 CHAPTER IV The New Master Right in front of the school door and some little distance from it, in the midst of a clump of maples stood an old beech tree with a dead top, and half-way down where a limb had once been, and had rotted off, a hole. Inside this hole, two very respectable but thoroughly impudent red squirrels had made their nest. The hole led into the dead heart of the tree, which had been hollowed out with pains, so as to make a roomy, cozy home, which the squirrels had lined with fur and moss, and which was well stored with beech nuts from the tree, their winter's provisions. Between the boys and the squirrels there existed an armed neutrality. It was understood among the boys that nothing worse than snowballs was to be used in their war with the squirrels, while with the squirrels it was a matter of honour that they should put reasonable limits to their profanity. But there were times when the relations became strained, and hence the holidays were no less welcome to the squirrels than to the boys. To the squirrels this had been a day of unusual anxiety, for the school had taken up again after its two weeks holidays, and the boys were a little more inquisitive than usual, and unfortunately the snow happened to be good for packing. It had been a bad day for nerves, and Mr. Bushy, as the boys called him, found it impossible to keep his tail in one position for more than one second at a time. It was in vain that his more sedate and self-controlled partner in life remonstrated with him and urged a more philosophic mind. It's all very well for you, my dear, Mr. Bushy was saying, rather crossly, I am afraid, to urge a philosophic mind, but if you had the responsibility of the family upon you, goodness gracious, owls and weasels, what in all the woods is that? Can't be the wolves, said Mrs. Bushy, placidly, it's too early for them. Might have known, replied her husband quite crossly, of course it's those boys, I wonder why they let them out of school at all. Why can't they keep them in, where it is warm? It always seems to me a very silly thing, anyway, for them to keep rushing out of their hole in that stupid fashion. What they do in there I am sure I don't know. It isn't the least like a nest, I've seen inside of it, there isn't a thing to eat, not a bit of hair or moss, they just go in and out again. Well, my dear, said his wife soothingly, you can hardly expect them to know as much as people with a wider outlook. We must remember they are only ground people. That's just it, grumbled Mr. Bushy, I only wish they would just keep to themselves and on the ground where they belong, but they have the impudence to come lumbering up here into our tree. Oh well, replied his partner calmly, you must acknowledge they do not disturb our nest. And a good thing for them too, chattered Mr. Bushy fiercely, smoothing out his whiskers and showing his sharp front teeth, at which Mrs. Bushy smiled gently behind her tail. But what are they doing now? she inquired. Oh, they are going off into the woods, said Mr. Bushy, who had issued from his hole and was sitting up on a convenient crotch. And I declare, he said, in amazed tones, they haven't thrown one snowball at me. Something must be badly wrong with them. Wonder what it is? This is quite unprecedented. At this Mrs. Bushy ventured carefully out to observe the extraordinary phenomenon, for the boys were actually making their way to the gate, the smaller ones with much noisy shouting, but the big boys soberly enough engaged in earnest conversation. It was their first day of the new master, and such a day as quite flabbergastrated, as Don Cameron said, even the oldest of them. But of course, Mr. and Mrs. Bushy knew nothing of this, and could only marvel. Murdy, cried Huey to Don's big brother, who, with Bob Fraser, Randall MacDonald, and Thomas Finch, was walking slowly toward the gate. You won't forget to ask your paw for an excuse if you happen to be late tomorrow, will you? Murdy paid no attention. You won't forget your excuse, Murdy, continued Huey, poking him in the back. Murdy suddenly turned, caught him by the neck and the seat of his trousers, and threw him head-first into a drift, from which he emerged wrathful and sputtering. Well, I hope you do, continued Huey, and then you'll catch it, and mind you, he went on, circling round to get in front of him. If you want to ask big Bob there for his knife, mind you, hold up your hand first. Murdy only grinned at him. The new master had begun the day by enunciating the regulations under which the school was to be administered. They made a rather formidable list, but two of them seemed to the boys to have gone beyond the limits of all that was outrageous and absurd. There was to be no speaking during school hours, and if a boy should desire to ask a question of his neighbour, he was to hold up his hand and get permission from the master. But worse than all, and more absurd than all, was the regulation that all latecomers and absentees were to bring written excuses from parents or guardians. Guardian Thomas Finch had grunted, What's that? Your grandmother, whispered Don back. It was not Don's reply that brought Thomas into disgrace this first day of the new master's rule. It was the vision of Big Murdy Cameron walking up to the desk with an excuse for lateness which he had obtained from Long John, his father. This vision, breaking suddenly in upon the solemnity of Thomas Finch's mind, had sent him into a snort of laughter, not more to the surprise of the school than of himself. The gravity of the school had not been greatly helped by Thomas's sheepish answer to the master's indignant question, What did you do that for, sir? I didn't. It did it itself. On the whole the opening day had not been a success. As a matter of fact it was almost too much to expect that it should be anything but a failure. There was a kind of settled, if unspoken, opinion among the children that no master could ever fill Archibald Monroe's place in the school. Indeed it was felt to be a kind of impertinence for any man to attempt such a thing. And further there was a secret sentiment among the boys that loyalty to the old master's memory demanded an attitude of unsympathetic opposition to the one who came to take his place. It did not help the situation that the new master was unaware of this state of mind. He was buoyed up by the sentiments of enthusiastic admiration and approval that he carried with him in the testimonials from his last board of trustees in town, with which sentiments he fully agreed, and hence he greeted the pupils of the little backwoods school with an airy condescension that reduced the school to a condition of speechless and indignant astonishment. The school was prepared to tolerate the man who should presume to succeed their former master if sufficiently humble, but certainly not to accept airy condescension from him. Does he think where babies asked Don indignantly? And did you see him trying to chop at recess? Rhesus, Huey called it. He couldn't hit twice in the same place. And he asked me if that beach there was a maple, said Bob Fraser in deep disgust. Oh, shut up your gab, said Reynolds suddenly. Give the man a chance, anyway. Would you bring an excuse when you're absent, Reynolds? asked Huey. And where would I be getting it? asked Reynolds grimly, and all the boys realized the absurdity of expecting a written excuse for Reynolds' absence from his father. MacDonald Dew was not a man to be bothered with such trifles. You might get it from your Aunt Kirstie, Reynolds, said Don sliley. The boys shouted at the suggestion. And she could do it well enough if it would be necessary, said Reynolds, facing square round on Don, and throwing up his head after his manner when battle was in the air, while the red blood showed in his dark cheek and his eyes lit up with a fierce gleam. Don read the danger signal. I'm not saying she couldn't, he hurried to say apologetically, but it would be funny, wouldn't it? Well, said Reynolds, relenting and smiling a little. It would be keeping her busy at times. When the deer are running, eh, Reynolds? said Murdy good-naturedly. But Reynolds right, boys, he continued, Give the man a chance, say I. There's our bells, cried Thomas Finch, as the deep musical boom of the Finch's sleigh bells came through the bush. Go on, Huey, we'll get them at the cross. And followed by Huey and the boys from the north, he set off for the north crossroads, where they would meet the Finch's bobslays, coming empty from the sawmill, to the great surprise and unalloyed delight of Mr. and Mrs. Bushy, who from their crotch in the old beach had watched with some anxiety the boys' unusual conduct. There they are, Huey, called Thomas as the sleighs came out into the open at the crossroads. They'll wait for us, they know you're coming, he yelled, encouragingly, for the big boys had left the smaller ones a panting train far in the rear, and were piling themselves upon the Finch's sleighs, with never a by-your-leave to William John, familiarly known as Billy Jack, Thomas' eldest brother who drove the Finch's team. Thomas' home lay a mile north and another east, from the twentieth crossroads, but the winter road by which they hauled saw logs to the mill cut right through the forest, where the deep snow packed hard into a smooth track, covering roots and logs and mud holes, and making a perfect surface for the sleighs, however heavily loaded, except where here and there the pitch holes or cahos came. These cahos, by the way, though they became especially toward the spring a serious annoyance to teamsters, only added another to the delights that a sleigh ride held for the boys. To Huey the ride this evening was blissful to an unspeakable degree, he was overflowing with new sensations, he was going to spend the night with Thomas, for one thing, and Thomas as his host was quite a new and different person from the Thomas of the school. The minister's wife ever since the examination day had taken a deeper interest in Thomas and determined that something should be made out of the solemn, stolid, slow-moving boy. Partly for this reason she had yielded to Huey's eager pleading, backing up the invitation brought by Thomas himself, and delivered in an agony of red-faced confusion that Huey should be allowed to go home with him for the night. Partly too because she was glad that Huey should see something of the Finch's home, and especially of the dark-faced, dark-eyed little woman who so silently and unobtrusively, but so efficiently administered her home, her family and their affairs, and especially her husband, without suspicion on his part that anything of the kind was being done. In addition to the joy that Huey had in Thomas in his new role as host, this winter road was full of wonder and delight, as were all roads and paths that wound right through the heart of the bush. The regular, made-up roads, with the forest cut back beyond the ditches at the sides, were a great weariness to Huey, except indeed in the springtime when these ditches were running full with sunlit water over the mottled clay-bottom and gravelly ripples. But the bush roads and paths, summer and winter, were filled with things of wonder and of beauty, and this particular winter road of the Finch's was best of all to Huey, for it was quite new to him, and besides it led right through the mysterious big pine swamp and over the butternut ridge beyond which lay the Finch's farm. Balsam trees, tamarack, spruce, and cedar made up the thick underbrush of the pine swamp. White birch, white ash, and black were thickly sprinkled through it, but high above these lesser trees towered the white pines, lifting their great tufted crests in lonely grandeur, seeming like kings among meaner men. Here and there the rabbit runways, packed into little hard paths, crossed the road and disappeared under the thick spruces and balsams. Here and there the sly single track of the fox, where the deep hoof mark of the deer led off into unknown depths on either side. Huey, sitting up on the bolster of the front bob beside Billy Jack, for even the big boys recognized his right as Thomas's guest to that coveted place, listened with eager face and wide open eyes to Billy Jack's remarks upon the forest and its strange people. One thing else added to Huey's keen enjoyment of the ride. Billy Jack's bays were always in the finest of fetal and pulled hard on the lines and were rarely allowed the rapture of a gallop. But when the swamp was past and the road came to the more open butternut ridge, Billy Jack shook the lines over their backs and let them out. Their response was superb to witness and brought Huey some moments of ecstatic rapture. Along the hard-packed road that wound about among the big butternuts, the rangy bays sped at a flat gallop, bounding clear over the cahos, the booming of the bells and the rattling of the chains, furnishing an exhilarating accompaniment to the swift swaying motion while the children clung for dear life to the bobslays and to each other. It was all Billy Jack could do to get his team down to a trot by the time they reached the clearing. For there the going was perilous and, besides, it was just as well that his father should not witness any signs on Billy Jack's part of the folly that he was inclined to attribute to the rising generation. So steadily enough the bays trotted up the lane in between long lines of green cordwood on one side and a haystack on the other into the yard and swinging round the big straw stack that faced the open shed and was flanked on the right by the cow stable and hog pen and on the left by the horse stable came to a full stop at their own stable door. Thomas, you take Huey into the house to get warm till I unhitch, said Billy Jack, with the feeling that courtesy to the minister's son demanded this attention. But Huey, rejecting this proposition with scorn, pushed Thomas aside and set himself to unhitch the s-hook on the outside trace of the nigh-bay. It was one of Huey's grievances and a very sore point with him that his father's people would insist on treating him in the privileged manner they thought proper to his father's son, and his chief ambition was to stand upon his own legs and to fare like other boys. So he scorned Billy Jack's suggestion, and while some of the children scurried about the stacks for a little romp before setting off for their homes, which some of them for the sake of the ride had left far behind, Huey devoted himself to the unhitching of the team with Billy Jack. And so quick was he in his movements and so fearless of the horses that he had his side unhitched and was struggling with the breaststrap before Billy Jack had finished with his horse. Man, you're a regular farmer, said Billy Jack admiringly, only you're too quick for the rest of us. Huey, still struggling with the breaststrap, found his heart swell with pride. To be a farmer was his present dream. But that's too heavy for you, continued Billy Jack. Here, let down the tongue first. Shaw, said Huey, disgusted at his exhibition of ignorance. I knew that tongue ought to come out first, but I forgot. Oh, well, it's just as good that way, but not quite so easy, said Billy Jack, with doubtful consistency. It took Huey about a few minutes after the tongue was let down to unfasten his end of the neck yoke and the cross-lines, and he was beginning at his hamstrap, always a difficult buckle. When Billy Jack called out, hold on there, you're too quick for me. We'll make them carry their own harness into the stable. Don't believe in making a horse of myself. Billy Jack was something of a humorist. The Finch Homestead was a model of finished neatness. Order was its law. Outside the stables, barns, stacks, the very woodpiles evidenced that law. Within, the house and its belongings and affairs were perfect in their harmonious arrangement. The whole establishment, without and within, gave token of the unremitting care of one organizing mind, for from dark to dark, while others might have their moments of rest and careless ease. The little mother, as Billy Jack called her, was ever on guard, and all the machinery of house and farm moved smoothly and to purpose because of that unsleeping care. She was last to bed and first to stir, and Billy Jack declared that she used to put the cats to sleep at night and waken up the roosters in the morning, and through it all her face remained serene and her voice flowed in quiet tones. Billy Jack adored her with all the might of his big heart and body. Thomas, slow of motion as of expression, found in her the center of his somewhat sluggish being. Jessica, the little dark-faced maiden of nine years, whose face was the very replica of her mother's, knew nothing in the world dearer, albeit in her daily little house-wifely tasks, she felt the gentle pressure of that steadfast mind and unyielding purpose. Her husband regarded her with a curious mingling of reverence and defiance, for Donald Finch was an obstinate man with a man's love of authority and a scotchman's sense of his right to rule in his own house. But while he talked much about his authority and made a great show of absolutism with his family, he was secretly conscious that another will than his had really kept things moving about the farm, for he had long ago learned that his wife was always right, while he might often be wrong, and that with all her soft words and gentle ways hers was a will like steel. Besides the law of order, another law ruled in the Finch household the law of work. The days were filled with work, for they each had their share to do and bore the sole responsibility for its being well done. If the cows failed in their milk or the fat cattle were not up to the mark, the father felt their reproach as his. To Billy Jock fell the care and handling of the horses. Thomas took charge of the pigs and the getting of wood and water for the house. Little Jessick had her daily task of sorting the rooms, and when the days were too stormy or the snow too deep for school she had in addition her stent of knitting or of winding the yarn for the weaver. To the mother fell all the rest. At the cooking and the cleaning and the making and the mending all fine arts with her she diligently toiled from long before dawn till after all the rest were a bed. But besides these and other daily household duties there were in their various seasons the jam and jelly, the pumpkin and squash preserves, the butter making and cheese making, and more than all the long long work with the wool. Billy Jock used to say that the little mother followed that wool from the backs of her sheep to the backs of her family and hated to let the weaver have his turn at it. What with the washing and the oiling of it, the carding and the spinning, the twisting and the winding, she never seemed to be done, and then when it came back from the weaver in great webs of fold cloth and flannel and wincy, there was all the cutting, shaping, and sewing before the family could get it on their backs. True, the tailor was called in to help, but though he declared he worked no place else as he worked at the finches, it was Billy Jock's openly expressed opinion that he worked his jaw more than his needle, for at mealtimes he gave his needle a rest. But though Huey, of course, knew nothing of this toiling and moiling, he was distinctly conscious of an air of tidiness and comfort and quiet, and was keenly alive to the fact that there was a splendid supper waiting him when he got in from the stables with the others, hungry as a wildcat as Billy Jock expressed it, and that was a supper. Fried ribs of fresh pork and hashed potatoes, hot and brown, followed by buckwheat pancakes, hot and brown, with maple syrup. There was tea for the father and mother with their oat cakes, but for the children no such luxury only the choice of buttermilk or sweetmilk. Huey, it is true, was offered tea, but he promptly declined, for though he loved it well enough it was sufficient reason for him that Thomas had none. It took, however, all the grace out of his declining that Mr. Finch remarked in gruff pleasantry, what would a boy want with tea? The supper was a very solemn meal. They were all too busy to talk, at least so Huey felt, and as for himself, he was only afraid lest the others should push back before he had satisfied the terrible craving within him. After supper the books were taken, and in Gaelic, for though Donald Finch was perfectly able in English for business and ordinary affairs of life, when it came to the worship of God, he found that only in the ancient mother tongue could he get liberty. As Huey listened to the solemn reading and then to the prayer that followed, though he could understand only a word now and again, he was greatly impressed with the rhythmic solemn cadence of the voice, and as he glanced through his fingers at the old man's face, he was surprised to find how completely it had changed. It was no longer the face of the stern and stubborn autocrat, but of an earnest, humble, reverent man of God, and Huey, looking at him, wondered if he would not be altogether nicer with his wife and boys after that prayer was done. He had yet to learn how obstinate and even hard a man can be, and still have a great gift in prayer. From the old man's face Huey's glance wandered to his wife's, and there was held fascinated. For the first time Huey thought it was beautiful, and more than that he was startled to find that it reminded him of his mother's. At once he closed his eyes, for he felt as if he had been prying, where he had no right. After the prayer was over they all drew about the glowing polished kitchen stove with the open front, and set themselves to enjoy that hour which, more than any other, helps to weave into the memory the thoughts and feelings that in after-days are associated with home. Old Donald drew forth his pipe, a pleased expectation upon his face, and after cutting enough tobacco from the black plug which he pulled from his trousers pocket, he rolled it fine with deliberation and packed it carefully into his briar root pipe, from which dangled a tin cap. Then, drawing out some live coals from the fire, he, with a quick motion, picked one up, set it upon the top of the tobacco, and holding it there with his bare finger, until Huey was sure he would burn himself, puffed with hard-smacking puffs, but with a more comfortable expression than Huey had yet seen him wear. Then, when it was fairly lit, he knocked off the coal, packed down the tobacco, put on the little tin cap, and sat back in his covered arm chair, and came as near beaming upon the world as ever he allowed himself to come. Here, Jesuc, he said to the little dark-faced maiden slipping about the table under the mother's silent direction. Jesuc glanced at her mother and hesitated, then, apparently reading her mother's face, she said, in a minute, Da, and seizing the broom which was much taller than herself, she began to brush up the crumbs about the table with amazing deftness. This task completed and the crumbs being thrown into the pig's barrel which stood in the wood shed just outside the door. Jesuc set her broom in the corner, hung up the dust pan on its proper nail behind the stove, and then, running to her father, climbed up on his knee and snuggled down into his arms for an hour's luxurious laziness before the fire. He we gazed in amazement at her temerity, for Donald Finch was not a man to take liberties with, but as he gazed he wondered the more for again the face of the stern old man was transformed. Be quiet now, lassie. Hear me now, I am telling you, he admonished the little girl in his arms, while there flowed over his face a look of half-shamed delight that seemed to fill up and smooth out all its severe lines. Hewie was still gazing and wondering when the old man, catching his earnest wide-open gaze, broke forth suddenly in a voice nearly jovial. Well, lad, so you have taken up the school again, you will be having a fine time of it altogether. The lad, startled more by the joviality of his manner than by the suddenness of his speech, hastily replied, indeed we are not then. What? What? replied the old man, returning to his normal aspect of severity. Do you not know that you have great privileges now? Granted, Hewie, if we had Archie Monroe again, and what is wrong with the new man? Oh, I don't know, he's not a bit nice, he's— Too many rules, said Thomas, slowly. Aha! said his father, with a note of triumph in his tone, so that's it, is it. He will be bringing you to the mark, I warrant you, and indeed it's high time, for I doubt Archie Monroe was just a little soft with you. The old man's tone was aggravating enough, but his reference to the old master was too much for Hewie, and even Thomas was moved to words more than was his won't in his father's presence. He has too many rules, repeated Thomas stolidly, and they will not be kept. And he is as proud as he can be, continued Hewie, comes along with his cane and his stand-up collar and lifts his hat off to the big girls, and—and, oh, he's just as stuck up as anything. Hewie's vocabulary was not equal to his contempt. There will not be much wrong with his cane in the twentieth school, I dare say, when on the old man grimly. As for lifting his hat, it is time some of them were learning manners. When I was a boy, we were made to mind our manners, I can tell you. So are we, replied Hewie hotly, but we don't go showy-noth like that, and then himself and his rules. Hewie's disgust was quite unattourable. Rules, exclaimed the old man, aye, that is what is the trouble. Well, said Hewie, with a spice of mischief, if Thomas is late for school, he will have to bring a note of excuse. Very good indeed, and why should he be late at all? And if anyone wants a pencil, he can't ask for it unless he gets permission from the master. Capital, said the old man, rubbing his hands delightedly, he's the right sort, whatever. And if you keep Thomas home a day or a week, you will have to write to the master about it, continued Hewie. And what for, pray, said the old man hastily, may I not keep, but yes, that's a very fine rule, too. It will keep the boys from the woods, I am thinking. But think of Big Murdy Cameron holding up his hand to ask Leave to speak to Bob Fraser. And why not, indeed, if he's not too big to be in school, he's not too big for that. Man alive, you should have seen the master in my school days lay the lads over the forms and warm their backs to them. As big as Murdy, I am bigger. And what's more, he would send for them to their homes and bring them strapped to a wheel-barrow. Yon was a master for you. Hewie started. I tell you what, we wouldn't stand that, and we won't stand this man either. And what will you be doing now, Hewie? quizzed the old man. Well, said Hewie, reddening at the sarcasm, I will not do much, but the big boys will just carry him out. And who will be daring to do that, Hewie? Well, Murdy and Bob Fraser and Curly Ross and Don and Thomas there added Hewie, fearing to hurt Thomas's feelings by leaving him out. I said the old man shutting his lips tight on his pipe-stem, and puffing with a smacking noise. Let me catch Thomas at that. And I would help, too, said Hewie valiantly, fearing he had exposed his friend and wishing to share his danger. Well, your father would be seeing to that, said the old man, with great satisfaction feeling that Hewie's discipline might be safely left in the minister's hands. There was a pause of a few moments, and then a quiet voice inquired gently. He will be a very big man, Hewie, I suppose. Oh, just ordinary, said Hewie innocently, turning to Mrs. Finch. Oh, then they will not be requiring you and Thomas I am thinking to carry him out. At which Hewie and Billy Jack and Jessica laughed aloud, but Thomas and his father only looked stolidly into the fire. Come, Thomas, said his mother, take your fiddle a bit. Hewie will like a tune. There was no need of any further discussing the new master. But Thomas was very shy about his fiddle, and besides he was not in a mood for it, his father's words had rasped him. It took the united persuasions of Billy Jack and Jessica and Hewie to get the fiddle into Thomas's hands. But, after a few tuning scrapes, all shyness and moodiness vanished, and soon the reels and strath space were dropping from Thomas's flying fingers in a way that set Hewie's blood tingling. But when the fiddler struck into money musk, Billy Jack signed Jessica to him, and whispering to her, set her out on the middle of the floor. I don't like to, said Jessica, twisting her apron into her mouth. Come away, Jessica, set her mother quietly. Do your best. And Jessica, laying aside shyness, went at her highland reel with the same serious earnestness she gave to her tidying or her knitting. Daintily she tripped the twenty-four steps of that intricate ancient dance of the Kelt people, whirling, balancing, poising, snapping her fingers, and twinkling her feet in the true highland style, till once more her father's face smoothed out its wrinkles and beamed like a harvest moon. Hewie gazed, uncertain whether to allow himself to admire Jessica's performance or to regard it with the boy's scorn as she was only a girl, and yet he could not escape the fascination of the swift rhythmic movement of the neat twinkling feet. Well done, Jessica Lath, said her father proudly, but what would the minister be saying at such frivolity, he added, glancing at Hewie? He can do it himself well enough, said Hewie, and I tell you what, I only wish I could do it. I'll show you, said Jessica Shiley, but for the first time in his life Hewie's courage failed, and though he would have given much to be able to make his feet twinkle through the mazes of the highland reel, he could not bring himself to accept teaching from Jessica. If it had only been Thomas or Billy Jack who had offered, he would soon enough have been on the floor. For a moment he hesitated, then with a sudden inspiration he cried, All right, do it again, I'll watch. But the mother said quietly, I think that will do, Jessica, and I am afraid your father will be going with cold hands if you don't hurry with those mitts. And Jessica put up her lip with the true girl's grimace and went away for her knitting, to Hewie's disappointment and relief. Soon Billy Jack took down the tin lantern, pierced with holes into curious patterns, through which the candle-light raided forth, and went out to bed the horses. In spite of protests from all the family, Hewie sat forth with him, carrying the lantern and feeling very much the farmer, while Billy Jack took two pales of boiled oats and barley with a mixture of flax seed which was supposed to give to the finches team their famous and superior gloss. When they returned from the stable they found in the kitchen Thomas, who was rubbing a composition of tallow and beeswax into his boots to make them waterproof, and the mother, who was going about setting the table for the breakfast. Too bad you have to go to bed, mother, said Billy Jack, struggling with his boot-jack. You might just go on getting the breakfast, and what a fine start that would give you for the day. You hurry William John to bed with that poor lad, what would his mother say? He must be fairly exhausted. I'm not a bit tired, said Hewie Breikley, his face radiant with the delight of his new experiences. You will need all your sleep, my boy, said the mother kindly, for we rise early here, but, she added, you will lie till the boys are through with their work, and Thomas will wake in you for your breakfast. Indeed no, I'm going to get up, announced Hewie. But Hewie, said Billy Jack seriously, if you and Thomas are going to carry out that man tomorrow you will need a mighty lot of sleep tonight. Hush, William John, said the mother to her eldest son, you mustn't tease Hewie, and it's not good to be saying such things, even in fun, to boys like Thomas and Hewie. That's true, mother, for they're rather fierce already. Indeed they are not that, and I am sure they will do nothing that will shame their parents. To this Hewie made no reply. It was no easy matter to harmonize the thought of his parents, with the exploit of ejecting the master from the school, so he only said good night, and went off with the silent Thomas to bed. But in the visions of his head which haunted him the night long, racing horses and little girls with tossing curls and twinkling feet were strangely mingled with wild conflicts with the new master, and it seemed to him that he had hardly dropped off to sleep, when he was awake again to see Thomas standing beside him with a candle in his hand, announcing that breakfast was ready. Have you been out to the stable, he eagerly inquired, and Thomas nodded. In great disappointment, and a little shame facedly, he made his appearance at the breakfast table. It seemed to Hewie as if it must be still the night before, for it was quite dark outside. He had never had breakfast by candlelight before in his life, and he felt as if it all were still a part of his dreams, until he found himself sitting beside Billy Jack on a load of saw-logs, waving goodbye to the group at the door, the old man whose face in the gray morning light had resumed its won'ted severe look, the quiet little dark-faced woman smiling kindly at him and bidding him come again, and the little maid at her side with the dark ringlets who glanced at him from behind the shelter of her mother's skirts with shy boldness. As Hewie was saying his good-byes, he was thinking most of the twinkling feet and the tossing curls, and so he added to his farewells, Good-bye, Jessica, I'm going to learn that reel from you some day. And then, turning about, he straightway forgot all about her and her reel, for Billy Jack's horses were pawing to be off and rolling their solemn bells, while their breath rose in white clouds above their heads, wreathing their mains in hoary rhyme. Get up, lads, said Billy Jack, hauling his lines taut and flourishing his whip. The bays straightened their backs, hung for a few moments on their tugs, for the load had frozen fast during the night, and then moved off at a smart trot, the bells solemnly booming out, and the sleighs creaking over the frosty snow. Man, said Hewie enthusiastically, I wish I could draw logs all winter. It's not too bad a job on a day like this, assented Billy Jack. And indeed, anyone might envy him the work on such a morning. Over the treetops, the rays of the sun were beginning to shoot their rosy darts up into the sky, and to flood the clearing with light that sparkled and shimmered upon the frost particles, glittering upon and glorifying snow and trees, and even the stumps and fences. Around the clearing stood the forest, dark and still, except for the frost reports that now and then rang out like pistol shots. To Hewie the early morning invested the forest with a new beauty and a new wonder. The dim light of the dawning day deepened the silence, so that involuntarily he hushed his voice in speaking, and the deep-toned roll of the sleigh bells seemed to smite upon that dim solemn quiet with startling blows. On either side the balsams and spruces with their mantles of snow stood like white-swayed sentinels on guard, silent, motionless, alert. Hewie looked to see the move as the team drove past. As they left the more open butternut ridge and descended into the depths of the big pine swamp, the dim light faded into deeper gloom, and Hewie felt as if he were in church, and an awe gathered upon him. It's awful still, he said to Billy Jack in a low tone, and Billy Jack catching the look in the boy's face checked the light word upon his lips, and gazed around into the deep forest glooms with new eyes. The mystery and wonder of the forest had never struck him before. It had hitherto been to him a place for hunting or forgetting big saw-logs, but today he saw it with Hewie's eyes and felt the majesty of its beauty and silence. For a long time they drove without a word. Say, it's mighty fine, isn't it? he said, adopting Hewie's low tone. Splendid, exclaimed Hewie. My, I could just hug those big trees. They look at me like—like your mother, don't they, or mine. But this was beyond Billy Jack. Like my mother? Yes, you know, quiet and—and kind and nice. Yes, said Thomas, breaking in for the first time. That's just it. They do look sure enough like my mother and yours. They have both got that look. Get up, said Billy Jack to his team. These fellows will be catching something bad if we don't get into the open soon. Shouldn't wonder if they've got them already, making of their mothers like an old white pine. Get up, I say. Oh, Shaw, said Hewie. You know what I mean. Not much I don't, but it don't matter so long as you're feeling all right. This swamps rather bad for the grujems. What? Hewie's eyes began to open wide as he glanced into the forest. The grujems never heard of them things? They catch a fellow in places like this when it's getting on towards midnight, and about daylight it's almost as bad. What are they like? Asked Hewie upon whom the spell of the forest lay. Oh, mighty queer, always crawl up on your back and you can't help twist and round. Hewie glanced at Thomas and was at once relieved. Oh, Shaw, Billy Jack, you can't fool me. I know you. I guess you're safe enough now. They don't bother you much in the clearing, said Billy Jack, encouragingly. Oh, Phil, I'm not afraid. Nobody is in the open and especially in the daytime. Oh, I don't care for your old grujems. Guess you care more for your new boss Yandere, said Billy Jack, nodding toward the schoolhouse which now came into view. Oh, said Hewie with a groan, I just hate going today. You'll be all right when you get there, said Billy Jack cheerfully. It's like going in swimming. Soon they were at the crossroads. Good-bye, Billy Jack, said Hewie, feeling as if he had been on a long, long visit. I've had an awfully good time and I'd like to go back with you. Wish you could, said Billy Jack heartily. Come again soon, and don't carry out the master today. It looks like a storm. He might get cold. He'd better mind out then, cried Hewie after Billy Jack, and set off with Thomas for the school. But neither Hewie nor Thomas had any idea of the thrilling experiences awaiting them in the twentieth school before the week was done. The other big boys succeeded in keeping in line with the master's rules and regulations. They were careful never to be late, and so saved themselves the degradation of bringing an excuse. But the smaller boys set themselves to make the master's life a burden and succeeded beyond their highest expectations, for the master was quick of temper and was determined at all costs to exact full and prompt obedience. There was more flogging done those first six days than during any six months of Archie Monroe's rule. Sometimes the floggings amounted to little, but sometimes they were serious, and when those fell upon the smaller boys, the girls would weep, and the bigger boys would grind their teeth and swear. The situation became so acute that Murdy Cameron and the big boys decided that they would quit the school. They were afraid the temptation to throw the master out would some day be more than they could bear, and for men who had played their part not without credit in the Scotch River Fights, to carry out the master would have been an exploit hardly worthy of them. So, in dignified contempt of the master and his rules, they left the school after the third day. Their absence did not help matters much. Indeed, the master appeared to be relieved and proceeded to tame the school into submission. It was little Jimmy Cameron who precipitated the crisis. Jimmy's nose upon which he relied when struggling with his snickers had an unpleasant trick of failing him at critical moments and of letting out explosive snorts of the most disturbing kind. He had finally been warned that upon his next outburst punishment would fall. It was Friday afternoon, the drowsy hour just before recess, while the master was explaining to the listless Euclid class the mysteries of the forty-seventh proposition that suddenly a snort of unusual violence burst upon the school. Immediately every eye was upon the master for all had heard and had noted his threat to Jimmy. James, was that you, sir? There was no answer except such as could be gathered from Jimmy's very red and very shamed face. James, stand up. Jimmy wriggled to his feet and stood, a heap of various angles. Now, James, you remember what I promised you. Come here, sir. Jimmy came slowly to the front growing paler at every step and stood with a dazed look on his face before the master. He had never been thrashed in all his life. At home the big brothers might cuff him good-naturedly or his mother thump him on the head with her thimble, but a serious whipping was to him an unknown horror. The master drew forth his heavy black strap with impressive deliberation and ominous silence. The preparations for punishment were so elaborate and imposing that the big boys guessed that the punishment itself would not amount to much. Not so, Jimmy, he stood numb with fear and horrible expectation. The master lifted up the strap. James, hold out your hand. Jimmy promptly clutched his hand behind his back. Hold out your hand, sir, at once. No answer. James, you must do as you are told. Your punishment for disobedience will be much severer than for laughing. But Jimmy stood pale, silent, with his hands tight clasped behind his back. The master stepped forward and grasping the little boy's arm, tried to pull his hand to the front, but Jimmy, with a roar like that of a young bull, threw himself flat on his face on the floor and put his hands under him. The school burst into a laugh of triumph, which increased the master's embarrassment and rage. Silence, he said, or it will be a worse matter for some of you than for James. Then, turning his attention to Jimmy, he lifted him from the floor and tried to pull out his hand, but Jimmy kept his arms folded tight across his breast, roaring vigorously the while, and saying over and over, go away from me, go away from me, I tell you, I'm not taking anything to do with you. The big boys were enjoying the thing immensely. The master's rage was deepening in proportion. He felt it would never do to be beaten. His whole authority was at stake. Now, James, he reasoned, you see that you are only making it worse for yourself. I cannot allow any disobedience in the school. You must hold out your hand. But Jimmy, realizing that he had come off best in the first round, stood doggedly sniffing, his arms still folded tight. Now, James, I shall give you one more chance. Hold out your hand. Jimmy remained like a statue. Whack came the heavy strap over his shoulders. At once Jimmy set up his refrain. Go away from me, I tell you, I'm not taking anything to do with you. Whack, whack, whack, fell the strap with successive blows, each heavier than the last. There was no longer any laughing in the school. The affair was growing serious. The girls were beginning to sob, and the bigger boys to grow pale. Now, James, will you hold out your hand? You see how much worse you are making it for yourself, said the master, who was heartily sick of the struggle, which he felt to be undignified, and the result of which he feared was dubious. But Jimmy only kept up his cry, now punctuated with sobs. I'm not taking anything to do with you. Jimmy, listen to me, said the master. You must hold out your hand. I cannot have boys refusing to obey me in this school. But Jimmy caught the entreaty in the tone, and knowing that the battle was nearly over, kept obstinately silent. Well, then, said the master suddenly, you must take it, and, lifting the strap, he laid it with such sharp emphasis over Jimmy's shoulders that Jimmy's voice rose in a wilder roar than usual, and the girls burst into audible weeping. Suddenly, above all the hubbub, rose a voice clear and sharp. Stop! It was Thomas Finch, of all people, standing with face white and tense, and regarding the master with steady eyes. The school-gazed thunderstruck at the usually slow and stolid Thomas. What do you mean, sir? said the master, gladly turning from Jimmy, but Thomas stood silent, as much surprised as the master at his sudden exclamation. He stood hesitating for a moment, and then said, You can thrash me in his place. He's a little chap and has never been thrashed. The master misunderstood his hesitation for fear, pushed Jimmy aside, threw down his strap, and seized a birch rod. Come forward, sir, I'll put an end to your insubordination at any rate. Hold at your hand. Thomas held out his hand till the master finished one birch rod. The other hand, sir, another birch rod was used up, but Thomas neither uttered a sound, nor made a move till the master had done. Then he asked, in a strained voice, Were you going to give Jimmy all that, sir? The master caught the biting sneer in the tone, and lost himself completely. Do you dare to answer me back, he cried. He opened his desk, took out a rawhide, and without waiting to ask for his hand, began to lay the rawhide about Thomas' shoulders and legs, till he was out of breath. Now perhaps you will learn your place, sir, he said. Thank you, said Thomas, looking him steadily in the eye. You are welcome, and I'll give you as much more whenever you show that you need it. The slight laugh with which he closed this brutal speech made Thomas wince as he had not during his whole terrible thrashing, but still he had not a word to say. Now, James, come here, said the master turning to Jimmy. You see what happens when a boy is insubordinate. Jimmy came trembling. Hold at your hand. Out came Jimmy's hand at once. Whack! fell the strap. The other. Stop it, roared Thomas. I took his thrashing. The other, said the master, ignoring Thomas. With a curious, savage snarl, Thomas sprung at him. The master, however, was on the alert, and swinging round met him with a straight facer between the eyes, and Thomas went to the floor. Ah! my boy, I'll teach you something you have yet to learn. For answer came another cry. Come on, boys! It was Ronald McDonald coming over the seats followed by Don Cameron, Billy Ross, and some smaller boys. The master turned to meet them. Come along, he said, backing up to his desk, but I warn you it's not a strap or a rawhide I shall use. Ronald paid no attention to his words, but came straight toward him, and when at arm's length sprung at him with the cry, Hurrah, boys! But before he could lay his hands upon the master, he received a blow straight on the bridge of the nose that staggered him back, stunned and bleeding. By this time Thomas was up again, and rushing in was received in like manner and fell back over a bench. How do you like it, boys? smiled the master, come right along. The boys obeyed his invitation, approaching him but more warily, and awaiting their chance to rush. Suddenly Thomas with a savage snarl put his head down and rushed in beneath the master's guard, paid no attention to the heavy blow he received on the head, and locking his arms round the master's middle, buried his head close into his chest. At once, Ronald and Billy Ross threw themselves upon the struggling pair and carried them to the floor, the master underneath. There was a few moments of fierce struggling, and then the master lay still with the four boys holding him down for dear life. It was Thomas who assumed command. Don't choke him so, Ronald, he said, and clear out of the way all you girls and little chaps. What are you going to do, Thomas? Asked Don, acknowledging Thomas's newborn leadership. Tie him up, said Thomas, get me a sash. At once two or three little boys rushed to the hooks and brought one or two of the knitted sashes that hung there, and Thomas proceeded to tie the master's legs. While he was thus miserly engaged, a shadow darkened the door, and a voice exclaimed, What is all this about? It was the minister who had been driving past and had come upon the terrified weeping children rushing home. Is that you, Thomas, and you, Don? The boys let go their hold and stood up, shamed but defiant. Immediately the master was on his feet and with a swift fierce blow caught Thomas on the chin. Thomas, taken off his guard, fell with a thud on the floor. Stop that young man, said the minister catching his arm. That's a coward's blow. Hands off, said the master, shaking himself free and squaring up to him. He would, would ye, said the minister, gripping him by the neck and shaking him as he might a child. Lift your hand to me, would ye? I'll break your back to ye, and that I will. So saying, the minister seized him by the arms and held him absolutely helpless. The master ceased to struggle and put down his hands. I heed better my man, said the minister, giving him a fling backward. Meantime Don had been holding snow to Thomas's head and had brought him round. Now then, said the minister to the boys, what does all this mean? The boys were all silent, but the master spoke. It is a case of rank and impudent insubordination, sir, and I demand the expulsion of those impudent rascals. Well, sir, said the minister, be sure there will be a thorough investigation, and I greatly misjudge the case if there are not faults on both sides, and for one thing the man who can strike such a cowardly blow as you did a moment ago would not be unlikely to be guilty of injustice and cruelty. It is none of your business, said the master, insolently. You will find that I shall make it my business, said the minister. Have now boys be off to your homes and be here Monday morning at nine o'clock when this matter shall be gone into. END OF CHAPTER VI The news of the school trouble ran through the section like fire through a brûlée. The younger generations, when they heard how Thomas Finch had dared the master, raised him at once to the rank of hero, but the heads of families received the news doubtfully and wondered what the rising generation was coming to. The next day Billy Jack heard the story in the twentieth store, and with some anxiety waited for the news to reach his father's ears, for, to tell the truth, Billy Jack, man though he was, held his father in dread. How did you come to do it, he asked Thomas. Why didn't you let Don begin? It was surely Don's business. I don't know, it slipped out, replied Thomas. I couldn't stand Jimmy's yelling any longer. I didn't know I said anything till I found myself standing up, and after that I didn't seem to care for anything. Man, it was fine though, said Billy Jack. I didn't think it was in you. And Thomas felt more than repaid for all his cruel beating. It was something to win the approval of Billy Jack in an affair of this kind. It was at church on the Sabbath day that Donald Finch heard about his son's doings in the school the week before. The minister, in his sermon, thought fit to dwell upon the tendency of the rising generation to revolt against authority in all things, and solemnly laid upon parents the duty and responsibility of seeing to it that they ruled their households well. It was not just the advice that Donald Finch stood specially in need of, but he was highly pleased with the sermon and was enlarging upon it in the churchyard where the people gathered between the services, when Peter McCray, thinking that old Donald was hardly taking the minister's advice to himself as he ought, and not knowing that the old man was ignorant of all that had happened in the school, answered him somewhat severely. It is good to be approving the sermon, but I would rather be seeing you make a practical application of it. Indeed, that is true, replied Donald, and it would not be a miss for more than me to make application of it. Indeed, then, if all reports be true, replied Peter, it would be well for you to begin at home. Mr. McCray said Donald earnestly, it is myself that knows well enough my shortcomings, but if there is any special reason for your remark I am not aware of it. This light treatment of what to Peter had seemed a grievous offense against all authority incensed the old nominee beyond all endurance. And do you not think that the conduct of your son last week calls for any reproof, and is it you that will stand up and defend it in the face of the minister and his sermon upon it this day? Donald gazed at him a few moments as if he had gone mad. At length he replied slowly, I do not wish to forget that you are an elder of the church, Mr. McCray, and I will not be charging you with telling lies on me and my family, ta-ta-man, broken Long John Cameron, seeing how the matter stood. He's just referring to yawn little difference Thomas had with the master last week, but it's just nothing come away in. Thomas gasped Donald, my Thomas? You have not heard, then, said Peter in surprise, and old Donald only shook his head. Then it's time you did, replied Peter severely, for such things are a disgrace to the community. Nonsense, said Long John, not a bit of it, I think none the less of Thomas for it. But in matters of this kind Long John could hardly be counted an authority, for it was not so very long ago since he had been beguiled into an affair at the Scotch River, which, while it brought him laurels at the hands of the younger generation, did not add to his reputation with the elders of the church. It did not help matters much that Myrdy Cameron and others of his set proceeded to congratulate old Donald in their own way upon his son's achievement, and with all the more fervor that they perceived that it moved the solemn Peter to righteous wrath. From one and another the tale came forth, with embellishments, till Donald Finch was reduced to such a state of voiceless rage and humiliation, that when, at the sound of the opening psalm, the congregation moved into the church for the Gaelic service, the old man departed for his home, trembling, silent, amazed. How Thomas could have brought this disgrace upon him, he could not imagine. If it had been William John, who, with all his good nature, had a temper brittle enough, he would not have been surprised. And then the minister, sermon of which he had spoken in such open and enthusiastic approval, how it condemned him for his neglect of duty toward his family, and held up his authority over his household to scorn. It was a terrible blow to his pride. It is the Lord's judgment upon me, he said to himself as he tramped his way through the woods. It is the curse of Eli that is hanging over me and mine. And with many vows he resolved that, at all costs, he would do his duty in this crisis and bring Thomas to a sense of his sins. It was in this spirit that he met his family at the supper table, after their return from the Gaelic service. What is this I hear about you, Thomas? He began as Thomas came in and took his place at the table. What is this I hear about you, sir? He repeated making a great effort to maintain a calm and judicial tone. Thomas remained silent, partly because he usually found speech difficult, but chiefly because he dreaded his father's wrath. What is this that has become the talk of the countryside and the disgrace of my name continued the father in deepening tones? No very great disgrace, surely, said Billy Jack, lightly hoping to turn his father's anger. Be you silent, sir, commanded the old man sternly. I will ask for your opinion when I require it. You and others beside you in this house need to learn your places. Billy Jack made no reply, fearing to make matters worse, though he found it hard not to resent this taunt which he knew well was flung at his mother. I wonder at you, Thomas, after such a sermon as yawn. I wonder you are able to sit there unconcerned at this table. I wonder you are not hiding your head in shame and confusion. The old man was lashing himself into a white rage, while Thomas sat looking stolidly before him, his slow tongue finding no words of defence. And indeed he had little thought of defending himself. He was conscious of an acute self-condemnation, and yet, struggling through his slow-moving mind, there was a feeling that, in some sense he could not define, there was justification for what he had done. It is not often that Thomas has grieved you, ventured the mother timidly, for with all her courage she feared her husband when he was in this mood. Woman be silent blazed forth the old man as if he had been waiting for her words. It is not for you to excuse his wickedness. You were too fond of that work, and your children are reaping the fruits of it. Billy Jack looked up quickly as if to answer, but his mother turned her face full upon him and commanded him with steady eyes, giving herself no sign of emotion except for a slight tightening of the lips and a touch of colour in her face. Your children have well learned their lesson of rebellion and deceit continued her husband, allowing his passion a free reign. But I vow unto the Lord I will put an end to it now, whatever, and I will give you to remember, sir, turning to Thomas, to the end of your days this occasion. And now, hence from this table, let me not see your face till the Sabbath is past, and then, if the Lord spares me, I shall deal with you. Thomas hesitated a moment as if he had not quite taken in his father's words. Then, leaving his supper untouched, he rose slowly, and without a word climbed the ladder to the loft. The mother followed him a moment with her eyes, and then, once more turning to Billy Jack, held him with calm, steady gaze. Her immediate fear was for her eldest son. Thomas, she knew, would in the meantime simply suffer what might be his lot, but for many a day she had lived in terror of an outbreak between her eldest son and her husband. Again Billy Jack caught her look and commanded himself to silence. The fire is low, William John, she said, in a quiet voice. Billy Jack rose, and from the wood-box behind the stove replenished the fire, reading perfectly his mother's mind, and resolving at all costs to do her will. At the taking of the books that night, the prayer which was spoken in a tone of awful and almost inaudible solemnity was for the most part an exaltation of the majesty and righteousness of the government of God, and a lamentation over the wickedness and rebellion of mankind. And Billy Jack thought it was no good augury that it closed with the petition for grace to maintain the honour of that government, and to uphold that righteous majesty in all the relations of life. It was a woeful evening to them all, and as soon as possible the household went miserably to bed. Before going to her room the mother slipped up quietly to the loft and found Thomas lying in his bunk, dressed, and awake. He was still puzzling out his ethical problem. His conscience clearly condemned him for his fight with the master, and yet somehow he could not regret having stood up for Jimmy and taken his punishment. He expected no mercy at his father's hands next morning. The punishment he knew would be cruel enough, but it was not the pain that Thomas was dreading. He was dimly struggling with the sense of outrage, for ever since the moment he had stood up and uttered his challenge to the master, he had felt himself to be different. That moment now seemed to belong to the distant years when he was a boy, and now he could not imagine himself submitting to a flogging from any man, and it seemed to him strange and almost impossible that even his father should lift his hand to him. He were not sleeping, Thomas, said his mother, going up to his bunk. No mother, and you have had no supper at all. I don't want any mother. The mother sat silent beside him for a time, and then said quietly, You did not tell me, Thomas. No mother, I didn't like. It would have been better that your father should have heard this from—I mean, should have heard it at home, and you might have told me, Thomas. Yes, mother, I wish now I had, but indeed I can't understand how it happened. I don't feel as if it was me at all. And then Thomas told his mother all the tale, finishing his story with the words that I couldn't help it, mother, at all. The mother remained silent for a little, and then, with a little tremor in her voice, she replied, No, Thomas, I know you couldn't help it, and I hear her voice quite broke. I'm not ashamed of you. Are you not, mother, said Thomas, sitting up suddenly in great surprise? Then I don't care. I couldn't make it out well. Never you mind, Thomas, it will be well. And she leaned over him and kissed him. Thomas felt her face wet with tears, and his stolid reserve broke down. Oh, mother, mother, I don't care now. He cried his breath coming in great sobs. I don't care at all. And he put his arms round his mother, clinging to her as if he had been a child. I know, laddie, I know, whispered his mother, Never you fear, never fear. And then, as if to herself, she added, Thank the Lord, you are not a coward, whatever. Thomas found himself again without words, but he held his mother fast, his big body shaking with his sobs. And, Thomas, she continued after a pause, Your father, we must just be patient. All her life long this had been her struggle. And, and, he is a good man. Her tears were now flowing fast, and her voice had quite lost its calm. Thomas was alarmed and distressed. He had never, in all his life, seen his mother weep, and rarely had heard her voice break. Don't, mother, he said, growing suddenly quiet himself. Don't you mind, mother, it'll be all right, and I'm not afraid. Yes, she said, rising and regaining herself control. It will be all right, Thomas. You go to sleep. And there were such evident reserves of strength behind her voice, that Thomas lay down, certain that all would be well, his mother had never failed him. The mother went downstairs with the purpose in her heart of having a talk with her husband, but Donald Finch knew her ways well, and had resolved that he would have no speech with her upon the matter, for he knew that it would be impossible for him to persevere in his intention to deal with Thomas if he allowed his wife to have any talk with him. The morning brought the mother no opportunity of speech with her husband. He, contrary to his custom, remained until breakfast in his room. Outside in the kitchen he could hear Billy Jack's cheerful tones and hearty laugh, and had angered him to think that his displeasure should have so little effect upon his household. If the house had remained shrouded in gloom, and the family had gone about on tiptoes and with bated breath, it would have shown no more than a proper appreciation of the father's displeasure. But as Billy Jack's cheerful words and laughter fell upon his ear, he renewed his vows to do his duty that day, in upholding his authority, and bringing to his son a due sense of his sin. In grim silence he ate his breakfast, except for a sharp rebuke to Billy Jack, who had been laboring throughout the meal to make cheerful conversation with Jessock and his mother. At his father's rebuke Billy Jack dropped his cheerful tone, and avoiding his mother's eyes he assumed at once an attitude of open defiance, his tones and words plainly offering to his father war if war he would have. You will come to me in the room after breakfast, said his father, as Thomas rose to go to the stable. There's a meeting of the trustees at nine o'clock at the schoolhouse at which Thomas must be present, interposed Billy Jack in firm, steady tones. He may go when I have done with him, said his father angrily. And meantime you will attend to your own business. Yes, sir, I will that. Billy Jack's response came back with fierce promptness. The old man glanced at him, caught the light in his eyes, hesitated a moment, and then throwing all restraint to the winds, thundered out, What do you mean, sir? What I say I am going to attend to my own business and that soon. Billy Jack's tone was quick, eager, defiant. Again the old man hesitated and then replied, Go to it then. I am going and I am going to take Thomas to that meeting at nine o'clock. I did not know that you had business there, said the old man sarcastically. Then you may know it now, blazed forth Billy Jack, for I am going, and as sure as I stand here I will see that Thomas gets fair play there, if he doesn't at home, if I have to lick every trustee in the section. Hold your peace, sir, said his father, coming nearer him. Do not give me any impertinence, and do not accuse me of unfairness. Have you heard Thomas's side of the story? returned Billy Jack. I have heard enough, and more than enough. You haven't heard both sides. I know the truth of it whatever, the shameful and disgraceful truth of it. I know that the countryside is ringing with it. I know that in the house of God the minister held up my family to the scorn of the people, and I vowed to do my duty to my house. The old man's passion had risen to such a height that for a moment Billy Jack quailed before it. In the pause that followed the old man's outburst, the mother came to her son. Hush, William John, you are not to forget yourself nor your duty to your father and to me. Thomas will receive full justice in this matter. There was a quiet strength and dignity in her manner that commanded immediate attention from both men. The mother went on in a low, even voice. Your father has his duty to perform, and you must not take it upon yourself to interfere. Billy Jack could hardly believe his ears, that his mother should desert him and should support what he knew she felt to be injustice and tyranny was more than he could understand. No less perplexed was her husband. As they stood there, looking at each other, uncertain as to the next step, there came a knock at the back door. The mother went to open it, pausing on her way to push back some chairs and put the room to rights, thus allowing the family to regain its composure. Good morning, Mrs. Finch. You will be thinking I have slept in your barn all night. It was Long John Cameron. Come away in, Mr. Cameron. It is never too early for friends to come to this house, said Mrs. Finch, her voice showing her great relief. Long John came in, glanced shrewdly about, and greeted Mr. Finch with great heartiness. It's a fine winter day, Mr. Finch, but it looks as if we might have a storm. You were busy with the logs, I hear. Old Donald was slowly recovering himself. And a fine lot you were having, continued Long John. I was just saying the other day that it was wonderful the work you could get through. Indeed, it is hard enough to do anything here, said Donald Finch, with some bitterness. He may say so, responded Long John cheerfully. The snow is that deep in the bush, and you were wanting to see me, Mr. Cameron, interrupted Donald. I have business on hand which requires attention. Indeed, and so have I, for it is, and indeed it is just as well you and all should know it, for my disgrace is well known. Disgrace, exclaimed Long John. I, disgrace, for is it not a disgrace to have the conduct of your family become the occasion of a sermon on the Lord's Day? Indeed, I did not think much of Yon's sermon, whatever, replied Long John. I cannot agree with you, Mr. Cameron, it was a powerful sermon, and it was only too sorely needed, but I hope it will not be without profit to myself. Indeed, it is not the sermon you have much need of, said Long John, for everyone knows what a I it is myself that needs it, but with the help of the Lord I will be doing my duty this morning. And I am very glad to hear that, replied Long John, for that is why I am come. And what may you have to do with it? asked the old man. As to that, indeed, replied Long John coolly, I am not yet quite sure, but if I might ask, without being too bold, what is the particular duty to which you are referring? You may ask, and you and all have a right to know, for I am about to visit upon my son his sins and shame. And is it meaning to weep him you are? I, said the old man, and his lips came fiercely together. Indeed, then, you will just do no such thing this morning. And by what right do you interfere in my domestic affairs, demanded old Donald with dignity? Answer me that, Mr. Cameron. Right or no right, replied Long John, before any man lays a finger on Thomas there, he will need to begin with myself. And, he added grimly, there are not many in the county who would care for that job. Old Donald Finch looked at his visitor in speechless amazement. At length Long John grew excited. Man alive, he exclaimed, is a queer father you are. You may be thinking yet disgrace, but the section will be proud that there is a boy in it brave enough to stand up for the weak against a brute bully. And then he proceeded to tell the tale as he had heard it from Don, with such strong passion and such rude vigor that, in spite of himself, old Donald found his rage, vanish, and his heart began to move within him toward his son. And it is for that, cried Long John, dashing his fist into his open palm, it is for that that you would punish your son. May God forgive me, but the man that lays a finger on Thomas Yonder will come in to soar grief this day. Eyelad continued Long John striding toward Thomas and gripping him by the shoulders with both hands. You are a man, and you stood up for the weak Yonder, and if you ever will be wanting a friend, remember John Cameron. Well well, Mr. Cameron, said Old Donald, who was more deeply moved than he cared to show. It may be, as you say, it may be the lad was not so much in the wrong, in the wrong, roared Long John blowing his nose hard, in the wrong, may my boys ever be in the wrong in such a way. Well, said Old Donald, we shall see about this, and if Thomas has suffered injustice it is not his father will refuse to see him righted, and soon they were all off to the meeting at the schoolhouse. Thomas was the last to leave the room, as usual he had not been able to find a word, but stood white and trembling. But as he found himself alone with his mother, once more his stolid reserve broke down, and he burst into a strange and broken cry. Oh, mother, mother! But he could get no further. Never mind, laddie, said his mother, you have borne yourself well, and your mother is proud of you. At the investigation held in the schoolhouse it became clear that, though the insubordination of both Jimmy and Thomas was undeniable, the provocation by the master had been very great, and though the minister, who was superintendent of instruction for the district, insisted that the master's authority must at all costs be upheld, such was the rage of Old Donald Finch and Long John Cameron that the upshot was that the master took his departure from the section, glad enough to escape with bones unbroken. END OF CHAPTER 6 After the expulsion of the master, the twentieth school fell upon evil days, for the trustees decided that it would be better to try girl teachers as Huey contemptuously called them, and this policy prevailed for two or three years, with the result that the big boys left the school, and with their departure the old heroic age passed away to be succeeded by an age soft, law-abiding, and distinctly commercial. The spirit of this unheroic age was incarnate in the person of Foxy Ross. Foxy got his name, in the first instance, from the peculiar pinky-red shade of hair that crowned his white fat face, but the name stuck to him as appropriately descriptive of his tricks and his manners. His face was large and smooth and fat, with wide mouth and teeth that glistened when he smiled. His smile was like his face, large and smooth and fat. His eyes which were light grey, white Huey called them, were shifty, avoiding the gaze that sought to read them, or piercingly keen, according as he might choose. After the departure of the big boys, Foxy gradually grew in influence until his only rival in the school was Huey. Foxy's father was the storekeeper in the twentieth, and this brought within Foxy's reach possibilities of influence that gave him an immense advantage over Huey. By means of bull's eyes and licorice sticks, Foxy could win the allegiance of all the smaller boys and many of the bigger ones, while with the girls both big and small, his willingness to please and his smooth manners, one from many, affection and from the rest, toleration, although Betsy Dan Campbell asserted that whenever Foxy Ross came near her she felt something creeping up her backbone. With the teacher too, Foxy was a great favourite. He gave her worshipful reverence and many gifts from his father's store, eloquent of his devotion. He was never detected in mischief and was always ready to expose the misdemeanours of the other boys. Thus it came that Foxy was the paramount influence within the school. Outside, his only rival was Huey, and at times Huey's rivalry became dangerous. In all games that called for skill, activity and reckless daring, Huey was easily leader. In Old South, Prisoner's Base, but especially in the ancient and noble game of Shinny, Huey shone peerless and supreme. Foxy hated games, and Shinny, the joy of those giants of old who had torn victory from the sixteenth and even from the front one glorious year, was at once Foxy's disgust and terror. As a little boy he could not for the life of him avoid turning his back to weight shuddering with humping shoulders for the enemy's charge, and in anything like a melee he could not help jumping into the air at every dangerous stroke. And thus he brought upon himself the contempt, even of boys much smaller than himself, who under the splendid and heroic example of those who led them had only one ambition to get a whack at the ball, and this ambition they gratified on every possible occasion reckless of consequences. Hence when the last of the big boys, Thomas Finch, against whose solid mass hosts had flung themselves to destruction, finally left the school, Foxy with great skill managed to divert the energies of the boys to games less violent and dangerous, and by means of his bullseyes and his liquorish and his large fat smile, he drew after him a very considerable following of both girls and boys. The most interesting and most successful of Foxy's schemes was the game of Storr, which he introduced, Foxy himself being the storekeeper. He had the traitor's genius for discovering and catering to the weaknesses of people, and hence his store became for certain days of the week the center of life during the recreation hours. The store itself was a somewhat pretentious successor to the little brush cabin with wide open front, where in the old days the boys used to gather, and lying upon piles of fragrant balsam boughs before the big blazing fire placed in front, used to listen to the master talk and occasionally read. Foxy's store was built of slabs covered with thick brush and set off with a plank counter and shelves, whereon were displayed his wares. His stock was never too large for his personal transportation, but its variety was almost infinite. Bullseyes and liquorish, maple sugar and other sweeties were staples. Then, too, there were balls of gum beautifully clear, which in its raw state Foxy gathered from the ends of the pine logs at the sawmill, and which by a process of boiling and clarifying, known only to himself, he brought to a marvelous perfection. But Foxy's genius did not confine itself to sweets. He would buy and sell and swap anything, but in swapping no bargain was ever completed unless there was money for Foxy in the deal. He had goods secondhand and new, fish hooks and marbles, pot-metal knives with brass handles, slate pencils that would break square, which were greatly desired by all, skate straps and buckskin wangs. But Foxy's financial ability never displayed itself with more brilliancy than when he organized the various games of the school so as to have them begin and end with the store. When the river and pond were covered with clear black ice, skating would be the rage, and then Foxy's store would be hung with skate straps and with cedar bark torches, which were greatly in demand for the skating parties that thronged the pond at night. There were no torches like Foxy's. The dry cedar bark anyone could get from the fences, but Foxy's torches were always well soaked in oil and bound with wire, and were prepared with such excellent skill that they always burned brighter and held together longer than any others. These cedar bark torches Foxy disposed of to the larger boys who came down to the pond at night. Foxy's methods of finance were undoubtedly marked by ability, and in as much as his accounts were never audited, the profits were large and sure. He made it a point to purchase a certain proportion of his supplies from his father, who was proud of his son's financial ability, but whether his purchases always equalled his sales no one ever knew. If the pond and river were covered with snow, then Foxy would organize a deer hunt when all the old pistols in the section would be brought forth and the store would display a supply of gun caps by the explosion of which deadly ammunition the deer would be dropped in their tracks and drawn to the store by prancing steeds whose trappings had been purchased from Foxy. When the interest in the deer hunt began to show signs of waning, Foxy would bring forth a supply of gunpowder for the purchase of which any boy who owned a pistol would be ready to bankrupt himself. In this, Huey took a leading part, although he had to depend upon the generosity of others for the thrilling excitement of bringing down his deer with a pistol shot, for Huey had never been able to save coppers enough to purchase a pistol of his own. But deer hunting with pistols was forbidden by the teacher from the day when Huey in his eagerness to bring his quarry down left his ramrod in his pistol and firing at Alec Dan Campbell at point-blank range laid him low with the lump on the side of his head as big as a marble. The only thing that saved Alec's life, the teacher declared, was his thick crop of black hair. Foxy was in great wrath at Huey for his recklessness which laid the deer hunting under the teacher's ban and which interfered seriously with the profits of the store. But Foxy was far too great a man to allow himself to be checked by any such misfortune as this. He was far too astute to attempt to defy the teacher and carry on the forbidden game, but with great ability he adapted the principles of deer hunting to a game even more exciting and profitable. He organized the game of engines, some of the boys being set apart as settlers who were to defend the fort of which the store was the center, the rest to constitute the invading force of savages. The result was that the trade in caps and gunpowder was brisker than ever, for not only was the powder needed for the pistols, but even larger quantities were necessary for the slow matches which hissed their wrath at the approaching enemy, and the mounted guns, for which earthen ink bottles did excellently, set out on a big stump to explode, to the destruction of scores of creeping redskins advancing through the bush, who, after being mutilated and mangled by these terrible explosions, were dragged into the camp and scalped. Foxy's success was phenomenal, the few pennies and fewer half-dimes and dimes that the boys had hoarded for many long weeks would soon have been exhausted, had Huey not wrecked the game. Huey alone had no fear of Foxy, but despised him utterly. He had stood and yelled when those heroes of old, Murdy and Don Cameron, Curly Ross and Ronald McDonald, and last but not to be despised, Thomas Finch, had done battle with the enemy from the sixteenth or the front, and he could not bring himself to acknowledge the leadership of Foxy Ross for all his bullseyes and licorice. Not but what Huey yearned for bullseyes and licorice with great yearning, but these could not atone to him for the loss out of his life of the stir and rush and daring of the old fighting days, and it galled him that the boys of the sixteenth could float the boys of the twentieth in all places and on all occasions with impunity. But above all it seemed to him a standing disgrace that the happy taunt teamsters from the north, who in former days found it unnecessary and wise precaution to put their horses to a gallop as they passed the school in order to escape with slaves intact from the hordes that lined the roadway, now drove slowly past the very gate without an apparent tremor. But besides all this he had an instinctive shrinking from Foxy and sympathized with Betsy Dan in her creepy feeling whenever he approached. Hence he refused allegiance and drew upon himself Foxy's jealous hatred. It was one of Foxy's few errors in judgment that from his desire to humiliate Huey and to bring him to a proper state of subjection he succeeded in shutting him out from the leadership in the game of engines, for Huey promptly refused a subordinate position and withdrew like Achilles to his tent. But unlike Achilles, though he thought he thought actively and to some purpose, for, drawing off with him his two faithful henchmen, Fusy, neither Huey nor anyone else ever knew another name for the little French boy who had drifted into the settlement and made his home with them a clouds. And Davy Scotch, a cousin of Davy McDougal, newly arrived from Scotland. He placed them in positions which commanded the store entrance and waited until the settlers had all departed upon their expedition against the invading Indians. Foxy, with one or two smaller boys, was left in charge of the store waiting for trade. In a few moments Foxy's head appeared at the door when, whizz, a snowball skinned his ear and flattened itself with a bang against the slabs. Hold on there, stop that, you're too close up! shouted Foxy, thinking that the invaders were breaking the rules of the game. Bang! a snowball from another quarter caught him fair in the neck. Here, you fools, you stop that! cried Foxy, turning in the direction whence the snowball came and dodging round to the side of the store. But this was Huey's point of attack and soon Foxy found that the only place of refuge was inside, whether he fled, closing the door after him. Immediately the door became a target for the hidden foe. Meantime the Indian war was progressing but now and again a settler would return to the fort for ammunition and the moment he reached the door a volley of snowballs would catch him and hasten his entrance. Once in it was dangerous to come out. By degrees Huey augmented his besieging force from the more adventurous settlers and Indians and placed them in the bush surrounding the door. The war game was demoralized but the new game proved so much more interesting that it was taken up with enthusiasm and prosecuted with vigor. It was rare sport. For the whole noon hour Huey and his bombarding force kept Foxy and his friends in close confinement, from which they were relieved only by the ringing of the school bell, for at the sound of the bell Huey and his men, having had their game, fled from Foxy's wrath to the shelter of the school. When Foxy appeared it was discovered that one eye was half shut but the light that gleamed from the other was sufficiently baleful to give token of the wrath blazing within and Huey was not a little anxious to know what form Foxy's vengeance would take. But to his surprise by the time recess had come Foxy's wrath had apparently vanished and he was willing to treat Huey's exploit in the light of a joke. The truth was Foxy never allowed passion to interfere with business and hence he resolved that he must swallow his rage for he realized clearly that Huey was far too dangerous as a foe and that he might become exceedingly valuable as an ally. Within a week Huey was Foxy's partner in business, enjoying hugely the privilege of dispensing the store goods with certain perquisites that naturally attached to him as storekeeper.