the
furniture of Tillycot, when she was prepared to receive it, or take it
from her at an equitable valuation, to either alternative of which she
strongly objectd. Before Mr. Rigby finished his midday meal, without
which it was impossible that he, at his age, could travel, Mr. Pawkins
twisted the British lion's tail several times, to which the corporal
replied sadly: "Had I still been in the British army, sir, I should have
been degraded for losing prisoners committed to my guard, but any man
who allows himself to speak as you do, sir, of what you are too ignorant
to judge of, is degraded already." The cautious Yankee was equally
unsuccessful with Ben, who met him with: "Don't give me no more lip
about Serlizer and old man Newcome, but jist you tell 'em I've waushed
the bilin' of 'em clear off'n my hands fer a gayul as Serlizer ain't a
patch on." Then Mr. Pawkins amused himself asking Tryphosa if it was
Maguffin or Timotheus was her young man, giving as his private opinion
that the nigger was the smarter man of the two. When Tryphena playfully
ordered him out of the house, he expressed intense sorrow for Sylvanus'
future, but was glad to hear he was getting a present rest, paddling his
mud barge round the Simcoe pond. Mr. Pawkins was offensively personal,
but kept the table lively, and parted with them, regretting that, having
left his catechism at home, he was unable to favour his dear children
with a little much-needed religious instruction. The door was slammed
behind him, and Mr. Rigby remarked with animation: "Very properly done,
Miss Hill, a very timely rebuke of unpardonable American insolence!"

When evening came, the Squire and Mrs. Carmichael mastered courage, and
took Coristine's pale-faced nurse away from him with gentle force, the
mother taking the daughter's place for a time. After this, Miss
Carmichael was allowed no night duty, Wilkinson and the Squire, the
clergymen, Mr. Terry, and Mr. Douglas attending to it in turns, while
all the ladies, in the same way, relieved her during part of each day.
Very slowly, but silently and patiently, the invalid regained his lost
strength. He was grateful, sometimes with a few words of thanks, but
oftener mutely, with a deprecating look, to all who ministered to his
comfort. One day Marjorie was allowed in, and, among other wise remarks,
informed her Eugene that "cousin Marjorie wasn't you know what any
more." "My little love," he answered, "she's an angel, and always was";
Marjorie was not at all sure of this, but did not like to cross a sick
man. During his progress towards health, there were walks and drives,
picnics to Tillycot and the Beaver River, expeditions to town, fishing
expeditions with Mr. Bigglethorpe, for whom the lawyer had brought a
bundle of new flies, which in his anxious state of mind he had forgotten
to deliver, and a four days' trip on the _Susan Thomas_, which pleased
Miss Graves and Mr. Douglas immensely. Only two days were actually spent
on the water, but, as Tryphena was there in the capacity of cook, and a
coloured lady of Maguffin's acquaintance was temporarily engaged for
Mrs. Du Plessis, the crew and the manservant were in the seventh heaven
of delight. Marjorie, of course, was present, and shared the command of
the schooner with her father. She also attached herself a good deal to
Jim, and, although resenting the attentions he bestowed upon the big
girl, carefully abstained from porcine epithets, a result of Eugene's
epistolary instructions. The great Mr. Tylor came up to Bridesdale in
person to see his junior, and was duly informed of the engagement
between him and the heiress, Miss Carmichael, "Ah, Coristine, my dear
fellow, we shall be losing you for the law, now, and, the first thing we
know, you will be in Parliament. If not, I may say White is going out of
the firm, and Woodruff and I had resolved on Tylor, Woodruff and
Coristine for the new style. Your servant, Miss Carmichael! I
congratulate my friend and partner on a friend and prospective partner,
in life as well as law, so infinitely superior, and I trust you will
allow an oldish man to congratulate you on being won by as fine a young
fellow as ever lived." When the good Q.C. left the room, the patient
remarked: "Everybody shows me so much kindness, now, Marjorie, when I
have all I want in yours."

"Is it kindness, Eugene, only kindness?"

"No, no, it is love, Marjorie, isn't it, undying love? Would you think
me very foolish if I were to go back for once to Wilks' and my habit of
reciting all sorts of poetry?"

"I could not stand all sorts, Eugene. There are some that Marjorie
quotes which are simply awful. She says she gets them from Guff."

"Oh, this isn't that kind. It is Greek, Modern Greek:--

     Ô Erôt' anthêrotate,
     Glyke kai hilarôtate,
       Tou kosmou kybernêtê.
     Esen ho nous, to sôma mou,
     To stêthos, kai to stoma mou,
        Latreuei kai kêryttei."

"That is very pretty, Eugene, for love in a general kind of way--love in
the aibstrac', as the metaphysical Scotch girl said."

"What! Marjorie, you know Greek!"

"Yes; my father taught me to read the Greek Testament, and I have read
some of it with Mr. Errol."

"Oh, you are a treasure! But I mean your love, and my mind and body,
heart and voice."

"That will do, you silly boy. Now lie down, and do not excite yourself
any more." But she said in her heart that she did not believe Mr.
Wilkinson could quote Greek, and, if he did, Cecile, she was sure, could
not understand him.

One evening, by general agreement, a committee of the whole sat in the
office, the Squire in the chair. The chairman jocularly asked the
colonel, as the senior of the meeting, his intentions. "My intentions,
Misteh Chaihman, or ratheh ouah intentions, those of my deah Tehesa and
me, are to be mahhied heah, if you will pehmit, by Misteh Pehhowne, whom
we also wish to unite in holy matymony ouah daughteh Cecile to ouah deah
boy Fahquhah. Also, with yoah pehmission, we will place Timotheus and
Tryphosa, when mahhied, in chahge of Tillycot and Cecile's fahm heah;
and will then jouhney westwahd to the Mississippi, and so southwahd, to
show ouah deah childyen theih futuhe inhehitance, and save Misteh
Wilkinson's ahm the rigouhs of yoah Canadian winteh. That is all, Misteh
Chaihman, three weddings, a meeah tyifle, suh." The colonel laughed,
took a little imaginary Bourbon, and whiffed his cigar, while Mrs. Du
Plessis, her daughter, and the dominie blushed, but also smiled, to
think that explanations had been frankly made and the coast was clear.
"I suppose," said the Squire, "it will be my turn next to explain for
self and freens. The doctor says my nephew that's to be maun tak' a sea
voyage for the guid o's health, and Marjorie, wha sud be here by richts
to speak for hersel', is gaun tae kill twa birds wi' ane stane, tak care
o' her husband, and spier aifter her graun' fortune. But the meenister's
wantin' tae take her mither wi' him; sae the gudewife and me, we're
thinkin' o' sendin' aa the weans tae Susan at Dromore, and makin' a
pairty o't. We canna leave Bridesdale unproteckit, that means Sylvanus
and Tryphena 'll be pit in chairge till we're back, and they gang to
Sylvanus' ain fairm. Ony mair intentions?" Mr. Perrowne sought the
chairman's eye, and addressed him. "Mr. Chairman, unaccustomed as I am
to public speaking (derisive cheers), and unwilling as we are to obtrude
our private affairs upon what Virgil calls the _ignobile vulgus_ (hisses
from Messrs. Errol and Bangs and the doctor), nevertheless, on this
festive occasion, we owvercome our natural modesty and spirit of
self-effacement (more derision) sow far as to remark that Cubbyholes (a
dig from Miss Halbert) will be ready for our occupation in the second
week of September, about which time the Bishop will make a visitation,
including the office of howly matrimony. Meanwhile the bride elect will
look forward with pleasant expectation to those precious tyings of the
nuptial knot, which will enrich her housekeeping account with liberal
marriage fees." Here the parson was compelled to stop, since one of the
indignant Miss Fanny's hands was over his mouth, and the other actively
engaged in boxing his mercenary ears. "Ony mair intentions?" cried the
Squire again, warming to his work. "Pahdon me, Misteh Chaihman, foh
rising a second time, but I am given to undehstand by Madame Du Plessis
that Maguffin, who accompanies us, has matyimonial intentions towahds
her new maid, Sophronia Ann Trelawny Tolliveh; that is all, suh." "I see
Maister Bangs has a word for the chair," said the Squire, when the
colonel ended. The detective, for the first time in his life, looked
uneasy. "I ownly wented to sey, Mr. Chairman, thet, within a year, when
you are all beck frem yore visit, Mrs. Metilda Rawdon hes premised to
bekem Mrs. Bengs. I may also edd thet, frem kenversation with Ben
Towner, I hev learned thet the priest is soon to selemnize his union
with Miss Bridget Sellivan." The company was aghast, and cried out as
one man, "What is to become of Serlizer?" Mr. Bangs responded: "The
yeng weman, Sarah Eliza Newcome, wes the person who rebbed kenstable
Rigby of his prisoners. When he kem to know the fect, he conceived sow
high a degree of respect fer her kerrage end skill, thet he et wence
propowsed to her, end hes been eccepted. Mr. Perrowne hes been esked, I
believe, to merry them; is it net sow, Mr. Perrowne?"

"Yes, the corporal bespowke me, as he said; but that wretched Maguffin
insists on being married by the Baktis. I'm ashamed of you, colonel,
allowing so unhallowed a marriage tie in your household."

"I leave religion, Misteh Pehhowne, to evehy man's conscience." The
meeting then adjourned.

Two young people had been sitting on the verandah while the matrimonial
congress was going on, and were much amused by what they occasionally
heard of the proceedings. Next morning, Marjorie carried off one of this
pair by the name of Jim to look for crawfish and shiners in the creek.
Under her able tuition, Mr. Douglas was making rapid progress in
Canadian slang, and treasured in his memory many choice extracts from
the words of supposed coloured poets, contributed originally by Guff.
The scraps of doleful ballads, taken from the stores of the Pilgrim
brothers, Marjorie objected that he did not seem to take stock in. While
up to the bared elbows in the crawfishery, the twain heard voices, those
of Miss Graves and Mr. Terry, but they kept on turning over stones and
shouting all the same. Marjorie had never had the veteran really
interested in that creek, so she ran to secure him, while her friend
pulled down his sleeves and went to meet the lady. It was a pretty
place, the bank of that creek, an ideal spot for a morning stroll, and
they were soon out of earshot of the fishers. Mr. Douglas remarked, in
allusion to the previous night's committee of the whole, that Bridesdale
was going to be Bridesdale indeed, and would soon be no place for single
people, like himself and his companion. "But I suppose we will both be
gone before then," she answered. "I should have been back a week ago,
had not Mr. Tylor kindly lengthened my holiday. It is hard to have to
leave this place."

"Very," replied Mr. Douglas, "and harder to leave the people. I haven't
known you very long Miss Graves."

"No, only a few weeks, but very pleasant weeks."

"They have been so to me, and the more I see of you, the more I dislike
going away."

"Yes, the people gathered here are delightful, almost a unique party."

"I did not mean the people in general. I meant Miss Graves. I hope that
blunt speech doesn't offend you."

"Not at all. It is blunt, as you say, but complimentary."

"I don't want to make compliments, Miss Graves, until I have the right.
I want you to come home with me to Edinburgh as my wife."

"This is very sudden and very kind, Mr. Douglas. What do you know of me,
a poor girl working for my living?"

"I know more than you think, and honour you for your work and
independent spirit. I am not going to say I want to take you away from
drudgery, and put you in a better position, because I want you to take
me for myself, if I am worth taking, as a man."

Miss Graves looked upon his manly honest face with eyes as honest, yet
with the merest shade of coquetry in them, and said: "You are worth
taking as a man."

"Then, take me, Marion, and all I have."

"You are not a bit like my picture of a Scotch wooer. You give a poor
girl no chance to hold you back."

"But I don't want to be held back. Shall we report ourselves to the
matrimonial congress?"

"Oh no, not yet, Mr. Douglas; you take wonderful liberties with a new
acquaintance."

Some distance off, Mr. Terry was trying to still the voice of Marjorie.
"I saw him, granpa, I saw Jim with my very own eyes. Oh, these men will
break my heart!"

The first parties to perpetrate matrimony were Ben Toner and Biddy
Sullivan. Mr. Toner, to use his own expressive language, was afraid
Serlizer might round on him if he delayed. Therefore, Father McNaughton
was called in, and, with the aid of Rufus Hill and Barney Sullivan,
groomsmen, Norah Sullivan and Christie Hislop, bridesmaids, and the
Bigglethorpes and Lajeunesses, spectators, the knot was tied. A
honeymoon trip of two days to Toronto, where, in their new clothes and
white cotton gloves, they were the admired of all beholders, rounded off
the affair, and delivered Ben from all fear of the redoubtable Serlizer.
Next Sunday morning there was a great commotion in the Church of St.
Cuthbert's in the Fields. Miss Newcome, gorgeous of attire, supported by
Tryphena in her very best, first marched proudly up the aisle, and then
came the corporal, in full uniform, even to his stock, and adorned with
medals and clasps which told of his warlike achievements, backed by Mr.
Terry in an unostentatious suit of black broadcloth. Shortly before the
close of the service, Mr. Perrowne, in his most ecclesiastical manner,
called the parties up, and put them through their catechism. The
corporal answered with military precision and dignity, and Serlizer,
glancing at his martial magnificence, was so proud of the bridegroom
that she felt equal to answering a bench of bishops. Mrs. Newcome, who
had given her daughter away, remarked, as all the bridal party retired
from the vestry to receive their friends' congratulations, that the
constable, for a widower, was a very proper man, and Serlizer might have
done much worse. To his best man, Mr. Terry, the corporal said:
"Sergeant-major, I have got my guard. A prisoner may slip from me,
Sergeant-major, but when that strapping woman puts her arms round him,
he'll be as helpless as a child. I shall apply to the Council for an
increase of pay." Soon afterwards, Maguffin got a holiday, went to
Dromore, where Miss Tolliver was sojourning with Mrs. Thomas, took that
lady to Collingwood, the coloured Baptist preacher of which united them,
and came home triumphantly in the stage with his bride. They received a
great ovation in the kitchen, and, Mr. Terry having joined the party,
played the geographical game till midnight, as a sober, improving, and
semi-religious way of celebrating the event. Mr. Maguffin remarked that
the Baktis preacher had promised, out of the two-dollar fee, to insert a
notice of the marriage in a leading paper, adding the words, "No Cards,"
but, said Tobias, "he warn't nebber moah leff in all hees life, 'kase
here's the keerds and heaps on 'em. Yah! yah! yah!"

The colonel was getting anxious to start for the Mississippi, and
begged his deceased wife's sister to confer with her daughter, and name
the day. The dominie was also consulted, and, seeing it was vain to hope
for his friend's restoration to the extent of performing groomsman's
duty, he acquiesced in whatever decision should be reached. Mr. Douglas
took Coristine's place, and Miss Graves that of Miss Carmichael, and,
for both of them, the Edinburgh lawyer ordered from the city handsome
wedding presents to bestow upon the two couples, a little proof of
generosity gratifying to the lady whom he now regularly called Marion.
The said Marion had definitely resigned her situation with Messrs.
Tylor, Woodruff, and White. On Thursday morning, St. Cuthbert's in the
Fields was a scene of wonder to the assembled rustics, with flowers and
favours and lighted candles. Miss Du Plessis, stately and lace bedight,
was led in by her uncle, and followed by Miss Graves and Marjorie, while
Wilkinson, in elegant morning dress, preceded Mr. Douglas and Mr. Bangs.
The colonel, with much emotion, gave his niece away, and Mr. Perrowne
made them one. Then came Mrs. Du Plessis, arm in arm with her former
husband's faithful servant, Mr. Terry, and behind her followed Miss
Halbert, training for her own approaching celebration. Mr. Errol was the
colonel's right hand man. The second couple was united, and, amid the
strains of the wedding march on the parlour organ, there went on
salutes, congratulations, and hysterical little weepings, until the
serious business of affixing signatures in the vestry called the
contracting and witnessing parties to order. Then they retired to
Bridesdale, where there was a wedding breakfast, at which Mr. Perrowne,
elated with liberal fees, was the soul of jocularity, and Mr. Douglas
let the cat out of the bag as to his relations with Miss Graves. Mr.
Bangs sang "He's a jolly good fellow" to every toast indiscriminately.
The Squire was felicitous in his presidential remarks; but Mr. Terry
broke down at the thought of parting with Madame and with Miss Ceshile
that was. Mr. Errol made a good common-sense speech, and alluded
roguishly to the colonel's setting a good example that even ministers
were not too good to follow. Marjorie, in the dignity of a bridesmaid,
slipped away to bring Cousin Marjorie down, and was accompanied by the
new brides, who hugged Miss Carmichael, and implanted motherly and
sisterly kisses on the cheek of the only man who was left out of the
festivities. Lastly, Wilkinson appeared on the scene with the colonel,
and took a most affectionate leave of his friend. "You will not forget
me, Corry?" said the late dominie. "Never, Wilks, never, nor you me I
hope. I'll tell you, let us each carry away our knapsacks, and, when we
look at them, think of each other, and the happy chance that brought us
here together." The Squire's voice rung out: "Come, come, good people,
pack up quick, for the carriage is at the door." The valises were got
down by Timotheus, who received large tips. The two ladies and Wilkinson
got in with the Squire, and the new Mrs. Maguffin occupied the hind
seat, while the colonel and his servant rode away amid much throwing of
old shoes and rice, and waving of handkerchiefs, to make steamboat
connections at Collingwood. The departure of so large a company left
quite a blank at Bridesdale.

The Bishop, a gentlemanly cleric in orthodox hat and gaiters, arrived on
Saturday with his examining chaplain. Mr. Perrowne conducted them to Dr.
Halbert's, where the Squire, Mr. Douglas and Mr. Errol, with the ladies,
were invited to meet them. The Bishop turned out to be much more liberal
and evangelical in his views than the clergyman under visitation. On
Sunday, there was a confirmation service, and, on the following Monday,
St. Cuthbert's put on its festal robes once more. Mr. Douglas and Mr.
Errol stood by Mr. Perrowne, and Miss Graves and Miss Carmichael by Miss
Fanny, whom the doctor gave away in person. The Bishop did his duty
well, and afterwards honoured the wedding breakfast with his presence.
The sight of his diocesan kept Mr. Perrowne in order, and devolved the
jocularity on the Squire and the doctor. Mr. Terry was at home with
Coristine, describing the ceremony; and somebody at the Halbert's
hospitable table was longing for a chance to replace him. This, however,
she could not effect without its being noticed. The examining chaplain
fell foul of Mr. Errol by remarking that, when Scotch Presbyterians came
into the church, they generally did well, both in England and in Canada,
several of them having risen to the episcopate. "That minds me,"
answered the minister, intentionally putting on his broad Scotch, "that
minds me o' Jockey Strachan, that was Bishop o' Toronto. He met a Kirk
man aince, frae Markham, I'm thinkin', that had a threadbare coat.
'Man,' said he till's auld freend, 'yon's a shockin' worn-out coat. Can
yer freens i' the Kirk no dae better than that by ye?' 'Toot, toot,
Jockey,' said the Kirk man, 'what ails ye at the coat? It's no turned
yet.'" The sensible Bishop saw that the chaplain, who was preparing to
reply, would probably put his foot farther in, and turned the
conversation into other channels. Then the wedding presents were
re-examined, the bride donned her travelling costume, and, amid
affectionate leave takings, the doctor drove off his daughter and
son-in-law, with the clerics, toward the distant railway station, en
route for Ottawa, Montreal and Lake George. The Bridesdale party went
home, and, while Mrs. Carmichael and Miss Graves were attended by their
respective cavaliers, Miss Carmichael flew to the bedside where Mr.
Terry kept cheerful guard.

Everything hinged now upon the sick man's health. "He must be got away,
John, before the winter comes," the doctor had said to the Squire, and
all wrought with this end in view. Some time before Maguffin left, he
had determined, with his Marjorie's permission, to give up being shaved
and let his beard grow, and now the beard was there, long, brown and
silky, a very respectable beard. But the face above it was very pale
yet, and the cruel knife wounds were still sore, and the whole man
enfeebled in limb by long bed-keeping. One pleasant day, far on in
September, the doctor allowed him to rise, and, between the Squire and
Mr. Terry, he was raised up and dressed. Then they carried the wasted
form out into the autumn sun, and laid him on a couch on the verandah.
Marjorie and all the little Carruthers came to see him, with bouquets of
garden flowers. Timotheus ventured to pay his respects, and even
Tryphena came round to congratulate him on his recovery. "Shall I read
Wordsworth to you, dear?" asked Miss Carmichael, ironically.

"Marjorie," answered a beard-muffled voice, "your single word's worth
more than all in that old duffer's poems," which the lady took as an
indication that her patient was improving.

"They are all depending on us to fix the day, Eugene; when will you be
strong enough?"

"Any time, Marjorie; what's to-day?"

"Saturday, you foolish man, don't you smell the preparations for
Sunday?"

"And the New York steamer sails on Saturday?"

"Yes."

"Well, if we are all married next Wednesday, we shall have time to get
to New York easily on Saturday morning."

"Then I will get uncle to arrange with papa Errol, and to summon the
Captain and auntie and Sylvanus."

"Oh yes, and Bigglethorpe and Bangs, and old Mrs. Hill. I would like to
have Ben here, too, if you wouldn't mind, Marjorie."

"We shall have everybody, and leave here on Thursday morning, to get you
well on the sea."

Mr. Terry came to ask if Mr. Coristine didn't think the least draw of a
pipe would do him good. The invalid thought it would, and, while the
veteran went upstairs to fetch the lawyer's long-unused briar, Miss
Carmichael left him, ostensibly offended that he preferred a pipe to her
society, yet inwardly glad that he was strong enough to relish tobacco
again. Mr. Douglas joined the smokers, and they had a very jolly time.
"What will you do, Mr. Terry, when we are all gone!" asked the Edinburgh
lawyer. "It 'ull be gone too Oi will mysilf by that toime," replied the
veteran.

"I mean, when we are on the Atlantic."

"Plaze God, Oi'll be an the Atlantic mysilf."

"What, are you coming with us?"

"Av coorse! D'ye think the departmint cud ha done so long wit'out me iv
Oi hadn't shint in my risignaation?"

"Then you are really going across for a holiday?"

"Oi'm goin' to lit Honoria git a shmill av the Oirish cloimate, an' a
peep at the ould shod, fwhere her anshisters is slapin' it's many a long
year."

"What a glorious time we're going to have!"

"Troth for you, sor, an' we'll sit this bhoy on his pins agin."

Many letters were despatched that afternoon, and Timotheus was kept
busy, inviting parties whom the post was slow in reaching. On Sunday,
there being no service at St. Cuthbert's in the Fields, the Kirk was
crowded, and Mr. Errol announced a service of special interest on
Wednesday morning at 11 o'clock, when his co-presbyter, the Rev. Dr.
MacPhun, would officiate. His own text was "It is not good that the man
should be alone," and towards the close of the service he stated that
the Presbytery had given him leave of absence for three months, which he
intended to spend in Britain, during which time his people would have an
opportunity of hearing many profitable preachers, under Dr. MacPhun's
moderatorship _pro tem_. Monday was a day of trunk packing and other
preparations, connected with all sorts of boxes and parcels brought by
the stage during the previous week. The next day the guests arrived. Dr.
Halbert came first, excusing his early appearance by saying he felt
lonely, and wanted to see young faces again. Then the Captain drove up
in grand style, having on board Mrs. Thomas, her domestic, Malvina
McGlashan, Sylvanus, and his strict parent, Saul. Malvina was received
by the maids with great effusion, while the paternal Pilgrim eyed
Timotheus, who had come forward to shake hands with his father. "What is
the chief end of man, Timotheus?" The son answered correctly. "What is
sin?" was appropriately solved, and "What is the reason annexed to the
fifth commandment?" Then came, "What is repentance unto life," and on
the answer to this Mr. Pilgrim preached a brief homily. "With grief and
hatred of his sin, turns from it, with full purpose of, and endeavour
after, new obedience. Is that you, Timotheus?" "Yes, fayther."

"Young women," said Saul, addressing the maids, "has the walk and
conversation of Timotheus been according to his lights, or according to
his whilom lammentable and ungodly profession?"

Tryphena could not reply, for the audacious Sylvanus, unaffected by the
propinquity of his venerable relative, had whispered in her ear, "he's a
livyer' 'cordin' to his lights, he is;" but Tryphosa spoke up and said
that nobody, not even a minister, could have behaved better than
Timotheus. Then Saul shook hands with his repentant son, solemnly, and
producing a well-worn catechism from his tail pocket, placed it with
reverence in the shaken hand. Looking upon Tryphosa, he remarked:
"Remember, Timotheus, the words of wisdom, 'Favour is deceitful and
beauty is vain, but whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing.' Go thou
and do likewise, Amen." Further improvement of the occasion was checked
by the arrival of a well-laden waggon, driven by Rufus, and containing
his parents, Christie Hislop, Mr. Bigglethorpe and Ben. Mr. Bigglethorpe
was hailed with delight by Marjorie, who immediately carried off "dear
Mr. Biggles" to see the creek, and tell her about his little boy, who
was not yet christened, because, in the face of Marjorie's opposition,
he could not call him Walton, Cotton or Piscator, and he could not think
of any other name. She had objected to Felix as too catty like, and
Isadore she had said was as bad as Is-a-window. However, he enjoyed the
creek for a few minutes before dinner. Mrs. Hill was installed as the
mother of the kitchen. With her great conversational powers and large
knowledge of scripture, she rather overawed father Pilgrim, and her own
and her husband's abundant cheerfulness revived a company, ready to
droop under the austerities of Saul's genuine but unpleasant religion.
Ben, as a sedate married man, gave himself largely to Mr. Hill's
society, until Mr. Terry came in to see his friend from the north, and
unfold his plans of an Irish tour. Later in the day Mr. Bangs rode over,
and made excuses for Matilda, who thought it wrong to go into society so
soon after her husband's death. Finally, the constable appeared in full
regimentals, with the stalwart Mrs. Rigby on his arm. That lady bestowed
on the faithless Ben a glance of withering contempt, but the constable
shook hands with him, as if he had been his greatest earthly benefactor.

It would take chapters to recite the goings on of that evening in either
end of the house, the jokes of father Hill, and the homilies of father
Pilgrim. Sylvanus dared and was slapped; and Timotheus followed his
example, but was more gently dealt with. Christie and Malvina, as
bridesmaids, had to inspect the trousseaus with Mrs. Hill. In spite of
Saul's protest against worldly amusements, the geographical cards were
produced, and the lady of the third-class county certificate swept the
board, although the constable maintained his right to Russia and India,
and Pilgrim pater easily secured all Palestine and Syria, owing to his
extensive study of Josephus, which he recommended to Mr. Hill as a
valuable commentar on the Old Testament Scriptures. Nor were the
occupants of the drawing-room less jolly. The Squire and the doctor, Mr.
Bangs and Mr. Bigglethorpe, kept the conversation lively, and would have
hurt the feelings of Orther Lom, who arrived by the stage, if he had had
any to hurt. The contracting parties were grave and self-contained, as
became their position; and, to look at Mr. Errol, no one could have
dreamt of his ever having gone on the splore. Dr. MacPhun came late, in
his own buggy, accompanied by his daughter Maggie, a pretty girl of
seventeen, who was just what the feminine community wanted. The reverend
doctor warmly congratulated his co-presbyter, and jocularly quoted words
to the effect that hope's blest dominion never ends, and the greatest
sinner may return, which Mrs. Carmichael regarded as an unworthy
reflection upon her intended's antiquity. Wednesday came at last, and
the Kirk was decked at morning tide, but, unlike St. Cuthbert's, the
tapers did not glimmer fair. The concourse was great, and the organ and
choir were at their best. Mrs. Carmichael was attended by Miss Graves
and Miss MacPhun, and Mr. Errol by Mr. Douglas and Mr. Lamb. When Dr.
MacPhun had united them, and spoken a few felicitous words, he retired
to the vestry, and yielded the gown and bands to the new bridegroom,
before whose bar appeared Miss Graves, supported by the two Marjories,
and Mr. Douglas with Mr. Bangs and Mr. Lamb. When little Marjorie saw
herself paired off with Orther Lom, she thought of the Captain's
couplet, and burst into a fit of laughter, which drew down upon the
culprit her cousin's reproof. The Squire had given away his sister, and
Miss Graves was handed over to Mr. Douglas by the doctor, for the reason
that her late lamented father had been a distinguished medical man. When
the wedded pairs passed out of the church, there was great cheering, in
which Mr. Terry and Mr. Bigglethorpe seemed to be rival fuglemen. At
Bridesdale, a pale young man with a long brown beard was reclining on a
couch, and looking eagerly out of a window. His dark blue frock coat,
light grey trousers, and white silk necktie, meant business, too. It
would never do for little Marjorie to be three times a bridesmaid, for
that was unlucky; so Miss MacPhun stood by Marjorie the greater, and
Bangs helped Coristine to his feet. The two divines mercifully made the
service brief, and two well mated souls obtained each its chief desire.
Mr. Errol and the Squire were very patronizing towards their new made
son and nephew. The Captain was satisfied. "I thought all along it was
that sly dog Will-kiss-em was after the old man's niece, the sly dog;
but he's off, and a good riddance to poor stuck-up rubbish, say I." The
table speeches were marvellous. Dr. MacPhun exhausted Dean Ramsay's
anecdotes, Mr. Bigglethorpe allegorized marriage as fishing in all its
branches, Doctor Halbert said the great trouble with female nurses
always was that they would go and marry their patients, and Mr. Bangs
remarked that, if he could run down somebody who was wanted as quickly
as Mr. Douglas had done, he would make his fortune. Mr. Lamb lavished
himself on Maggie MacPhun, and, as she was young, semi-rural, and unused
to the masculine production of cities, his attentions were agreeable,
much to his satisfaction; his peace of mind with himself nothing could
disturb.

In the evening, Mr. Errol put on his gown once more, and Dr. MacPhun
stood by his side, while in front of them there was a small table on
which lay a Bible, and, a short distance off, a larger one with a
marriage register, pen and ink, and duly filled certificates. At a given
signal, Mr. Hill appeared, leading his daughter Tryphena, followed by
Christie Hislop and Malvina McGlashan. Next came Sylvanus in the grasp
of Saul Pilgrim, attended by Rufus, and the ubiquitous Mr. Bangs.
Without being asked, Mr. Pilgrim senior ostentatiously stated, after Mr.
Hill had bestowed his oldest daughter, that he gave his son to be that
woman's husband, and trusted they would bring up their family, as he had
done his, in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. This bombshell
excited some merriment in the rear of the procession, where Mrs. Rigby
was pushing the corporal forward to exhibit his uniform and medals. When
the ceremony was over, the bride and bridegroom remained, but the
fathers and the assistants returned to the kitchen. Tryphosa now hung
upon her father's arm, and Timotheus was hauled in by Saul, receiving
admonitions on the way. The groomsmen and bridesmaids were as before.
Mrs. Hill, who stood by Mrs. Carruthers, wept copiously, when her
favourite daughter's turn came, and Hill senior gave her away with a
qualm, especially as the parent of Timotheus presented him as the
prodigy's son come back from the swine husks. So the last ceremony was
over. "Siccan a thing as five waddins in ae day was never heard o' in
Flanders before," said the Squire, with a sigh of relief. Of course, the
people ought all to have gone away somewhere, according to all the rules
that govern civilized marriage. Mr. Errol went to his lodgings to pack
up, and took Mr. Douglas with him. As for the rest of the married
people, they simply went on with their ordinary tasks and amusements as
if nothing personal had happened. Before these two gentlemen retired,
however, they had to take part in a dance in the coach-house, at which
old Styles played the fiddle, and the constable called out the figures,
while Mr. Pilgrim groaned in the ears of Mrs. Hill over the worldly
spirit that was sapping the foundations of spiritual life. When the
drawing-room people left the festive coach-house, the ladies divested
themselves of the day's finery, and the gentlemen retired to the office,
where Mr. Errol smoked three pipes and renewed his youth. Dr. MacPhun
told more stories, as did Messrs. Bigglethorpe and Bangs, and at last
they all became so happy, that a deputation of the Squire and the
minister was sent to produce their new relative Coristine, and make him
drink a bumper of champagne to his bride's health. As the relatives
crossed arms, and, on this improvised chair, carried the bridegroom
round the table in triumph, the Captain roared: "Pour it down his
scuppers, boys, for he's the A1 clipper; and that sly dog thought he'd
have the old man's niece, with no more fun in his calf's hide than a
basswood figure head!"

Next morning early, Messrs. Errol and Douglas appeared to claim their
brides at the Dale, and found them packed, and ready to start after
breakfast. Mrs. Thomas was left mistress of the house, with directions
to hand it over to Sylvanus and Mrs. S. Pilgrim when she wished to
return home. Timotheus and Mrs. T. Pilgrim were told to go and take
possession of Tillycot, and put in a winter of judicious clearing. Good
bye was said all round. Coristine was lifted into the second seat,
between Mrs. Carruthers and his new made wife, who looked her loveliest.
Mrs. and Mr. Errol sat by the Squire, and Mr. Bigglethorpe intruded
himself as far as the bridge on Mr. and Mrs. Douglas. Ben Toner, tired
of being haughtily glared at by Mrs. Rigby, offered to drive the trunks
in a separate vehicle, but, to the great delight of the junior Pilgrims,
the Captain ordered Saul to perform that duty. Nevertheless, Ben
accompanied Saul part of the way, and got off with Mr. Bigglethorpe. The
patient was tired when Collingwood was reached, but recovered in the
parlour car and arrived in Toronto in good condition, and able to
introduce his bride to Mrs. Marsh. Mr. Douglas and he got together their
portable effects, and Mrs. Douglas increased her travelling impedimenta.
The party then left in time to see the glorious fall scenery of the
Hudson in the morning, and reached New York in abundance of leisure.
Coristine's imperious wife insisted that he should begin at once to
spend her fortune, saying that was the only reason for her marrying him;
but the invalid, otherwise so biddable, was very firm on this point, and
represented that his bank account was far from exhausted. They were
hardly on the steamer, when Mrs. Carruthers ran forward and fell into an
old man's arms. It was Mr. Terry, who had bidden them an affectionate
farewell at Bridesdale, and had then taken the stage in their wake to
give them all a grand surprise. The weather was fine, the equinoctials
all past, and the sea gently flowing. Rugs and pillows were laid on the
deck, between camp chairs and stools, and, while the bearded lawyer lay
propped on the former, with the most beautiful woman on board kneeling
beside him, the rest of the company occupied the higher seats. The
ladies worked away at airy nothings, and the gentlemen, Squire included,
smoked cigars and pipes, all talking of the stirring events of the past,
and forecasting the pleasures of the near future. Somehow they all
seemed to miss little Marjorie, and wondered what sort of time she and
the rest of them were having at Bridesdale.

Three months soon passed away. Mrs. Coristine's fortune was secured, and
transformed into Canadian securities by her legal husband, half being
made over to Mrs. Errol. The minister took his bride to Perth, and
introduced her to his friends, who received her as graciously as the
Edinburgh people did Mr. Douglas' queenly wife from Canada. On Princess
Street many a pedestrian stopped to look at the well-matched pair. Mr.
Carruthers looked up his Scotch relations, and then crossed the Irish
Sea to inspect the "owld shod," under Mr. Terry's proud guidance. But
the great doctors said Mrs. Coristine must take her husband away to the
south of France, to the Riviera, perhaps even to Algeria, for the
winter. Mr. Douglas, who was like a brother, saw them safely established
at Mentone, and returned to England in time to see the Flanders' five on
board their steamer at Liverpool, laden with presents for the children
and the servants, the Thomases and the Perrownes, not forgetting Mr.
Bigglethorpe and Mr. Bangs. Three more months of winter passed at
Bridesdale, then the brief spring, and at length summer came round in
all its glory. Timotheus and his men had cleared the encampment of its
scorched trees, had put many acres into crop, and had built the farm
house on the site of the burnt buildings, into which he and his blooming
wife had moved, because the Wilkinsons and the Mortons were coming to
the chalet in July. The Bridesdale people heard that the former dominie
had not been idle, but, by means of his geological knowledge, had
discovered iron and lead mines, which were already yielding him a
revenue. Mrs. Errol brought them a letter from Marjorie, saying that
Eugene was quite restored, and that they would be home early in July,
bringing that dear old lady, Eugene's mother, with them. Correspondence
had also been going on between the Wilkinsons and the Coristines on both
sides of the houses, and Mr. Terry seemed to be included in the circle.
One fine July morning he asked for the loan of the waggonette and set
off to town, whence he returned in the afternoon, with three ladies and
a coloured ladies' maid, attended by a gentleman and his servant on
horseback. Strange to say, the Errols, the Perrownes, the newly-married
Bangs, and Mr. Bigglethorpe, were at Bridesdale. Marjorie's terrier, a
new Muggins given her by Mr. Perrowne, but which she called Guff, ran
barking to meet the approaching party, and the animal's mistress,
following it, was soon in the arms of long absent friends. "Where is
Eugene?" she cried, in a tone of disappointment. "Where is Mr.
Wilkinson?" asked Mrs. Carruthers, in concern. "We have lost them for a
little while," replied the ladies, cheerfully. So they changed their
things, unpacked their trunks, dispensed many gifts, brought through all
sorts of custom houses, and assembled in the drawing-room to await the
stated six o'clock tea. The clock was on the stroke, when they all heard
singing, on the road, of two male voices:--

     For, be it early morning,
     Or be it late at night,
     Cheerily ring our footsteps,
                 Right, left, right!

Then two jovial pedestrians came swinging through the gate, with the old
knapsacks on their backs, and newly cut staves in their hands. They
responded heartily to the varied salutations of the company, and, as
each bowed himself over the woman he loved best, they said: "God has
been very good to us, and has sent us more than a marshal's baton
through these two knapsacks."

       *       *       *       *       *

Pleasant were the two summer months at Bridesdale and Tillycot, with
visits to the Manse and Cubbyholes, to Bangslea and the Beaver River.
Two little Pilgrim girls and a Toner boy appeared before the visitors
went home; and, soon after their arrival at their homes, they learned
that Basil primus was marching Basil secondus in his arms, clad in a
nocturnal surplice. Mr. Bigglethorpe had had his baby christened Felix
Marjoram, regarding the latter botanical word as a masculine equivalent
of Marjorie. When, next year, the welcome visitors came to Flanders from
Toronto and the far south, they brought each a maid and a warm little
bundle. The bundle of Mrs. Coristine was called James Farquhar, and that
of Mrs. Wilkinson was Marjorie Carruthers. When they cried, Mr.
Coristine, M.P., and Dr. Wilkinson, if they were about, carried them
round, singing outlandish songs; when they were good, the parents laid
two knapsacks over a rag on the lawn, put pillows on top, and the babies
against the pillows, betting quarters as to which would kick the
highest.

The culprits were all set free or left unmolested. The two Davis
brothers disappeared, evidently across the lines. Old man Newcome is
said to have been converted by Father Newberry and to be living a life
in keeping with the exalted station of his daughter Serlizer. Reginald
Rawdon's son was looked up by Mr. Bangs, and started in business in a
new town, as a country store-keeper, on part of his uncle's ill-gotten
money. Monty, growing a big lad, has charge of the farm at Bangslea,
and, to see him and his grey-haired, but otherwise young-looking,
mother, none would think they had ever been deprived of their reason.
The character of Nagle, alias Nash, has been amply cleared by his
friend, who has erected a suitable memorial to him at Collingwood
cemetery. Peskiwanchow is hardly recognizable in its reformed condition,
and the Beaver River, like the Flanders' lakes, is safer to visit,
though otherwise as delightful as ever, than when the Maple Inn was
invaded by two knapsacks. Mr. Bulky is still its hero, and Wilkinson,
who does not smoke, has had him up to Tillycot with Mr. Bigglethorpe and
without his fishing coat.