 CHAPTER XII. SEED TIME The day after Big Mac's funeral, Ronald was busy polishing Lisette's glossy skin before the stable door. This was his favourite remedy for gloomy thoughts, and Ronald was full of gloomy thoughts today. His father, though going about the house, was still weak, and worse than all was fretting in his weakness. He was oppressed with the terrible fear that he would never again be able to do a man's work, and Ronald knew from the dark look in his father's face that day and night the desire for vengeance was gnawing at his heart, and Ronald also knew something of the bitterness of this desire from the fierce longing that lay deep in his own. Someday, when his fingers would be feeling for Linoire's throat, he would drink long and fully that sweet draught of vengeance. He knew too that it added to the bitterness in his father's heart to know that in the spring's work that every warm day was bringing nearer, he could take no part, and that was partly the cause of Ronald's gloom. With the slow-moving oxen he could hardly hope to get the seed in in time, and they needed the crop this year if ever they did, for last year's interest on the mortgage was still unpaid and the next instalment was nearly due. As he was putting the finishing touches upon Lisette's satin skin, Yankee drove up to the yard with his fox-horse and buck-board. His box was strapped on behind, and his blankets rolled up in a bundle, filled the seat beside him. "'Morning,' he called to Ronald, pretty fine shine that and pretty fine mare all round,' he continued, walking about Lisette, and noting admiringly her beautiful proportions. "'Pretty fine beast,' he said in a low tone, running his hands down her legs. Guess you wouldn't care to part with that mare.' "'No,' said Ronald shortly, but as he spoke his heart sank within him. "'Aught to fetch a fairly good figure,' continued Yankee meditatively. "'Let's see. She's from LaRox LaZette, ain't she? "'Aught to have some speed,' he untied Lisette's halter. "'Take her down in the yard, yonder,' he said to Ronald.' Ronald threw the halter over Lisette's neck, sprang on her back, and sent her down the lane at a good smart pace. At the bottom of the lane he wheeled her, and riding low upon her neck came back to the barn like a whirlwind. "'Buy jings,' exclaimed Yankee, surprised out of his lazy drawl. "'She's got it. You bet your last break. See here, boy. There's money into that animal. Thought I would like to have her for my buck-board, but I have got an unfortunate conscience that won't let me do up any partner, so I guess I can't make any offer.' Ronald stood beside Lisette, his arm thrown over her beautiful neck, and his hand fondling her gently about the ears. I will not sell her. His voice was low and fierce, and all the more so, because he knew that was just what he would do, and his heart was sick with the pain of the thought. "'I say,' said Yankee suddenly, "'couldn't bunk me in your loft, could you? Can't stand the town too close.' The confining limitations of the twentieth, that metropolitan centre of some dozen buildings, including the Sawmill and Blacksmith's shop, were too trying for Yankee's nervous system. "'Yes, indeed,' said Ronald heartily, "'we will be very glad to have you, and it will be the very best thing for father.' "'Suppose old Fox could nibble round the brulee,' continued Yankee, nodding his head toward his sorrel horse. "'Don't think I will do much drive-in machine business, rather slow.' Yankee spent the summer months selling sewing machines and new patent churns. "'There's plenty of pasture,' said Ronald, and Fox will soon make friends with Lisette. She is very kind, whatever.' "'Ain't ever hitched her, have you?' said Yankee. "'No. Well, might hitch her up some day. Guess you wouldn't hurt the buck-board.' "'Not likely,' said Ronald, looking at the old ramshackle affair. "'Used to drive some myself,' said Yankee, but to this idea Ronald did not take kindly.' Yankee stood for a few moments looking down the lane and over the fields, and then, turning to Ronald, said, "'Guess it's about ready to begin plowing. Got quite a lot of it to do, too, ain't you?' "'Yes,' said Ronald. I was thinking I would be beginning to-morrow. "'Purty slow business with the oxen. How would it do to hitch up Lisette and old Fox yonder?' Then Ronald understood the purpose of Yankee's visit. "'I would be very glad,' said Ronald, a great load lifting from his heart. I was afraid of the work with only the oxen. And then, after a pause, he added, "'What did you mean about buying Lisette?' He was anxious to have that point settled. "'I said what I meant,' answered Yankee. "'I thought perhaps you would rather have the money than the colt. But I tell you what, I ain't got money enough to put into that bird. And don't you talk selling to any one till we see her gate hitched up. But I guess a little of the plow won't hurt for a few weeks or so.' Next day Lisette left behind her forever the free happy days of colthood. At first Ronald was unwilling to trust her to any other hands than his own, but when he saw how skillfully and gently Yankee handled her, soothing her while he harnessed and hitched her up, he recognized that she was safer with Yankee than with himself, and allowed him to have the reins. They spent the morning driving up and down the lane with Lisette and Fox hitched to the stoneboat. The colt had been kindly treated from her earliest days, and consequently knew nothing of fear. She stepped daintily beside old Fox, fretting and chafing in the harness, but without thought of any violent objection. In the afternoon the colt was put through her morning experience with the variation that the stoneboat was piled up with a fairly heavy load of earthen stone. And about noon, the day following, Lisette was turning her furrow with all the steadiness of a horse twice her age. Before two weeks were over Yankee with the horses, and Ronald with the oxen, had finished the plowing, and in another ten days the fields lay smooth and black, with the seed harrowed safely in, waiting for the rain. Yankee's visit had been a godsend, not only to Ronald with his work, but also to MacDonald do. He would talk to the grim, silent man by the hour after the day's work was done, far into the night, till at length he managed to draw from him the secret of his misery. I will never be a man again, he said bitterly to Yankee, and there is the farm all to pay for. I have put it off too long, and now it is too late, and it is all because of that, that brute beast of a Frenchman. Mean cuss, ejaculated Yankee. And I am saying, continued MacDonald do, opening his heart still further, I am saying it was no fair fight whatever. I could whip him with one hand. It was when I was pulling out Big Mac, poor fellow, from under the heap that he took me unawares. That so, assented Yankee, blamed low-down trick. And, oh, I will be praying God to give me strength just to meet him. I will ask no more. But, he added in bitter despair, there is no use for me to pray. Strength will come to me no more. Well, said Yankee brightly, needn't worry about that farment. He ain't worth it anyhow. Ah, he is not worth it indeed, and that is the man who has brought me to this. That was the bitter part to MacDonald do. A man he despised had beaten him. Now, look here, said Yankee. Of course I ain't much good at this, but if you will just quit worrying, I'll undertake to settle this little account with Mr. Lenoir. And what good would that be to me, said MacDonald do? It is myself that wants to meet him. It was not so much the destruction of Lenoir that he desired, as that he should have the destroying of him. While he cherished this feeling in his heart, it was not strange that the minister in his visits found Black Hugh unapproachable, and concluded that he was in a state of settled hardness of heart. His wife knew better, but even she dared not approach MacDonald do on that subject, which had not been mentioned between them since the morning he had opened his heart to her. The dark, haggard, gloomy face haunted her. She longed to help him to peace. It was this that sent her to his brother, MacDonald Vane, to whom she told as much of the story as she thought wise. I am afraid he will never come to peace with God until he comes to peace with this man, she said sadly, and it is a bitter load that he is carrying with him. I will talk with him, answered MacDonald Vane, and at the end of the week he took his way across to his brother's home. He found him down in the brulee where he spent most of his days toiling hard with his axe, in spite of the earnest entreaties of Reynolds. He was butting a big tree that the fire had laid prone, but the axe was falling with the stroke of a weak man. As he finished his cut his brother called to him. That is no work for you, Hugh. That is no work for a man who has been for six weeks in his bed. It is work that must be done, however, Black Hugh answered bitterly. Give me the axe, said MacDonald Vane. He mounted the tree as his brother stepped down, and swung his axe deep into the wood with a mighty blow. Then he remembered and stopped. He would not add to his brother's bitterness by an exhibition of his mighty unshaken strength. He stuck the axe into the log and, standing up, looked over the brulee. It is a fine bit of ground, Hugh, and will raise a good crop of potatoes. I, said MacDonald do, sadly, it has leaned like this for three years and ought to have been cleared long ago if I had been doing my duty. Indeed it will burn all the better for that, said his brother cheerfully. And as for the potatoes, there's a bit of my clearing that Reynolds might as well use. But Black Hugh shook his head. Reynolds will use no man's clearing but his own, he said. I am afraid he has got too much of his father in him for his own good. MacDonald Vane glanced at his brother's face with a look of mingled pity and admiration. Ah, he said, Hugh, it's a proud man you are. MacDonald's have plenty of that whatever, and we come by it good enough. Do you remember at home when our father—and he went off into a reminiscence of their boyhood days, talking in gentle, kindly, loving tones till the shadow began to lift from his brother's face, and he too began to talk. They spoke of their father, who had always been to them a kind of hero, and of their mother, who had lived and toiled and suffered for her family with uncomplaining patience. She was a good woman, said MacDonald Vane with a note of tenderness in his voice, and it was the hard load she had to bear, and I would to God she were living now that I might make up to her something of what she suffered for me. And I am thankful to God, said his brother bitterly, that she is not here to see me now, for it would but add to the heavy burden I often laid upon her. You will not be saying that, said MacDonald Vane, but I am saying that the Lord will be honoured in you yet. Indeed there is not much for me, said his brother gloomily, but the sick bed and six feet or more of the damp earth. Hugh Mann, said his brother hastily, you must not be talking like that. It is not the speech of a brave man, it is the speech of a man that is beaten in his fight. Beaten, echoed his brother with a kind of cry, you have said the word, beaten it is, and by a man that is no equal of mine. You know that, he said, appealing almost anxiously to his brother, you know that well, you know that I am brought to this, he held up his gaunt bony hands. By a man that is no equal of mine, and I will never be able to look him in the face and say as much to him. But if the Almighty would send him to hell I would be following him there. Wished you, said MacDonald Vane in a voice of awe, it is a terrible word you have said, and may the Lord forgive you. Forgive me, echoed his brother in a kind of frenzy. Indeed he will not be doing that, did not the minister's wife tell me as much. No, no, said his brother, she would not be saying that. Indeed that is her very word, said Black Hugh. She could not say that, said his brother, for it is not the word of God. Indeed, replied Black Hugh, like a man who had thought it all out, she would be reading it out of the book to me, that unless I would be forgiving, that, that, he paused, not being able to find a word, but went on, then I need not hope to be forgiven my own self. Yes, yes, that is true, assented MacDonald Vane, but by the grace of God you will forgive and you will be forgiven. Forgive, cried Black Hugh, his face convulsed with passion. Hear me, he raised his hand to heaven, if I ever forgive, but his brother caught his arm and drew it down swiftly, saying, wished man, don't tempt the Almighty. Then he added, you would not be shutting yourself out from the presence of the Lord, and from the presence of those he has taken to himself. His brother stood silent a few moments, his hard, dark face swept with a storm of emotions. Then he said, brokenly, it is not for me, I doubt. But his brother caught him by the arm and said to him, hear me, Hugh, it is for you. They walked on in silence till they were near the house. Ranald and Yankee were driving their teams into the yard. That is a fine lad, said MacDonald Vane, pointing to Ranald. I, said his brother, it is a pity he has not a better chance. He is great for his books, but he has no chance whatever, and he will be a bowed man before he has cleared this farm and paid the debt on it. Never you fear, said his brother, Ranald will do well. But man, what a size he is. He is that, said his father proudly. He is as big as his father, and I doubt someday he may be as good a man as his uncle. God grant he may be a better, said MacDonald Vane reverently. If he be as good, said his brother kindly, I will be content, but I will not be here to see it. Wished man, said his brother hastily, you are not to speak such things nor have them in your mind. Ha, said MacDonald, do sadly, my day is not far off and that I know right well. MacDonald Vane flung his arm hastily round his brother's shoulder. To not speak like that, Hugh, he said his voice breaking suddenly. And then he drew away his arm as if ashamed at his emotion, and said with kindly dignity, please God you will see many days yet, and see your boy come to honour among men. But Black Hugh only shook his head in silence. Before they came to the door MacDonald Vane said, with seeming indifference, you have not been to church since you got up, Hugh. You will be going to-morrow if it is a fine day? It is too long a walk, I doubt, answered his brother. That it is, but Yankee will drive you in his buck-board, said MacDonald Vane. In the buck-board, said MacDonald do, and indeed I was never in a buck-board in my life. It is not too late to begin to-morrow, said his brother, and it will do you good. I doubt that, said Black Hugh gloomily, the church will not be doing me much good any more. Do not say such a thing, and Yankee will drive you in his buck-board to-morrow. His brother did not promise, but next day the congregation received a shock of surprise to see MacDonald do walk down the aisle to his place in the church, and through all the days of the spring and summer his place was never empty. And though the shadow never lifted from his face, the minister's wife felt comforted about him, and waited for the day of his deliverance. CHAPTER XIII MacDonald Vane's visit to his brother was fruitful in another way. After taking counsel with Yankee and Kirstie, he resolved that he would speak to his neighbours and make a bee to attack the brûlée. He knew better than to consult either his brother or his nephew, feeling sure that their highland pride would forbid accepting any such favour, and all the more because it seemed to be needed. But without their leave the bee was arranged, and in the beginning of the following week the house of MacDonald do was thrown into a state of unparalleled confusion, and Kirstie went about in a state of dishevelment that gave token that the daily struggle with dirt had reached the acute stage. From top to bottom, inside and outside, everything that could be scrubbed was scrubbed, and then she settled about her baking, but with all caution lest she should excite her brothers or her nephew's suspicion. It was a good thing that little baking was required, for the teams that brought the men with their axes and logging chains for the day's work at the brûlée brought also their sisters and mothers with baskets of provisions. A logging bee without the sisters and mothers with their baskets would hardly be an unmixed blessing. The first man to arrive with his team was Peter McGregor's Angus, and with him came his sister Bella. He was shortly afterward followed by other teams in rapid succession, the Rosses, the McCarrickers, the Camerons both Don and Murdy, the Rory McCwigs, the McCrae's two or three families of them, the Fraser's and others, till some fifteen teams and fourteen men and boys who thought themselves quite men, lined up in front of the brûlée. The bee was a great affair, for MacDonald Vane was held in high regard by the people, and besides this the misfortune that had befallen his brother and the circumstances under which it had overtaken him had aroused in the community a very deep sympathy for him, and people were glad of the opportunity to manifest this sympathy. And more than all, a logging bee was an event that always promised more or less excitement and social festivity. Yankee was boss for the day. This position would naturally have fallen to MacDonald Vane, but at his brother's bee MacDonald Vane shrank from taking the leading place. The men with the axes went first, chopping up the half-burned logs into lengths suitable for the burning piles, clearing away the brushwood, and cutting through the big roots of the fire-eaten stumps so that they might more easily be pulled. Then followed the teams with their logging chains, hauling the logs to the piles, jerking out and drawing off the stumps whose huge roots stuck up high into the air, and drawing great heaps of brushwood to aid in reducing the heavy logs to ashes. At each log pile stood a man with a hand-spike to help the driver to get the log into position, a work requiring strength and skill, and, above all, a knowledge of the ways of logs which comes only by experience. It was at this work that MacDonald Vane shone. With his mighty strength he could hold steady one end of a log until the team could haul the other into its place. The stump pulling was always attended with more or less interest and excitement. Stumps, as well as logs, have their ways, and it takes a long experience to understand the ways of stumps. In stump hauling young Alec McGregor was an expert. He rarely failed to detect the weak side of a stump. He knew his team, and what was of far greater importance, his team knew him. They were partly of French-Canadian stock, not as large as Farquhar McNaughton's big fat blacks, but as full of spirit as a bottle of whiskey, as Alec himself would say. Their first tentative poles at the stump were taken with caution, until their driver and themselves had taken the full measure of the strength of the enemy. But when once Alec had made up his mind that victory was possible, and had given them the call for the final effort, then his team put their bodies and souls into the pole, and never drew back till something came. Their driver was accustomed to boast that never yet had they failed to honour his call. Farquhar's handsome blacks, on the other hand, were never handled after this fashion. They were slow and sure and steady, like their driver. Their great weight gave them a mighty advantage in a pole, but never, in all the solemn course of their existence, had they thrown themselves into any doubtful trial of strength. In a slow, steady haul they were to be relied upon, but they never could be got to jerk, and a jerk is an important feature in stump hauling tactics. Today, however, a new experience was awaiting them. Farquhar was an old man and slow, and Yankee, while he was unwilling to hurry him, was equally unwilling that his team should not do a full day's work. He persuaded Farquhar that his presence was necessary at one of the piles, not with the hand-spike, but simply to superintend the arranging of the mass for burning. For it ain't every man, Yankee declared, could build a pile to burn. As for his team, Yankee persuaded the old man that Ronald was unequaled in handling horses, that last winter no driver in the camp was up to him. Reluctantly, Farquhar handed his team over to Ronald and stood for some time watching the result of the new combination. Ronald was a born horseman. He loved horses and understood them. Slowly he moved the blacks at their work, knowing that horses are sensitive to a new hand and voice, and that he must adapt himself to their ways if he would bring them at last to his. Before long Farquhar was contented to go off to his pile, satisfied that his team was in good hands, and not sorry to be relieved of the necessity of hurrying his pace through the long hot day as would have been necessary in order to keep up with the other drivers. For each team a strip of the brulee was marked out to clear after the axes. The logs, brush, and stumps had to be removed and dragged to the burning piles. Alec, with his active invincible French Canadians, Ronald, with Farquhar's big sleek blacks, and Don with his father's team, worked side by side. A contest was inevitable, and before an hour had passed Don and Alec, while making a great show of deliberation, were striving for the first place, with Alec easily leading. Like a piece of machinery Alec and his team worked together. Quickly and neatly both driver and horses moved about their work with perfect understanding of each other. With hardly a touch of the lines, but almost entirely by word of command Alec guided his team. And when he took up the whiffle-trees to swing them around to a log or stump, his horses wheeled at once into place. It was beautiful to see them wheeling, backing, hauling, pulling, without loss of time or temper. With Don and his team it was all hard work. His horses were willing and quick enough, but they were ill-trained and needed constant tugging at the lines. In vain Don shouted and cracked his whip, hurrying his team to his pile and back again. The horses only grew more and more awkward, while they foamed and fretted and tired themselves out. Behind came Ranald, still humoring his slow-going team with easy hand and quiet voice, but while he refrained from hurrying his horses, he himself worked hard, and by his good judgment and skill with the chain and in skidding the logs into his pile, in which his training in the shanty had made him more than a match for anyone in the field, many minutes were saved. When the cowbell sounded for dinner, Alex's team stepped off for the barn, wet but fresh and frisky as ever and in perfect heart. Don's horses appeared fretted and jaded, while Ranald brought in his blacks with their glossy skins, white with foam where the harness had shaved, but unfretted and apparently as ready for work as when they began. You have spoiled the shine of your team, said Alex, looking over Ranald's horses as he brought them up to the trough. Better turn them out for the afternoon. They can't stand much more of that pace. Alex was evidently trying to be good-natured, but he could not hide the sneer in his tone. They had neither of them forgotten the incident at the church door, and both felt that it would not be closed until more had been said about it. But today Ranald was in the place of host, and it behooved him to be courteous, and Alex was in good humour with himself, for his team had easily led the field, and besides he was engaged in a kind and neighbourly undertaking, and he was too much of a man to spoil it by any private grudge. He would have to wait for his settlement with Ranald. During the hour and a half allowed for dinner, Ranald took his horses to the well, washed off their legs, removed their harness, and led them to a cool spot behind the barn, and there, while they munched their oats, he gave them a good hard rub down, so that when he brought them into the field again his team looked as glossy and felt as fresh as before they began the day's work. As Ranald appeared on the field with his glossy blacks, Alex glanced at the horses, and began to feel that in the contest for first place it was Ranald he had to fear with his cool, steady team rather than dawn. Not that any suspicion crossed his mind that Farquhar McNaughton's sleek, slow-going horses could ever hold their own with his, but he made up his mind that Ranald, at least, was worth watching. Bring up your gentry, he called to Ranald, if you are not too fine for common folks. Man, that team of yours, he continued, should never be put to work like this, their feet should never be off pavement. Have you mind, said Ranald quietly, I am coming after you, and perhaps before night the blacks may show you their heels yet. There's lots of room, said Alex scornfully, and they both set to work with all the skill and strength that lay in themselves and in their teams. For the first hour or two Ranald was contented to follow, letting his team take their way, but saving every moment he could by his own efforts, so that without fretting his horses in the least or without moving them perceptibly out of their ordinary gait, he found himself a little nearer to Alec than he had been at noon, but the heavy lifting and quick work began to tell upon him. His horses, he knew, would not stand very much hurrying. They were too fat for any extra exertion in such heat, and so Ranald was about to resign himself to defeat when he observed that in the western sky clouds were coming up. At the same time a cool breeze began to blow, and he took fresh heart. If he could hurry his team a little more he might catch Alec yet, so he held his own a little longer, preserving the same steady pace until the clouds from the west had covered all the sky. Then gradually he began to quicken his horses' movements and to put them on heavier loads, wherever opportunity offered instead of a single log or at most two he would take three or four for his load, and in ways known only to horsemen he began to stir up the spirit of his team and to make them feel something of his own excitement. To such good purpose did he plan and so nobly did his team respond to his quiet but persistent pressure that ere Alec was aware Ranald was up on his flank and then they each knew that until the supper bell rang he would have to use to the best advantage every moment of time and every ounce of strength in himself and his team if he was to win first place. Somehow the report of the contest went over the field till at length it reached the ears of Farquhar. At once the old man seized with anxiety for his team and moved by the fear of what Kirstie might say if the news ever reached her ears set off across the brulee to remonstrate with Ranald and if necessary rescue his team from peril. But Don saw him coming and knowing that every moment was precious and dreading lest the old man would snatch from Ranald the victory which seemed to be at least possible for him he arrested Farquhar with a call for assistance with a big log and then engaged him in conversation upon the merits of his splendid team and look cried he admiringly how Ranald is handling them did you ever see the likes of that. The old man stood watching for a few moments doubtfully enough while Don continued pouring forth the praises of his horses and the latter as he noticed Farquhar's eyes glisten with pride ventured to hint that before the day was done he would make Alec McCray and his team look sick and without a hurt to the blacks too he put in diplomatically for Ranald is not the man to hurt a team and as Farquhar stood and watched Ranald at his work and noted with surprise how briskly and cleverly the blacks swung into their places and detected also with his experienced eye that Alec was beginning to show signs of hurry he entered into the spirit of the contest and determined to allow his team to win victory for themselves and their driver if they could. The Axemen had finished their stent. It wanted still an hour of supper time and surely if slowly Ranald was making toward first place. The other teams were left far behind with their work and the whole field began to center attention upon the two that were now confessedly engaged in desperate conflict at the front. One by one the Axemen drew toward the end of the field where Ranald and Alec were fighting out their fight all pretense of deliberation on the part of the drivers having by this time been dropped. They no longer walked as they hitched their chains about the logs or stumps but sprang with eager haste to their work. One by one the other teamsters abandoned their teams and moved across the field to join the crowd already gathered about the contestants. Among them came McDonald Vane who had been working at the farthest corner of the brulee. As soon as he arrived upon the scene and understood what was going on he cried to Ranald. That will do now Ranald. It will be time to quit. Ranald was about to stop and indeed had checked his horses when Alec whose blood was up called out tauntingly. It would be better for him and his horses to stop. They need it bad enough. This was too much for even Farquhar's sluggish blood. Let them go, Ranald, he cried. Let them go, man. Never you fear for the horses if you take down the spunk of yon-crowing cock. It was just what Ranald needed to spur him on, a taunt from his foe and leave from Farquhar to push his team. Before each lay a fallen tree cut into lengths and two or three half-burned stumps. Ranald's tree was much the bigger. A single length would have been an ordinary load for the blacks, but their driver felt that their strength and spirit were both equal to much more than this. He determined to clear away the whole tree at a single load. As soon as he heard Farquhar's voice he seized hold of the whiffle-trees, struck his team a sharp blow with the lines, their first blow that day, swung them round to the top of the tree, ran the chain through its swivel, hooked an end round each of the top lengths, swung them in toward the butt, unhooked his chain, gathered all three lengths into a single load, faced his horses toward the pile, and shouted at them. The blacks, unused to this sort of treatment, were prancing with excitement, and when the word came they threw themselves into their collars with a fierceness that nothing could check, and amid the admiring shouts of the crowd tore the logs through the black soil and landed them safely at the pile. It was the work of only a few minutes to unhitch the chain, haul the logs one by one into place, and dash back with his team at the gallop for the stumps, while Alec had still another load of logs to draw. Reynolds's first stump came out with little trouble, and was born at full speed to the pile. The second stump gave him more difficulty, and before it would yield he had to sever two or three of its thickest roots. Together the teams swung round to their last stump. The excitement in the crowd was intense. Alec's team was moving swiftly and with the steadiness of clockwork. The blacks were frantic with excitement and hard to control. Reynolds's last stump was a pine of medium size whose roots were partly burned away. It looked like an easy victim. Alex was an ugly-looking little elm. Reynolds thought he would try his first pole without the use of the axe. Quickly he backed up his team to the stump, passed the chain round a root on the far side, drew the big hook far up the chain, hitched it so as to give the shortest possible draft, threw the chain over the top of the stump to give it purchase, picked up his lines, and called to his team. With a rush the blacks went at it. The chain slipped up on the root, tightened, bit into the wood, and then the blacks flung back. Reynolds swung them round the point and tried them again, but still a stump refused to budge. All this time he could hear Alec chopping furiously at his elm roots, and he knew that unless he had his stump out before his rival had his chain hitched for the pole the victory was lost. For a moment or two he hesitated, looking round for the axe. Try them again, Reynolds, cried Farquhar, haw them a bit. Once more Reynolds picked up the lines, swung his horses round to the left, held them steady a moment or two, and then with a yell sent them at their pole. Magnificently the blacks responded, furiously tearing up the ground with their feet. A moment or two they hung, straining on their chain, refusing to come back, when slowly the stump began to move. You have got it! cried Farquhar. Gee them a point or two. But already Reynolds had seen that this was necessary, and once more backed his team to readjust the chain which had slipped off the top. As he fastened the hook he heard a sharp back behind him, and he knew that the next moment Alex's team would be away with their load. With a yell he sprang at his lines, lashed the blacks over the back, and called to them once more. Again his team responded, and with a mighty heave the stump came slowly out, carrying with it what looked like half a ton of earth. But even as it heaved he heard Alex call and the answering crash, and before he could get his team going the French Canadians were off for their pile at a gallop, with the lines flying in the air behind them. A moment later he followed, the blacks hauling their stump at a run. Together he and Alex reached the pile. It only remained now to unhook the chain. In vain he tugged and hauled. The chain was buried deep beneath the stump and refused to move, and before he could swing his team about and turn the stump over he heard Alex shout a victory. But as he dropped his chain and was leisurely backing his horses, he heard old Farquhar cry, Hurry, man, hurry for the life of you. Without waiting to inquire the reason, Reynolds wheeled his team, gave the stump a half turn, released his chain, and drove off from the pile to find Alex still busy hooking his chain to his wiffle-tree. Alex had had the same difficulty in freeing his chain as Reynolds, but instead of trying to detach it from the stump he had unhooked the other end, and then with a mighty backward jerk had snatched it from the stump. But before he could attach it to his place on the wiffle-tree again, Reynolds stood ready for work. A win, lad, a win! cried old Farquhar, more excited than he had been for years. It is no win, said Alex hotly. No, no, lads, said MacDonald Vane before Farquhar could reply. It is as even a match as could well be. It is fine teams you both have got, and you have handled them well. But all the same Reynolds friends were wildly enthusiastic over what they called his victory, and Don could hardly keep his hands off him for very joy. Alex, on the other hand, while claiming the victory because his team was at the pile first, was not so sure of it but that he was ready to fight with anyone venturing to dispute his claim. But the men all laughed at him and his rage, until he found it wiser to be good-humoured about it. Yon lad will be making as good a man as yourself, said Farquhar enthusiastically to MacDonald Vane as Reynolds drove his team to the stable. I, and a better pray-god, said MacDonald Vane fervently, looking after Reynolds with loving eyes. There was no child in his home, and his brother's son was as his own. Meanwhile Don had hurried on, leaving his team with Murdie, that he might sing Reynolds' praises to the girls, with whom Reynolds was highly popular, although he avoided them, or perhaps because he did so, the ways of women being passed understanding. To Mrs. Murray and Mamie, who with the minister and Huey had come over to the supper, he went first with his tale. Graphically he depicted the struggle from its beginning to the last dramatic rush to the pile, dilating upon Reynolds' skill and pluck, and upon the wonderful and hitherto unknown virtues of Farquhar's shiny plaques. You ought to see them, cried Don. You bet they never moved in their lives the way they did today. Tied him, he continued. Tied him, beat him, I say, but MacDonald Vane says tied him. Alec Macrae, who thinks himself so mighty smart with his team, Don forgot in his excitement that the Macraes and their friends were there in numbers. So he is, cried Annie Ross, one of Alec's admirers. There is not a man in the Indian lands that can beat Alec and his team. Well, exalted Don, a boy came pretty near it today. But Annie only stuck out her lip at him in the inimitable female manner, and ran off to add to the mischief that Don had already made between Reynolds and his rival. But now the day's work was over, and the hour for the day's event had come, for supper was the great event to which all things moved at bees. The long tables stood under the maple trees, spread with the richest, rarest, deadliest dainties known to the housewives and maidens of the countryside. About the tables stood in groups the white-aproned girls, tucked and frilled, curled and ribbed, into all degrees of bewitching loveliness. The men hurried away with their teams, and then gave themselves to the serious duty of getting ready for supper, using many pales of water in their efforts to remove the black from the burnt wood of the brûlée. At length the women lost all patience with them, and sent Annie Ross, with two or three companions, to call them to supper. With arms intertwined, and with much chattering and giggling, the girls made their way to the group of men, some of whom were engaged in putting the finishing touches to their toilet. Supper is ready, cried Anne, and long past ready. You need not be trying to fix yourselves up so fine, you are just as bad as any girls. Oh! her speech ended in a shriek which was echoed by the others, for Alec Macrae rushed at them, stretching out his black hands toward them. But they were too quick for him, and fled for protection to the safe precincts of the tables. At length when the last of the men had made themselves, as they thought, presentable, they began to make their approach to the tables, slowly and shyly for the most part, each waiting for the other. Alec Macrae, however, knew little of shyness, but walked past the different groups of girls, throwing on either hand a smile, a wink, or a word, as he might find suitable. Suddenly he came upon the group where the minister's wife and her niece were standing. Here for the moment his ease forsook him, but Mrs. Murray came to meet him with outstretched hand. So you still retain your laurels, she said, with a frank smile. I hear it was a great battle. Alec shook hands with her rather awkwardly. He was not on the easiest terms with the minister and his wife. He belonged distinctly to the careless set, and rather enjoyed the distinction. Oh, it was not much, he said. The teams were well matched. Oh, I should like to have been there. You should have told us beforehand. Oh, it was more than I expected myself, he said. I didn't think it was in Farquhar's team. He could not bring himself to give any credit to Rannold, and though Mrs. Murray saw this, she refused to notice it. She was none the less anxious to win Alec's confidence, because she was Rannold's friend. Do you know my niece, she said, turning to Mamie? Alec looked into Mamie's face with such open admiration that she felt the blush come up in her cheeks. Indeed she is worth knowing, but I don't think she will care to take such a hand as that, he said, stretching out a hand still grimy in spite of much washing. But Mamie had learned something since coming to her aunt, and she no longer judged men by the fit of their clothes or the color of their skin or the length of their hair. And indeed, as she looked at Alec with his close buttoned smock and overalls with the legs tucked neatly into the tops of his boots, she thought he was the trimmest figure she had seen since coming to the country. She took Alec's hand and shook it warmly, the full admiration in his handsome black eyes, setting her blood tingling with that love of conquest that lies in every woman's heart. So she flung out her flag of war and smiled back at him, her sweetest. You have a fine team, I hear, she said, as her aunt moved away to greet some of the other men, who were evidently waiting to get a word with her. That I have, you better believe, replied Alec proudly. It was very clever of Randall to come so near beating you, wasn't it? She said, innocently. He must be a splendid driver. He drives pretty well, admitted Alec. He did nothing else all last winter in the shanties. He is so young, too, went on Mamie. Just a boy, isn't he? Alec was not sure how to take this. He does not think so, he answered shortly. He thinks he's no end of a man, but he will have to learn something before he is much older. But he can drive, you say, continued Mamie, wickedly keeping her finger on the sore spot. Oh, Shaw, replied Alec boldly. You think a lot of him, don't you? And I guess you are a pair. Mamie tossed her head at this. We are very good friends, of course, she said lightly. He is a very nice boy, and we are all fond of him. But he is just a boy. He is Huey's great friend. A boy, is he? laughed Alec. That may be, but he is very fond of you whatever. And indeed, I don't wonder at that. Anybody would be, he added, boldly. You don't know a bit about it, said Mamie, with cheeks glowing. About what? About Randall, and what you said. What I said about being fond of you? Indeed, I know all about that. The boys are all broke up, not to speak of myself. This was going a little too fast for Mamie. She knew nothing as yet of the freedom of country banter. She was new to the warfare, but she was not going to lower her flag or retreat. She changed the subject. Your team must have been very tired. Tired, exclaimed Alec, not a bit. They will go home like birds. Come along with me and you will see. Mamie gasped. I, she hesitated, glanced past Alec, blushed and stammered. Alec turned about quickly and saw Randall staring at Mamie. Oh, he said batteringly. I see you would not be allowed. Allowed, echoed Mamie. And why not pray, who will hinder me? But Alec only shrugged his shoulders and looked at Randall, who passed on to his place at the table, black as a thunder-cloud. Mamie wasn't dignant at him. What right had he to stare and look so savage? She would just show him. So she turned once more to Alec and with a gay laugh cried, Some day I will accept your invitation, so just make ready. Any day or every day and the more days the better, cried Alec, as he sat down at the table where all had now taken their places. The supper was a great success. With much laughter and chaffing, the girls flitted from place to place, pouring cups of tea and passing the various dishes, urging the men to eat till, as Don said, they were full to the neck. When all had finished, Mr. Murray, who sat at the head of the table, rose in his place and said, Gentlemen, before we rise from this table, which has been spread so bountifully for us, I wish to return thanks on behalf of Mr. Macdonald to the neighbors and friends who have gathered today to assist in this work. Mr. Macdonald asked me to say that he is all the more surprised at this kindness, in that he feels himself to be so unworthy of it. I promised to speak this word for him, but I do not agree with the sentiment. Mr. Macdonald is a man whom we all love, and in whose misfortune we deeply sympathize, and I only hope that this providence may greatly be blessed to him, and that we will all come to know him better and to see God's hand in his misfortune. The minister then, after some further remarks expressive of the goodwill of the neighbors for Mr. Macdonald, and in appreciation of the kind spirit that prompted the be, returned thanks, and the supper was over. As the men were leaving the table, Alec watched his opportunity and called to Mamie when he was sure Ronald could hear. Well, when will we be ready for that drive? And Mamie, who was more indignant at Ronald than ever, because he had ignored all her advances at supper, and had received her congratulations upon his victory, with nothing more than a grunt, answered Alec brightly, oh, any day that you happen to remember. Remember, cried Alec, then that will be every day until our ride comes off. A few minutes later, as Ronald was hitching up Farquhar's team, Alec passed by, and in great good humour with himself, chaffingly called out to Ronald in the presence of a number of the men. That's a fine girl you've got, Ronald, but you better keep your eye on her. Ronald made no reply. He was fast losing command of himself. Pretty skittish to handle, isn't she? continued Alec. What you talking about, that Lisette Mare, said Yankee walking round to Ronald's side. Pretty slick beast that. Guess there ain't anything in this country will make her take dust. Then, in a low voice, he said to Ronald hurriedly, Don't you mind him? Don't you mind him? You can't touch him today on your own place. Let me handle him. No, said Alec, we were talking about another colt of Ronald's. What's that? said Yankee pretending not to hear. Yes, you bet, he continued. Ronald can handle her all right. He knows something about horses, as I guess you have found out, perhaps by this time. Never saw anything so pretty. Didn't know your team had got that move in them, Mr. McNaughton, Yankee went on to Farquhar, who had just come up. Indeed, they are none the worse of it, said Farquhar, rubbing his hands over the sleek sides of his horses. Worse, cried Yankee, there were a hundred dollars more from this day on. I don't know that, a hundred dollars not to go upon the driver, said Farquhar, putting his hand kindly upon Ronald's shoulder. But this, Ronald warmly repudiated. They are a great team, he said to Farquhar, and they could do better than they did today if they were better handled. Indeed, it would be difficult to get that, said Farquhar, for in my opinion there is not a man in the country that could handle them as well. This was too much for Alec, who, having by this time got his horses hitched, mounted his wagon seat and came round to the door at a gallop. Saved you that time, my boy, said Yankee to Ronald. You would have made a fool of yourself in about two minutes more, I guess. But Ronald was still too wrathful to be grateful for Yankee's help. I will be even with him some day, he said, between his teeth. And yes, you will have to learn two or three things first, said Yankee slowly. What things? Well, how to use your head, first place, and then how to use your hands. He is too heavy for you. He would crumple you up in a couple of minutes. Let him then, said Ronald recklessly. Rather unpleasant. Better wait a while till you learn what I told you. Yankee, said Ronald after a pause. Will you show me? Why, sartan sure, said Yankee cheerfully. You have got to lick him some day or he won't be happy, and by jings it will be worth seeing, too. By this time Farquhar had come back from saying good-bye to McDonald-Dew and Mr. and Mrs. Murray, who were remaining till the last. You will be a man yet, said Farquhar, shaking Ronald's hand. You have got the patience and the endurance. These were great virtues in Farquhar's opinion. Not much patience, I am afraid, said Ronald, but I am glad you trusted me with your team. And any day you want them you can have them, said Farquhar, his reckless mood leading him to forget Kirstie for the moment. Thank you, sir, said Ronald, wondering what Kirstie would look like should he ever venture to claim Farquhar's offer. One by one the teams drove away with their loads till only the minister and his party were left. Away under the trees Mr. Murray was standing, earnestly talking to McDonald-Dew. He had found the opportunity he had long waited for and was making the most of it. Mrs. Murray was busy with Kirstie, and Mimi and Huey came toward the stable where Yankee and Ronald were still standing. As soon as Ronald saw them approaching, he said to Yankee, abruptly, I am going to get the minister's horse and disappeared into the stable, nor did he come forth again till he heard his father calling to him. What is keeping you, Ronald? The minister is waiting for his horse. So you want a great victory, Ronald, I hear, said the minister as Ronald brought black to the door. It was a tie, said Ronald. Oh, Ronald, cried Huey, you beat him, everybody says so, you had your chain hitched up and everything before Alec. I hear it was a great exhibition not only of skill, but of endurance and patience, Ronald, said the minister, and these are noble virtues, it is a great thing to be able to endure. But Ronald made no reply, busying himself with black spridle. Mrs. Murray noticed his gloom and guessed its cause. We will see you at the Bible class, Ronald, she said kindly, but still Ronald remained silent. Can you not speak, man? said his father. Do you not hear the minister's wife talking to you? Yes, said Ronald, I will be there. We will be glad to see you, said Mrs. Murray, offering him her hand. And you might come in with Huey for a few minutes afterward, she continued kindly, for she noted the misery in his face. And we will be glad to see you too, Mr. Macdonald, if it would not be too much for you, and if you do not scorn a woman's teaching. Indeed, I would be proud, said Macdonald do courteously, as far as that is concerned, for I hear there are better men than me attending. I am sure Mrs. Murray will be glad to see you, Mr. Macdonald, said the minister. I will be thinking of it, said Macdonald do cautiously, and you are both very kind, whatever, he said, losing for a time his habitual gloom. Well, then I will look for you both, said Mrs. Murray, as they were about to drive off, so do not disappoint me. Good-bye, Ronald, said Mimi, offering Ronald her hand. Good-bye, said Ronald, holding her hand for a moment, and looking hard into her eyes, and I hope you will enjoy your ride, whatever. Then Mimi understood, Ronald's savage manner, and as she thought it over, she smiled to herself. She was taking her first sips of that cup to woman's lips the sweetest, and she found it not unpleasant. She had succeeded in making one man happy and another miserable, but it was when she said to herself, poor Ronald, that she smiled most sweetly. Ralph Connor Chapter 14 She Will Not Forget If Mrs. Murray was not surprised to see Macdonald do and Yankee walk in on Sabbath evening and sit down in the back seat, her class were. Indeed, the appearance of these two men at the class was considered an event so extraordinary as to give a decided shock to those who regularly attended, and their presence lent to the meeting an unusual interest and an undertone of excitement. To see Macdonald do, whose attendance at the regular Sabbath services was something unusual, present at a religious meeting which no one would consider it a duty to attend, was enough in itself to excite surprise, but when Yankee came in and sat beside him, the surprise was considerably intensified. For Yankee was considered to be quite outside the pale, and indeed in a way incapable of religious impression. No one expected Yankee to be religious. He was not a Presbyterian, knew nothing of the shorter catechism, not to speak of the confession of faith, and consequently was woefully ignorant of the elements of Christian knowledge that were deemed necessary to any true religious experience. It was rumoured that upon Yankee's first appearance in the country some few years before, he had in an unguarded moment acknowledged that his people had belonged to the Methodists, and that he himself leaned toward that peculiar sect. Such a confession was in itself enough to stamp him in the eyes of the community as one whose religious history must always be attended with more or less uncertainty. Few of them had ever seen a Methodist in the flesh. There were said to be some at Moose Creek, Moose Creek as it was called, but they were known only by report. The younger and more untraveled portion of the community thought of them with a certain amount of awe and fear. It was no wonder then that Yankee's appearance in Bible class produced a sensation. It was an evening of sensations, for not only were MacDonald due and Yankee present, but Alec Macrae had driven up a load of people from below the sixteenth. Randall regarded his presence with considerable contempt. It is not much he cares for the Bible class whatever, he confided to Don who was sitting beside him. But more remarkable and disturbing to Randall than the presence of Alec Macrae was that of a young man sitting between Huey and Mimi in the Ministry's pew. He was evidently from the city, one could see that from his fine clothes and his white shirt and collar. Randall looked at him with deepening contempt. Pride was written all over him. Not only did he wear fine clothes and a white shirt and collar, but he wore them without any sign of awkwardness or apology in his manner, and indeed as if he enjoyed them. But the crowning proof of his pride, Don noted with unutterable scorn, looked at him, he said, splits his head in the middle. Randall found himself wondering how the young fop would look sitting in a pool of muddy water, how insufferable the young fellow's manners were. He sat quite close to Mimi, now and then whispering to her, evidently quite ignorant of how to behave in church. And Mimi, who ought to know better, was acting most disgracefully as well, whispering back and smiling right into his face. Randall was thoroughly ashamed of her. He could not deny that the young fellow was handsome, hatefully so, but he was evidently stuck full of conceit, and as he let his eyes wander over the congregation assembled, with a bold and critical stare, making remarks to Mimi in an undertone which could be heard over the church, Randall felt his fingers twitching. The young man was older than Randall, but Randall would have given a good deal for an opportunity to take him with one hand. At this point Randall's reflections were interrupted by Mrs. Murray rising to open the class. Will someone suggest a psalm, she asked, her cheek usually pale, showing a slight colour. It was always an ordeal for her to face her class, ever since the men had been allowed to come and the first moments were full of trial to her. Only her conscience and her fine courage kept her from turning back from this her path of duty. At once from two or three came responses to her invitation and a psalm was chosen. The singing was a distinct feature of the Bible class. There was nothing like it, not only in the other services of the congregation, but in any congregation in the whole county. The young people that formed that Bible class have long since grown into old men and women, but the echoes of that singing still reverberate through the chambers of their hearts when they stand up to sing certain tunes or certain psalms. Once a week through the long winter, they used to meet and sing to John Alec's sounding beat for two or three hours. They learned to sing not only the old psalm tunes but psalm tunes never heard in the congregation before, as also hymns and anthems. The anthems and hymns were, of course, never used in public worship. They were reserved for the sacred concert which John Alec gave once a year. It was in the Bible class that he and his fellow enthusiasts found opportunity to sing their new psalm tunes with now and then a hymn. When John Alec, a handsome broad-shouldered six-footer, stood up and bit his tuning fork to catch the pitch, the people straightened up in their seats and prepared to follow his lead. And after his great resonant voice had rolled out the first few notes of the tune, they caught him up with a vigor and enthusiasm that carried him along and inspired him to his mightiest efforts. Wonderful singing it was, full-toned, rhythmical, and well-balanced. With characteristic courage the minister's wife had chosen Paul's epistle to the Romans for the subject of study, and tonight the lesson was the redotable ninth chapter that arsenal for Calvinistic champions. First the verses were repeated by the class in concert, and the members vied with each other in making this a perfect exercise. Then the teaching of the chapter was set forth in simple lucid speech. The last half hour was devoted to the discussion of questions raised either by the teacher or by any member of the class. Tonight the class was slow in asking questions. They were face-to-face with the tremendous Pauline doctrine of sovereignty. It was significant that by MacDonald Due, his brother and the other older and more experienced members of the class, the doctrine was regarded as absolutely inevitable and was accepted without question. While by Yankee and Randall and all the younger members of the class, it was rejected with fierce resentment. The older men had been taught by the experience of long and bitter years that, above all their strength, however mighty, a power, resistless and often inscrutable, determined their lies. The younger men, their hearts beating with conscious power and freedom, resented this control, or, accepting it, refused to assume the responsibility for the outcome of their lies. It was the old, old strife, the insoluble mystery, and the minister's wife, far from making light of it, allowed its full weight to press in upon the members of her class, and wisely left the question as the apostle leaves it, with a statement of the two great truths of sovereignty and free will, without attempting the impossible task of harmonizing these into a perfect system. After a half-hour of discussion she brought the lesson to a close with a very short and very simple presentation of the practical bearing of the great doctrine. And while the mystery remained unsolved, the limpid clearness of her thought, the humble attitude of mind, the sympathy with doubt, and, above all, the sweet and tender pathos that filled her voice, sent the class away humbled, subdued, comforted, and willing to wait the day of clearer light. Not that they were done with Pharaoh and his untoward fate, that occupied them for many a day. The class was closed with prayer and singing. As a kind of treat, the last singing was a hymn, and they stood up to sing it. It was Peronet's great hymn sung to old coronation, and when they came to the refrain, crown hymn, Lord of all, the very rafters of the little church rang with the mighty volume of sound. The Bible class always closed with the great outburst of singing, and as a rule, Ronald went out tingling and thrilling through and through. But, tonight, so deeply was he exercised with the unhappy doom of the unfortunate King of Egypt, from which apparently there was no escape, fixed as it was by the divine decree, and oppressed with the feeling that the same decree would determine the course of his life, he missed his usual thrill. He was walking off by himself in a perplexed and downcast mood, avoiding everyone, even dawn, and was nearly past the minister's gate, when Huey, excited and breathless, caught up to him and exclaimed, Oh, Ronald, was not that splendid? Man, I like to hear John Alex sing crown him that way. And I say, he continued, Mother wants you to come in. Then all at once Ronald remembered the young man who had behaved so disgracefully in church. No, he said firmly, I must be hurrying home. The cows will be to milk yet. Oh, Shaw, you must come, pleaded Huey. We will have some singing. I want you to sing bass. Perhaps John Alec will come in. This was sheer guessing, but it was good bait. But the young man with his head split in the middle would be there, and perhaps Mimi would be going on with him, as she did in the Bible class. You will tell your mother I could not come, he said. Yankee and Father are both out, and there will be no one at home. Well, I think you're pretty mean, said Huey, grievously disappointed. I wanted you to come in, and Mother wanted Cousin Harry to see you. Cousin Harry? Yes, Mimi's brother came last night, you know, and Mimi's going back with him in two weeks. Mimi's brother? Well, well, is that the nice-looking fellow that sat by you? Aha, he's awful nice, and Mother wanted. Indeed, he looks at, I am sure, Randall said, with sudden enthusiasm. I would just like to know him. If I thought Yankee would—Oh, Shaw, of course Yankee will milk the cows, exclaimed Huey. Come on, come on in. And Randall went to meet one of the great knights of his life. Here is Randall, called Huey at the top of his voice as he entered the room where the family were gathered. He don't say so, Huey, answered his cousin, coming forward. He ought to make that fact known. We all want to hear it. Randall liked him from the first. He was not a bit proud in spite of his fine clothes and his head being split in the middle. You're the chap, he said, stretching out his hand to Randall, that snatched Mimi from the fire—mighty clever thing to do. We have heard a lot about you at our house. Why, every week, let someone else talk, Harry, interrupted Mimi with cheeks flaming. We are going to have some singing now. Here is Auntie. May aunt we use the piano? Why, yes, I suppose so, said Mrs. Murray. I was glad to see your father there tonight, she said to Randall. And Yankee Mother? Hush, Huey, you must call people by their right names. Now, let us have some singing. I hear Randall does singing bass these days. And bully good bass, too! cried Huey. John Alex says that it's the finest bass in the whole singing school. Well, Huey, said his mother quietly, I don't think it is necessary to shout even such pleasant information as that. Now, go to your singing, and I shall listen. She lay back in the big chair, looking so pale and weary that Harry hardly believed it was the same woman that had just been keeping a hundred and fifty people keenly alert for an hour and a half, and leading them with such intellectual and emotional power. That class is too hard for you, Auntie, he said. If I were your husband, I would not let you keep it on. But, you see, my husband is not here. He is twelve miles away. Then I would lock you up or take you with me. Oh, cry, Huey, I would much rather teach the Bible class than listen to another sermon. Something in that, said his cousin, especially if I were the preacher, eh? At which they all laughed. It was a happy hour for Randall. He had been too shy to join the singing school and had never heard any part singing till he began to attend the Bible class. There he made the delightful discovery that, without any instruction, he could join in the bass, and had made also the further discovery that his voice, which he had thought rough and coarse and for a year passed worse than ever, could reach to extraordinary depths. One sabbath evening it chanced that John Alec, who always had an ear open for a good voice, heard him rolling out his deep bass, and seizing him on the spot had made him promise to join the singing school. There he discovered a talent and developed a taste for singing that delighted his leader's heart and opened out to himself a new world. The piano, too, was a new and rare treat to Randall. In all the country there was no other, and even in the manse it was seldom heard, for Mrs. Murray found little time, amid the multitude of household and congregational duties, to keep up her piano practice. That part of her life, with others of like kind, she had been forced to lose. But since Mamie's coming, the piano had been in daily use, and even on the sabbath days, though not without danger to the sensibilities of the neighbors, she had used it to accompany the hymns with which the day always closed. Let us have the parts, cried Huey. Mamie and I will take the air, and Randall will take the bass. Cousin Harry, can you sing? Oh, I'll hum. Nonsense, said Mamie. He sings tenor splendidly. Oh, that's fine, cried Huey, with delight. He himself was full of music. Come on, Randall, you stand up behind Mamie, you will need to see the notes, and I will sit here, planting himself beside his mother. So Huey arranged it all, and for an hour the singing went on, the favorite hymns of each being sung in turn. For the most part Mrs. Murray sat silent, but now and then she would join with the others, singing alto, when she did so, by Huey's special direction. Her voice was not strong, but it was true, mellow, and full of music. Huey loved to hear her sing alto, and more especially because he liked to join in with her, which he was too shy to do alone, even in his home, and which he would never think of doing in the Bible class, or in the presence of any of the boys who might, for this reason, think him proud. When they came to Huey's turn he chose the hymn by Bliss, recently published, Whosoever Will, the words seemed to strike him tonight. Mother, he said, after singing it through, does that mean everybody that likes? Yes, my dear, anyone that wishes. Farrow, mother? Yes, Farrow too. But mother, you said he could not possibly. Only because he did not want to, but he could not, even if he did want to. I hope I did not say that, said his mother, smiling at the eager and earnest young face. No, aunty, said Harry, taking up Huey's cause, not exactly, but something very like it. You said that Farrow could not possibly have acted in any other way than he did. Yes, I said that. Not even if he wanted to, asked Huey. Oh, I did not say that. The Lord hardened Farrow's heart, quoted Ronald, who knew his Bible better than Harry. Yes, that is it, said Harry, and so that made it impossible for Farrow to do anything else. He could not help following after those people. Why not? said Mrs. Murray. What made him follow? Now just think, what made him follow after those people? Why, he wanted to get them back, said Huey. Quite true, said his mother. So you see, he did exactly as he wanted to. Then you mean the Lord had nothing to do with it? asked Ronald. No, I could not say that. Then, said Harry, Farrow could not help himself. Now could he? He did what he wished to do, said his aunt. Yes, said Ronald quickly, but could he help wishing to do what he did? If he had been a different man, more humble-minded and more willing to be taught, he would not have wished to do what he did. Mother, said Huey, changing his ground a little and lowering his voice. Do you think Farrow is lost, and all his soldiers, and all the people who were bad? Mrs. Murray looked at him in silence for a few moments, then said, very sadly, I can't answer that question, Huey. I do not know. But mother, persisted Huey, are not wicked people lost? Yes, Huey, replied his mother, all those who do not repent of their sins and cry to God for mercy. Oh, mother, cried Huey, forever? His mother did not reply. Will he never let them out, mother? continued Huey in piteous appeal. Listen to me, Huey, said his mother very gently. We know very little about this. Would you be very sorry, even for very bad men? Oh, mother, cried Huey, his tender little heart moved with a great compassion. Think of a whole year, all summer long and all winter long. I think I would let anybody out. Then, Huey dear, said his mother, remember that God is much kinder than you are, and has a heart far more tender. And while he will be just and must punish sin, he will do nothing unjust or unkind. He may be quite sure of that. Do not forget how he gave up his own dear son for us. Poor Huey could bear it no longer. He put his head in his mother's lap and sobbed out, oh, mother, I hope he will let them out. As he uttered this pitiful little cry, his cousin Harry got up from his chair and moved across to the window, while Mimi openly wiped her eyes. But Ronald sat with his face set hard, and his eyes gleaming, waiting eagerly for Mrs. Murray's answer. The mother stroked Huey's head softly, and while her tears fell on the brown curls, said to him, you would not be afraid to trust your mother, Huey, and our father in heaven loves us all much more than I love you. And with that Huey was content. Now let us sing one more hymn, said his mother. It's my choice. And she chose one of the new hymns which they had just learned in the singing school, and of which Huey was very fond, the children's hymn, Come to the Saviour. While they were singing, they heard Mr. Murray drive into the yard. There's Papa, said Mrs. Murray. He will be tired and hungry. And she hurried out to meet her husband, followed by Harry and Huey, leaving Ronald and Mamie in the room together. Ronald had never been alone with her before, nor indeed had he ever spent five minutes of his life alone with any girl before now. But he did not feel awkward or shy. He was thinking now as he had been thinking now and then through the whole evening of only one thing, that Mamie was going away. That would make a great difference to him, so great that he was conscious of a heart sinking at the mere thought of it. During the last weeks his life had come to move about a centre, and that centre was Mamie, and now that she was going away there would be nothing left, nothing that is that really mattered. But the question he was revolving in his mind was, would she forget all about him? He knew he would never forget her, that was of course impossible, for so many things would remind him of her. He would never see the moonlight falling through the trees as it fell that night of the sugaring off, without thinking of her. He would never see the shadows in the evening, or hear the wind in the leaves, without thinking of her. The church and the minister's pew, the manse, and all belonging to it would remind him of Mamie. He would recall how she looked at different times and places, the turn of her head, the way her hair fell on her neck, her laugh, the little toss of her chin and the curve in her lips. He would remember everything about her. Would she remember him, or would she forget him? That was the question burning in his heart, and that question he must have settled, and this was the time. But though these thoughts and emotions were rushing through his brain and blood, he felt strangely quiet and self-controlled as he walked over to her where she stood beside the piano, and looking into her eyes with an intensity of gaze she could not meet, said in a low, quick voice, you are going away. Yes, she replied, so startled that the easy smile with which she had greeted him faded out of her face. In two weeks I shall be gone. Gone, echoed Randall, yes, you will be gone. Will you forget me? His tone was almost stern. I know, she said in a surprised voice, of course not. Did not you save my life? You will be far more likely to forget me. No, he said simply, as if that possibility need not be considered. I will never forget you. I will always be thinking of you. Will you think of me? he persisted. I certainly wouldn't I be a very ungrateful girl if I did not. Ungrateful, exclaimed Randall, impatiently. What I did was nothing. Forget that. Do you not understand me? I will be thinking of you every day, in the morning and at night, and I never thought of anyone else before for a day. Will you be thinking of me? There was a movement in the kitchen, and they could hear the minister talking to Harry, and someone was moving toward the door. Tell me, Mamie, quick, said Randall, and though his voice was intense and stern, there was appeal in it as well. She took a step nearer him, and, looking up into his face, said, in a whisper, Yes, Randall, I will always remember you and think of you. Swiftly, almost fiercely, he threw his arms about her and kissed her lips. Then he stood back, looking at her. I could not help it, he said boldly. You made me. Made you, exclaimed Mamie, her face hot with blushes. Yes, you made me. I could not help it, he repeated. And I do not care if you are angry. I am glad I did it. Glad, echoes Mamie again, not knowing what to say. Yes, glad, he said exultantly. Are you? She made no reply. The door opened behind them. She sank down upon the piano stool and let her hands fall upon the keys. Are you? he demanded, ignoring the interruption. With her head low down, while she struck the chords of the hymn they had just sung, she said, hesitatingly, I am not sorry. Sorry for what? said Harry. Oh, nothing, said Mamie lightly. Nobody is if he has got any sense. Then Mrs. Murray came in. Won't you stay for supper, Randall? You must be hungry. No, thank you, said Randall. I must go now. He shook hands with an ease and freedom that the minister had never seen in him and went out. That young man is coming on, said the minister. I never saw anyone change and develop as he has in the last few months. Let me see. He is only eighteen, isn't he? And he might be twenty-one. The minister spoke as if he were not too well pleased with this precocity in Randall. But little did Randall to care. That young man was striding, homeward through the night, his head striking the stars. His path lay through the woods, and when he came to the sugar-camp road, he stood still, and let the memories of the night when he had snatched Mamie from the fire, troop through his mind. Suddenly he thought of Alec McCray and laughed aloud. Poor Alec, he said. Alec seemed so harmless to him now. And then he stood silent, motionless, looking straight toward the stars but seeing them not. He was remembering Mamie's face when she said, Yes, Randall, I will always remember you and think of you. And then the thought of what followed sent the blood jumping through his veins. She will not forget, he said, aloud and went his way. It was his happy night, the happiest of his life thus far, and he would always be happy. What difference could anything make?