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c "-J
THE MAJOR
RALPH CONNOR
RALPH CONNOR'S NOVELS
THE MAJOlt
THE P ATIOL OF THE SUN
DANCK T
IL
CoRPORAL CAMERON
THE FOIEIGNER
BLACK: ROCE:
THE SKY PILOT
THE PR,OSPECTOR
THE DOCTOR
THE 11AN F:201l GLENGARRY
GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS
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SHE LAID HIS HEAD DOWN, R.\N .A HUNDRED YARDS
TO THE "'HEAT FIELD, RETCRI\IXG WITH TWO
SHE.,\XES AND M.\DE A scrrORT FOR HIS HE.\D AXD
SHOrLDERS.
.'" ;;;.
,
"
THE
MAJOR
BY
RALPH CONNOR
AUTHOR OD'
"THE PATROL OF THE SUN DAKCE TRAIL,n
"CORPORAL CAMERON," "THE SKi PILOT/'
"THE DOCTOR," ETC.
TORONTO: McCLELLAND, GOODCHILD & STEWART
NE\V YORK: GEORGE 1-1. DORAN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT. 1917.
r.Y GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
ASTER UNIVERSITY LIBRARV
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE CO'\VARD
II A FIGHT FOR FREEDOM .
III THE ESCUTCHEON CLEARED
IV SALVAGE .
V WESTWARD Ho! .
VI JANE BROWN.
VII THE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT .
VIII You FORGOT ME
IX EXCEPT HE STRIVE LAWFULLY
X THE SPIRIT OF CANADA .
XI THE SHADOW OF WAR .
XII MEN Al'-iD A MINE
XIII A DAY IN SEPTEMBER .
XIV AN EXTRAORDINARY NURSE
XV THE COMING OF JANE .
XVI HOSPITALITY WITHOUT GRUDGING .
XVII THE TRAGEDIES OF LOVE .
XVIII THE VOICE IN THE \VILDERNESS .
XIX THE CLOSING OF THE DOOR
XX THE GERMAN TYPE OF CITIZENSHIP .
XXI WAR .
XXII THE 1'UCK OF DRUM
XXIII A NEUTRAL NATION
XXIV THE MAJOR AND THE MAJOR'S WIFE ·
V
PAGE
II
24
3 6
47
60
7 2
9 I
II2
I28
I37
I5 I
I7 I
I84
19 8
2I3
228
244
255
277
28 7
3 0 7
. 33 2
34 8
. 3 6 3
ILLUSTRATIONS
SHE LAID HIS HEAD DOWN, RAN A HUNDRED YARDS TO
THE WHEAT FIELD, RETURNING, WITH Two SHEAVES,
AND MADE A SUPPORT FOR HIs HEAD AND SHOUL-
DERS . Frontispiece
PAGE
BEFORE SHE WENT TO SLEEP TIlE MOTHER, AS WAS
HER CUSTOM, LOOKED IN UPON HIM 22
THE GIRL'S ANS"\VERING CALL WAS LIKE THE WINDING
OF A SILVER HORN 9 2
"No," SAID THE GIRL, TURNING HER FACE TOWARD
HIM AND SEARCHING HIM WITH HER QUIET, STEADY,
BUT CONTEMPTUOUS EYES, "You FORGOT l\IE." . 124
"THEY ARE GOING TO FIGHT, " SAID N ORA IN AN
AWED AND HORRIFIED VOICE. "OH, LARRY, Do Go
OVER. " . 168
A LETTER FROM JANE HELPED HIM SOME . 35 2
vü
THE MAJOR
\
THE MAJOR
CHAPTER I
THE COW ARD
S PRING had come. Despite the many wet and gusty
days which April had thrust in rude challenge upon
reluctant May, in the glory of the triumphant sun which
flooded the concave blue of heaven and the myriad shaded
green of earth, the whole \vorld knew to-day, the \vhole
world procla:med that spring had come. The yearly
miracle had been rerformed. The leaves of the maple
trees lining the village street unbound from their winter
casings, the violets that lifted brave blue eyes from the
vivid grass carpeting the roadside banks, the cherry and
plum blossoms in the orchards decking the still leafless
trees with their pink and white favours, the timid grain
tingeing with green the brown fields that ran up to the
village street on every side-all shouted in chorus that
spring had come. And all the things with n
'v blood run-
ning wild in their veins, the lambs of a fe\v days still
wobbly on ridi,:ulous legs skipping over and upon the
huge boulders in farmer Martin's meado\v, the birds
thronging the orchard trees, the humming insects rioting
in the genial sun, all of them gave token of strange new
impulses calling for something more than mere living
because spring had come.
Upon the topmost tip of the taller of the t\vin poplars
that Banked tbe picket gate opening upon the Gwynnes'
little garden
at a robin, his head thrown back to give full
throat to the song that was like to burst his heart,
11
12
THE ,MAJOR
monoto!,1ous, unceasing, rapturous. On the door step
of the Gwynnes' bouse, arrested on the threshold by the
robin's song, stood the Gwynne boy of ten years, his
eager face uplifted, hin1self poised like a bird for flight.
"La,v-r-ence," clear as a bird call came the voice from
\vithin.
"11o-th-er," rang the boy's voice in reply, high, joyous
and shrine
"Ear-Iy! Remember I"
"Ri-ght a-way af-ter school. Good-bye, mo-ther,
dear," called the boy.
"W -a-i-t," came the clear, birdlike call again, and in
a moment the mother came running, stood beside the boy,
and followed his eye to the robin on the poplar tree. "A
brave little bird," she said. "That is the ,yay to meet
the day, with a brave heart and a bright song. Good-
bye, boy." She kissed him as she spoke, giving him a
slight pat on the shoulder. "Away you go."
But the boy stood fascinated by the bird so gallantly
facing his day. His mother's \vords awoke in him a
strange feeling. &'A brave heart and a bright song"-
so the knights in the brave days of old, according to his
Stories of the Round Table, \vere vvont to go forth. In
imitation of the bird, the boy threw back his head, and
\vith another cheery good-bye to his mother, sprang clear
of the steps and ran do\vn the grass edged path, through
the gate and out onto the village street. There he stood
first looking up the country road ,vhich in the village be-
came a street. There ,vas nothing to be seen except that
in the Martin orchard "01' Martin" ,vas working with
bis team under the trees which came in ro,vs do\vn to the
road. Finding nothing to interest him there, he turned
to,vard the village and his eyes searched the street. Op-
posite the G\vynnes' gate, Dr. Bush's house stood back
among the trees, but there was no sign of life about it.
Further àown on the same side of the street, the \Vidow
Martin's cottage, with porch vine covered and windows
bright with flowers, hid itself under a great spreading
THE COWARD
13
maple. In front of the cottage the Widow l\1:artin her-
self was busy in the garden. He liked the 'Vidow 1\1ar-
tin but found her not sufficiently exciting to hold him this
spring morning. A vacant lot or two and still on the
same side came the blacksmith's shop just at the cross-
roads, and across the street from it his father's store.
But nei
her at the blacksmith's shop nor at the store
across from it was there anything to awaken even a
passing interest. Some farmers' teams and dogs, Pat
Larkìn's milk \vagon \vith its load of great cans on its
way to the cheese factory and some stray villagers here
and there upon the street intent upon their business. Up
the street his eye tra veIled
eyond the crossroads where
stood on the left Cheatley's butcher shop and on the fight
McKenny's hotel with attached sheds and outhouses.
Over the bridge and up the hill the street went straight
away, past the stone built Episcopal Church whose spire
lifted itself above the maple trees, past the Rectory, solid,
square and built of stone, past the mill standing on the
right back from the street beside the dam, over the hill,
and so disappeared. The whole village seemed asleep
and dreaming among its maple trees in the bright sun-
light.
Thro\ving another glance at the robin still singing on
the treetop overhead, the boy took from .his pocket a
mouth-organ, threw back his head, squared his elbows
out from his sides to give him the lung room he needed,
and in obedience to a sharp ''lord of command after a
preliminary turn, turn, turn, struck up the ancient triumph
:lymn in memory of that hero of the underground rail-
road by which so many slaves of the South in bygone
days nlade their escape "up N o'th" to Canada and to
freedom.
"Glory, glory, hallelujah, his soul goes marching on."
By means of "double-tongucing," a recently acquired ac-
complishment, he was able to give a full brass band effect
to his hymn of freedom. Many villagers from door or
window cast a kindly and admiring eye upon the gallant
14
THE '
IAJOR
little figure stepping to his own music do\vn the street.
He was brass band, conductor, brigadier general all in
one, and behind him marched an army of heroes off for
,var and deathless glory, invisible and invincible. To the
Widow
1artin as he s\vung past the leader flung a wave
of his hand. With a tender light in her old eyes the
Wido,v Martin waved back at him. "God bless his
bright face," she murmured, pausing i11 her work to
watch the upright little figure as he passed along. At the
blacksmith's shop the band paused.
Tink, tink, tink, tink,
Tink, t
nk-a-tink-tink-tink.
l'ink tink, tink, tink,
Tink, tink-a-tink-tink-tink.
The conductor graduated the tempo so as to include the
rhythmic beat of the hammer with the other instruments
in his band. The blacksmith looked, srniled and let his
hammer fall in consonance "vith the beat of the boy's
hand, and for some moments there was glorious harmony
bet"veen anvil and mouth organ and the band invisible.
At the store door across th
street the band paused long
enough simply to give and receive an ans\vering salute
from the storekeeper, ,vho smiled upon his boy as he
marched past. At the crossroads the band paused, mark-
ing time. -There was evidently a momentary uncertainty
in the leader's mind as to direction. The road to the
right led f:traight, direct, but treeless, dusty, uninviting"
to the school. It held no lure for the leader and his
knightly follo"ving. Further on a path led in a curve
under shady trees and away from the street. It made
the way to school longer, but the lure of the curving,
shady path \vas irresistible. Still stepping bravely to the
old abolitionist hymn, the procession moved along, swung
into the path under the trees and suddenly can1e to a halt.
With a magnificent flourish the band concluded its tri-
umphant hyl11n and \vith the conductor and brigadier
THE COWARD
15
the whole brigade stood rigidly at attention. The cause
of this sudden halt was to be seen at the foot of a maple
tree in the person of a fat lump of good natured boy
flesh supine upon the ground.
"Hello, Joe; coming to school?"
"Ugh," grunted Joe, from the repose of limitless calm.
"Come on, then, quick, march." Once more the band
itruck up its hymn.
"Hol' on, Larry, it's plenty tam again," said J Ge. The
band came to a stop. "I don' lak dat school me," he con-
tinued, still in1111ersed in calm.
Joe's stntggles ,vith an English education ,vere indeed
tragically pathetic. His attempts with aspirates were a
cQI1tinual humiliation to himself and a joy to the whole
school. No ,yonder he "no lak dat school." Besides,
Joe was a creature of the open fields. His French Ca-
nadian father, Joe Gagneau, "01' Joe," was a survival of
a bygone age, the glorious golden age of tl:e river and the
bush, of the shanty and the raft, of the axe and the gun,
the age of Canadian romance, of daring deed, of wild
adventure.
"An' it ees half-hour too queek," persisted Joe. "Come
on hup to de dam. H A little worn path invited their
feet from the curving road, and following their feet,
they found themselves upon a steep embankment ,vhich
dammed the ,vaters into a pond that formed the driv-
ing power for the grist mill standing near. At the
farther end of the pond a cedar bush interposed a barrier
to the sight and suggested mysterious things beyond.
Back of the cedar barrier a woods of great trees, spruce,
balsam, with tall elms and maples on the higher ground
beyond, offered deeper mysteries and delights unutter-
able. They kne,v ,veIl the cedar s\vamp and the woods
beyond. Partridges drummed there, rabbits darted along
their beaten runways, and Joe had seen a ,voodcock, that
shyest of all shy birds, disappear in glancing, shadowy
flight, a ghostly, silent denizen of the gho
t1y, silent
ipaces of the forest. Even as they gazed upon that in-
16
THE
IAJOR
viting line of woods, the boys could see and hear the
bluejays flash in s,vift flight from tree to tree and scream
their joy of rage and love. From the farther side of the
pond two boys put out in a flat-bottomed boat.
"There's big Ben and Mop," cried Larry eagerly.
"Hello, Ben," he called across the pond. "Goin' to
school ?"
"Yap," cried Mop, so denominated from the quantity
fld cut of the hair that crowned his head. Ben ,vas at
the oars which creaked and thumped betv.reen the pins,
but ,vere steadily driving the snub-nosed craft on its toil-
some way past the boys.
"Hello, Ben," cried Larry. "Take us in too."
"All right," said Ben, heading the boat for the bank.
"Let Ine take an oar, Ben," said Larry, whose experi-
ence upon the wor]d of waters was not any too wide.
"Here, where you gain'," cried Mop, as the boat slowly
but surely pointed toward the cedars. "You stop pulling,
Ben. N o\v, Larry, pull around again. There no,y, she's
right. Pull, Ben." But Ben sat rigid with his eyes in-
tent upon the cedars.
"What's the matter, Ben?" said Larry. Still Ben sat
with fixed gaze.
"By gum, he's in, boys," said Ben in a lo,v voice. "I
thought he had his nest in one of them stubs."
"What is it-in what stub?" inquired Larry, his voice
shrill \vith excitement.
"That big middle stub, there," said Ben. "It's a wood-
pecker. Say, let's pull down and see it." Under 11op's
direction the old scow gradually made its way toward the
big stub.
They explored the stub, finding in it a hOle and in the
hole a nest, the mother and father woodpeckers mean-
while flying in wild agitation from stub to stub and pro-
testing with shrill cries against the intruders. Then they
each must climb up and feel the eggs lying soft and snug
in their C0111fy cavity. After that they all must discuss
the probable time of hatching, the likelihood of there ùe-
THE COW ARD
17
ing other nests in other stubs ,vhich they proceeded to
visit. So the eager nl0nlents gaily passed into minutes
all unheeded, till inevitable recollection dragged them
back from the world of adventure and romance to that
of stern duty and dull toil.
"Say, boys, ,ve'll be late," cried Larry, in sudden panic,
seizing his oar. "Come on, Ben, let's go."
"I guess it's pretty late now," replied Ben, slo\vly tak-
ing up his oar.
"Dat bell, I hear him long tam," said Joe placidly.
"Oh, Joe!" cried Larry in distress. "Why didn't you
tell us?"
Joe shrugged his shoulders. He ,vas his own master
and superbly indifferent to the flight of time. \Vith him
attendance at school was a thing of more or less inciden-
tal obligation.
"We'll catch it all rig!1t," said
fop with dark fore-
boding. "He \vas awful mad last time and said he'd
lick anyone who came late again and keep hitn in for
noon too."
'Thë prospect was sufficiently gloomy.
"Aw, let's hurry up any\vay," cried Larry, \vho during
his school career had achieved a perfect record for prompt
and punctual attendance.
In ever deepening de j ection the discussion proceeded
until at length Nlop came for\vard with a daring sugges-
tion.
"Say, boys, let's \vait until noon. He won't notice
anything. We can easily fool him."
This brought no comfort to Larry, however, ,vhose
previous virtues \vould only render this lapse the more
conspicuous. A suggestion a f Joe's turned the sca Ie.
"Dat woodchuck," he said, "he's got one hole on de
hill by dere. He's big feller. We dron heem out."
"Come on, let's," cried lVlop. "It will be aVvful fun
to drown the beggar out."
"Guess we can't do much this morning, anyway," said
Ben, philosophically making the best of a bad job. "Let's
18
THE ltIAJOR
go, Larry." And much against his will, but seeing no
way out of the dilenlma, Larry agreed.
They explored the \voodchuck hole, failing to drown
out that cunning subterranean architect ,vho apparently
had provided lines of retreat for just such emergencies
as confronted him now. \Vearied of the woodchuck,
they ranged the bush seeking and finding the nests of blue-
jays and of ,voodpeckers, and in a gravel pit those of the
sand martens. Joe led thenl to the haunts of the wood-
cock, but that shy bird they failed to glimpse. Long be-
fore the noon hour they felt the need of sustenance and
found that Larry's lunch divided among the four went
but a small ,yay in satisfying their pangs of hunger. The
other three, carefree and unconcerned for what the fu-
ture might hold, roamed the woods during the afternoon,
but to Larry what in other circumstances would have
been a day of unalloyed joy, brought him only a present
misery and a dread for the future. The question oJ
school for the afternoon v{as only nlentioned to be dis-
missed. They were too dirty and muddy to venture into
the presence of the master. Consequently the obvious
course was to wait until four o'clock when joining the
other children they might slip home unnoticed.
The afternoon soon began to lag. The woods had lost
their first glamour. Their games grew to be burdensome.
They ,vere weary and hungry, and becoming correspond-
ingly brittle in tenlper. Already Nemesis ,vas on their
trail. Sick at heart and weighted with forebodings,
Larry listened to the plans of the other boys by ,vhich
they expected to elude the consequences of their truancy.
In the discussion of their plans Larry took no part. They
offered him no hope. He knew that if he weré pre-
pared to lie, as they had cheerfully decided, his sim-
ple \vord would carry him through at home. But there
the difficulty arose. \"1 as he willing to lie? He had
never lied to his mother in all his life. He visualised
her face as she listened to him recounting his falsified tale
of the day's doings and unconsciously he groaned aloud.
THE COWARD
19
"\Vhat's the matter with you, Larry?" ;nquired Mop,
noticing his pale face.
"Oh, nothing; it's getting a little cold, I guess."
"Cold I" laughed Mop. "I guess you're getting scared
all right."
To this Larry made no reply. He was too miserable,
too tired to explain his state of mind. He was doubtful
,vhether he could explain to Mop or to Joe his unwilling-
ness to lie to his mother.
"It don't take much to scare you anyway," said Mop
with an ugly grin.
The situation was not without its anxieties to Mop, for
while he felt fairly confident as to his ability to meet
successfully his n1other's cross examination, there ,vas
ahvays a possibility of his father's taking a hand, and
that filled him \vith a real dismay. For Mr. Sam Cheat-
Iey, the village butcher, "vas a man of violent temper,
hasty in his judgments and merciless in 'his punisbluent.
There was a possibility of unhappy consequences for Mop
in spite of his practiced ability in deception. Hence his
nerves were set a-jangling, and his temper, never very
certa.in, ,vas rather on edge. The pale face of the little
boy annoyed him, and the little whimsical smiJe ,vhich
never quite left his face confronted him like an in-
sult.
"You're scared," reiterated Mop with increasing con-
tempt, "and you know you're scared. You ain't got any
spunk any\vay. You ain't got the spunk of a louse."
\Vith a quick grip he caught the boy by the collar (he
was almost twice Larry's size), and \vith a jerk landed
him on his back in a brush heap. The fall brought Larry
no physical hurt, but the laughter of Joe and especially
of Dig Ben, ,vho in his eyes was something of a hero,
wounded and humiliated him. The little smile, however,
did not leave his face and he picked himsElf up and set-
tled his coat about his collar.
"Y ou ain't no good anyway," continued Mop, with the
native instinct of the bully to worry his victitn. "Y ou
20
THE ,MAJOR
can't play nothin' and you can't lick nobody in the whole
schoo1."
Both oJ these charges Larry felt were true. He was
not fond of games and never had he experienced a desire
to win fame as a fighter.
"A w, let him alone, can't you, Mop?" said big Ben.
"He ain"t hurtin' you none.'"
"Hurt in' me," cried Mop, whQ for some unaccountable
reason had worked himself into a rage. "He couldn't
hurt me if he tried. I could lick him on my knees with
one hand behind my back. I believe Joe there could lick
him with one hand tied behind his back."
"I bet he can't," said Ben, measuring Larry with his
eye and desiring to defend him from this degrading ac-
cusation. "I bet he'd put up a pretty fine scrap," con-
tinued Ben, "if he had to." Larry's heart wanned to
his champion.
"Y
s, if he had to," replied Mop with a sneer. "But
he \vould neve.r have to. He wouldn't fight a flea. Joe
can lick him with one hand, can't you, Joe ?"
"I donno. I don' want fight me," said Joe.
"N 0, I kno\v you don't want to, but you could,
couldn't you?" persisted Mop. Joe shrugged his shoul-
ders. "Ha, I told you so. Hurrah for my man," cried
Mop, clapping Joe on the back and pushing him toward
Larry.
Ben began to scent sport. He ,vas also conscious of a
rising resentment against Mop's exultant tone and man-
ner.
"I bet you," he said, "if Larry wanted to, he could
lick Joe even if he had both hands, but if Joe's one hand
is tied behind his back, why Larry would just ,vhale the
tar out of him. But Larry does not want to fight."
'.No," jeered 1\10p, "you b
t he don't, he ain't got it in
him. I bet you he daren't knock a chip off Joe's shoulder,
and I will tie J o
' s hand behind his back with his belt.
N ow there he is., bring; your man on. There's a chip on
his shouldeli too."
THE COWARD
21
Larry looked at J Ge, the little smile still òn his face.
"I don't want to fight Joe. vVhat would I fight Joe for?"
he said.
"1 told you so," cried Mop, dancing about. "He ain't
got no fight in him.
Take a dare,
Take a dare,
Chase a cat,
And hunt a hare."
Ben looked critically at Larry as if appraising the qual-
ity of his soul. "Joe can't lick you \vith one hand tied
behinçl his back, can he, Larry?"
. "I don't want to fight Joe," persisted Larry still smil-
Ing.
"Ya, ya," persisted Mop. "Here, Joe, you knock this
chip off Larry's shoulder." 1vIop placed the gauge of
battle on Larry's shoulder. "Go ahead, Joe." ,
To Joe a fight \vith a friend or a foe was an event of
common occurrence. With even a more dangerous op-
ponent than L,arry he would not have hesitated. For to
decline a fight \vas \vith Joe utterly despicable. So plac-
ing hÍ111self in readiness for the blow that should have
been the inevitable consequence, he knocked the chip off
Larry's shoulder. Still Larry smiled at him.
"Av,,j, your man's no good. He \von't fight," cried
Mop with unspeakable d:sgust. "I told you he wouldn't
fight. Do you know \vhy he won't fight? His mother
belongs to that people, them Quakers, that \von't fight for
anything. He's a co\vard an' his mother's a coward be-
fore him."
The smile faded from Larry's lips. His face which
had been pale flamed a quick red, then as quickly be-
came- dead white. He turned from Joe and looked at the
boy who was tormenting him. Mop was at least four
years older, strongly and heavily built. For a moment
Larry stood as though estimating Mop's fighting quali-
ties. Then apparently making up his mind that on ordi-
22
THE MAJOR
nary terms, owing to his lack in size and in strength, he
was quite unequal to his foe, he looked quickly about him
and his eye fell upon a stout and serviceable beech\vood
stake. With quiet deliberation he seized the club and be-
gan walking slowly toward Mop, his eyes glittering as
if with madness, his face white as that of the dead. So
terrifying was his appearance that Mop began to back
away. "Here you, look out," he cried, "I will smash
you." But Larry still moved steadily upon him. I-lis
white face, his burning eyes, his steady advance was
more than Mop could endure. His courage broke. He
turned and incontinently fled. vVhirling the stick over
his head, Larry flung the club ,vith all his might after
him. The club caught the fleeing Mop fairly between
the shoulders. At the same time his foot caught a root.
Down he went upon his face, uttering cries of deadly
terror.
"Keep him off, keep him off. He will kill me, he win
kill me."
But Larry having shot his bolt ignored his fallen en-
emy, and without a glance at him, or at either of the
other boys, or without a word to any of them, he walked
away through the wood, and deaf to their calling dis-
appeared through the cedar swamp and made straight
for home and to his lTIother. With even, passionless
vo
ce, with almost no sign of penitence, he told her the
story of the day's truancy.
As her discriminating eye was quick in discerning his
penitence, so her forgiveness was quick in meeting his
sin. But though her forgiveness brought the boy a cer-
tain measure of relief he seemed almost to take it for
granted, and there still remained on his face a look of
pain and of more than pain that puzzled his mother.
He seemed to be in a maze of uncertainty and doubt and
fear. His mother could not understand his distress, for
Larry had told her nothing of his encounter with lVlop.
Throughout the evening there pounded through the boy's
memory the terrible words, "He is a coward and his
t
1
....
'"
EEFORE SHE WENT TO SLEEP, THE MOTHER, AS WAS
HER CrSTOl\I. LOOKED IX rpo
HIM.
THE CO\V ARD
23
mother is a co,vard before him." Through his father's
prayer at evening worship those words continued to beat
upon his brain. He tried to prepare his school lessons
for the day follovving, but upon the page before his eyes
the same "vords took shape. He could not analyse his
unutterable sense of shame. He had been afraid to fight.
He knew he "vas a co,vard, but there "vas a deeper
hame
in ,vhich his mother "vas involved. She was a Ouaker,
he knew, and he had a more or less vague id
a that
Quaker
"vould not fight. vVas she then a co\vard? That
any reflection should be made upon his mother stabbed
him to the heart. .L
gain and again l\10p's sneering, grin-
ning face appeared before his ey
s. He felt that he
could have gladly killed him in the "voods, but after all,
the paralysing thought ever recurred that "vhat Mop
said ,vas true. His mother "vas a coward! He put his
head do"vn upon his books and groaned aloud.
"What is it, dear?" inquired his mother.
"I am going to bed, mother," he said.
"Is your head bad?" she asked.
"N 0, no, mother. It is nothing. I am tired," he said,
and "vent upstairs.
Before she "vent to sleep the mother, as \vas her cus-
tom, looked in upon him. The boy "vas lying upon his
face with his arms flung over his head, and "vhen she
turned him over to an easier position, on the pillow and
on his cheeks were the marks of tears. Gently she
pushed back the thick, black, \vavy lecks from his fore-
head, and kissed him once and again. The boy turned
his face to"vard her. A long sobbing sigh came from his
parted lips. He opened his eyes.
"That you. mother?" he asked, the old "vhimsical smile
at his lips. "Good-night."
He settled do"vn into the clothes and in a moment was
fast asleep. The mother stood looking down upon her
boy. He had not told her his trouble, but her touch had
brought him comfort, and for the rest she "vas content
to \vait.
CHAPTER II
A FIGHT FOR FREEDOM
T HE village schoolhouse was packed to the door.
Over the crowded forms there fell a murky light
from the sn10ky s\vinging lan1p that left dark unexplored
depths in the corners of the room. On the ,valls hung
dilapidated maps at angles suggesting the interior of a
ship's cabin during a stonn, or a party of revellers, re-
turning homeward, after the night before, gravely hilari-
ous. Behind the platform a blackboard, cracked into
irregular spaces, preserved the mental processes of the
pupils during their working hours, and in sharp contrast
to these the terribly depressing perfection of the teacher's
exemplar in penmanship, which reminded the self-com-
placent slacker that "Eternal vigilance is the price of
freedom."
It was an evangelistic meeting. Behind the table, his
face illumined by the lamp thereon, stood a man turning
over the leaves of a hymn book. His aspect suggested
a soul, gentle, mild and somewhat abstracted from its
nlaterial environment. The lofty forehead gave promise
of an idealism capable of high courage. indeed of sacri-
fice--a prolnise, ho\vever, belied some\\i
hat by an irreso-
lute chin partly hidden by a straggling beard. But the
face ,vas sincere and tenderly human. At his side upon
the platfonn sat his wife behind a little portable organ,
her face equally gentle, sincere and irresolute.
The assembly-with the extraordinary patience that
characterises public assemblies-waited for the opening
of the meeting, follo\ving with attentive eyes the vague
and trifling movements of the man at the table. Occa-
,sionally there was a rumble of deep voices in conversa-
, 24
A FIGHT FOR FREEDOM 25
tion, and in the dark comers subdued laughter-while on
the front benches the animated and giggling whispering
of three little girls tended to relieve the hour from an al-
most supe'rhuman gravity.
At length with a sudden acquisition of resolution the
evangelist glanced at his \vatch, rose, and catching up
a bundle of hyrrJn books from the table thrust them with
unnecessary energy into the hands of a boy v/11o sat on
the side bench beside his mother. The boy was Law-
rence Gwynne.
"T ake these," said the man, "and distribute them,
please. "
Lawrence taken thus by surprise paled, then flushed a
quick red. He glanced up at his mother and at her slight
nod took the books and distributed them among the
audience on one side of the room while the evangelist
took the other. As the lad passed from bench tr\ bench
with his books he was greeted \vith jocular and slightly
jeering remarks in undertone by the younger members of
the company, which had the effect of obviously increasing
the ineptitude of his thin nervous fingers, but could not
quite dispel the whimsical smile that lingered about the
corners of his mouth and glanced from the corners of
his grey-blue eyes.
The nleeting opened with the singing of a popular
hymn which carried a refrain catchy enough but run-
ning to doggerel. Another hymn follo\ved and another.
Then abruptly the evangelist announced,
"N ow \ve shall have a truly great hymn, a hymn you
must sing in a truly great way, in what we call the grand
style, number three hundred and sixty-seven."
Then in a voice, deep, thrilling, vibrant \vith a noble
emotion, he read the words:
UWhen I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride."
26
THE l\IAJOR
They sang the verse, and when they had finished he
stood looking at them in silence for a moment or two,
then announced solemnly:
"Friends, that \vill nüt do for this hymn. Sing it with
your hearts. Listen to nle."
Then he sang a verse in a deep, strong baritone.
"N ow try."
Timidly they obeyed him.
"No, no, not at all," he shouted at them. "Listen."
Again ,vith exquisitely distinct articulation and in a
tone rich in emotion and carrying in it the noble, pene-
trating pathos of the great words in which is embodied
the passion of that heart subduing world tragedy. He
would not let them try it again, but alone sang the hymn
to the end. By the spell of his voice he had gripped them
by the heart. The giggling girls in the front seat sat
gazing at him with open mouths and lifted eyes. From
every corner of the rüom faces once dull were filled with
a great expectant look.
"Y ou will never sing those words as you should," he
cried, "until you kno\v and feel the glory of that won-
drous cross. N ever, never, never." His voice rose in
a passionate crescendo.
A fter he had finished singing the last great verse, he
let his eyes wander over the benches until they rested
upon the face of the lad on the side bench near
him.
"Aha, boy," he cried. "You can sing those words.
Try that last verse."
The boy stared, fascinated, at him.
"Sing the last verse, boy," commanded the evangelist,
"sing."
As if impelled by another will than his own, the boy
slowly, with his eyes still fastened on the man's face,
threw back his head and began to sing. His voice rose,
full, strong, in a quaint imitatiün in method of articula-
tion and in voice production of the evangelist hitnself.
At the third line of the verse the evangelist joined in
A FIGHT FOR FREEDOM 27
great massive tones, beating time vigorously in a rallen-
tando.
"Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all."
The effect \vas a great emotional climax, the spiritual
atmosphere \vas charged \vith fervour. The people sat
rigid, fixed in their places, incapable of motion, until
released by the invitation of the leader, "Let us pray."
The boy seemed to vvake as from a sleep, glanced at his
mother, then at the faces of the people ia the room, sat
down, and quickly covered his face with his hands and so
remained during the prayer.
The dramatic effect of the singing vvas gradually dis-
pelled in the prayer and in a Scripture reading which fol-
lowed. By the time the leader was about to begin his
address, the people had almost relapsed into their normal
mental and spiritual condition of benevolent neutrality.
A second time a text \vas announced, when abruptly the
door opened and up the aisle, with portentous impressive-
ness as of a stately ocean liner coming to berth, a man
advanced \vhose presence seemed to fill the room and
give it the feeling of being unpleasantly cro\vded. A
buzz went through the seats. "The Rector! The Rec-
tor I'. The evangelist gazed upon the approaching form
and stood as if incapable of proceeding until this impres-
sive personage should come to rest. Deliberately the
Rector advanced to the side bench upon which Larry and
his mother \vere seated, and slowly swinging into posi-
tion calmly viewed the man upon the platform, the wo-
man at the organ, the audience filling the room and then
definitely can1e to anchor upon the bench.
The preacher \vaited until this man.æuvre had been
successfully accomplished, coughed nervously, made as if
to move in the direction 0 f the important personage on
the side bench, hesitated, and finally with an air of em-
barrassment once more announced his text. At once the
Rector was upon his feet.
28
THE i\;IAJOR
"Will you pardon me, sir," he began with elaborate
politeness. "Do I understand you' re a clergynlan?"
"Oh, no, sir," replied the evangelist, "just a plain
preacheL"
"You are not in any Holy Orders then?"
"Oh, no, sir."
"Are you an ordained or accredited minister of any of
the-ah-dissenting bodies?"
"N ot exactly, sir."
"Then, sir," demanded the Rector, "may I ask by
what authority you presume to exercise the functions of
the holy ministry and in my parish?"
"\Vell-really-sir, I do not know why 1-"
"Then, sir, let me tell you this will not be permitted,"
said the Rector sternly. "There are regularly ordained
and accredited ministers of the Church and of all religious
bodies represented in this neighbourhood, and your min-
istrations are not required."
"But surely, sir," said the evangelist hurriedly as if
anxious to get in a word, "I may be permitted in this
free country to preach the Gospe1."
"Sir, there are regular1y ordained and approved min-
isters of the Gaspel \vho are quite capable of performing
this duty. I \\-on't have it, sir. I must protect these
people from unlicensed, unregulated-ah-persons, of
"rhose character and antecedents we have no kno\vledge.
Pray, sir," cried the Rector, taking a step to\vard the man
on the platform, "whom do you represent?"
The evangelist drew himself up quietly and said, "My
Lord and :rvIaster, sir. May I ask \vhom do you repre-
sent?"
I t was a deadly thrust. For the first time during the
encounter the Rector palpably gave ground.
"Eh? Ah-sir-I-ah-ahem-my standing in this
community is perfectly assured as an ordained clergyman
of the Church of England in Canada. Have you any
organisation or church, any organised Christian body
to which you adhere and to which you are responsible?"
A FIGHT FOR FREEDOM 29
"Yes. "
"\iVhat is that body?"
"The Church of Christ-the body of believers."
"Is that an organised body with ordained ministers
and holy sacraments?"
"We do not believe in a paid ministry with special
privileges and po\vers," said the evangelist. "We be-
lieve that every disciple has a right to preach the glorious
Gospel. "
"Ah, then you receive no support from any source in
this ministry 0 f yours?"
The evangelist hesitated. "I receive no salary, sir."
"No support?"
"I receive no regular salary," reiterated the evangelist..
"Do not quibb.le, sir," said the Rector sternly. "Do
you receive any financial support from any source what-
ever in your mission about the country?"
"I receive-" began the evangelist.
"Do you or do you not?" thundered the Rector.
"I was about to say that my expenses are paid by my
society."
"Thank you, no more need be said. These people can
judge for themselves."
"I am \villing that they should judge, but I remind
you that there is another Judge."
"yT es, sir," replied the Rector with portentous solem-
nity, "there is, before "vhom both you and I must
stand."
"And no\v then," said the evangelist, taking up the
Bible, "we may proceed \vith our meeting."
"N 0, sir," replied the Rector, stepping upon the plat-
form. "I \vill not permit it."
"You have no right to--"
"I have every right to protect this community from
heretical and disingenuous, not to say dishonest, persons."
"You ca 11 me dishonest?"
"I said disingenuous."
The evangelist turned toward the audience. "I pro-
30
THE l\IAJOR
test against this intrusion upon this meeting. I appeal
to the audience for British fair play."
Murmurs \vere heard from the audience and subdued
signs of approval. The Rector glanced upon the people.
"Fair play," he cried, "you will get as will any man
\vho appears properly accredited and properly qualified
to proclaim the Gospel, but in the nal11e of this Christian
community, I \vill prevent the exploitation of an unwary
and trusting people."
"Liberty of speech!" called a voice from a dark corner.
"Liberty of speech," roared the. Rector. "\tVho of
you wants liberty of speech? Let him stand forth."
There followed a strained and breathless silence. The
champion of free speech retreated behind his discretion.
"Ah, I thought so," said the Rector in grim contempt.
But even as he spoke a quiet voice invaded the tense
silence like a bell in a quiet night. It \yas Mrs. Gwynne,
her slight girlish figure standing quietly erect, her face
glowing as vvith an inner light, her eyes resting in calm
fearlessness upon the Rector's heated countenance.
"Sir," she said, "my conscience vlÎll not permit me to
sit in silence in the presence of what I feel to be an in-
fringement of the rights of free people. I venture very
humbly to protest against this injustice, and to say that
this gentleman has a right to be heard."
.A.n even more intense silence fell upon the people.
The Rector stood speechless, gazing upon the 1ittle wom-
an who had thus broken every tradition of the con1-
munity in lifting her voice in a public assembly and who
had dared to challenge the authority of one who for
nearly twenty years had been recognised as the autocrat
of the village and of the vvhole countryside. But the
Rector vvas an alert and gallant fighter. He quickly
recovered his poise.
"If Mrs. Gwynne, our good friend and neighbour, de-
sires to address this meeting," he said \vith a courteous
and elaborate bow, "and I an1 sure by training and tradi-
tion she is quite capable of doing so, I am confident that
A FIGHT FOR FREEDOl\f 31
all of us will be delighted to listen to her. But the ques-
tion in hand is not quite so simple as she imagines. It
is-"
"Liberty of speech," said the voice again from the
dark corner.
The Rector
.Theeled fiercely in the direction from
which the interruption came.
"Who speaks," he cried; ''\vhy does he shrink into
the darkness? Let him come for
h."
Again discretion held the interrupter silent.
"As for you-you, sir," continued the Rector, turning
upon the evangelist, "i f you desire-"
But at this point there \vas a sudden commotion from
the opposite side of the room. A quaint dwarfish figure,
crippled but full of vigour, stumped up to the platform.
"lVly son," he said, grandly \vaving the Rector to one
side, "allow lne, my son. You have done \vell. N ow I
shall deal with this gentleman."
The owner of the misshapen body had a noble head,
a face marked \vith intellectual quality, but the glitter in
the large blue eye told the same tale of mental anarchy.
Startled and astonished, the evangelist backed away from
the extraordinary creature that continued to advance
upon him.
"Sir," cried the dwarf, "by \vhat right do you pro-
claim the divine message to your fellowmen? Have you
known the cross, have you felt the piercing crown, do you
bear upon your body the n1ark of the spear?" At this
with a s\vift upward hitch of his shirt the d\varf exposed
his bare side. The evangelist continued to back away
from his new assailant, \vho continued vigorously to fol-
low him up. The youngsters in the cro\vd broke into
laughter. The scene passed s\vi ftly from tragedy to
farce. At this point the Rector interposed.
"Come, come, John," he said, laying a firm, but gen-
tle, hand upon the dwarf's shoulder. '.That will do now.
He is perfectly harmless, sir," he said, addressing the
evangelist. Then turning to the audience, "I think we
32
THE '
iAJOR
may dismiss this meeting," and, raising his hands, he
pronounced the benediction, and the people dispersed in
disorder.
\Vith a strained "Good-night, sir," to the evangelist
and a courteous bovv to 11rs. Gwynne, the Rector fol-
lowed the people, leaving the evangelist and his wife
behind packing up their hymn books and organ, their
faces only too clearly showing the distress which they
felt. Mrs. G\vynne moved toward theI11.
"I anl truly grieved," she said, addressing the evan-
gelist, "that you \Vefe not given an opportunity to deliver
your message."
"vVhat a terrible creature that is," he exclaimed in a
tone indicating nervous anxiety.
"Oh, you mean poor John ?'" said Mrs. G\vynne. "The
poor man is quite harmless. He became excited ,vith the
unusua] character of the meeting. He will disturb you
no mere."
"I fear it is useless," said the evangelist. "I cannot
continue in the face of this opposition."
"It may be difficult, but not useless," replied Mrs.
Gwynne, the light of battle glowing in her grey eyes.
"Ah, I do not know. It may not be ,vise to stir up bad
feeling in a community, to bring the name of religion
into disrepute by strife. But," he continued, offering
his hand, .'let me thank you warmly for your sympathy.
It was splendidly courageous of you. Do you-do you
attend his church?"
"Yes, vve \vorship vvith the Episcopal Church. I am
a Friend myself." .
"Ah, then it vvas a splendidly courageous act. I hon-
our you for it."
"But you \vill continue your mission?" she replied
earnestly.
"Alas, I can hardly see ho\v the mission can be con-
. tinned. There seems to be no opening."
JYlrs. G\vynne apparently lost interest. "Good-bye,"
she said simply, shaking hands vvith them both, and with-
A FIGHT FOR FREEDOM 33
out further words left the room with her boy. For
some distance they walked together along the dark road
in silence. Then in an awed voice the boy sad:
"How could you do it, mother ? You were not a bit
afraid."
"Afraid of what, the Rector?"
"N 0, not the Rector-but to speak up that way before
all the people."
"It was hard to speak," said his mother, "very hard,
but it was harder to keep silent. It did not seem right."
The boy's heart s\velled with a new pride in his
mother. "Oh, mother," he said, "you were splendid.
Y ou were like a soldier standing there. You were like
the martyrs in my book."
" Oh bo "
, no, no, my y.
"I tell you yes, nlother, I was proud of you. u
The thrilling passion in the little boy's voice went to
his mother's heart. "Were you, my boy?" she said, her
voice faltering. "I am glad you were."
I-Iand in hand they walked along, the boy exulting in
his restored pride in his mother and in her courage. But
a new feeling soon stirred within him. He remembered
\vith a pain intolerable that he had allowed the- word of
so despicable a creature as Mop Cheatley to shake his
faith in his mother's courage. Indignation at the
,vretched creature who had maligned her, but chiefly a
passionate self-contempt that he had allo\ved himself to
doubt her, raged tumultuously in his heart and drove him
in a silent fury through the dark until they reached their
own gate. Then as his mother's hand reached toward
th
latch, the boy abruptly caught her arm in a fierce
gnp.
"l\iother," he burst forth in a passionate declaration
of faith, "you're not a coward."
"A coward ?" replied his mother, astonished.
The boy's arms went around her, his head pressed
into her bosom. In a voice broken with passionate sobs
he poured forth his tale of shame and self-contempt.
34
TIlE l\IAJOR
"He said you were a Quaker, that the Quakers \vere
cowards, and would never fight, and that you were a
coward, and that you would never. fight. But you would,
mother, wouldn't you? And you're not a real Quaker,
are you, mother?"
"J\ Quaker," said his mother. "Yes, dear, I belong to
the Friends, as we call them."
"And they, won't they ever fight?" demanded the boy
anxiously.
"They do not believe that fighting with fists, or sticks,
or like wild beasts,':1 sai
his mother, "ever wins anything
worth while."
"N ever, mother ?" cried the boy, anxiety and fear in
his tones. "You would fight, you would fight to-night,
you \vould fight the Rector."
"Yes, my boy," said his mother quietly, "that kind of
fighting \ve believe in. Our people have never been
afraid to stand up for the right, and to suffer for it too.
Remember that, my boy," a certain pride rang out in the
mother's voice. She continued, "\Ve must never be
afraid to suffer for what we believe to be right. You
must never forget that through all your life, Larry."
Her voice gre\v solemn. "You must never, never go back
from what you kno\v to be right, even if you have to
suffer for it."
"Oh, mother," whispered the boy through his sobs, "I
wish I \vere brave like you."
"N 0, no, not like me," whispered his mother, putting
her face down to his. "You will be much braver than
your mother, my boy, oh, very much braver than your
mother."
The boy still clung to her as if he feared to let her go.
c'Oh, mother," he \vhispered, "do you think I can be
brave ?"
"Yes, my boy," her voice rang out again confident and
clear. "It always makes us brave to know that He bore
the cross for us and died rather than betray us."
There \vere no more words between then1, but the
A FIGHT FOR FREEDOl\I 35
memory of that night never faded from the boy's mind.
A new standard of heroism ,vas set up ,vithin his soul
which he might fail to reach but which he could never
]o\ver.
CHAPTER III
THE ESCUTCHEON CLEARED
M R. MICHAEL GWYNNE, the Mapleton store-
keeper, was undoubtedly the most popular man not
in the village only but in the \vhole township. To begin
with he \vas a man of high character, which ,vas suffi-
ciently guaranteed by the fact that he was chosen as Rec-
tor's Warden in All Saints Episcopal Church. He was
moreover the Rector's right-hand man, ready to back up
any good cause \vith personal effort, with a purse always
open but not often full, and \vith a tongue that was irre-
sistible, for he had to an extraordinary degree the gift
of persuasive speech. Therefore, the Rector's first move
in launching any new scheme ,vas to secure the approval
and co-operation of his vVarden.
By the whole community too l\ir. Gwynne \vas recog-
nised as a gentleman, a gentleman not in appearance and
bearing only, a type calculated to repel plain folk, but a
gentleman in heart, \vith a charm of manner which pro-
ceeded from a real interest in and consideration for the
wel fare 0 f others. This charm 0 f manner proved a
valuable asset to him in his business, for behind his coun-
ter Mr. G\vynne had a rare gift of investing the very
calicoes and muslins which he displayed before the daz-
zled eyes of the ladies who came to buy with a glamour
that never failed to make them appear altogether desir-
able; and even the hard-headed farmers fell under this
spell of his \vhether he described to then1 the superexcpl-
lent qualities of a newly patented creal11 separator or the
virtues of a new patent medicine for ailing horses whose
real complaint was overwork or underfeeding. With
36
THE ESCUTCHEON CLEARED 37
all this, moreover, Mr. Gwynne was rigidly honest. No
one ever thought of disputing an account whether he
paid it or not, and truth demands that with Mr. Gwynne's
customers the latter course \vas more frequently adopted.
It \vas at this point that 1fr. Gwynne failed of success
as a business man. He could buy with discrimination, he
had a rare gift of salesmanship, but as a collector, in
the words of Sam Cheatley, the village butcher, himself
a conspicuous star in that department of business activity,
"He was not worth a tinker's curse." His accounts were
sent out punctually twice a year. His wife saw to that.
At times of desperation when pressure from the whole-
sale houses became urgent, special statements were sent
out by Mr. G,vynne himself. But in such cases the
apology accompanying th
se statements was frequently
such as to make immediate payment seem almost an in-
sult. His customers held him in high esteem, respected
his inteltectual ability-for he was a Trinity man-were
fascinated by his charm of manner, loved him for his
kindly qualities, but would not pay their bills.
Many years ago, having failed to work harmoniously
with his business partner, a shrewd, hard-headed, Belfast
draper-hard-hearted Mr. Gwynne considered him-Mr.
G,vynne had decided to emigrate to Canada with the
remnant of a sman fortune ,vhich was found to be just
sufficient to purchase the Mapleton general store, and
\vith it a small fann of fifty acres on the corner of \vhich
the store stood. It was the farm that decided the invest-
ment; for 11r. Gwynne was possessed of the town man's
infatuation for farm life and of the optimistic conviction
that on the farm a living at least for himself and his
small family \vould be assured.
But his years of business in Mapleton had gradually
exhausted his fortune and accumulated a staggering load
of debt \vhich was the occasion of moments of anxiety,
even of fear, to the storekeeper. There was ahvays the
thought in his mind that against his indebtedness on the
credit side there ,vere his book accounts which ran up
88
THE l\IAJOR
into big figures. There was always, if the worst came
to the \vorst, the farm. But if Mr. Gwynne was no busi-
ness man still less was he a farmer. Tied to his store
by reason of his inability to afford a competent assistant,
the farming operations were carried on in haphazard
fashion by neighbours \vho \vere willing to liquidate their
store debts \vith odd days' work at times mOst convenient
to themselves, but not always most seasonable for the
crops. Hence in good years, none too good with such
haphazard farming, the farm was called upon to ftlqke
up the deficiency in the financial returns a f the store.
In bad years notes had to be renewed with formidable
accumulations of interest. But such was. !vIr. Gwynne's
invincible optimism that he met every new embarrass-
ment with some new project giving new promise of
success.
Meanwhile during these painful years his brave little
wife by her garden and her poultry materially helped
to keep the family in food and to meet in some degree the
household expenses. She was her own servant except
that the Widow l\1artin came to her aid t\vice a week.
Her skill with needle and sewing machine and a certain
creative genius which she possessed enabled her to evolve
from her husband's old clothes new clothes for her boy,
and from her own clothing, when not too utterly worn,
dresses for her two little girls. And throughout these
years with all their toil and anxiety she met each day
with a spirit undaunted and with a face that remained
serene as far at least as her husband and her children
ever saw. N or did she allow the whole weight of trials
to taint the s,veetness of her spirit or to dim her faith
in God. Devoted to her husband, she refused to allow
herself to criticise his business ability or methods. The
failure, which she could not but admit, was not his fault;
it was the fault of those debtors who declined to pay their
just dues.
In an hour of desperation she ventured to point out to
her husband that these farmers \vere extending their
THE ESCUTCHEON CLEARED 39
holdings and buying machinery with notes that bore
interest. "And besides, Michael," she said, "Lawrence
must go to High School next year. He will pass the
Entrance examination this summer, and he must go."
"He shall go," said her husband. "I am resolved to
make a change in my method of business. I shall go
after these men. They shall no longer use my money
for their business and for their families \vhile my busi-
ness and my family suffer. You need not look that
way, I have made up my mind and I shall begin at
once. "
Unfortunately the season was not suitable for col-
lections. The farmers were engrossed \vith their har-
vesting, and after that with the fall ploughing, and later
with the marketing of their grain. And as the weeks
passed Mr. Gwynne's indignant resolve that his custo-
mers should not do business on his money gradually
cooled down. The accounts were sent out as usual, and
with the usual disappointing result.
Meantime Mr. Gwynne's attention was diverted from
his delinquent debtors by an enterprise \vhich to an
unusual degree awakened his sympathy and kindled his
imagination. The Reverend Heber Harding, ever since
his unfortunate encounter with the travelling evangel-
ist, was haunted ,\lith the uneasy feeling that he and his
church were not completely fulfilling their functions in
the community and justifying their existence. The im-
pression had been the more painfully deepened in him by
th
sudden eruption of a spirit of recklessness and a cer-
tain tendency to general lawlessness in some of the young
men of the village. As a result of a conference \vith the
leading men of his congregation, he had decided to
organise a young men's club. The business of setting
this club in active operation was handed over to Mr.
Gwynne, than whom no one in the village ,vas better
fitted for the work. The project appealed to J\1r.
Gwynne's imagination. A room was secured in the dis-
used Orange Hall. Subscriptions were received to make
40
THE MAJOR
purchase of apparatus and equipment necessary for
games of various sorts. With vivid remembrance of his
college days, Mr. Gwynne saw to it that as part of the
equipment a place shotùd be found for a number of sets
of boxing gloves.
There \vere those who were not too sure of the up-
lifting influence of the boxing gloves. But after Mr.
Gwynne had given an exhibition of the superior advan-
tages of science over brute force in a bout with Mack
Morrison before a crowded hall, whatever doubt might
exist as to the ethical value of the boxing gloves, there
was no doubt at all as to their value as an attractive force
in the building up of the membership of the Young Men's
Club. The boxing class became immensely popular, and
being conducted under 1fr. Gwynne's most rigid super-
vision, it gradually came to exert a most salutary influ-
ence upon its members. They learned, for one thing, to
take hard knocks without losing their tempers.
In the boxing class thus established, none showed a
greater eagerness to learn than did Larry. Every mo-
ment of his father's spare time he utilised to add to his
kno,vledge of the various feints and guards and cuts and
punches and hooks that appeared necessary to a scientific
acquaintance \vith the manly art. He developed an
amazing capacity to accept punishment. Indeed, he ap-
peared almost to welcome rough handling, especially from
the young men and boys bigger than himself. Light in
\veight and not very muscular, he ,vas ,viry and quick in
eye and in action, and under his father's teaching he
learned ho\v to "make his heels save his head." He was
always ready for a go ,\lith anyone who might offer,
and when all others had wearied of the sport Larry would
put in an extra half hour with the punching bag. With
one boy only he refused to spar. No persuasion, no
taunts, no challenge could entice him to put on the gloves
with Mop Cheatley. He could never look steadily at
Mop for any length 0 f time without seeing again on his
face the sneering grin and hearing again the terrible
THE ESCUTCHEON CLEARED 41
words spoken two years ago in the cedar woods behind
the mill pond: "You're a co\vard and your mother's a
coward before you." He refused to spar with Mop for
he knew that once face to face with him he could not
spar, he must fight. But circumstances made the contest
inevitable. In the \vorking out of a tournament, it
chanced that Mop was drawn to face Larry, and although
the disparity both in age and weight seemed to handicap
the smaller boy to an excessive degree, Larry's friends
who were arranging the schedule, among them Mack
Morrison ,vith big Ben Hopper and Joe Gagneaù as
chorus, and ,vho knew something of Larry's skill with his
hands and speed on his feet, were not till\villing to allow
the dra\v to stand.
The days preceding the tournament \vere days of mis-
ery for Larry. The decision in the contest would of
course be on points and he knew that he could outpoint
\vithout much difficulty his antagonist ,vho \vas ClunlSY
and slow . For the decision Larry cared nothing at all.
At the most he had little to lose for it would be but
small disgrace to be beaten by a boy so much bigger.
The cause of his distress was something quite other than
this. He kne,v that from the first moment of the bout he
\vould be fighting. That this undoubtedly \vould make
lYlop fight back, and he was haunted by the fear that ill
the stress of battle he might play the coward. vVould
he be able to stand up to 1\10p when the fight began to go
against him? And suppose he should run a,vay, should
sho,v himsel f a co\vard? How could he ever live after
that, ho\v look any of the boys in the face? vVorst of
all, how could he face his father, whose approval in this
boxing game since he had revealed himsel f as a "fighting
man" the boy coveted more than anything else. But
his father was not present when the boy stepped into the
ring. Impelled by the dread of showing hinlself a cow..
ard and running a,vay, Larry flung to the winds his
father's favourite maxim, "Let your heels save your
head," a maxim \vhich ought if ever to be observed in
42
THE 'l\IAJOR
such a bout as this in which he was so out-classed in
weight.
At the word "Time" Larry leaped for his opponent
and almost before Mop was aware that the battle had
begun he was being blinded, staggered and beaten all
around the ring, and only a lucky blo\v, flung wildly into
space and landing heavily upon Larry's face, saved him
from complete defeat in the first round. That single
heavy blow was sufficient to give temporary pause to
Larry's impetuosity, but as soon as he got back his
wind he once more ran in, feinting, ducking, plunging,
but ever pressing hard upon his antagonist, ,vb 0, having
recovered from his first surprise, began to plant heavy
blows upon I.Jarry's ribs, until at the end of the round the
boy was glad enough to sink back into his corner gasping
for breath.
Ben Hopper, ,vho was acting as Larry's second, was
filled with surprise and indignation at his principal's
fighting tactics. "You blame fool," he said to Larry as
he ministered to his all too apparent necessities. "What
do you think you're doing? Do you think he's a sausage
Inachine and you a bloody porker? Keep a\vay from
him. You know he's too heavy for you. I f he were not
so clumsy he would have had you out before this. One
good punch from him would do it. Why don't you do
your foot work?"
"Coree," said Joe. "Larree, you fight all the same
Mack Morrison's ram. I-Iead do\vn, jU111p in-head
do\vn, jump in. Why you run so queek on dat Mop
feller? Why you not make him run after you ?"
"He's right, I.Jarry," said Ben. "Use your feet;
make him come after you. You will sure get his
wind."
But Larry stood recovering his breath, glowering
mean\vhile at his enemy across the nng. He neither
heeded nor heard the entreaties of his friends. In his
ears one phrase only rang \vith insistent reiteration.
"He's a coward, an' his mother's a coward before him."
THE ESCUTCHEON CLEARED 43
Only one obsession possessed him, he must keep hard at
his enemy.
"Time !" The second round was on. Like a tiger
upon his prey, Larry was upon his foe, driving fast and
furious blo,vs upon his head and face. But this time
Mop was ready for him, and bearing in, head do\vn, he
took on his left guard the driving blo\vs with no appar-
ent injury, and sent back some half a dozen heavy swings
that broke down Larry's guard, drove him across the
ring and finally brought him gasping to his knees.
"Stay where you are," yelled Ben. "Take your count,
Larry, and keep a,vay from him. Do you hear me?
Keep a\vay, always away."
",-\t the ninth count Larry sprang to his feet, easily
eluded Mop's swinging blow, and slipping lightly around
the ring, escaped further attack until he had picked up
his wind.
"That's the game," yelled Ben. "Keep it up, old boy,
keep it up."
"c' est bon stuff, Larree," yelled Joe, dancing wildly in
Ben's corner. "c' est bon stuff, Larree, for sure."
But once more master of his wind, Larry rene\ved his
battering assault upon Mop's head, inflicting some dam-
age indeed, but receiving heavy punishment in return.
The close of the round found him exhausted and bleed-
ing. In spite of the adjurations and entreaties of his
friends, Larry pursued the same tactics in the third round,
which ended even more disastrously than the second. His
condition \vas serious enough to bring Mack Morrison to
his side.
"What's up with you, Larry?" said Mack. "Where's
your science gone? Why don't you play the game as
you know it?"
"Mack, Mack," panted Larry. "It ain't a game. I'm
-I'm fighting, and, l\lack, I'm not afraid of him."
Mack whistled. "\Vho said you are afraid of him,
youngster ?"
"He did, Mack, he called me a co,vard-you remem-
44
THE J\IAJOR
ber, Ben, up in the cedar bush that day we played hookey
-you remember, Ben?" Ben nodded. "He called me
a coward and"-grinding the words between his teeth-
"he called my mother a coward. But I am not afraid of
him, Mack-he can't make me afraid; he can't make me
run away." What with his rage and his secret fear, the
boy had quite lost control of himself.
"So that's it," said Mack, reading both rage and fear
in his eyes. "Listen to me, Larry," he continued in a
voice low and stem. "You quit this monkey vyork right
now or, by the jumping J ehoshaphat, I will lick the tar
out of you myself when this is over. You're not afraid
of him; I know that-we all know that. But you don't
want to kill him, eh? No. What you want is to make
him look like a fool. Well, then, fight, if you want to
fight, but remember your rules. Play \vith him, make
him follow you round until you get his \vind; there's
your chance. Then get him hard and get away."
But the boy spoke no word in reply. He was staring
gloomily, desperately, before him into space.
Mack seized him, and shaking him impatiently, said,
"Larry boy, listen to me. Don't you care for anybody
but yourself? Don't you care for me at all ?"
At that Larry appeared to \vake up as from a sleep.
"What did you say, Mack ?" he answered. "Of course
I care, you know that, l\!Iack."
"Then," said Mack, "for God's sake, get a smile on
your face. Smile, confound you, smile."
The boy passed his gloved hand over his face, looked
for a moment into Mack's eyes, and the old smile came
back to his lips.
"Now you're all right," cried Mack in triumph. "Re-
member your father's rule, 'Keep your head \vith your
heels.'" And Larry did remember! F or on the call
of "Time" he slipped from Ben's knees and began to cir-
cle lightly about 1Iop, smiling upon him and \vaiting his
chance. His chance soon came, for l\!Iop, thinking that
his enemy had had about enough and was ready to quit,
THE ESCUTCHEON CLEARED 45
adopted aggressive tactics, and, feinting with his right,
swung heavily with his left at the smiling face. But
the face proved elusive, and upon Mop's undefended head
a series of blo\vs dealt with savage fury took all the heart
out of him. So he cried to the referee as he ducked
into his comer:
"He's fightin'. He's fightin'. I'm not fightin'."
"You'd better get busy then," called Ben derisively
from his corner. "N O\V, Larry, sail into him," and
Larry sailed in with such vehemence that Mop fairly
turned tail and ran around the ring, Larry pursuing him
amid the delighted shouts of the spectators.
This ended the contest, the judges giving the decision
to Mop, who, though obviously beaten at the finish, had
showed a distinct superiority on points. As for Larry,
the decísion grieved him not at all. He carried home a
face slightly disfigured but triumphant, his sole comment
to his mother upon the contest being, "I was not afraid
of hinl any\vay, mother; he could not make me run."
"I am not so sure of this boxing, Lawrence," she said,
but the boy caught the glint in her eyes and was \vell
enough content.
In the late evening Ben, with Larry and Joe following
him, took occasion to look in upon Mop at the butcher
shop.
"Say, Mop," said Ben pleasantly, "what do you think
of Larry now? \V'ould you say he \vas a coward?"
"'VVhat do you mean?" asked Mop, suspecting trouble.
"Just what I say," said Ben, ,,,hile Larry moved up
within range, his face white, his eyes gleaming.
"I ain't saying nothing about nobody," replied Mop
sullenly, with the tail of his eye upon Larry's white face
and gleaming eyes.
"Y 0'u say him one tam-in de cedar s,vamp," said Joe.
"W ould you say Larry \vas a coward?" repeated Ben.
"N 0, I ,,,ouldn't say nothing of the sort," replied Mop
promptly.
"Do you think he is a coward?" persisted Ben.
46
THE 'MAJOR
"No," said Mop, "I know he ain't no coward. He
don't fight like no coward."
This appeared to satisfy Ben, but I.arry, moving
slightly nearer, took up the word for himself.
"And would you say my mother was a coward?" he
asked in a tense voice, his body gathered as if for a
sprIng.
"Larry, I wouldn't say nothing about your mother,"
replied Mop earnestly. "I think your mother's a bully
good woman. She was a\vfully good to my mother last
winter, I know."
The spring ,vent out of Larry's body. He backed
away from J\lop and the boys.
"Who said your mother was a co\vard?" inquired
Mop indignantly. "I f anybody says so, you bring him
to me, and I'll punch his head good, I will."
Larry looked foolishly at Ben, \vho looked foolishly
back at him.
"Say, Mop," said Larry, a smile like a warm light
passing over his face, "come on up and see my new rab-
bits. "
CHAPTER IV
SALVAGE
A NOTHER and greater enterprise was diverting Mr.
G\vynne's attention from the delinquencies of his
debtors, namelv: the entrance of the National :r"iachine
Company into the remote and placid life of 1\lapleton and
its district. The nlanager of this company, having spent
an afternoon with lVIr. G\vynne in his store and having
been impressed by his chann and power of persuasive
talk, made him a proposition that he should act as agent
of the National Machine Company. The arrangement
suggested \vas one that appealed to Mr. Gwynne's highly
optinlistic temperament. He was not to work for a mere
salary, but \vas to purchase outright the various pro-
ductions of the National Machine Company and receive
a commission upon all his sales. The figures placed be-
fore Mr. G\vynne by the manager of the company were
sufficiently impressive, indeed so impressive that l\1r.
G\vynne at once accepted the proposition, and the Maple-
ton branch of the National Machine Company became an
established fact.
There \,.as no longer any question as to the education
of his fan1Ïly. In another year \vhen his boy had passed
his entrance exan1inations he would be able to send him
to the high school in the neighbouring to\vn of Easton,
properly equipped and relieved of those handicaps with
which poverty can so easily \vash all the colour out of
young life. A brilliant picture the father drew before
the eyes of his wife of the educational career of their
hoy, vvho had already given promise of exceptional abil-
ity. But \\Thile she listened, channed, delighted and filled
with proud anticipation, the mother \vith none the less
47
48
THE 1\IAJOR
painful care saved her garden and poultry money, cut
to bare necessity her household expenses, skimped her-
self and her children in the matter of dress, and by every
device which she had learned in the bitter school of ex-
perience during the ten years of her Canadian life, made
such preparation for the expenses of her boy's education
as would render it unnecessary to call upon the wealth
realised from the National Machine Company's business.
In the matter of providing for the expense of his edu-
cation Larry himself began to take a not unimportant
part. During the past hvo years he had gained not only
in size but in the vigour of his health, and in almost every
kind of \vork on the fann he could no\v take a man's
place. His mother would not pennit him to give his time
and strength to their o\vn fam1ing operations for the
sufficient reason that from these t
ere \vould be no return
in ready money, and ready money ,vas absolutely essen-
tial to the success of her plans. The boy was quick,
eager and well-mannered, and in consequence had no
difficulty in finding employment with the neighbouring
farmers. So much \vas this the case that long before
the closing of school in the early summer Larry was
offered work for the \vhole summer by their neighbour,
l\1r. Martin, at one dollar a day. He could hardly be-
lieve his good fortune inasmuch as he had never in all his
life been paid at a rate exceeding half that amount.
"I shall have a lot of money, mother," he sa
::, "for
my high school now. I wonder how much it \vill cost
me for the term."
Thereupon his mother seized the opportunity to discuss
the problem with him which she kne\v they must face to-
gether.
"Let us see," said his mother.
Then each with pencil and paper they drew up to the
table, but after the most careful paring do\vn 0 f expenses
and the most optimistic estimate of their resources con-
sistent with fact, they made the rather discouraging dis-
covery that they \vere still fi fty dollars short.
SALVAGE
49
"I can't do it, mother," said Larry, In bitter disap-
pointment.
"\Ve shall not give up yet," said his mother. "Indeed,
I think with what we can make out of the farm and gar-
den and poultry, we ought to be able to manage."
But a new and chilling thought had come to the lad.
He pondered silently, and as he pondered his face became
heavily shado\ved.
"Say, mother," he said suddenly, "we can't do it.
How much are you going to spend on your clothes?"
"All I need," said his mother brightly.
"But how much?"
"I don't kno\v."
"How much did you spend last year?"
"Oh, never n1ind, Lawrence; that really does not
matter. "
But the boy insisted. "Did you spend thirty-one dol-
lars?" His mother laughed at him.
"Did you spend twenty?"
"N 0."
"Did you spend fi fteen ?"
"I do not kno,v," said his mother, "and I am not going
to talk about it. lVI y clothes and the girls' clothes will be
all right for this year."
"Mother," said Larry, "1 am not going to school this
year. I am not going to spend thirty-one dollars for
clothes while you and the girls spend nothing. I am go-
ing to v;ork first, and then go to school I am not going
to school this year." The boy rose from his chair and
stood and faced his mother with quivering lips, fighting
to keep back the tears.
Mother reached out her hand and drew him to,vard
her. "M y darling boy," she said in a low voice, "I love
to hear you, but listen to me. Are you listening ? You
must be educated. Nothing must interfere with that.
No suffering is too great to be endured by all of us. The
time for education is youth; first because your mind
works more quickly and retains better what it acquires,
50
THE ,MAJOR
and second because it is a better investment, and you will
sooner be able to pay us all back \vhat ,ve spend no,,,.
So you will go to school this year, ooy, if ,ve can manage
it, and I think \ve can. Some day," she added, patting
him on the shoulder, and holding him off from her,
''\vhen you are rich you will give me a silk dress."
"Won't I just," cried the boy passionately, "and the
gir Is too, and everything you \vant, and I will give you a
good time yet, mother. . You deserve the best a woman
ever had and I \vill give it to you."
The mother turned her face away from him and looked
ûut of the \vindow. She saw not the fields of gro\ving
grain but a long vista of happy days ever growing in
beauty and in glory until she could see no more for the
tears that quietly fell. The boy dropped on his knees
beside her.
"Oh, mother, mother," he said. "You have been \von-
derful to us a.1l, and you have had an awfully hard time.
A fellow never kno\vs, does he?"
"A hard time? A hard time?" said his mother, a
great surprise in her voice and in her face. "N 0, my
boy, no hard time for me. A dear, dear, lovely time \vith
you all, every day, every day. N ever do I want a bet-
ter time than I have had ,,,ith you."
The event proved the wisdom of Mrs. G\vynne's deter-
mination to put little faith in the optimistic confidence of
her husband in regard to the profits to be expected from
the operations of the National l\1achine Company. L
year's business was sufficient to demonstratè that the
Mapleton branch of the National Machine Cct
npany was
bankrupt. By every la\v of life it ought to ie bankrupt.
\i\Tith all his many excellent qualities Mr. Gwynne pos-
sessed certain fatal defects as a business man. \tVith
him the supreme consideration was simply the getting rid
of the machines purchased by him as rapidly and in such
large numbers as possible. He cheerfully ignored the
la\vs that governed the elemental item of profit. Hence
the relentless Nemesis that sooner or later overtakes
SALVAGE
51
those ,vho, whether ignorantly or maliciously, break la\vs,
fell upon the National Machine Conlpany and upon those
who had the misfortune to be associated with it.
In the wreck of the business Mr. G,vynne's store, upon
which the National Machine Conlpany had taken the
precaution to secure a mortgage, was also involved. The
business \vent into the hands of a receiver and ,vas bought
up at about fifty cents on the dollar by a man recently
from ,vestern Canada whose specialty was the handling
of business wreckage. No one after even a cursory
glance at his face would suspect Mr. H. P. Sleighter of
deficiency in business qualities. The snap in the cold
grey eye, the firm lines in the long jaw, the thin lips
pressed hard together, all proclaimed the hard-headed,
cold-hearted, iron-\villed man of business. i'/Ir. Sleigh-
ter, moreover, had a remarkable instinct for values, more
especially for salvage values. It was this instinct that
led him to the purchase of the National Machine Com-
pany wreckage, which included as well the Mapleton
general store, with its assets in stock and book debts.
Mr. Sleighter's methods with the easy-going debtors of
the company in Mapleton and the surrounding district
were of such galvanic vigour that even so practiced a
procrastinator as Farmer Martin found himself actually
drawing money from his hoarded bank account to pay his
store debts,.--a thing unheard 0 f in that community-and
to meet overdue payments upon the various implements
which he had purchased from the National l\1achine
Company. It was not until after the money had been
drawn and actually paid that lVIr. Martin came fully to
realise the extraordinary nature of his act.
"That there feller," he said, looking from the receipt
in his hand to the store door through which the form of
Mr. Sleighter had just vanished, "that there feller, he's
too swift fer me. He ain't got any innards to speak
of; he'd steal the pants off a dog, he \vould."
The application of these same galvanically vigorous
methods to Mr. Gwynne's debtors produced surprising
52
THE IVIAJ"OR
results. Mr. Sleighter made the astounding discovery
that l\1r. Gwynne's business instead of being bankrupt
would produce not only one hundred cents on the dollar,
but a slight profit as well. This discovery annoyed Mr.
Sleighter. I-Ie hated to confess a mistake in business
judgment, and he frankly confessed he "hated to see
good nloney roll past him." Hence with sonlething of
a grudge he prepared to hand over to
Ir. Gwynne some
twelve hundred and fifty dollars of salvage money.
"I suppose he will be selling out his farm," said Mr.
Sleighter in conyersation \vith 1fr. 1fartin. "\Vhat's
land \vorth about here?"
"Oh, some\vhere about a hundred."
"A hundred dollars an acre!" exclaimed 1fr. Sleighter.
"Don't try to put anything over on me. Personally I
admire your generous, kindly nature, but as a financial
adviser you don"t shine. I guess I won't bother aboüt
that farm anyway."
l\1r. Sleighter's question a \vakened earnest thought in
l\fr. Martin, and the next morning he approached Mr.
G\vynne with a proposition to purchase his farm with
its attached buildings. I\lr. 1!artin made it clear that he
was chiefly anxious to do a neighbourly turn.
"The house and the stable ain't worth much," he said,
"but the farm bein' handy to my property, I o\vn up is
worth more to me than to other folks, perhaps. So bein'
old neighbours, I am wil1in' to give four thousand dol-
lars, half cash do\vn, for the hull business."
"Surely that is a low figure," said Mr. Gwynne.
"Low figure!" exclaimed lVlr. Martin. "All right, I
ain't press in' it on you; but if you could get anyone in
this neighbourhood to offer four thousand dollars for
your farnl, I will give you five hundred extra. But," he
continued, "I ain't pressin' you. Don't nluch matter to
me. "
The offer came at a psychologically critical moment,
\vhen 1\fr. Gwynne \vas desperately seeking escape from
an intolerable environment.
SALVAGE
53
"I shall consult Mrs. Gwynne," he said, "and let you
know in a few days."
"Don't know as I can wait that long," said Mr.
lar-
tin. "I made the offer to oblige you, and besides I got
a chance at the Monroe fifty."
"Call to-morrow night," said Mr. Gwynne, and car-
ried the proposal home to his wife.
The suggestion to break up her home to a \voman of
Mrs. G\vynne's type is almost shattering. In the big
world full of nameless terrors the one spot offering shel-
ter and safety for herself and her family was her home.
But after all, her husband was her great concern, and she
could see he was eager for the change. She made up
her mind to the sacrifice and decided that she would
break up the home in Mapleton and with her husband
try again their fortune.
"But four thousand dollars," she said, "is surely a
small price."
"Small? I know it is small, but J\1artin knows I am
in a comer. He is a highway robber."
It was a bitter experience for him to be forced to
confess himself a business failure, and \vith this bitter-
ness there mingled a feeling of hostility toward all suc-
cessful business men. To him it seemed that in order
to win success in business a man must become, like Mr.
Martin, a highway robber. In this mood of bitterness
and hostility toward successful men, Mr. Sleighter found
him the next day.
"Couldn't find you at the store," said that gentleman,
walking in with his hat on his head. "I wanted to get
this business straightened up, so I just came in. Won't
take more than five minutes. I guess you won't mind
taking a little check frOI'll me. Your business turned out
better than that fool of an assignee thought. Don't hurt
me any, of course. I got all that was comin' to me out
of it, but here's this check. Perhaps you'll sign the re-
ceipt. I guess they been puttin' it over you all right.
You're a little too soft with 'em."
54
THE
IAJOR
Mr. Gwynne was an even-tempered man, but Mr.
Sleighter's patronising manner and his criticism of his
business ability wrought in him a rage that he could with
difficulty control. He remembered he ,vas in his own
house, ho\vever, and that the man before him was a
stranger. \Vhile he ,vas searching for pen and ink
the door opened and his wife entered the room. Mr.
Sleighter, with his hat still upon his head, ,vas intently
gazing out of the windo\v, easily rocking on the two
hind legs of the chair. The door opened behind him.
"My dear," said Mr. Gwynne, "will you excuse me? I
am engaged."
"Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn't know any qne was
here. I n1erely wanted-"
Mr. Sleighter glanced over his shoulder.
"Mr. Sleighter," said Mr. Gwynne. "My wife."
It was not his tone, ho\vever, that brought I\1r. Sleigh-
ter hurriedly to his feet with his hat in his hand. It \vas
something in the bearing of the little lady standing behind
him.
"Pleased to meet you, ma.'am. I hope you are well,"
he said, bowing elaborately before her.
"Thank you very lTIuch, I am quite well. I have
heard a. great deal about you, Mr. Sleighter. I am glad
to meet you."
Mr. Sleighte.r held her hand a moment while her eyes
rested quietly and kindly, if searchingly, upon his face.
This was the n1an who had profited by her husband's
loss. Was he too a high\vay robber? Mr. Sleighter
somehow felt as if his soul were being exposed to a
searchlight. It n1ade him uncomfortable.
"It's a fine day, ma'am," he remarked, seeking cover
for his soul in conversation. "A little wann for the
time," he continued, wiping his forehead with a highly
coloured silk handkerchief.
"Won't you sit do\vn, Mr. Sleighter? Do you find it
wann? I thought there was quite a chilly \vind to-day.
But then you are more accustomed to the wind than 1."
SALVAGE
55
The searching eyes were holding him steadily, but the
face was kindly and full of genuine interest.
"I guess so," he said with a little laugh. He would
have scorned to ackno\vledge that his laugh was nervous
and thin. "I come from the windy side of the earth."
"Oh I"
"Yes, I am from out West-Alberta. vVe have got all
the winds there is and the Chinook besides for a change."
"Alberta? The Chinook?" The eyes becalne less
searching.
"Yes, that's the wind that comes down from the moun-
tains and licks up the snow at ten miles an hour."
"Oh !"
"It was an Alberta man, you kno\v, who invented a
rig with runners in front and ,vheels behind." The lady
was bewildered. "To catch up ,vith the Chinook, you
see. One of my kid's jokes. Not much of a joke, I
guess, but he's always ringin' 'em in."
"Y ou have a son, Mr. Sleighter? He's in Alberta
now?' ,
"N 0, the missis and the kids, three of them, are in
Winnipeg. She got tired of it out there; she ,vas ahvays
wantin' the city, so I gave in."
"I hear it's a beautiful country out there."
"Now you're talkin', nla'am." She had touched Mr.
Sleighter's favourite theme. Indeed, the absorbing pas-
sion of his life, next to the picking up of good salvage
bargains, was his home in the Foothill country of the
West.
vVhile he was engaged in an enhusiastic description
of the glories of that ,vonderland the children carne in
and ,vere presented. Mr. Gwynne handed his visitor
his receipt and stood suggestively awaiting his departure.
But Mr. Sleighter \vas fairly started on his subject and
was not to be denied. The little girls dre\v shyly near
him with eyes aglow \vhile Mr. Sleighter's words rolled
forth like a mountain flood. Eloquently he described
the beauty of the rolling lands, the splendour of thè.
56
THE MAJOR
tnountains, the richness of the soil, the health-giving
qualities of the climate, the warm-hearted hospitality üf
the settlers.
"None of your pin-head t\vo-by-four shysters that you
see here in the East," exclaimed Mr. Sleighter. "I mean
some folks, of course," he eXplained in some confusion.
"Þ
l1d the children, did they like it ?>' inquired Mrs.
Gwynne.
"You bet they did. Why, they \vas all over the hull
prairie, all day and all night, too, mostly-on ponies you
kno\v. "
"Ponies!" exclaimed Larry. "Did they have ponies?
Could they ride? Ho\v big are they?"
"How big? Blamed if I know. Let's see. There's
Tom. He's just about a man, or thinks he is. He's
sixteen or seventeen. Just now he's in the high school
at vVinnipeg. He don't like it though." Here a shadow
fell on 1fr. Sleighter's face. "And the girls-there's
Hazel, she's fi fteen, and Ethel J\1ary, she's eleven or some-
\vhere thereabouts. I never can keep track of them.
They keep againin' on me all the time.':'
"Yes," said 11rs. G\vynne. "It is hard to realise that
they are gro\ving up and \vill soon be away from us."
"That's so," said lVlr. Sleighter.
"And the schoüls," continued 1\I1rs. Gwynne, "are there
good schools ?"
"Schools?" exclainled lVlr. Sleighter. "There's a real
good school not more than a cóuple of miles a\vay."
"T\vo miles," exclaimed the tnother aghast.
"Oh, that's nothin'. They ride, of course. But \ve
ain't got much of a master now. He's ratl
cr-you
kno\v." 1\1r. Sleighter significantly tipped up \vith his
little finger and winked to\vard Mr. G\vynne.
"But you love that country," she said.
HYes, I love it and I hated to leave it. But the missis
never liked it. She \vas city born and bred. She wanted
the lights, I guess, and the shows. I don't blame her,
though," he continued rapidly. "It's kind of lonely for
SALVAGE
57
\vomen, you kno,v. They've got to have amusements and
things. But it's God's o,vn country, believe me, and I
would go back to-morro,v, if I could."
"You still own your ranch ?"
"Yes; can't sell easily. You see there's not much broke
on it-only a hundred acres or so."
"Why, ho,v big is the ranch?"
"Five hundred acres and a \vood lot. I did not farm
much, though-mostly cattle and horses. I was away a
good deal on the trail."
"The trail?"
"Y IfS, buying cattle and selling again. That ,vas the
worst of it. I am not much of a farmer, though farm-
ing's all right there, and I was a\vay almost all of the
time. I guess that made it pretty hard for the missis and
the kids."
At this point the Widow Martin came in to lay the table
for tea. Mr. Sleighter took the hint and rose to go.
"You ,vill do us the pleasure of staying for tea, Mr.
Sleighter?" said Mrs. G,vynne earnestly.
"Oh, do," said the youngest little girl, Nora, whose
snapping black eyes gleamed with eager desire to hear
more of the wonderful ,vestern land.
"Yes, do, and tell us more," said the boy.
"I hope you will be able to stay," continued Mrs.
Gwynne.
Mr. Sleighter glanced at her husband. "Why, cer-
tainly," said 1\1r. Gwynne, "we would be glad to have
you. "
Still Mr. Sleighter hesitated. "Say, I don't know
what's come over mc. I feel as if I had been on the
stump," he said in an embarrassed voice. "I ain't talked
to a soul about that country since I left. I guess I got
pretty full, and \vhen you pulled the cork, out she come."
During the tea hour Mrs. G\vynne tried to dra,v her
visitor out to talk about his family, but here she failed.
Indeed a restraint appeared to fall t1nnn him that nothing
could dispel. Immediately after tea Mrs. G\vynne placed
58
THE l\IAJOR
the Bible and Book of Prayers on the table, saying, "We
follow the custom of reading prayers every evening after
tea, Mr. Sleighter. We shall be glad to have you join
us."
"Sure thing, ma'am," said Mr. Sleightèr, pushing back
his chair and beginning to rock on its hind legs, picking
his teeth with his pen knife, to the staring horror of the
little girls. .
The reading was from the Scripture to which through-
out the centuries the Christian Church has gone for
authority and guidance in the exercise of charity and in
the performance of social service, the story of the Sa-
maritan gentleman to whom the unhappy traveller \vhose
misfortune it "vas to be sorely mishandled by thieves
o\ved his rescue and his life.
Throughout the reading Mr. Sleighter paid the strict-
est attention and joined in the prayers with every sign
of reverence. At the close he stood a\vk\vardly shifting
from one foot to another.
"Well, I'll be gain'," he said. "Don't know how you
roped n1e in for this here visit, ma'am. I ain't et in any
one's house since I left home, and I ain't heard any family
prayers since myoId dad had ' em-a regular old 11eth-
odist exhorter he was. I-Ie used to pray until all was
blue, though most times, specially at night, I used to fall
asleep. He was great on religion."
"I don't suppo
e he "vas any the worse for that," said
J\irs. Gwynne.
"Not a mite, not a mite, ma'am. A little strict, but
straight as a string, ma'am. No one could say any thin'
against Hiram Sleighter-H. P. Sleighter. I \vas named
for him. He used to pray to beat creation, and then
some, but he was a straight man all right. And to-night
your kids and your family prayers made me think of
thelTI old days. Well, good-night and thank you for the
good time you gave me. Best I've had in a dog's age."
"You will come again, Mr. Sleighter," said Mrs.
Gwynne, giving him her hand.
SALVAGE
59
"Yes, and tell us more about that new country," added
her son. "My, I'd like to go out there!"
"It's a wonderful country all right and you n1Ïght do
a hull lot worse."
CHAPTER V
WESTWARD HO!
M R. GWYNNE accompanied Mr. Sleighter to the
door. "Will you walk down to the store?" said
Mr. Sleighter.
"Very \vell," said Mr. G\vynne, setting off \vith him.
Mr. Sleighter evidently had something on his mind.
The usual fountain of his speech seemed to be dried
up. As they dre\v near to the store, he seized Mr.
Gwynne by the arm, arrested hil11, anrl said:
"Say, Mr. Gwynne, you ain't got any right to be in
business. You ain't got the parts, and that Machine
Company and the rest of 'em put it all over you."
"\Ve needn't go into that now, I suppose," said Mr.
G\vynne.
"N 0, I guess I am butt in' in-a thing I don't often
do--but I am off my stride to-night any\vay, and I am
doin' what I never did in all my life before. I guess
it was them kids of yours and your n1issis. I know it
ain't my business, but what are you goin' to do with
yoursel f ?"
"I don't know yet," replied Mr. G\vynne, declining to
be confidential.
"Not goin' into business, I hope. You ain't got the
parts. Some people ain't got' em, and you ain't. Goin'
to farm?"
"N 0, I think not. The fact is I'm about selling my
farm."
"Scl1ing it?"
"Yes, I had an offer to-day which I am thinking of
accepting."
60
'VESTWARD HO!
61
"An offer, eh, from a feller named Martin, I sup-
pose ?"
"Ho\v did you kno\v?"
"I don't know. I just figgered. Offered you about a
hundred dollars, eh?"
"No; I ,vish he had. It's worth a hundred with the
house and buildings-they are good buildings."
"Say, I don't like to butt in on any man's husiness,
but is the price a secret?"
"Oh, no; he offers four thousand, half cash."
"And ho\v much for the buildings?"
"Four thousand for everything. It's not enough but
there are not many buyers in this neighbourhood."
"Say, there's nothing rash about that feller. When
do you close?"
"Must close to-morrow night. He has a chance of
another place."
"Oh, he has, eh? Big rush on, eh? \Vell, don't you
close until I see you some time to-morro\v, partner."
1\1r. Sleighter scented another salvage deal, his keen
eyes glean1ed a bit, the firm lips were pressed a little
more closèly together.
"And say," he said, turning back, "I don't wonder you
can't do business. I couldn't do anything myself \vith
a miss is like yours. I couldn't get any smooth ,york over
with her lookin' at me like that, durned if I could. Well,
good-night; see you to-nlorrow."
Mr. Sleighter spent the early hours of the following
day among the farmers \vith WhOl11 his salvage deal had
brought him into contact. The \vrecker's instinct was
strong in him, and besides he regarded \vith abhorrence
the tactics of 1\1r. Martin and \velcon1ed an opportunity
to beat that gentleman at his own game. He could easily
0utbid the ::.\laïtin offer and still buy the farm at a lo\v
price. As a result of his inquiries he had made up his
mind that the land \vas \vorth at the very least eighty dol-
lars an acre and the buildings at least t,vo thousand more.
Five thousand \vould be a ridiculously lo\v figure and six
62
THE IVIAJOR
thousand not extravagantly high for both buildings and
farnl. The farm \vith the store and machine business
attached might offer a fair opening to his son, \vho was
already weary of school and anxious to engage in busi-
ness for himself.
"Guess I'll take a \vhirl out of the old boy," he said
to himself. "He's a durn fOo.l any\vay and if I don't get
his money some one else ,vill." .
In the afternoon he made his \vay to the store. "Boss
ain't in?" he inquired of the clerk.
"N 0, he's at the house, I guess."
"Back soon?"
"Don't kno\v. Guess he's busy over there."
"Seen l\1r. 1\Iartin around?"
"Yes, he was here a while ago. Said he would be
in again later."
J\1r. Sleighter greatly disliked the idea of doing busi-
ness with Mr. Gwynne at his own house. "Can't do no
business with his miss is and kids around," he said to
himself. "Can't get no action \vith that ,voman lookin'
on seemingly. But that there old JVIartin geyser is on
the job and he might close things up. I guess I will
wander over."
To his great relief he found l\1r. Gwynne alone and
without preliminaries, and with the design of getting
"quick action" before the disturbing element of Mrs.
G\vynne's presence should be introduced, he made his
offer. He explained his purpose in purchasing, and with
something of a flourish offered five thousand for "the
hull plant, lock. stock and barrel," cash do,vn if spe-
cially desired, but he wouìd prefer to pay half in six
months. He must have his answer imtnediately; was
not anxious to buy, but if Mr. Gwynne wanted to close
up, he only had to say so. He was not going to monkey
with the thing.
"You have made me a much better offer than the one
I received from l\1r. Martin, and I am incìined to accept
it, but inasmuch as I have promised to give him an an-
'VESTWARD HO!
63
swer to-day, I feel that it's due to him that I should meet
him with the bargain still unclosed."
"\Vhy?" enquired Mr. Sleighter in surprise.
"Well, yon see I asked him to hold the offer open
until this afternoon. I feel I ought to go to him ,vith
the matter still open."
"Want to screw him up, eh?" said Mr. Sleighter, his
lips
drawing close together.
"No, sir." Mr. Gwynne's voice had a little ring in it.
"I consider it fairer to Mr. Martin."
"Don't see as how he has much claim on you," replied
Mr. Sleighter. "But that's your own business. Say,
there he comes now. Look here, my offer is open until
six 0' clock. After that it's a ne\v deal. Take it or leave
it. I will be at your store."
"Very well," said :rVlr. Gwynne stiffly.
Mr. Sleighter "vas distinctly annoyed and disappointed.
A few minutes' longer pressure, he was convinced, would
have practically closed a deal ,vhich would have netted
him a considerable profit. "Durn old fool," he muttered
to himself as he passed out of the room.
In the hallway Mrs. Gwynne's kindly welcome halted
him. She greeted him as she ,vould a friend. Wauld
he not sit down for a fe,v moments. N 0, he was busy.
Mr. Sleighter ,vas quite determined to get a way from
her presence.
"The children were delighted 'Yith your description
of your western home," she said. "The free life, the
beautiful hills, the mountains in the distance--it nlust
indeed be a lovely country."
1\1r. Sleighter 'vas taken off his guard. "Yes, ma'am,
that's lovely country all right. They'd like it fine out
there, and healthy too. It would make a man of that
little kid of yours. He looks a little on the weak side
to me. A fe\v months in the open and you wouldn't
know him. The girls too-"
"Come in here and sit down, won't you,
Ir.
Sleighter?" said Mrs. Gwynne.
6--1
THE l\IAJOR
Mr. Sleighter reluctantly passed into the room and sat
down. He knew he was taking a risk. I--Iovvever, his
offer was already made and the deal he believed would
be closed in the store by six 0' clock.
"I suppose the land is all taken up out there ?'" said
Mrs. Gwynne.
"Oh, yes, mostly, unless away back. Folks are comin'
in all the time, but there's still lots of cheap land around."
HCheap land, is there ?" inquired 1\lrs. Gwynne with a
certain eagerness in her voice. "Indeed I should have
thought that that beautiful land vvould be very dear."
"Why, bless your heart, no. I kno\v good land going
for six-seven-eight-ten dollars an acre. Ten dollars
is high for good farm lands; for cattle runs four dollars
is good. No, there's lots of good land lying around out
of doors there. If these people around here co.uld get
their heads up long enough from grubbing in the muck
they vvouldn't stay here over night. They'd be hittin'
the trail for the West, you bet."
Mrs. Gwynne turned her honest eyes upon him. "1\1r.
Sleighter, I want to. ask your advice. I feel I can rely
upon you ["Durn it all, she's gettin' her work in all
right," thought 1\Ir. Sleighter to himself], and I am get-
ting quite anxious in the matter. Y-01.l see, my husband
is detennined to leave this place. He wishes to try some-
thing else. Indeed, he must try something else. We
must make a living, Mr. Sleighter." Mrs. G\vynne's voice
became hurried and anxious. "\Ve were delighted last
night by your description of that wonderful country in
the West, and the children especially. I have been won-
dering if \\7e might venture to try a small farm in that
country-quite a small farm. V\T e have a little money to
invest. I thought I might be bold enough to ask you.
I know your judgment \vould be good and I felt sonle-
how that we could trust you. I hope I am not taking
a liberty, but someho\v I feel that you are not a
stranger. "
"No, l11a'am, certainly not," said 1\/1r. Sleighter in a
WESTWARD HO!
65
loud voice, his hope of securing "quick action on that
deal" growing dim.
"Do you happen to know any fann-a small farm-
\vhich \ve might be able to buy? We hope to receive
four thousand dollars for this place. I feel that it is
worth a good deal more, but there are not many buyers
about here. Then, of course, perhaps we value our place
too highly. Then by your kind help we have got some-
thing out of the business-twelve hundred and fifty dol-
lars I think Mr. Gwynne said. Weare most grateful to
you for that, lVfr. Sleighter." Her eyes beamed on him
in a most disconcerting way. "And so after our obliga-
tions here are met \ve might have about forty-five hun-
dred dollars clear. Could we do anything with that?"
"I donno, I donno," said Mr. Sleighter quickly and
rising from his chair, "I will think it over. I have got
to go now."
At this moment Mr. G\vynne came into the room.
"Oh, I am glad you are not gone, Mr. Sleighter. I have
just told Mr. Martin that I cannot accept his offer."
"Cannot accept, l\1ichaell" said Mrs. Gwynne, dismay
in her voice and in her eyes.
"I believe you said your offer was good until six, Mr.
Sleighter ?"
"Oh, I say, G\vynne, let's get out, let's get over to
the store. It's kind of hot here, and I've got to go.
Come on over and \ve'll clean up." Without a farewell
word to either of them Mr. Sleighter passed rapidly from
the room.
"I do hope there's nothing \vrong, Michael," said his
\vife. "I fear I have made a mistake. I spoke to Mr.
Sleighter about the possibility of getting a small fé1rtn in
the \Vest. You \vere so eager about it, Michael dear,
and I spoke to Mr. Sleighter about it. I hope there is
nothing wrong."
"Don't worry, mother. I have his offer for five thou-
sand dollars. Oi course he is rather peculiar, I con-
66
THE 1\1AJOR
fess, but I believ e "The door opened abruptly upon
them, adl11itting Mr. Sleighter.
"See here, Mr. Gwynne, I can't do no business with
you.' ,
"Sir, you made me an offer for my farm," said lVlr.
Gwynne indignantly, "and I have just refused an offer
fron1 Mr. Martin on account of yours."
"Oh, we'll cut that all out," said Mr. Sleighter, whose
voice and manner indicated strong excitement. "N ow
don't talk. Listen to me, my son. Y au ain't got any
right to be playing around with business men anyhow.
N ow I am going to do a little business for you, if you will
allow me, ma'am. I take it you want to get a\vay from
here." Mr. Gwynne nodded, gazing at him in astonish-
ment. "You \vant to go "Vest." Again Mr. Gwynne
nodded. "Well, there's only one spot in the West-
Alberta. You want a farm."
"Yes," said 11r. Gwynne.
"Yes, certainly," said Mrs. Gwynne.
"There's just one farm that will suit you, an' that's
Lakeside Farm, \J\T olf \Villow, Alberta, owned by H. P.
Sleighter, Esq., who's going to stump you to a trade.
Five hundred acres, one hundred broke an' a timber
lot; a granary; stables and corral, no good; house, fair
to middlin'. Two hundred an' fifty acres worth ..ten
dollars at least, best out of doors; cattle run, two
hundred acres worth five; swamp and sleugh, fifty
acres, only good to look at but mighty pretty in
the mornin' at sun-up. Not much money in scenery
though. Building worth between two and three
thousand. Your plant here is worth about six thousand.
I know I offered you five thousand, but I was buyin'
then and now I an1 buyin' and sellin'. Any\vay, I guess
it's about even, an' \ve'll save you a .lot of trouble an'
time an' money. An' so, if you really want a \vestern
farm, you might just as well have mine. I did not think
to sell. Of course I knew I must sell in the long run,
but couldn't just see my place in anybody else's hands.
WESTWARD HO!
67
Somehow it seems different though to see you folks on
it. Yau seem to fit. Anyway, there's the offer. "'What
do you say?"
"Sit down, Mr. Sleighter," said Mr. Gwynne. "This
is a rather surprising proposition."
Mrs. Gwynne's eyes grew soft. "Michael, I think it
is wonderfu1."
But Mr. Gwynne would not look at his wi fee "Let
me see, Mr. Sleighter, your farm, you say, with build-
ings, is worth about six thousand to sixty-five hundred.
Mine is \vorth from fifty-five hundred to six thousand.
I will take your offer and pay the difference."
"Oh, come off your perch," said Mr. Sleighter.
"You're doin' the highfalutin' Vere de Vere act no\v.
Listen to me. The deal is as level as I can figger it.
Your farm and store with the machine business suit me
all right. I feel I can place my boy right here for a
while anyway. My farm, I believe, would suit you bet-
ter than any thin' else you can get. There's my offer.
Take it or leave it."
"I think we will take it, Mr. Sleig-hter," said Mrs.
Gwynne. "Michael dear, I feel Mr. Sleighter is right,
and besides I kno\v he is doing us a great kindness."
"Kindness, ma'am, not at all. Business is business,
and that's all there is to it. Well, I'll be goin'. Think
it over, get the papers fixed up by to-n10rrow. No, don't
thank me. Good-bye."
Mrs. Gwynne followed him to the door, her face
flushed, her eyes aglo\v, a smile hovering uncertainly
about her lips. "11r. Sleighter," she said, "the Lord
sent you to us because He knew \ve were in need of
guiding."
"Ho, ho 1" laughed Mr. Sleighter. "Like that Samari-
tan chap in the reading, eh? I guess you had got among
thieves all right, more of 'em perhaps than you recog-
nised too."
"He sent you to us," repeated Mrs. G\vynne, offering
him her hand.
68
THE MAJOR
"\Vell, I donna but that He steered me to you. But
all the same I guess the advantage is to me all right."
Mr. Sleighter looked hard down the street, then turned
and faced her squarely. "I want to say that it's done
me a pile of good to have seen you, ma'am. It's made
things look different."
"Y ou are a good man, Mr. Sleighter," she said, looking
at him with misty eyes.
"A good man I" Mr. Sleighter was seized with a
cough. "A good man! Good Lord, ma'am! nobody
never found it out but you-dum that cough anyway."
And still troubled by his cough, Mr. Sleighter hurried
do\vn the path to the gate and out on to the road.
Once resolved to break up their home in Eastern
Canada, the Gwynnes lost no time in completing their
arrangements for the transportation of themselves and
their household gods and such of their household
goods as Mr. Sleighter advised, to the new western
country.
Mr. Sleighter appeared to regard the migration of the
Gwynne family to the western country as an enterprise
in which he had made an investment from which he was
bound to secure the greatest possible return. The prin-
ciple of exchange \vhich had been the basis of the deal as
far as the farms were concerned \vas made to apply as
fàr as possible to farm implenlents and equipment, house-
hold goods and chattels.
"\Vhat's the use of your packin' a hull bunch of stuff
West an' IllY packin' a hull bunch of stuff East. We'll
just tote up the stock an' stuff we have got and make
a deal on it. I know all my stuff an' yours is here.
We'll make a trade."
To this J\1r. G\vynne gladly agreed. The arrangement
\vould save trouble and useless expenditure. Hence the
car was packed with such goods as Mr. Sleighter con-
sidered especially useful in the ne\v home, and with such
ilou
ehold furniture as the new home lacked and such
WESTWARD HO!
69
articles as were precious from family or personal asso-
ciations.
"What about the pictures and curtains ?" inquired 1\1r.
Gwynne. "We don't need them."
"Take 'em all," said Mr. Sleighter. "Pictures are like
folks. They got faces an' looks. And curtains-my
missis got hers all packed. Curtains are like clothes-
they only fit them that owns them."
"And the piano?"
"Sure thing. Say, a piano in that country is like the
village pump-the hull country gets about it. Take
things to eat an' things to wear an' things to make the
shack look pretty an' interest in' and comfortable. They
don't take much room and they take the bareness off.
That's what kills the women folk in the \Vest, the bare-
ness inside and outside. N othin' but chairs, table an'
stove inside; nothin' but grass an' sand outside. That's
\vhat makes 'em go crazy."
So the car was filled with things to eat and to wear,
and things "to take the bareness off." Somewhere in the
car was found a place for Rosie, the Co\V, a remarkable
milker and "worth her weight in butter," as Mr. Sleighter
said, and for Rover, Larry's collie dog, who stood to
him as comrade almost as a brother. A place in the car
too was found for Joe Gagneau who from the first mo-
ment of the announced departure had expressed his de-
termination to accompany Larry no matter at what cost
or against whose opposition.
"A'm goin' be in dat car me, by gar 1" was his ulti-
matum, and the various authorities interested recognised
the inevitable and accepted it, to the great delight of
hoth boys. Joe had a mouth organ and so had Larry,
and they \\yere both in the same key. Joe too had an
old fiddle of his father's on which he could scrape with
joy to himself, and with more or less agony to others,
the dance tunes of local celebrity, the "Red River Jig,"
picked up from his father, "Money l\1usk" and "The
70
THE
1:AJOR
Deil Amang the Tailors," the two latter from Dan Mon-
roe at the country dances.
In due time the car, packed with the Gwynne house-
hold goods and treasures and in charge of the two super-
latively happy boys, with Rosie and Rover to aid in pro-
viding them with sustenance and protection, set forth,
Westward Ho! Mr. Gwynne rode in the caboose of the
train to which his car was attached. Mrs. G\vynne and
the girls were to follow by passenger train and would
doubtless be found awaiting them on their arrival at
Winnipeg.
The journey westward was to the boys full of in-
terest and adventure. At Toronto they picked up a
stowaway, who, taking advantage of their absence, board-
ed the car and made himsel f a bed behind some bales
of hay. Upon discovery by Rover, he made so piteous
an appeal for refuge from some pursuing terror which
he declined to specify, that the boys agreed to conceal
him a night and a day till they were well on their way
along the north shore of Lake Superior. When Larry's
conscience made further concealment a burden greater
than could be borne, Mr. Gwynne was taken into the
boys' confidence and, after protest, agreed to make ar-
rangement \vith the railroad authorities whereby Sam-
for that was the stowaway's nan1e--might retain his
place in the car.
Re was a poor, wretched creature, reminding Larry
of the scarecrow which he had put up in their garden
the summer before. He was thin beyond anything the
boys had ever seen. His face was worn and old and
came to a peak at the nose, "vhich gave him the appear-
ance of a monster rat, a resemblance emphasised by the
little blinking, red-rimmed eyes. His hair was closely
cropped and of brilliant carrotty colour.
But he had seen life in a great city and had gathered
a store of "vorldly wisdom, not all of which was far his
good, and a repertoire of accomplishments that won him
admiration and wonder from the simple country boys.
WESTWARD HO!
71
He had all the new ragtime songs and dances, which he
rendered to his ovvn accompaniment on an old battered
banjo. He was a contortionist of quite unusual clever-
ness, \vhile his fund of stories never ran dry throughout
the seven days' journey to Winnipeg. He set himself
\vith the greatest assiduity to impart his accomplishments
to the boys, and by the time the party had reached the
end of the first stage in their westward journey, Sam
had the satisfaction of observing that his pupils had
made very satisfactory progress, both with the clog danc-
ing and with the ragtime songs. Besides this, he had
made for himself an assured place in their affection, and
even J\fr. Gvvynne had come to feel such an interest in
the bit of human dri ftwood flung up against him, that
he decided to offer the waif a chance to try his fortune
in the West.
CHAPTER VI
JANE BROWN
M R. BRO\VN was a busy man, but he never failed
to be in his place at the foot of the table every day
punctually at half past twelve, solely because at that
hour his little daughter, Jane, would show her grave and
earnest and dark brovvn, almost swarthy, face at the
head. Eight fears ago another face used to appear there,
also grave, earnest, but very fair and very lovely to
look upon, to the doctor the fairest of all faces on the
earth. The little, plain, swarthy-faced child the next
day after that lovely face had been forever shut away
from the doctor's eyes ,vas placed in her high chair at
the head of the table, at first only at the lunch hour, but
later at all meal times before the doctor to look at. And
it was an ever-recurring joy to the lonely man to dis-
cover in the little grave face before him fleeting glimpses
of the other face so tenderly loved and so long vanished.
These glimpses \vere to be discovered no,v in the deep
blue eyes, deep in colour and in setting, now in the smile
that lit up the dark, irregular features like the sudden
break of sunlight upon the rough landscape, transform-
ing it into loveliness, now in the knitting of the heavy
eyebrows, and in the firm pressing of the lips in moments
of puzzled thought. In all the moods and tenses of the
little maid the doctor looked for and found ren1Ïniscences
of her mother.
Through those eight lonely years the little girl had
divided with his profession the doctor's days. Every
morning after breakfast he stood to watch the trim,
sturdy, round little figure dance dovvn the steps, step
72
JANE BROWN
73
primly down the walk, turn at the gate to throw a kiss,
and then march a\vay along the street to the corner where
another kiss would greet him before the final vanishing.
Every day they met at noon to exchange on equal terms
the experiences of the morning. Every night they closed
the day with dinner and family prayers, the little girl
gravely taking her part in the reading during the last
year from her mother's Bible. And so it came that with
the years their friendship gre\v in depth, in frankness
and in tenderness. The doctor was \videly read beyond
the literature of his profession, and every day for a half
hour it \vas his custom to share with the little girl the
treasures of his library. The little maid repaid him
with a passonate love and a quaint mothering care ten-
der and infinitely comforting to the lonely man.
The forenoon had been hot and trying, and Dr. Brown,
having been detained in his office beyond his regular
hour, had been lTIOre than usually hurried in his round
of morning calls, and hence \vas more than ordinarily
tired \vith his morning's work. At his door the little
girl met him.
"Come in, Papa, I kno\v you're hot," she said, love
and reproach in her face, "because I was hot myself,
and vou \vill need a nice, cool drink. I had one and
your
is in here." She led him into the study, 'hovering
about him with little touches and pushes. "Ybu ought
not to have taken so long a round this nlorning," she
said with gentle severity. "1 kno\v you went out to St.
James to see 1\1rs. I(ale, and you kno\v quite \vell she
doesn't need you. It would do in the afternoon. And it
was a\vful hot in schoo1."
"Awful?" said the doctor.
"Well, very exceedingly then-and the kids were very
tired and Miss 1\1 utton was as cross as anything."
"It was no wonder. Ho\v many kids were there for
her to watch?" 01
"Oh, Papa, you said 'kids!'"
"I was just quoting my young daughter."
74
THE MAJOR
"And she said we were to get out this afternoon an
hour earlier," continued Jane, ignoring his criticism,
"and so I am going to take my bicycle and go with Nora
and the girls do\vn to the freight sheds."
"The freight sheds?"
"Yes, Larry and Joe have come in, and Rover and
Rosie-she's the cow, and they milked her every day
twice and drank the milk and they used to have their
meals together in the car."
"Rosie, too. ? Very interesting indeed."
"N ow, Papa, you must not laugh at me. It is very
interesting. They all came for days and days together
in the car from somewhere down East, Ontario, I think.
And 1\1r. Gwynne says they are just like a circus. And
they play instiments and dance."
"What, Rosie too? How clever of her I"
The child's laugh rang out joyously. "Oh, Papa, that's
awfully funny. And vve're going down on our wheels.
N ora can ride now, you know, and she's going to take
Ethel1'Iay's wheel. It's a\vfully hard to ride, but Nora's
as strong as Kathleen."
"Well, well," said her father, greatly interested in this
exciting but somewhat confused tale. "J ust wait until
I \vash my hands and then you shall tell me what it all
means. .Thank you for this deliciously cool lemonade.
It is very refreshing. You will tell me all about it at
lunch. "
T'he lunch hour was devoted first of all to disentan-
gling from the mass the individual members of the car
party, which after an adventurous journey across half a
continent had apparently made camp at the \Vinnipeg
freight sheds. Then followed the elucidation of the de-
tails of the plan by which this camp \vas to be attacked
and raided during the afternoon.
"Now that I have a fairly clear conception of whom
Larry, Joe, Sam, Rosie and Rover are-I think I have
them right-"
"Exactly, Papa."
JANE BROWN
75
"I wish to find out just who are to form the advance
party, the scouting party."
"The scouting party? I don't know what you mean.
But Nora-you kno\v Nora?"
"Certainly, the little black-eyed Irish Terrier-terror,
I mean."
"Oh, Papa, she's just lovely and she's my friend."
"Is she, dear, then I apologise, but indeed I meant
nothing derogatory to her. I greatly like her, she is so
spunky."
"Yes, there's Nora, and Kathleen, Nora's sister."
"Oh, Kathleen, the tall beautiful girl with the won-
derful hair?"
The little girl sighed. "Oh, such lovely long yellow
hair." The little maid's hair was none of these. "And
she is not a bit proud-just nice, you know-just as if
she were not so lovely, but like-only like me."
"Like you, indeed!" exclaimed the doctor indignantly.
"Like my little girl? I don't see anyone quite like
my little girl. There is not one of them with all their
yellow hair and things that is to be compared with my
own little gir1."
.'Oh, Papa, I know you think so, and I wish it was so.
And I am awfully glad you think so, but of course you
are pre j uist, you know."
"Prejudiced? Not a bit, not a bit."
"WeU, that's Kathleen and Nora, and-and perhaps
Hazel-you know Hazel, Papa, Hazel Sleighter?"
"The weste
n girl-not at all \vild and woolly though.
A very modern and very advanced young lady, isn't
she?"
"Oh, I don't know what you mean, Papa. She says
she may go down, but I don't think she likes going with
a lot 0 f kids. You kno\v she has her hair up. She has
to have it up in the store. She says the man would not
have her behind the counter if she had not her hair up."
"Oh, that's it. I thought perhaps the maturity of her
age made it necessary."
""'n
íO
THE l\IAJOR
"I don't know what maturevy means, but she is awfully
old. She is going on sixteen."
"Dear me, as old as that ?" inquired her father.
"Yes, but she said she wanted to see that circus car.
That's what she calls Mr. Gwynne's car. And she says
she wants to see the elephunts perfonn. There are not
any elephunts. There's only Rosie and Rover. But she
may get off. She can get off if she can fool her boss, she
says. So we're all going down and we may bring Larry
home with us, Mrs. Sleighter says. Though Mrs.
Gwynne says there's not any room, they're so filled up
now. And I said Larry could come here and Joe, too.
But I am not so sure about Sam. I think he must be
awfully queer. 1\fr. Gwynne thinks he's queer."
"It is quite possible, indeed probable, my dear," as-
sented her father.
"Y;es, Mr. G\vynne said he looked like a third-rate
how-do-you-feel performer."
"A what, exactly?"
"A how-do-you-feel performer."
"Oh, a vaudeville performer."
"Yes, a fodefeel performer. I don't know what that
means, but he must be queer. But I think Larry would
be an right, and Joe. You see, we know them. n
"Oh, do we?"
"Yes, certainly, Papa. Larry is Nora's brother. He's
awfully clever. He's only fifteen and he passed the En-
trance in Ontario and that's ever so much harder than
here. He passed it before he was fourteen."
"Before he was fourteen I"
replied her father.
"Amazing I"
"y
es, and he plays the mouth organ and the tin whistle
and the fiddle, and Mr. Gwynne says he has learned
some stunts from Sam. I think he must be awfully nice.
So I said he could come here. And Mrs. Gwynne
thanked me so nicely, and she's just lovely, Papa."
"I have not seen her," said her father, "but I have
heard her voice, and I quite agree with you. The voice
JANE BROWN
77
always tells. Have you noticed that? The voice gives
the keynote of the souL"
"I don't know, Papa. There's Mrs. Sleighter's voice.
r don't like it very much, but I think she's nice inside."
"Ah, you are right, my dear. Perhaps I should have
said that a certain kind of voice always goes with a
beautiful souL"
"I kno\v," replied his daughter. "That's like Mrs.
Gwynne's voice. And so \ve'l1 go down to the car and
bring Larry home with us, and perhaps his nlother will
let him come here. She did not say she would and you
can't tell. She's quiet, you know, but somehow she
isn't like 1\:lrs. Sleighter. I don't think you could coax
her to do what she didn't want."
"And Mrs. Sleighter-can you coax Mrs. Sleighter?"
"Oh, yes, the girls just coax her and coax her, and
though she doesn't want to a bit, she just gives in."
"That's nice of her. That nlust be very nice for the
gir Is, eh?"
"Oh, I don't know, Papa."
""'That? don't you think it is nice to be able to coax
people to do ,vhat you ,vant ?"
"It is nice to get what you want, but I think really,
really, you'd rather you could not coax them to do it
just because you coax them."
"Ah, I see."
"Yes; you see, you're never really quite sure after you
get it whether you ought to get it after all."
"I see," said her father; "that rather spoils it."
"Yes, but you never do that, Papa."
"Oh, you can't coax me, eh? I am glad to know
that. I was afraid, rather."
"Wen, of course, I can coax you, Papa, but you usually
find some other way, and then I know it is quite right."
"I \vish I \vas quite as sure of that, Jane. But you
are going to bring Larry home with you?"
"Yes, if IVIrs. Gwynne \vill let him come. I told he:
,ve had four rOOITIS and \ve \vere only using tv\"o, and
78
THE ,MAJOR
they are all crowded up in Mrs. Sleighter's, two girls
in each room, and Tom's room is so tiny, and I don't
think Larry would like to go in Tom's room. And we
have t\VO empty rooms, so we might just as well."
"Yes, certainly, we might just as well. You might
perhaps mention it to Anna."
"Oh, I did, Papa, and she said she would have it all
ready."
"So it is all arranged. I was thinking-but never
mind."
"I know you were thinking, that I ought to have
asked you, Papa; and I ought to have. But I knew
that '\vhen a little boy had no hOlne to go to you would
of cours e "
"Of course," replied her father hurriedly. "You were
quite right, Jane. And with those two rooms, why not
bring them all, Joe and Pete-Pete, is it?"
"Sam, Papa. I am not so sure. I think we should
leave Joe and Sam. You see Joe won't mind staying
in the car. N ora says he lives in just a shack at home,
and San1-I am a little afraid of Sam. We don't know
him very well, you see."
"I see. Weare quite safe in your hands, little woman.
You can do just as you and Mrs. G\vynne arrange."
As the father watched the little, trim, sturdy figure
stepping down the street he muttered to himsel f, "That
child grows more like her mother every day." He
heaved a great sigh from the depths of his heart. "Well,
God keep her, wise little woman that she is! I wish
I were a wiser man. I must be firm with her; it would
be a shame to spoil her. Yes, I must be firtl1." But
he shrugged his shoulders and smiled at himself. "The
worst of it is, or the best of it is," he continued, "the
little \\Titch is almost always right, God bless her, just
like her mother, just like her mother." He hastily wiped
his eyes, and went off to his office where Mrs. Dean
awaited him and her little girl \vith the burned hand.
JANE BROWN
79
,
And the mother wondered at the gentleness of him as
he dressed the .little girl's wounded hand.
It followed that the scouting party included not only
Miss Hazel Sleighter, but also her big brother Tom, who,
being temporarily in the high school, more perhaps
because of his size and the maturity of his bearing
than by virtue of his educational qualifications, was at
the present moment nlost chiefly concerned in getting
into form his baseball team Íor the match the following
Saturday in which the High School was to meet All
Comers under eighteen. The freight shed being on his
way to the practice ground, Tom deigned to join the
party and to take in the circus car as he passed. The
car dwellers were discovered on the open prairie not far
from the freight shed, keeping guard over Rosie, who
was stretching her legs after her railway journey. The
boys were tossing a baseball to each other as Tom
pedalled up on his wheel.
"Hello, there, here you are," he shouted to Sam,
holding up his hands for a catch.
The ball came with such impact that Tom "vas dis-
tinctly jarred, and dropped the ball. \Vith all his force
he threw the ball back to Sam, who caught it with the
ease of a professional and returned it with such vigour
that again Tom dropped it.
"Let's have a knock.,up," he said, hitting a long fly.
Sam flew after the ball with amazing swiftness, his
scarecrow garments fluttering and flapping in the air,
and caught it with an up"vard leap that landed him on
his back breathless but triumphant.
"Say, you're a crackerjack," said Tom; "here's an-
other."
Meanwhile Larry was in the hands of his sisters, who
had delightedly kissed him to his shamefaced chagrin,
and introduced him to their new-found friends.
"So this is Larry," said Miss Hazel Sleighter, greet-
. ing him with a dazzling smile. "We have heard a lot
80
THE MAJOR
about you. I think you must be quite wonderful. Come
here, Tom, and meet your friends."
Poor Larry! In the presence of this radiant creature
and oÎ her well-dressed brother, he felt terribly conscious
of the shabbiness of the second best suit which his
mother had thought good enough for the journey in the
car. Tom glanced at the slight, poorly dressed, pale-
faced lad who stood before him with an embarrassed,
almost a beseeching look in his eyes.
"Can you play ball?" asked Tom.
"N ot much," replied Larry; "not like Sam. Come
here, Sam," he called, remembering that he had not
introduced his friend. Sam shuffled over \vith an air
of con1plete nonchalance.
"This is Sam," said Larry. "Sam-I have forgotten
your name."
"Nolan," said Sam shortly.
"Miss Hazel Sleighter," said Larry.
"How do you do, Miss Hazel," said Sam, sweeping
her an elaborate bow, and then gazing boldly into her
eyes. "I hope you're well. If you're as smart as you
look, I guess you're way up in G."
"I am quite well, thank you," returned Miss Hazel,
the angle of her chin indicating her most haughty air.
"Say, young lady, pass up the chilly stuff," replied
Sam with a laugh. "It don't go \vith that mighty fine
complexion of yours. Say, did you ever see the lead-
ing lady in 'The Spider's Web'? vVell, you make mp
think of her, and she was a peacherino. Never seen
her? No? Well, you ought to see her some day and
think 0 f me."
Hazel turned a disgusted shoulder on Sam's impudent
face and engaged Larry in vivacious conversation.
"Well, I am off to the ball practice," said Tom. "Got
a match on Saturday-High School against the world.
Guess they would like to have you, Sam, only I wouldn't
care to have you play against us. You don't play base-
JANE BRO'VN
81
ball, eh?" continued Tom, addressing Larry. "\Vhat do
you play-football?"
"N at much; never tried much," said Larry, flushing
over his lack of sporting qualifications.
"He plays the fiddle," said a quiet little voice.
Larry, flushing violently, turned around and saw a
little, brown-faced maid gazing thoughtfully at him.
"Oh, he does, eh? Ha, ha, ha. Good g
e, eh? Ha,
ha, ha." They all joined in the laugh.
"And he plays the mouth organ, too, and does funny
stunts," sturdily continued the little girl, disdaining
Tom's scornful laughter.
"Good for you, Jane."
"Yes, and he passed his entrance to the High School
a year ago when he was fourteen, in Ontario, anyway."
This appeared to check Tom's hilarity.
"l\1y, "That a wonder he is! And did he tell you all
this himseI f ?"
"N 0, indeed," said Jane indignantly.
"Oh, I am glad to hear that," said Tom with a grin.
"Won't you come along, Sam? It's only a little way
down.' ,
"All right," said Sam cheerfully. "So long, folks.
See you later, Larry. Au reservoir, young lady, as the
camel said to the elephant when he asked what he'd
have. Hope I see you later if not sooner-ta-ta; ting-
a-ling; honk honk." Again he swept Miss Hazel an
elaborate bow.
"Thinks he's smart," said that young lady, lifting her
nose. "I-Ie's a regular scarecrow. Who in the world
is he and where did he come from?" she demanded of
Larry, who proceeded to account for Sam's presence with
their party.
The visitors peered into the car and poked into its
recesses, discovered the food supplies for boy and beast,
and inspected the donnitories under Larry's guidance,
while the boy, who had recovered from his embarrass-
ment, discoursed upon the wonderful experience of the
82
THE l\IAJOR
journey. Miss Hazel flashed her great blue eyes and
her white teeth upon him, shook all her frizzes in his
face, smiled at him, chattered to him, jeered at hinl,
flattered him with all the arts and graces of the prac-
ticed flirt she ,vas, until Larry, swept from his bearings,
walked the clouds in a wonder world of rosy lights and
ravishing airs. His face, his eyes, his eager \vords, his
tremulous lips, were all eloquent of this new passion that
possessed him.
As for Miss Hazel, accustomed as she was to the dis-
criminating admiration of her fellow clerks, the sincerity
and abandonment of this devotion was as incense to her
flirtatious soul. Avid a f admiration and experienced in
most of the arts and wiles necessary to secure this from
contiguous males, small \vonder that the unsophisticated
Larry became her easy prey long l?efore she had brought
to bear the full complement of her enginery of war.
It was a happy afternoon for the boy, but ,vhen in-
formed by his sisters of his mother's desire that he
should return with them, he was resolute in his refusal,
urging many reasons why it was impossible that he
should leave the car and his comrades. There ,vas noth-
ing for it but to leave him there anð report to his
mother their failure.
"I might have known," she said. "He \vould never
come to a stranger's house in his old clothes. I will
just bring down his best suit after tea."
The dinner hour at Dr. Bro\vn's \vas fully occupied
\vith an animated recital of the adventures of the after-
noon. Each nlember of the car party was described ,vith
an accuracy and fulness of detail that \vould have sur-
prised him.
"And you kno,v, Papa," said the little maid, "Tom
just laughed at Larry because he could not play base-
ball and things, and I just told him that Larry could
play the mouth organ lovely and the fiddle, and they
laughed and laughed. I think they \vere laughing at
me. Tom laughed loudest of all, and he's not so smart
JANE BROWN
83
himself, and anyway Larry passed the entrance a year
ago and I just told him so."
"Oh, did you," said her father, "and how did Master
T om take that?"
"He didn't laugh quite as much. I don't think I like
him very much."
"Ah ?"
"But Hazel, she was just lovely to Larry. I think
she's nice, Papa, and such lovely cheeks and hair." Here
Jane sighed.
"Oh, has she? She is quite a grown-up young lady,
is she not?"
"She has her hair up, Papa. She's sixteen, you
know."
"I remember you told me that she had reached that
mature age."
"And I think Larry liked her, too."
"Ah? And why do you think so?"
"He just looked at her, and looked, and looked."
"Well, that seems fairly good evidence."
"And he is coming up here to-night when we bring
him his good clothes."
"Oh, you are to bring him his good clothes, are you ?"
"Yes, Mrs. Gwynne and I are taking them down in
the carriage."
"Oh, in the carriage-Mrs. Gwynn e "
"Yes, you know- Oh, here's Nora at the door.
Excuse me, Papa. I am sure it is important."
She ran to the door and in a moment or two returned
with a note. "It's for you, Papa, and I know it's about
the carriage." She \vatched her father some\vhat anx-
iously as he read the note.
"Dmm-um. V ery good, very nice and proper. Cer-
tainly. Just say to Mrs. Gwynne that we are very
pleased to be able to serve her with the carriage, and
that we hope Larry will do us the honour of coming
to us."
Jane nodded delightedly. "I know, Papa. I told her
84
THE l\iAJOR
that already. But I'll tell her this is the answer to the
note. "
Under Jane's direction and care they made their visit
to the car, but on their return no Larry \vas \vith them.
He would come a fter the picnic and baseball game to-
morrow, perhaps, but not to-night. His mother was
plainly disappointed, and indeed a little hurt. She could
not understand her son. It was not his clothes after all
as she had thought. She pondered over his last words
spoken as he bade her farewell at the car door, and was
even more mystified.
"I'll be glad when we get to our own place again," he
said. "I hate to be beholden to anybody. We're as
good as any of them anyway." The bitterness in his
tone mystified her still more.
It was little Jane who supplied the key to the mystery.
"I don't think he likes Tom very much," said the little
girl. "He likes Hazel, though. But he might have
come to our house; I did not laugh." And then the
mother thought she understood.
That sudden intensity of bitterness in her boy's voice
startled her a little, but deep down in her heart she was
conscious of a queer feeling of satisfaction, almost of
pride. "He's just like his father," she said to herself.
"He likes to be independent." Strict honesty in thought
made her add, "And like me, too, I fear."
The picnic day was one of those intensely hot June
days when the \vhole world seems to stand quivering and
breathlessly attent while Nature works out one of her
miracles over fields of grain, over prairie flowers, over
umbrageous trees and all things borne upon the bosom
of IVlother Earth, checking the succulence of precocious
overgrowths, hardening fibre, turning plant energy away
from selfish exuberance in mere stalk building into
the altruistic sacrament of ripening fruit and hardening
grain. A wise old alchemist is 1Ylother Earth, working in
time but ever for eternity.
I'he picnickers \vho went out to the park early in the
JANE BROWN
85
day were driven fer refuge from the blazing sun to the
trees and bushes, where prostrated by the heat they lay
limp and flaccid upon the grass. Miss Hazel Sleighter,
who for some reason which she could not explain to her-
self had joined the first contingent of picnickers, was
cross, distinctly and obviously cross. The heat was
trying to her nerves, but worse, it made her face red-
red all over. Her pink parasol intensified the glow
upon her face.
"\Vhat a fool I was to come, in this awful heat," she
said to herself. "They won't be here for hours, and I
"NiB be just like a wash-rag."
Nor was Larry enjoying the picnic. The material
comforts in the form of sandwiches, cakes and. pies,
gloriously culminating in lemonade and ice cream, while
contributing a ten1porary pleasure, could not obliterate
a sense of misery wrought in him by Miss Hazel's chiny
indifference. That young lady, whose smiles so lavishly
bestowed only yesterday had made for him a new heaven
and a new earth, had to-day merely thrown him a pass-
ing glance and a careless "Hello," as she floated by in-
tent on bigger game.
In addition, the boy was èonscious of an overpowering
lassitude that increased as the day wore on. His misery
and its chief cause had not escaped the observing eyes
of the little maid, Jane Brown, \vhose clear and incisive
voice was distinctly audible as she confided to her friend
N ora her disappointment in Miss Hazel.
"She won't look at him to-day," she said. "She's
just waiting for the boys to come. She'll be nicer then."
There was no animus in the voice, only surprise and
disappointment. To Larry, however, the fact that the
secret tragedy of his soul was thus laid bare, filled him
\vith a sudden rage, He cast a wrathful eye upon the
little maid. She met his glance with a placid smile, vol-
unteering the cheerful remark, "They \von't be long
now.' ,
8ð THE 1\IAJOR
A fury possessed the boy. "Oh shut your mouth,
will you?" he said, glaring at her.
For a moment little Jane looked at him, surprise, dis-
may, finally pity succeeding each other in the deep blue
eyes. Hastily she glanced about to see if the others
had heard the awful outburst. She \vas relieved to note
that only Joe and Nora were near enough to hear. She
settled herself do,vn in a position of greater comfort
and confided to her friend Nora \vith an air of almost
maternal solicitude, "I believe he has a pain. I am sure
he has a pain."
Larry sprang to his feet, and without a glance at his
anxious tormentor said, "Come on, Joe, let's go for a
hunt in the woods."
Jane looked wistfully after the departing boys. "I
wish they would ask us, Nora. Don't you? I think
he is nice when he isn't mad," she said. To which Nora
firmly assented.
A breeze from the west and the arrival of the High
School team, resplendent in their new baseball unifonns,
brought to the l
mp loiterers under the trees a reviving
life and interest in the day's doings.
It was due to Jane that Sam got into the game, for
when young Frank Smart was searching for a suitable
left fielder to complete the All Comers team, he spied
seated among the boys the little girl.
"Hello, Jane; in your usual place, I see!" he càlled out
to her as he passed.
"Hello, Frank!" she calIed to him brightly. "Frank!
Frank!" she cried, "after the young man had passed,
springing up and running after him.
"I am in a hurry, Jane; I must get a man for left
field.' ,
"But, Frank," she said, catching his arm, for young
Smart was a great friend. of hers and of her father's.
"I want to tell you. You see that funny boy under the
tree," she continued, lo\vering her voice. "Well, he's a
splendid player. Tom doesn't ,vant him to play, and I
.JANE BROWN
87
don't either, because I want the High School to beat.
But it would not be fair not to tell you, would it?"
Young Smart looked at her curiously. "Say, little
girl, you're a sport. And is he a good player?"
"Oh, he's splendid, but he's queer-I mean he looks
queer. He's awfully funny. But that doesn't matter,
does it ?"
"Not a hair, if he can play ball. What's his name?"
"Sam-something. "
"Sam Something? That is a funny name."
"Oh, you know, Sam. I don't kno\v his other name."
"Well, I'll try him, Jane," said young Smart, moving
to\vard the boy and followed by the eager eyes of the
little girl.
"I say, Sam," said Smart, ''\ve want a man for left
field. \Vill you take a go at it?"
"Too hot," grunted Sam.
"Oh, you won't find it too hot when you get started.
Rip off your coat and get into the game. You can play,
can't you?"
"Aw, what yer givin' us. I guess I can
ive them
ginks a few pointers."
"Well, come on."
"Too hot," said Sam.
Jane pulled young Smart by the sleeve. "T ell him you
will give hin1 a jersey," she said in a lo\v voice. "His
shirt is torn."
Again young Smart looked at Jane with scrutinising
eyes. "You're a wonder," he said.
"Come along, Sam. You haven't got your sweater
with you, but I will get one for you. Get into the bush
there and change."
With apparent reluctance, but with a gleam in his little
red eyes, Sam slouched into the woods to make the
change, and in a few moments came forth and ran to
take his position at left field.
The baseball match turned out to be a mere setting
for the display of the eccentricities and superior base-
88
THE l\iAJOR
ball qualities of Sam, which apparently quite outclassed
those of his teammates in the match. After three dis-
astrous innings
Sam caused himself to be moved first to
the position of short stop, and later to the pitcher's box,
to the immense advantage of his side. But although,
owing to the lead obtained by the enemy, his prowess
was unable to ,vard off defeat from All Comers, vet
under his inspiration and skilful generalship, the te
m
made such a brilliant recovery of form and came so
near victory that Sam was carried from the field in
triumph shoulder high and departed with his new and
enthusiastically grateful comrades to a celebration.
Larry, however, "vas much too miserable and much
too unhappy for anything like a celebration. The boy
was oppressed with a feeling of loneliness, and ,vas con-
scious chiefly of a desire to reach his car and crawl into
his bed there anlong the straw. Stumbling blindly along
the dusty road, a cheery voice hailed him.
"Hello, Larry!" It was Jane seated beside her father
in his car.
"Hello I" he answered faintly and just glanced at her
as tbe car passed.
But soon the car pulled up. "Come on, Larry, we'll
take you home," said Jane.
"Oh, I'm all right," said Larry, forcing his lips into
his old smile and resolutely plodding on.
"Better caDle up, my boy," said the doctor.
"I don't mind walking, sir," replied Larry, stubbornly
determined to go his lonely way.
"Come here, boy," said the doctor, regarding him.
keenly. Larry came over to the wheel. "Why, boy,
what is the matter?" The doctor took hold of his hand.
Larry gripped the \vheel hard. He was feeling desper-
ately ill and unsteady on his legs, but still his lips twisted
themselves into a smile. "I'm all right, sir," he said;
"I've got a headache and it was pretty hot out there."
But even as he spoke his face grew white and he
swayed on his feet. In an instant the doctor was out
JANE BROWN
89
of his car. "Get in, lad," he said briefly, and Larry,
surrendering, climbed into the back seat, fighting fiercely
meanwhile to prevent the tears frOlTI showing in his
eyes. Keeping up a brisk and cheerful conversation with
Jane in regard to the game, the doctor drove rapidly
toward his home.
"Y ou will come in with us, my boy," said the doctor
as they reached his door.
By this time Larry was past all power of resistance
and yielded himself to the authority of the doctor, who
had him upstairs and into bed within a few minutes of
his arrival. A single word Larry uttered during this
process, "Tell my mother," and then sank into a long
nightnlare, through which there mingled dim shapes and
quiet voices, followed by dreamless sleep, and an alvaken-
ing to \veakness that made the lifting of his eyelids an
effort and the movement of his hand a \veariness. The
first object that loomed intelligible through the fog in
which he seemed to move \vas a little plain face with
great blue eyes carrying in them a cloud of maternal
anxiety. Suddenly the cloud broke and the sun burst
through in a joyous riot, for in a voice that seelned to .
him unfamiliar and rel110te Larry uttered the single
word, "Jane."
"Oh 1" cried the little girl rapturously. "Oh, Larry,
wait." She slipped from the room and returned in a
moment with his mother, who quickly came to his side.
"You are rested, dear," she said, putting her hand
under his head. "Drink this. No, don't Ii ft your head.
Now then, go to sleep again, darling," and, stooping
do\vn, she kissed him softly.
"\Vhy-are-you-crying?" he asked faintly.
"\Vhat's the-matter ?"
"N othing, darling; you are better. Just sleep."
"Better ?- Have- I -been-sick ?"
"Yes, you have been sick," said his mother.
"Awfully sick, " said Jane solemnly. "A \vhole week
sick. But you are all right no\v," she added brightly,
90
THE l\IAJOR
"and so is Joe, and Sam, and Rover and Rosie. I saw
them a.l1 this morning and you know we have been
praying and praying and-"
.'N ow he will sleep, Jane," said his mother, gently
touching the little girl's brown tangle of hair.
"Yes, he will sleep; oh, I'm just awful thankful,"
said Jane, suddenly rushing out of the room.
"Dear little girl," said the mother. "She has been
so anxious and so helpful-a wonderful little nurse."
But Larry \vas fast asleep, and before he ,vas inter-
ested enough to make inquiry about his comrades in
trayel the car in charge of Joe and Sam, with Mr.
Gwynne in the caboose, "vas far on its way to Alberta.
After some days Jane was allowed to entertain the sick
boy, as was her custom with her father, by giving an
account of her day's doings. These were happy days
for them both. Between the boy and the girl the begin-
nings of a great friendship sprang up.
"Larry, I think you are queer," said Jane to him
gravely one day. "You are not a bit like you were in
the car."
A quick flush appeared on the boy's face. "I guess I
was queer that day, Jane," he said. "I know I felt
queer."
"Yes, that's it," said Jane, delighted by some sudden
recollection. "You were queer then, and now you're
just ornary. My, you were sick and you were cross,
too, awful cross that day. I guess it was the headick.
I get awfully cross, too, when I have the headick. I
don't think you vvill be cross again ever, will you,
Larry?"
Larry, smiling at her, replied, "I'll never be cross
with you, Jane, anyway, never again."
CHAPTER VII
THE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT
J UNE, and the sun flooding with a golden shimmer
a land of tawny prairie, billowy hills, wooded yal-
leys and mountain peaks white with eternal snows, touch-
ing with silver a stream which, glacier-born, hurled it-
self down mountain sides in fairy films of mist, rushed
through cañons in a mad torrent, hurried bet\veen hills
in a swollen flood, meandered along wide valleys in a
full-lipped tiùe, lingered in a placid lake in a bit of low-
land banked with poplar bluffs, and so onward past
ranch-stead and homestead to the great Saskatchewan
and Father Ocean, prairie and hills, valleys and moun-
tains, river and lake, making a wonder world of light
and warmth and colour and joyous life.
Two riders on rangey bronchos, followed by two Rus-
sian boarhounds, climbed the trail that went winding up
among the hills towards a height which broke abruptly
into a ridge of bare rock. Upon the ridge they paused.
"There! Can vou beat that? If so, vvhere?" The
lady swept her gauntletted hand toward the scene be-
low. 1vlrs. \Varing-Gaunt was tall, strongly made, hand-
some with that comeliness \vhich perfect health and out-
of-doors life combine to give, her dark hair, dark flash-
ing eyes, straight nose, wide, full-lipped curving mouth,
and a chin whose chiselled firmness \vas softened but not
\veakened by a dimple, making a picture good to look
upon.
"There!" she cried again, "tell me, can you beat it ?"
"Glorious! Sybil, utterly and splendidly glorious!"
said her brother, his eyes sweeping the picture below.
91
92
THE IVIAJOR
"And you too, Sybil," he said, turning his eyes upon
her. "This country has done you well. By jove, \vhat
a transformation from the white-faced, willowy-"
"Weedy," said she.
"Well, as it's, no longer true, weedy-woman that
faded out of London, how many-eight years ago I"
"Ten years, ten long, glorious, splendid years."
"Ten years I Surely not ten I"
"Yes, ten beautiful years."
"I wish to God I had come ,,'ith you then. I might
have been-well, I should have been saved some bumps
and a ghastly cropper at last."
" 'Cut it out,' Jack, as the boys say here. En avant!
We never look back in this land, but ever forward. Oh,
now isn't this vvorth while?" Again she swept her hand
toward the scene below her. "Look at that \vaving
line in the east, that broad sweep; and here at our left,
those great, majestic things. I love them. I love every
scar in their old grey faces. They have been good friends
to me. But for them some days might have been hard
to live through, but they were always there like friends,
watching, understanding. They kept me steady."
"You must have had some difficult days, old girl, in
this awful land. Yes, yes, I know it's glorious, espe-
cially on a day like this and in a light like this; but
after all, you are a\vay from the world, away from
everybody, and shut off from everything, from life, art
-how could you stick it?"
"Jack are you sympathising \vith me? L,et me tell
you your sympathy is wasted. I have had lonely days
in this land, of course. When Tom was off on busi-
ness-Oh I that man has been perfectly splendid. Jack!
He's been-well, I can't tell you all he has been to
me-father, mother, husband, chum, he's been to me,
and more. And he's made good in the country, too.
Now look again at this view. \Ve ahvays stop to look
at it, Tom and I, from this point. Tell me if you have
ever seen anything quite as wonderful!"
''"'
., '
.
. ..,.,
.
\\
.1
)
J
:.1'
""
. ......
, },
.'
'/f
>,
THE GIRL'S ANSWERING CALL WAS LIKE THE WIND-
IKG OF A SIL\TER HORK.
,
....
IJ
# I
{ .,
..
t
"l.-
. tit
-,.. --
THE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT 93
"Yes, it's glorious, a little like the veldt, wid]., of
course, the mountains extra, and they do rather finish
the thing in the grand style."
"Grand style, well, rather! A great traveller who has
seen most of the world's beautiful spots told me he had
never looked on anything quite so splendid as the view
from here-so spacious, so varied, so majestic. Ah, I
love it, and the country has been good to nle !
"I don't mean physically only, but in every way-in
body, soul and mind. And for Tom, too, the country
has done much. In England, you know, he was just
loafing, filling in time with one useless thing after an-
other, and o.n the vvay to get fat and lazy. Here he is
doing things, things worth while. His ranch is quite
a success. Then he is always busy organising various
sorts of industries in the country-dairying, lumbering
and that sort of thing. He has introduced thoroughbred
stock. He helps \vith the schools, the churches, the Agri-
cultural Institutes. In short, he is doing his part to
bring this country to its best. And this, you kno.w, is
the finest bit of all Canada!"
Her brother laughed. "Pardon me," he said, "there
are so many of these 'finest bits.' In Nova Scotia, in
Quebec, I have found them. The people of Ontario are
certain that the 'finest bit' is in their province, while in
British Columbia they are ready to fight if o.ne suggests
anything to the contrary."
"I know. I kno\v. It is perfectly splendid of them.
You kno\v we Canadians are quite foolish about our
country."
"
,v e Canadians!"
"Y es. We Canadians. \Vhat else? \Ve are quite
mad about the future of our country. And that is why
I wanted you to come out here, Jack. There is so much
a man like you might do \vith yo.ur brains and training.
Yes. Your Oxford training is none too good for this
country, and your brain none too clever for this big
work of laying the foundations of a great Empire. This
94
THE MAJOR
is big enough for the biggest of you. Bigger, even, than
the thing you were doing at home, Jack. Oh, I heard
all about it!"
"Y ou heard all about it? I hope not. I hope you
have not heard of the awful mess I made of things."
"N onsense, Jack ! 'Forward' is the word here. Here
is an Empire in the making, another Britain, greater,
finer, and "vithout the hideous inequalities, injustices and
foolish class distinctions of the old."
"My God! Sybil, you sound like Lloyd George him-
s
lf! Please don't recall that ghastly radicalism to me."
"N ever mind what it sounds like. You will get it
too. We all catch it here, especially Old Country folk.
For instance, look a \va y to the left there. See that little
clump of buildings beside the lake just through the pop-
lars. There is a family of Canadians typical of the best,
the G\vynnes, our closest neighbours. Good Irish stock,
they are. They came two years after \ve came. Lost
their little bit of money. Suffered, my 1 how they must
have suffered! though they were too proud to tell any
of us. The father is a gentleman, finely educated, but
with no business ability. I'he mother all gold and grit,
heroic little woman who kept the family together. The
eldest boy of fifteen or sixteen, rather delicate when he
came, but fearfully plucky, has helped amazingly. He
taught the school, putting his money into the farm year
after year. \Vhile teaching the school he someho\v man-
aged to grip hold of the social life of this community in
a \vonderful \vay, preached for Mr. Rhye, taught a
Bible Class for him, quite unique in its \vay; organised
a kind of Literary-Social-Choral-Minstrel Club and has
added tremendously to the life and gaiety of the neigh-
'bourhood. \Vhat '\ve shall do when he leaves, I kno\v
not. You \vill like them, I am sure. vVe shall drop in
there on our way, if you like."
"Ah, \vell, perhaps sometime later. They all sound
rather terribly industrious and efficient for a mere
slacker like myself."
THE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT 95
Along the trail they galloped, following the dogs for
a mile or so. until checked by a full flowing stream.
"I say, Willow Creek is really quite in flood," said
his sister. "The hot sun has brought down the snows,
you know. The logs are running, too. vVe '\vill have
to go a bit carefully. Hold well up to the stream and
watch the logs. Keep your eye on the bank opposite.
No, no, keep up, follow me. LDok out, or you \vill get
into deep water. Keep to the right. There, that's bet-
ter. "
"I say," said her brother, as his horse clambered out
of the swollen stream. "That's rather a close thing to
a ducking. A'\vfully like the veldt streams, you know.
Ice cold, too, I fancy."
"Ice cold, indeed, glacier water, you know, and these
logs make it very awkward. The Gwynnes must be run-
ning down their timber and fire\vood. We might just
run up and look in on them. It's only a mile or so.
Nora ,vill be there. She will be 'bossing the job,' as
she says. It will be rather interesting."
"vVell, I hope it is not too far, for I assure you I am
getting quite ravenous."
"N 0, come along, there's a good trail here."
A smart canter brought them to a rather pretentious
homestead \vith considerable barns and outbuildings at-
tached. "This is the Switzers' place," said Mrs. Wa-
ring-Gaunt. "German-Americans, old settlers and quite
well off. The father o\vned the land on which \V olf
Willow village stands. He made quite a lot of money
in real estate-village lots and farm lands, you know.
He is an excellent fanner and ambitious for his fam-
ily-one son and one daughter. They are quite plain
people. They live like-\vell, like Germans, you know.
The mother is a regular haustra-It
. the daughter, quite
nice, plays the violin beautifully. It ,vas from her young
Gwynne got his violining. The son \vent to college in
the States, then to Germany for a couple of years. He
came back here a year ago, terribly German and terribly
96
THE MAJOR
military, heel clicking, ram-rod back, and all that sort
of thing. lVlusical, too, awfully clever; rather think he
has political ambitions. We'll not go. in to-day. Some
day, perhaps. Indeed, we must be neighbourly in this
country. But the Switzers are a little trying."
"Why know them at all?"
"There you are!" cried his sister . "Fancy living be-
side people in this country and not knowi.ng them. Can't
YOlt see that \ve must not let things get awry that way?
We must all pull together. Tom is fearfully strong on
that, and he is right, too, I suppose, although it is trying
at times. N ow we begin to climb a bit here. Then
there are good stretches further along where we can
hurry."
But it seemed to her brother that the good stretches
were rather fewer and shorter than the others, for the
sun \vas overhead when they pulled up their horses,
steaming and ready enough to halt, in a small clearing
in the midst of a thick bit of fo.rest. The timber was
for the main part of soft woods, poplar, yello\v and
black, cotton\vood, and further up among hills spruce
and red pine. In the centre of the clearing stood a
rough log cabin with a wide porch running around t\VO
sides. Upon this porch a young girl ,vas to be seen
busy over a cook stove. At the noise of the approaching
horses the girl turner from her work and looked across
the clearing at thp:D..
"Heavens above! who is that, Sybil?" gasped her
brother.
Mrs. Waring-Gaunt g
.t e a delighted little cry. HOh,
my dear, you are really back." In a moment she was
off her horse and rushing toward the girl with her arnlS
outstretched. "Kathleen, darling! Is it you? And
you have really grown, I believe! Or is it your hair?
Come let me introduce you to my brother."
Jack Romayne was a young man with thirty years of
experience of the normal Ii fe of the well-born English-
man, during \vhich time he had often known ,vhat it
!THE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT 91
was to have his senses stirred and his pulses quickened by
the sight of one of England's fair \vomen, than whom
none of fresher and fairer beauty are to be found in
all the \vorld; yet never had he found himself anything
but master of his speech and behaviour. But to-day,
\vhen, in obedience to his sister's call, he moved across
the little clearing toward the girl standing at her side,
he seemed to lose consciousness of himself and control
of his po\vers of action. He \vas instead faintly con-
scious that a girl of tall and slender grace, \vith an
aura of golden hair about a face lovelier than he had
ever known, \vas looking at him out of eyes as blue as
the prairie crocus and as shy and s\veet, that she laid
her hand in his as if giving him something of herself,
that holding her hand ho\v long he kne\v not, he found
hinlself gazing through those eyes of translucent blue in-
to a soul of unstained purity as one might gaze into a
shrine, and that he continued gazing until the blue eyes
clouded and the fair face flushed crimson, that then,
\vithout a word, he turned from her, thrilling \vith a new
gladness which seemed to fill not only his soul but the
whole \vorld as well. vVhen he came to himself he
found his trembling fingers fumbling with the bridle of
his horse. For a few moments he became aware of a
blind rage possessing him and he cursed deeply his stupid-
ity and the gaucherie of his manner. But soon he forgot
his rage for thinking of her eyes and of \vhat he had
seen behind their translucent blue.
"M y dear child," again exclaimed IVlrs. \Varing-Gaunt,
"I declare you have actually gro\vn taller and gro\vn-
a great many other things that I may not tell you. \Vhat
have they done to you at that wonderful school? Did
you love it?"
The girl flushed with a quick emotion. "Oh, lVlrs.
\Varing-Gaunt, it was really wonderful. I had such a
good time and everyone was lovely to me. I did not
kno\v people could be so kind. But it is good to
et
98
THE l\IA.JOR
back home again to them all, and to you, and to all
this." She waved her hand to the forest about her.
"And who are up here to-day, and what are you do-
ing?" inquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
"In the meantime I am preparing dinner," said the
girl with a laugh.
"Dinner I" exclaimed Jack Romayne, \vho had mean-
time drawn near, determined to rehabilitate himself in
the eyes of this girl as a man familiar with the decencies
of polite society. "Dinner! It smells so good and we
are desperately hungry."
"Yes," cried Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "My brother de-
clared he was quite faint more than an hour ago, and
now I am sure he is."
"Fairly ravenous."
"But I don't know," said the girl with serious anxiety
on her face. "You see, we have only pork and fried
potatoes, and Nora just shot a chicken-only one-and
they are always so hungry. But we have plenty of
bread and tea. Would you stay?"
"It sounds really very nice," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
"It would be awfully jolly of you, and I promise not
to eat too much," said the young man. "I am actually
faint with hunger, and a cup of tea appears necessary
to revive me."
"Of course, stay," said the girl with quick sympathy.
"We can't give you much, but we can give you some-
thing.' ,
"Oh ho !"
"O-h-o-o-o-h ! O-h-o-o-o-h I" A loud call came from
the woods.
"There's Nora," said Kathleen. "O-o-o-o-o-h
O-o-o-o-o-h I" The girl's answering call was like the
winding of a silver horn. "Here she is."
Out from the woods, striding into the clearing, came a
young girl dressed in worklnanlike garb in short skirt,
leggings and jersey, with a soft black hat on the black
THE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT 99
tumbled locks. "Hello, Kathleen, dinner ready? I'm
famished. Oh, Mrs. vVaring-Gaunt, glad to see you."
"And my brother, Nora, Mr. Jack Romayne, just come
from England, and hungry as a bear."
"J ust froln England? And hungry? Well, we are
glad to see you, Mr. Romayne." The girl came forward
with a quick step and frankly offered her brown, strong
hand. "\Ve're awfully glad to see you, Mr. Romayne,"
she repeated. "I ought to be embarrassed, I know, only
I am so hungry."
"J ust my fix, Miss Nora," said the young man. "I
am really anxious to be polite. I feel we should decline
the invitation to dinner which your sister has pressed
upon us; we kno\v it is a shame to drop in on you like
this all unprepared, but I am so hungry, and really that
smell is so irresistible that I feel I simply cannot be
polite. "
"Don't I"
cried the girl, "or rather, do, and stay.
There's enough of something, and Joe \villiook after the
horses." She put her hands to her lips and called,
"J -o-o-e I"
A voice from the woods answered her, followed by
Joe himself. "Here, Joe, take the horses and unsaddle
them and tether them out somewhere."
Despite I(athleen's fears there was ûinner enough for
all. I
"This is perfectly stunning!" said Romayne, glancing
round the little clearing and up at the trees waving over-
head, through the interstices of whose leafy canopy
showed patches of blue sky. "Gorgeous, by Jove!
Words are futile things for really great moments."
"Ripping," said Nora, smiling impudently into his
face. "Awfully jolly! A-I! Top hole! That's the
lot, I think, according to the best authorities. Do you
know any others?"
"I beg pardon, what ?" said Romayne, looking up from
his fried pork and potatoes.
"Those are all I have learned in English at least," said
100
THE I\IAJOR
Nora. "I am keen for some nlore. They are Oxford, I
believe. Have you any others ?"
Mr. Romayne diverted his attention from his dinner.
"\Vhat is she talking about, Miss G\vynne? I confess to
be entirely absorbed in these fried potatoes."
"\IV ords, words, Mr. Romayne, vocabulary, adjec-
tives," replied K ora.
"Ah," said Romayne, "but why should one worry
about \vords, especially adjectives, when one has such
divine realities as these to deal with?"
"Have some muffles, Mr. Romayne," said Nora.
"l\luffles? N O\V what may muffles be?"
"l\Iuffies are a cross between muffins and \vaffles."
"Please elucidate their nature and origin," said Mr.
ROlTIayne.
:'Let nle show you," said I(athleen. She sprang up,
dived into the cabin and returned with a large, round,
hard biscuit in her hand. "This is Hudson Bay hard tack,
the stand-by of all western people-Hudson Bay freight-
ers and co\v boys, old tinlers and tenderfeet alike s\vear
by it, See, you moisten it slightly in water, fry it in
boiling fat, sugar it and keep hot till served. Thus Hud-
son Bay hard tack becomes muffles."
"Marvellous!" exclaimed l\Ir. Romayne, "and truly
delicious! And to think that the Savoy chef kno\vs
nothing about lTIuffles! But no\v that my first faintness
is removed and the mystery of muffles is solved, may I
inquire just \vhat you are doing up here to-day, l\'Iiss
Gwynne? \i\That is the business on hand, I mean?"
"Oh, Nora is getting out some logs for building and
fire\yood for next \"inter. The logs, you see, are cut
during the \vinter and hauled to the dump there."
"Dump!" exclaimed l\1r. Romayne faintly.
"Yes. The bank there where you dump the logs into
the creek below."
"But what exactly has Miss Nora to do with all this?"
"I?" enquired Nora, "I only boss the job."
"Don't you believe her," said l\lrs. Waring-Gaunt. "I
'.rHE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT 101
happen to remember one winter day coming upon this
young lady in these very woods driving her team and
hauling logs to the dump \vhile Sam and Joe did the cut-
ting. Ask the boys there? And why shouìdn't she?"
continued Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt. "She can run a farm,
\vith garden, pigs and poultry thrown in; open a coal
mine and-"
"N onsense!" exclaimed Nora, "the boys here do it all.
Mother furnishes the head V\Tork."
"Oh, Nora!" protested Kathleen, "you kno\v you man-
age everything. Isn't that true, boys?"
"She's the hull works herself," said Sam. "Ain't
she, Joe?"
"You bet yeh," said Joe, husky with the muffles.
"She's a corker," continued Sam, "double compressed,
conlpensating, forty horsepo\ver, ain't she, Joe ?"
"You bet yeh I" adding, for purpose of el11phasis, "By
gar !"
"Six cylinder, self-starter," continued Sam with in-
creasing enthusiasm.
"Self-starter," echoed Joe, going off into a series of
choking chuckles. "Sure t'ing, by gar!" Joe, having
safely disposed of the muffles, gave himself up to unre-
strained laughter, thro\ving back his head, slapping his
knees and repeating at intervals, "Self-starter, by gar!"
So infectious was his laughter that the whole cOl11pany
joined in.
"Cut it out, boys," said N ora. "You are all talking
rot, you know; and \vhat about you," she added, turning
s\viftly upon her sister. "'\Vho runs the house, I'd like
to kno\v, and looks after everyth!..tlg inside, and does the
se\ving? This outfit of mine, for instance? And her
o\vn outfit?"
"Oh, Nora," protested Kathleen, the colour rising in
her face.
"Did you make your own costume?" inquired Mr.
Romayne.
102
THE l\IAJOR
"She did that," said Nora, "and mine and mother's,
and she makes father's working shirts."
"Oh, Nora, stop, please. You know I do very little."
"She makes the butter as well."
"They're a pair," said Sanl in a lo\v growl, but per-
fectly audible to the company, "a regular pair: eh, Joe?"
"Sure t'ing," replied Joe, threatening to go off again
into laughter, but held in check by a glance fronl Nora.
For an hour they lingered over the meal. Then Nora,
jumping up quickly, took Mrs. Waring-Gaunt with her
to superintend the work at the d
mp, leaving Mr. Ro-
ma yne reclining on the grass srnoking his pipe in aban-
doned content, while Kathleen busied herself clearing
away and washing up the dishes.
"May I help?" inquired Mr. Romayne, when the others
had gone.
"Oh, no," replied Kathleen. "Just rest where you are,
please; just take it easy; I'd really rather you would, and
there's nothing to do."
"I am not an expert at this sort of thing," said Mr.
Romayne, "but at least I can dry dishes. I learned that
much on the veldt."
"In South Africa ? You were in the war?" replied
Kathleen, giving hinl a towel.
"Yes, I had a go at it."
"It nlust have been terrible-to think of actually kill-
ing men."
"It is not pleasant," replied Ronlayne, shrugging his
shoulders, "but it has to be done sometimes."
"Oh, do you think so? It does not seem as if it
should be necessary at any tinle," said the girl with great
earnestness. "1 can't believe it is either right or neces-
sary ever to kill men; and as for the Boer War, don't
you think everybody agrees now that it was unneces-
sary ?"
Mr. Romayne was always prepared to defend with the
ardour of a British soldier the righteousness of every
war in which the British Anny has ever been engaged.
THE GIRL OF THE 'VOOD LOT 103
But somehow he found it difficult to conduct an argu-
ment in favour of war against this girl \vho stood front-
ing him with a look of horror in her face.
"\Vell," said Mr. Romayne, "I believe there is son1e-
thing to be said on both sides. No doubt there were
blunders in the early part of the trouble, but eventually
war had to come."
"But that's just it," cried the girl. "Isn't that the way
it is always? In the early stages of a quarrel it is so
easy to come to an understanding and to n1ake peace;
but a fter the quarrel has gone on, then ,var becomes
inevitable. I f only every dispute could be subn1Ïtted to
the judgment of some independent tribunal. Nations
are just like people. They see things solely from their
own point of view. Do you know, Mr. Romayne, there
is no subject upon which I feel so keenly as upon the
subject of ,yare I just loathe and hate and dread the
thought of war. I think perhaps I inherit this. My
mother, you kno\v, belongs to the Friends, and she sees
so clearly the ,vickedness and the folly of war. And
don't you think that all th
world is seeing this more
clearly to-day than ever before ?"
There was nothing ne\v in this argument or in this
position to lVlr. Romayne, but someho\v, as he looked at
the girl's eager, enthusiastic face, and heard her passion-
ate denunciation of war, he found it difficult to defend
the justice of war under any circumstances whatever.
"I entirely agree with you, Miss G\vynne, that ,var is
utterly horrible, that it is silly, that it is \vicked. I
would rather not discuss it ,vith you, but I can't help
feeling that there are circumstances that n1ake it neces-
sary and right for men to fight."
"You don't wish to discuss this with me?" said Kath-
leen. "I am sorry, for I have always wished to hear a
soldier who is also"-the girl hesitated for a n1oment-
"a gentleman and a Christian-"
"Thank you, Miss Gwynne," said Ron1ayne, \vith quiet
earnestness.
104
THE MAJOR
"Discuss the reasons why war is ever necessary."
"It is a very big subject," said Mr. Romayne, "and
some day I should like to give you my point of vie\v.
There are tTIultitudes of people in Britain to-day, l\Iiss
G\vynne, ,,,ho would agree with you. Lots of books
have been \vritten on both sides. I have listened to hours
and hours of discussion, so that you can easily see that
there is much to be said on both sides. I ahvays conle
back, ho\\rever, to the point that among nations of similar
ethical standards and \vho are equally anxious to preserve
the peace of the world, arbitration as a method of set-
tling disputes ought to be perfectly simple and easy. It
is only when you have to deal with nations whose stand-
ards of ethics are ,videly dissimilar or who are possessed
with another ambition than that of preserving the peace
of the world that you get into difficulty."
"I see your point," replied Kathleen, "but I also see
that just there you aHo,,, for all sorts of prejudice to
enter and for the indulgence in unfair argunlent and
special pleading. But thEre, \ve are finished," she said 1
"and you do not wish to discuss this just no\v."
"Some time, Miss Gwynne, we shall have this out,
and I have some literature on the subject that I should
like to give you."
"And so have I," cried the girl, with a smile that ren-
dered }\rIr. Romayne for some nl0ments quite incapable of
consecutive thought. "And now shall "ve look up the
others ?"
At the dun1p they found Joe and Sam rolling the logs,
which during the winter had been piled high upon the
bank, do,vn the steep declivity or "dump" into the stream
below. Mrs. Waring-Gaunt and Nora "vere seated on
a log beside them engaged in talk. ·
"May I inquire if you are bossing the job as usual ?"
said Mr. Ronlayne, after he had watched the operation
for a few moments.
"Oh, no, there's no bossing going on to-day. But,'11
THE GIRD OF THE WOOD LOT 105
said the girl, "I rather think the boys like to have me
around. "
"I don't wonder," said Mr. Romayne, enthusiastically.
"Are you making fun of n1e, l\1r. ROlnayne ?" said the
girl, her face indicating that she "vas prepared for battle.,
"God forbid," replied l\lr. Romayne, fervently.
"Not a bit of it, Nora dear," said his sister. "He is
simply consumed with envy. He has just come from a
country, you kno\v, \y here only the men do things; I
n1ean things that really count. And it makes him furi-
ousiy jealous to see a young woman calmly doing things
that he knows quite ,veIl he could not attempt to do."
"Quite true," replied her brother. "I am humbled to
the ground at my own all to obvious ineptitude, and
am lost in admiration of the marvellous efficiency of the
young ladies of Canada \vhom it has been my good for-
tune to meet."
Nora glanced at him suspiciously. "You talk vlell,"
she said. "I half believe you're just making fun of us."
"Not a bit, Nora, not a bit," said his sister. "It is
as I have said before. The man is as jealous as he can
be, and, like a111nen, he hates to discover hin1self inferior
in any particular to a \voman. But we must be going.
I am so glad you are home again. dear," she said
turn-
ing to Kathleen. "We shall hope to see a great deai
of you. Thank you for the delightful lunch. It ,vas
so good of you to have 11S."
"Yes, indeed," added the young man. "You saved
my life. I had just about reached the final stage of ex-
haustion. I, too, hope to see you again very soon and
often, for you kno\v \ve n1ust finish that discussion and
settle that question."
"\i\That question is that," inquired his sister, "if I may
ask ?"
"Oh, the old question," said her brother, "the eternal
question-war."
"I suppose," said Nora, "Kathleen has been giving you
some of her peace talk. I want you to kno\v, Mr. Ro-
106
THE l\IA.JOR
mayne, that I don't agree \vith her in the least, and I am
quite sure you don't either."
"I atTI not so sure of that," replied the young man.
"We have not finished it out yet. I feel confident, how-
ever, that we shall come to an agreement on it."
"I hope not," replied. Nora, "for in that case you
\vo.uld become a pacifist, for Kathleen, just like mother,
you know, is a terrible peace person. Indeed, our fam-
ily is divided on thrtt question-Daddy and I opposed to
the rest. And you know pacifists have this character-
istic, that they are always ready to fight."
"Yes," said her sister. "We are ahvays ready to fight
for peace. But do not let us get into that discussion
no\v. I shall walk \vith you a little "vay."
Arm in arm she and Mrs. vVaring-Gaunt walkéd down
the steep trail, 1\1r. Romayne follo\ving behind, leading
the horses. As they walked together, :rvlrs. Waring-
Gaunt talked to the girl of her brother.
"You know he ,vas in the Diplomatic Service, went in
after the South African vVar, and did awfully \vell there
in the reconstruction \vo.rk, was very popular with the
Boers, though he had fought them in the "var. He got
to know their big men, and some of them are really
big Inen. As a nlatter of fact, he became very fond of
them and helped the Governn1ent at Home to see things
from their point of vie\v. After that he went to the
Continent, \vas in Italy for a while and then in Ger-
many, \vhere, I believe, he did very go.od work. He saw
a good deal of the men about the Kaiser. He loathed
the Crown Prince, I believe) as most of our people there
do. Suddenlv he was recalled. He refused, of course,
to talk about'" it, but I understand there \vas some sort
of a row. I believe he lost his temper with some ex-
alted personage. At any rate, he was recalled, chucked
the who.le service, and came out here. He felt awfully
cut up about it. And now he has no. faith in the Ger-
man Government, says they mean war. He's awfully
- keen on preparation and that sort of thing. I thought
THE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT 107
I would just tell you, especially since I heard you had
been discussing war with him."
As they neared the Switzer place they saw a young
man standing on the little pier which jutted out into the
strealTI with a pike-pole in his hand, keeping the logs
fronl jambing at the turn.
"It's Ernest S\vitzer," cried Kathleen. "I have not
seen him for ever so long. How splendidly he is look-
ing! Hello, Ernest !" she cried, waving her hand and
running for\vard to meet him, followed by the critical
eyes of Jack Roulayne.
The young man canle hurrying toward her. "Kath-
leen!" he cried. "Is it really you?" He threw do\vn
his pole as he spoke and took her hand in both of his,
the flush on his fair face spreading to the roots of his
hair.
"You know Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt," said Kathleen to
hinl, for he paid no attention at all to the others. Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt acknowledged Switzer's heel clicks, as
also did her brother when introduced.
"You have been keeping the logs running, Ernest, I
see. That is very good of you," said Kathleen.
"Yes, there was the beginning of a nice little jamb
here," said S\"itzer. "They are running right enough
now. But when did you return ?" he continued, drop-
ping into a confidential tone and turning his back upon
the others. "Do you know I have not seen you for
nine months?"
"Nine months ?" said Kathleen. "I was away seven
months."
"Yes, but I was a\vay two months before you went.
You forget that," he added reproachfully. "But I do
not forget. Nine nlonths-nine long months. And are
you glad to be back, Kathleen, glad to see all your friends
again, glad to see me ?"
"I am glad to be at home, Ernest, glad to see all of
my friends, 0 f course, glad to get to the West again, to
the woods here and the mountains and all."
108
THE l\IAJOR
"And you did not come in to see us as you passed,"
gazing at her with reproachful eyes and edging her still
further away fron1 the others.
"Oh, we intended to come in on our way back."
"Let's move on," said Ron1ayne to his sister.
"We must be going, Kathleen dear," said Mrs. War-
ing-Gaunt. "You \vill soon be con1Ïng to see us?"
"Yies, indeed, you maybe sure. I t is so good to see
you," replied the girl \varmly, as Mrs. \\T aring-Gaunt
kissed her good-bye. "Good-bye, l\fr. Romayne; we
must finish our discussion another time."
"Always at your service," replied l\fr. Romayne, "al-
though I am rather afraid of you. Thank you again for
your hospitality. Good-bye." He held her hand, look-
ing do\vn into. the blue depths of her eyes until as before
the crin1son in her fac
recalled him. "Good-bye. This
has been a \vonderful day to n1e." He mounted his
horse, lifted his hat, and rode off after his sister.
"\Vhat sort of a chap is the Johnnie?" said Jack to
his sister as they rode away.
"Not a bad sort at all; very bright fellow, quite pop-
ular in this community with the young fellows. He has
lots of money, you know, and spends it. Of course, he
is fearfully German, n1ilitary style and ail that."
"Seems to o\vn that girl, eh?" said Jack, glancing back
over his shoulder at the pair.
"Oh, the Ì\YO families are quite intimate. Ernest and
his sister were in Larry's nlusical organisations and they
are quite good friends."
"By Jove, Sybil, she is wondeïful! \i\Thy didn't you
gi've Ine a hint?"
"I did. But really, she has come on amazingly. That
college in Winnipeg--"
"Oh, college! It is not a question of college I"
said
her brother impatiently. "It's herself. \Vhy, Sybil,
think of that girl in London in a \"vorth frock. But no!
That would spoil her. She is better just as she is. Jove,
THE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT 109
she con1pletely knocked me out! I n1ade a fool of my-
self."
"She has changed indeed," said his sister. "She is
a lovely girl and so simple and unaffected. I have come
really to love her. \Ve must set: a lot of her."
"But \vhere did she get that perfectly charming n1an-
ner? Do you realise what a perfectly stunning girl she
is? Where did she get that style of hers?"
"You must see her mother, Jack. She is a charming
woman, simple, quiet, a Quaker, I believe, but quite beau-
tiful manners. Her father, too, is a gentlen1an, a Trin-
ity man, I understand."
"Well," said her brother ,vith a laugh, "I foresee my-
self falling in love with that girl in the most approved
style."
"You might do worse," replied his sister, "though I
doubt if you are not too late."
"Why? That Gern1an Johnnie?"
"Well, it is never ,vise to despise the enemy. He
really is a fine chap, his prospects are very good: he has
known her for a long while, and he is quite mad about
her. "
"But, good Lord, Sybil, he's a German 1"
"A German," said his sister, "yes. But \vhat differ-
ence does that make? He is a German, but he is also
a Canadian. \Ve are all Canadians here whatever else
\ve may be or have ever been. \Ve are all sorts and
classes, high and low, rich and poor, and of all nationali-
ties-Germans, French, S\vedes, Galicians, Russians--
but we all shake do,vn into good Canadian citizens. We
are just Canadians, and that is good enough for me.
We are loyal to Canada first."
"Y ou may be right as far as other nationalities are con-
cerned, but, Sybil, believe me, you do not know the Ger-
man. I know him and there is no such thing as a Ger-
Inan loyal to Canada first."
"But, Jack, you are so terribly insular. You must
really get rid of all that. I used to think like you, but
]10
THE l\IAJOR
here we have got to the place where we can laugh at all
that sort of thing."
"I know, Sybil. I know. They are laughing in Eng-
land to-day at Roberts and Charlie Beresford. But I
know Germany and the German mind and the German
aim and purpose, and I confess to you that I am in a hor-
rible funk at the state of things in our country. And this
chap SVvitzer-you say he has been in Germany for tvvo
years? vVell, he has every mark characteristic of the
German. He reproduces the young German that I have
seen the \vorld over-in Germany, in the Cro\vn Prince's
coterie (don't I kno\v them?), in South Africa, in vVest
Africa, in China. He has every mark, the same mili-
tary style, the same arrogant self-assertion, the same
brutal disregard of the ordinary decencies."
"Why, Jack, how you talk ! You are actually excited."
"Did you not notice his manner with that girl? He
caln1ly took possession of her and ignored us who were
of her party, actually isolated her from us."
"But, Jack, this seems to me quite outrageous."
"Yes, Sybil, and there are more like you. But I
happen to kno\v from experience ,vhat I am talking
about. The elementary governing principJe of life for
the young German of to-day is very sirnple and is easily
recognised, and it is this: when you see anything you
want, go for it and take it, no matter if all the decencies
of life are outraged."
"Jack, I cannot, frankly, I cannot agree \vith you in
regard to young Switzer. I know him fairly well
and-"
"Let's not talk about it, Sybil," said her brother,
quietly.
"Oh, all right, Jack."
They rode on in silence, Romayne gloomily keeping his
eye on the trail before him until they neared the G\vynne
gate, when the young man exclain1ed abruptly:
"11 y God, it would be a crime!"
"\Vhatever do you n1ean, Jack ?"
THE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT III
"To allow that brute to get possession of that lovely
gir1."
"But, Jack," persisted his sister. "Brute?"
"Sybil, I have seen them with ,vamen, their own and
other women; and, now listen to me, I have yet to see
the German who regards or treats his frau as an English
gentleman treats his wife. That is putting it mildly."
"Oh, Jack!"
"It ought to be stopped."
"Well, stop it then."
"I wish to God I could," said her brother.
.
CHr\PTER VIII
YOU FORGOT ME
T HE Lakeside House, substantially built of logs, with
"frame" kitchen attached, stood cosily among the
clump of trees, poplar and spruce, locally described as a
bluff. The bluff ran down to the little lake a hundred
yards away, itself an expansion of Wolf Willow Creek.
The ,vhitevvashed ,valls gleaming through its festoons of
Virginia creeper, a little la vvn bordered vvith beds filled
with hollyhocks, larkspur, sweet-,villiam and other olù-
fashioned flowers and flanked by a heavy border of gor-
geous towering sunflovvers, gave a general air, not only
of comfort and thrift, but of refinement as well, too sel-
dom found in connection with the raw homesteads of the
ne,v western country.
At a little distance from the house, at the end of a lane
leading through the bluff, \vere visible the stables, gran-
ary and other outhouses, with corral attached.
vVithin, the house fulfilled the promise of its external
appearance and surroundings. There was dignity \vith-
out stiffness, comfort without luxury, simplicity \vithout
any suggestion of the poverty that painfully obtrudes
itself.
At the open windo\v whose vine shade at once softened
the light and invited the summer airs, sat Mrs. Gwynne,
\vith her basket of mending at her side. Eight years of
life on an Alberta ranch had set their mark upon her. The
summers' suns and vvinters' frosts and the eternal sum-
mer and \vinter \vinds had burned and bro\vned the soft,
fair skin of her earlier days. The anxieties inevitable to
the struggle \vith poverty had lined her face and whit-
112
YOU FORGOT l\IE
113
ened her hair. But her eyes shone still with the serene
light of a soul that carries within it the secret of triumph
over the carking cares of life.
Seated beside her \\-as her eldest daughter Kathleen,
sewing; and stretched upon the floor lay Nora, frankly
idle and half asleep, listening to the talk of the other
two. Their talk turned upon the theme never long ab-
sent from their thought-that of ways and means.
"Tell you \vhat, .l\1ummie," droned Nora, lazily ex-
tending her lithe young body to its UÌ1110st limits, "there
is a simple way out of our never ending worries, namely,
a man, a rich man, if handsome, so much the better, but
rich he must be, for I(athleen. They say they are hang-
ing round the Gate\vay City of the West in bunches.
Ho\v about it, Kate?"
"My dear Nora," gently chided her mother, "I wish
you would not talk in that way. It is not quite nice. In
my young days-"
"In your young days I know just exactly what hap-
pened; Mother. There was always a long queue of eligi-
ble young lTIen dangling after the a,vfully lovely young
Miss Meredith, and before she was well out of her teens
the gallant young Gwynne carried her off."
"vVe never talked about those things, my dear," said
her mother, shaking her head at her.
"You didn't need to, Mother."
"V\' ell, if it cotTIes to that, Nora," said her sister, "I
don't think you need to, very much, either. You have
only got to look at-"
"Halt 1" cried Nora, springing to her feet. "But seri-
ously, Mother dear, I think we can weather this winter
right enough. Our food supply is practically visible.
\Ve have oats enough for man and beast, a couple of pigs
to kill, a steer also, not to speak of chickens and ducks.
We shall have some cattle to sell, and if our crops are
good we ought to be able to payoff those notes. Oh,
why will Dad buy machinery?"
"My dear," said her mother \vith gentle reproach,
114
THE MAJOR
"your father says machinery is cheaper than men and we
really cannot do ,vithout machines."
"That's all right, l\fother. I'm not criticising father.
He is a perfect dear and I am awfully glad he has got
that Inspectorship."
"Yes," replied her mother, "your father is suited to his
new ,york and likes it. And Larry \vill be finishing his
college this year, I think. And he has earned it too,"
continued the mother. "When I think of all he has done
and how generously he has turned his salary into the fam-
ily fund, and ho,v often he has been disappointed-"
Here her yoice trembled a little.
Nora dropped quickly to her knees, taking her mother
in her arms. "Don't we all know, Mother, what he has
done? Shall I ever forget those first two aw'ful years,
the winter mornings when he had to get up before day-
light to get the house warm, and that awful school.
Every day he had to face it, rain, sleet, or forty below.
How often I have watched him in the school, ahvays so
\vhite and tired. But he never gave up. He just \vould
not give up. And \vhen those big boys were unruly-
I could have killed those boys-he would ahvays keep
his temper and joke and jolly them into good order. And
all the tirne I knew how terribly his head "vas aching.
What are you sniffling about, I(ate?"
"I think it was splendid, just splendid, Nora," cried
Kathleen, swiftly wiping away her tears. "But I can't
help crying, it was all so terrible. He never thought of
himself, and year after year he gave up his money-"
"Hello!" cried a voice at the door. "Who gave up
his money and to whom and is there any more around?"
His eye glanced around the group. "'\Vhat's up, people?
Mummie, are these girls behaving badly? Let me catch
them at it I"
The youth stood smiling down upon them.
His years in the \ Vest had done much for him. He ,vas
still slight, but though his face was pale and his body
thin, his movements suggested muscular strength and
sound health. He had not grown handsome. His fea-
YOU FORGOT l\IE
115
tures were irregular, mouth wide, cheek bones prominent,
ears large; yet withal there was a singular attractiveness
about his appearance and manner. His eyes were good;
grey-nIue, humorous, straight-looking eyes they were,
deep set under overhanging brows, and with a \vhimsical
humour ever lingering about them; over the eyes a fore-
head, broad, suggesting intellect, and set off by heavy,
waving, dark hair.
"Who gave his money? I insist upon kno\ving. No
reply, eh? I have evidently come upon a deep and
deadly plot. Mother ?-no use asking you. Kathleen,
out with it."
"You gave your money," burst forth Nora in a kind of
passion as she flew at him, "and everything else. But
now that's all over. You are going to finish your college
course this year, that's what."
"Oh, that's it, eh? I knew there was some women's
scheme afloat. \VelI, children," said the youth, waving
his hand over them in paternal benediction, "since this
thing is up love might as well settle it 'right here and
n-a-o-w,' as our American friend, Mr. Ralph Waldo Far-
well, \vould say, and a decent sort he is too. I have
thought this all out. vVhy should not a man gifted \vith
a truly great brain replete with grey matter (again in
the style of the aforesaid Farwell) do the thinking for
his wimmin folk? Why not? Hence the problem is
already solved. The result is hereby submitted, not for
discussion but for acceptance, for acceptance you under-
stand, to-\vit and namely, as Dad's J. P. law books have
it: I shall continue the school another year."
"You shan't," shouted Nora, seizing him by the arm
and shaking him with all the strength of her vigorous
young body.
"Larry, dear r' said his mother.
"Oh, Larry!" ..:', clain1ed Kathleen.
"We shall then LJ
able to payoff all our indebtedness,"
continued Larry, ignoring their protests, "and that is a
most important achievement. This new job of Dad's
116
THE l\IAJOR
means an addition to our income. The farm manage-
ment will remain in the present capable hands. No,
Miss Nora, I am not thinking of the boss, but of the
head, the general manager." He \vaved his hand toward
his mother. "'The only change will be in the foreman.
A new appointment will be made, one \vho will bring to
her task not only experience and with it a practical
kno\vledge, but the advantage of intellectual discipline
recently acquired at a famous educational centre; and the
,\\rhole concern \vill go on \vith its usual verve, swing,
snap, to\vard another year's success. Then next year me
for the giddy lights of the metropolitan city and the sa-
cred halls of learning."
"And me," said Nora, "what does your high mighti-
ness plan for nle this vvinter, pray?"
"Not quite so much truculence, young lady," replied
her brother. "For you, the wide, \vide \vorld, a visit
to the seat of light and learning already referred to,
namely, Winnipeg."
For one single moment Nora looked at him. Then,
throwing back her head, she said with unsteady voice:
"N ot this time, old boy. One man can lead a horse to
water but ten cannot make him drink, and you may as
well understand now as later that this continual post-
ponement of your college career is about to cease. We
have settled it otherwise. Kathleen will take your
school-an awful drop for the kids, but what joy for the
big boys. She and I will read together in the evenings.
The farm \vill go on. Sam and Joe are really very good
and steady; Joe at least, and Sam most of the time.
Dad's new \vork \vill not take him from home so much, he
says. And next year me for the fine arts and the \vhite
lights of Winnipeg. That's all that needs to be said."
"I think, dear," said the mother, 10 1 eking at her son,
,
"N ora is right."
"Now, Mother," exclailned Larr) "'I don't like to
hear your foot conle down just yet. I kno\v that tone of
finality, but listen-"
YOU FORGOT ME
117
"We have listened," said Kathleen, "and we know we
are right. I shaH take the school, Mr. F arwell-" .
"Mr. Farwell, eh ?-" exclaimed Nora significantly.
"Mr. Farwell has promised me," continued Kathleen,
"indeed has offered me, the school. Nora and I can
study together. I shan keep up my music. Nora will
keep things going outside, mother will look after every-
thing as usual, Dad will help us outside and in. So that's
settled.' ,
"Settled!" cried her brother. "You are all terribly
settling. It seems to me that you apparently forget-"
Once more the mother interposed. "Larry, dear,
Kathleen has put it very well. Y our father and I have
talked it over" -the young people glanced at each
other and smiled at this ancient and well-\vorn phrase--
"we have agreed that it is better that you should finish
your college this winter. Of course we know you would
suggest delay, but we are anxious that you should com-
plete your course." .
"But, l\lother, listen-" began Larry.
"N onsense, Larry, 'children, obey your parents' is still
valid," said Nora. "vVhat are you but a child after all,
though with your teaching and your choral society con-
ducting, and your nigger show business, and your preach-
ing in the church, and your popularity, you are getting so
uplifted that there's no holding you. Just make up your
mind to do your duty, do you hear ? Your duty. Give
up this selfish determination to have your own way, this
selfish plt
asing of yourself." Abruptly she paused,
rushed at him, threw her anns around h is neck, and
kissed him. "You darling old humbug," she said with
a very unsteaùy voice. "There, I will be blubbering in
a minute. I an1 off for the timber lot. vVhat do you
say, Katty? It's cooler now. We'll go up the cool
road.
A.re you coming?"
"Yes; wait until I change."
"All right, I \vill saddle up. You coming, Larry?"
"N 0, I'll catch up later."
118
THE MAJOR
"Now, Mother," \varned Nora, "I kno\v his ways and
wiles. Remember your duty to your children. You
are also inclined to be horribly selfish. Be finn. Hurry
up, Kate."
Left alone with his mother, Larry \vent deliberately
to work \vith her. Well he knew the immovable quality
of her resolution \vhen once her mind \vas made up.
Patiently, quietly, steadily, he argued with her, urging
Nora's claims for a year at college.
"She needs a change after her years of hard \vork."
Her education was incomplete; the ground work was
sound enough, but she had come to the age when she
must have those finishing touches that girls require to
fit them for their place in Ii fee "She is a splendid girl,
but in some ways still a child needing discipline; in other
ways mature, too mature. She ought to have her chance
and ought to have it now." One never knew what \vould
happen in the case of girls.
His mother sighed. "Poor Nora, she has had disci-
pline enough of a kind, and hard discipline it has been
indeed for you al1."
"N onsense, Mother, we have had a perfectly fine time
together, all of us. God knows if anyone has had a
hard time it is not the children in this home. I do not
like to think of those awful winters,
lother, and of the
hard time you had with us al1."
"A hard time!" exclaimed his mother. "I, a hard
time, and \vith you all here beside me, and all so well
and strong? What more could I want?" The amazed
surprise in her face stirred in her son a quick rush of
emotion.
"Oh, Mother, Mother, Mother," he whispered in her
ear. "There is no one like you. Did you ever in all
your life seek one thing for yourself, one thing, one little
thing? A way back there in Ontario you slaved and
slaved and went without things yourself that all the rest
of us might get them. Here it has been just the same.
Haven't I seen your face and your hands, your poor
YOU FORGOT ME
119
hands"-here the boy's voice broke with an indignant
passion-"blue \vith the cold \vhen you could not get furs
to protect them? Never, never shall I forget those
days." The boy stopped abruptly, unable to go on.
Quickly the mother drew her son to,vard her. "Larry,
my son, my son, you must never think that a hard time.
Did ever a ,voman have such joy as I? \Vhen I think of
other mothers and of other children, and then think of
you all here, I thank God every day and many times a
day that he has given us each other. And, Larry, my
son, let me say this, and you will remember it after-
wards. You have been a continual joy to me, always,
always. You have never given me a moment's anxiety
or pain. Remember that. I continually thank God for
you. You have made my life very happy."
The boy put his face down on her lap with his arms
tight around her waist. N ever in their life together had
they been able to open these deep, sacred chambers in
their souls to each other's gaze. For some moments he
remained thus, then Ii fting up his face, he kissed her
again and again, her forehead, her eyes, her lips. Then
rising to his feet, he stood with his usual smile about his
lips. "You always beat me. But will you not think this
allover again carefully, and we will do what you say?
But will you promise, Mother, to think it over again and
look at my side of it too?"
"Yes, Larry, I promise," said his mother. "N o,v run
after the girls, and I shall have tea ready for you."
As Larry rode down the lane he saw the young G
r-
man, Ernest Switzer, and his sister riding down the
trail and gave them a call. They pulled up and waited.
"Hello, Ernest; whither bound? How are you, Dor-
othea ?"
"Home," said the young man, "and you?"
"Going up by the timber lot, around by the cool road.
The girls are on before."
"Ah, so?" said the young man, evidently waiting for
an invitation.
120
THE .MAJOR
"Do you care to come? It's not n1uch longer that
way," said Larry.
"I might," said the young man. Then looking doubt-
fully at his sister, "You cannot come very \vell, Doro-
thea, can you?"
"No, that is, I'm afraid not," she replied. She was
a pretty girl \vith masses of yellow hair, light blue eyes,
a plump, kindly face and a timid manner. As she spoke
she, true to her German training, evidently waited for an
indication of her brother's desire.
"There are the Co\VS, you kno\v," continued her brother.
"Yes, there are the cows," her face clouding as she
spoke. .
"Oh, rot!" said Larry, "you don't milk until evening,
and we get back before tea. Come along."
Still the girl hesitated. "Well," said her brother
brusquely, "'do you want to come?H .
She glanced timidly at his ra.ther set face and then
at Larrv. "I don't know. I am afraid that-"
"Oh, J come along, Dorothea, do you hear me telling
you ? You \vill be in plenty of time and your brother
\vill help you \vith the milking."
"Ernest help! Oh, no!"
"N ot on your Ii fe!" said that young man. "I never
n1ilk. I haven't for years. \Vell, come along then," he
added in a grudging voice.
"That is fine," said Larry. "But, Dorothea, you ought
to Inake him learn to milk. Why shouldn't he? The
lazy beggar. Do you mean to sá y that he never helps
with the milking?"
"Oh, never," said Dorothea.
"Our men don't do women's work," said Ernest. "It is
not the German ,yay. It is not fitting."
"And \vhat about women doing men's ,vork?" said
Larry. "It seems to me I have seen German women at
work in the fields up in the Settlement."
"I have no doubt you have," replied Ernest stiffly. "It
is the German custom."
YOU FORGOT l\IE
121
"You make me tired," said Larry, "the German cus-
tom indeed! Does that make it right ?"
"For us, yes," replied Ernest calmly.
"But you are Canadians, are you not? Are there to
be different standards in Canada for different nationali-
ti es ?"
"Oh, the Germans will follow the German way. Be-
cause it is German, and demonstrated thrO'ugh experience
to be the best. Look at our people. Look at our pros-
perity at home, at our growth in population, at our
wealth, at our expansion in industry and commerce
abroad. I.Á)ok at oùr social conditions and compare them
with those in this country or in any other country in the
world. vVho will dare to say that German methods and
German customs are not best, at least for Germans?
But let us move a little faster, otherwise we shall never
catch up with them." He touched his splendid broncho
intO' a sharp gallop, the other horses fcllowing more
slo\vly behind.
"He is very German, my brother," said Dorothea.
"He thinks he is Canadian, but he is not the same since
he went over Home. He is talking all the tinle about
Germany, Germany, Germany. I hate it." Her blue
eyes flashed fire and her usually timid voice vibrated with
an intense feeling. Larry gazed at her in astonishnlent.
"You may look at me, Larry," she cried. "I am Ger-
man but I do not like the German \vays. I like the Ca-
nadian ways. The Germans treat their women like their
covvs. They feed them well, they keep them warm be-
cause--because--they have calves-I mean the CO\VS-
and the women have kids. I hate the German \vays.
Look at Iny mother. \Vhat is she in that house? Day
and night she has worked, day and night, saving money
-and \vhat for? For Ernest. Running to wait on him
and on Father and they never know it. It's women's
\vork with us to wait on men, and that is the \vay in
the Settlement up there. Look at your nlother an
you.
Mein Gatt! I could kill thenl, those men!"
122
THE l\lAJOR
H\Vhy, Dorothea, you amaze me. What's up with
yon? I never heard you talk like this. I never kne\v
that you felt like this."
"N 0, how could you know? Who would tell you?
Not Ernest," she replied bitterly.
"But, Dorothea, you are happy, are you not?"
"Happy, I was until I kne\v better, till two years ago
,,"hen I sa\v your n10ther and you with her. Then
Ernest came back thinking himself a German officer-
he is an officer, you know-and the way he treated our
mother and me!"
"Treated your mother! Surely he is not unkind to
your mother?" Larry had a vision of a meek, ronnd-
faced, kindly, contented woman, who was obviously
proud of her only son.
"Kind, kind," cried Dorothea, "he is kind as German
sons are kind. But you cannot understand. Why did
I speak to you of this ? Yes, I will tell you why," she
added, apparently taking a sudden resolve. "Let's go
slo,vly. Ernest is gone anyway. I will tell you \vhy.
Before Ernest went away he was more like a Canadian
boy. He was good to his mother. He is good enough
still but-oh, it is so hard to shovv you. I have seen
you and your mother. You would not let your nlother
brush your boots for you, you would not sit smoking and
let her carry in wood in the winter time, you would not
stand leaning over the fence and watch your mother milk
the cow. Mein Gott! Ernest, since he came back-
the women are only good for waiting on him, for \vork-
ing in the house or on the farm. His váfe, she will not
,vork in the fields; Ernest is too rich for that. But she
will not be like"-here the girl paused abruptly, a vivid
colour dyeing her fair skin-"like your wife. I would
die sooner than marry a German man."
"But Ernest is not like that, Dorothea. He is not like
that with my sisters. Why, he is rather th
other way,
awfully polite and all that sort of thing, you kno\v."
"Yes, that's the way with young German gentlemen
YOU FORGOT ME
123
to young ladies, that is, other people's ladies. But to
their own, no. And I must tell you. Oh, I am afraid
to tell you," she added breathlessly. "But I will tell you,
you have been so kind, so good to me. .. You are my
friend, and you will not tell. Promise me you will
never tell." The girl's usuaily red face was pale, her
voice was hoarse and trembling.
"What is the matter, Do.:..othea? Of course I won't
tell. "
"Ernest wants to marry your sister, Kathleen. He is
just mad to get her, and he always gets his way too. I
would not like to see your sister his ,vife. He would
break her heart and,"- she added in a lower voice, "yours
too. But remember you are not to tell. You are not
to let him know I told you." A real terror shone in her
eyes. "Do you hear me?" she cried. "He would beat
me with his whip. He would, he would."
"Beat you, beat you?" Larry pulled up his horse short.
ttBeat you in this country-oh, Dorothea!"
"They do. OUf men do beat their women, and Ernest
would too. The women do not think the same way about
it as your women. You will not tell?" she urged.
"What do you think I am, Dorothea? And as for
beating you, let me catch him. By George, I'd, I'd-"
"What?" said Dorothea, turning her eyes full upon
hinl, her pale face flushing.
Larry laughed. "Well, he's a big chap, but I'd try to
knock his block off. But it's nonsense. Ernest is not
that }<ind. He's an awfully good sort."
"He is, he is a good sort, but he is also a German
officer and, ah, you cannot understand, but do not let him
have your sister. I have told you. Come, let us go
quickly."
They rode on in silence, but did not overtake the others
until they reached the timber lot where they found the
party waiting. With what Dorothea had just told him
in his mind, Larry could not help a keen searching of
...Kathleen's face. She was quietly chatting with the
124
THE
IA.JOR
young German, with face serene and quite untouched
with anything but the slightest animation. "She is not
\vorrying over anything," said Larry to himself. Then
he turned and look
d upon the face of the young man at
her side. A shock of surprise, of consternation, thrilled
him. The young man's face ,vas alight with an intensity
of eagerness, 0 f desire, that startled Larry and filled him
with a ne\v feeling of anxiety, indeed of dismay.
"Oh, you people are slow," cried Nora. "What is
keeping you? Come along or we shall be late. Shall
we go through the woods straight to the durap, or shall
\ve go around?"
"Let's go around," cried Kathleen. "Do you know I
have not been around for ever so long?"
"Yes," said Larry, "let's go around by Nora's mine."
"Nora's mine!" exclaimed Ernest. "Do you kno,v
I've heard about that mine a great deal but I have never
seen Nora's mine ?"
"Come along, then," said Nora, "but there's almost no
trail and \ve shall have to hurry while we can. There's
only a cow track."
"Move along then," said her brother; "show us the
\vay and we will follow. Go on, Ernest."
But Ernest apparently had difficulty with his broncho
so that he was found at the rear of the line with Kath-
leen imtnediately in front of hinl. The cow trail led
out of the coolee over a shoulder of a wooded hill and
down into a ravine whose sharp sides made the riding
even to those experienced westerners a matter of diffi-
culty, in places of danger. At the bottom of the ravine
a little torrent boiled and foamed on its way to join
VV olf vVillow Creek a mile further do\vn. After an
hour's struggle with the brushwood and fallen timber the
party was halted by a huge spruce tree \vhich had fallen
fair across the trail.
"Where now, boss?" cri
d Larry to Nora, who from
her superior knowledge of the ground, had been leading
the party.
"
:
,
t
..
,
"KO,"
.\ID THE GIRL, TCRNI
G HER FACE TOWARD
lIDl AND SEARCHIKG HIM WITH HER QrIET. STEADY,
nUT CONTEMPTeOl-3 EYE3, "YOU FORGOT ME:'
-,
.
,
A
....
..
....
t'
tt
.
"
:'00,4
,
.
YOU FORGO'.r J.\;IE
125
"This is something new," ans\vered Nora. "I f!-,:nk
we should cross the water and try to break throu:' 11 to
the left around the top of the tree."
"N 0," said Ernest, Hthe right looks better to n"
,
around the root here. It is something of a scran1' le,
but it is better than the left."
"Come along," said Nora; Hthis is the way of the trail,
and \ve can get through the brush a f that top all right."
"I am for the right. Come, let's try it, Kathleen,
shall we?" said Ernest.
Kathleen hesitated. "Come, we'll beat them out.
llight turn, march."
The commanding tones of the young man appeared to
dominate the girl. She set her horse to the steep hillside,
following her companion to the right. A steep climb
through a tangle of underbrush brought them into the
cleared woods, where they paused to breathe their ani-
mals.
"Ah, that was splendidly done. You are a good horse-
woman," said Ernest. "If you only had a horse as good
as mine we could go anywhere together. You deserve a
better horse, too. I wonder if you know how fine you
look. "
"My dear old Kitty is not very quick nor very beauti-
ful, but she is very faithful, and so kind," said Kathleen,
reaching down and patting her mare on the nose. "Shall
we go on ?"
"We need not hurry," replied her companion. "\Ve
have beaten thelTI already. I love the vV'oods here, and,
Kathleen, I have not seen you for ever so lOong, for nine
long months. And since your return fifteen days ago I
have seen you only once, only once."
"I am sorry," said I{athleen, hurrying her horse a
little. "vVe happened to be out every time you called."
"Other people have seen you," continued the young
man with a note almost of anger in his voice. "Every-
where I hear of you, but I cannot see you. At church
-I go to church to see you-but that, that Englishman
126
THE l\iAJOR
is \vith you. He walks \vith you, you go in his motor
car, he is in your house every day."
"What are you talking about, Ernest? Mr. Romayne?
Of course. Mother likes him so much, and \ve all like
h . U
1m.
"Your mother, ah!" Ernest's tone ,vas full of scorn.
"Yes, my mother-we all like him, and his sister, Mrs.
\Varing-Gaunt, you know. They are our nearest neigh-
bours, and we have come to know them very well. Shall
we go on ?"
"I(athleen, listen to me," said the young man.
At this point a long call came across the ravine.
"Ah, there they are," cried the girl. '.Let's hurry,
please do." She brought her whip do\vn unexpectedly
on Kitty's shoulders. The mare, surprised at such un-
usual treatlnent fron1 her mistress, sprang forward,
slipped on the moss-covered sloping rock, plunged, re-
covered herself, slipped again, and fell over on her side.
At her first slip, the young man \vas off his horse, and
before the mare finally pitched forward was at her head,
and had caught the girl from the saddle into his arlllS.
For a moment she lay there \vhite and breathing hard.
"M y God, Kathleen I" he cried. "You are hurt? You
might have been killed." His eyes burned like t\vo blaz-
ing lights, his voice ,vas husky, his face \vhite. Sud-
denly crushing her to him, he kissed her on the cheek and
again on her lips. The girl struggled to get free.
"Oh, let me go, let me go," she cried. "How can you,
how can you?" ,
But his arnlS \vere like steel about her, and again and
again he continued to kiss her, until, suddenly rela...xing,
she lay \vhite and shuddering in his arms.
"Kathleen," he said, his voice hoarse with passion,
"I love you, I love you. I want you. Gatt in Himmel,
I want you. Open your eyes, Kathleen, my darling.
Speak to me. Open your eyes. Look at me. Tell me
you love me." But still she lay white and shuddering.
YOU FORGOT l\IE
127
Suddenly he released her and set her on her feet. She
stood looking at him with quiet, s
arching eyes.
"You love me," she said, her voice low and quivering
with a passionate scorn, "and you treat me so? Let us
go." She moved toward her horse.
"Kathleen, hear me," he entreated. "You must hear
me. You shall hear me." He caught her once more
by the arm. "I forgot myself. I saw you lying there
so white. How could I help it? I meant no harm. I
ha ve loved you since you were a little girl, since that
day I saw you first herding the cattle. You had a blue
dress and long braids. I loved you then. I have toved
you every day since. I think of you and I dream of you.
The world is full of you. I am offering you marriage.
I "vant you to be my wi fe." The hands that clutched
her arm were shaking, his voice was thick and broken.
But still she stood with her face turned from him, quietly
trying to break from his grasp. But no \-vord did she
speak.
"Kathleen, I forgot myself," he saiù, letting go of her
arm. "I was wrong, but! rny God, Kathleen, I am not
stone, and when I felt your heart beat against mine-"
"Oh," she cried, shuddering and dra\ving further away
from him.
"-and your face so white, your dear face so near
mine, I forgot myself."
"No," said the girl, turning her face to\vard him and
searching him \vith her quiet, steady, but contetnptuous
eyes, "you forgot l11e."
CHAPTER IX
EXCEPT HE STRIVE LAWFULLY
T HE Wolf Willow Dominion Day Celebration Com-
mittee ,vere in session in the schoolhouse with the
Reverend Evans Rhye in the chair, and all of the fifteen
rnembers in attendance. The reports from the various
sub-committees had been presented and approved.
The programme for the day ,vas in the parson's hand.
"A fine progranlme, ladies and gentlemen, thanks to
you all, and especially to our friend here," said Mr.
Rhye, placing his hand on Larry's shoulder.
A chorus of approval greeted his remark, but Larry
protested. "N ot at all. Everyone was keen to help.
\ V e are all tremendous Canadians and eager to celebrate
Dominion Day."
"Well, let us go over it again," said Mr. Rhye. "The
football match with the Eagle Hill boys is all right. How
about the polo match \vith the High River men, Larry?"
"The captain of the High River team \tvrote to express
regret that t\VO of his seniors would not be available, but
that he hoped to give us a decent game."
"There will only be one fault with the dinner and the
tea, 11rs. Kemp."
"And what will that be. sir?" enquired Mrs. Kemp,
who happened to be Convener of the Refreshment Cam-
Illi ttee.
"They will receive far too much for their money," said
Mr. Rhye. "How about the evening entertainment,
Larrv?" he continued.
"Éverything is all right, I think, sir," said LaITY.
128
EXCEPT HE STRIVE 129
"Are the minstrels in good form?" enquired Mrs.
\Varing-Gaunt. "This is your last appearance, you
know, and you must go out in a blaze of glory."
"\Ve hope to get through somehow," said Larry.
"And the speakers?" enquired Mr. Rhye.
"Both will be on hand. Mr. Gilchrist promises a pa-
triotic address. Mr. Alvin P. Jones \vill represent Wolf
vVilIo\v in a kind of local glorification stunt."
"This is all perfectly splendid," said Mr. Rhye, "and
I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you all. We
ought to have a memorable day to-morrow."
And a menlorable day it was. The weather proved
worthy of Alberta's best traditions, for it \vas sunny, with
a fine sweeping breeze to temper the heat and to quicken
the pulses with its Ii fe-bringing ozone fresh from the
glacier gorges and the pine forests of the Rockies.
The captain of the Wolf \
VilIo\v football team was
awake and afoot soon after break of day that he might
be in readiness for the Eagle Hill team \vhen they ar-
rived. Sam was in his most optimistic mood. His
team, he kne\v, were in the finest condition and fit for
their finest effort. Everything promised victory. But
alas! f or Sam's hopes. A t nine o'clock a staggering
blow fell \vhen Vial, his partner on the right wing of the
forward line, rode over \vith the news that Coleman,
their star goal-keeper, their ultin1ate reliance on the de-
fence line, had been stepped on by a horse and rendered
useless for the day. It was, indeed, a crushing calamity.
Sam spent an hour trying to dig up a substitute. The
only possible substitutes were Hepworth and Biggs,
neither of them first class men but passable, and Fatty
Rose. The two fonner, ho\vever, had gone for the day
to Calgary, and Fatty Rose was hopelessly slow. Sam
discussed the distressing situation with such members of
the team as could be hastily got together.
"Ðere's dat new feller," suggested Joe.
"That's so," said Vial, familiarly known as Bottles.
"That chap Sykes, Farwell's friend. He's a dandy
130
THE MAJDR
dribbler. He could take Cassap's place on left wing and
let Cassap take goa1."
With immense relief the team accepted this solution of
the difficulty. But gloom still covered Sam's face. "He's
only been here two weeks," he said, "and you know darn
,yell the rule calls for four."
"Oh, hang it!" said Bottles, "he's going to be a resi-
dent all right. He's a real resident right now, and any-
way, they won't know anything about it."
"Oh, cut it out," said Sam, suddenly flaring into
wrath. "You know we can't do that sort of thing. It
/ ain't the game and we ain't goin' to do it."
,; "What ain't the game ?" enquired Larry, who had
come upon the anxious and downcast group.
Farwell told him the calamitous news and explained
the problem under discussion. "We'd play Sykes, only
he hasn't been here a month yet, and Sam won't stand
for it," he said.
"Of course Sam won't stand for it, and the Captain is
right," said Larry. "Is there nobody else, Sam?" Sam
shook his head despondently. "W ould I be any good,
Sam? I am not keen about it, but if you think I could
take Cassap's place on left wing, he could take goa1."
Sam brightened up a little. "Guess \ve can't do no
better," he said doubtfully. "I mean," he added in an-
swer to the shout of laughter from the team-HAw, shut
up, can that cackle. \"'1 e know the Master hates foot-
ball an' this is goin' to be a real fightin' game. He'll
get all knocked about an' I don't want that. You know
he'll be takin' al1 kinds of chances."
"Oh, quit, Sam. I am in pretty good shape," said
IÆrry. "They can't kill me. That's the best I can do
anyway, so let's get to them."
The situation was sufficiently gloomy to stir J DC to
his supremest efforts and to kindle Sam's spirit to a
blazing flame. "We don't need Sykes nor nobody else,"
he shouted to his men as they moved on to the field.
"They can \vear their boots out on that defence line of
EXCEPT HE STRIVE 131
ours an' be derned to 'em. An', Bottles, you got to play
the game of your life to-day. None of your fancy em-
broidery, just plain knittin'. Every feller on the ball
an' every feller play to his man. There'll be a lot of
females hangin' around, but we don't want any frills for
the girls to admire. But all at it an' all the time."
Sam's little red eyes glo\ved with even a more fiery hue
than usual; his rat-like face assulned its most belligerent
aspect.
Before the match Larry took the Eagle Hill captain,
a young Englishman who had been trying for ten years
to make a living on a ranch far up among the foothills
and \vas only beginning to suc
eed, to his mother, who
had been persuaded to \vitness the game. They found
her in Kathleen's care and under instruction froin young
Far\vell as to the fundamental principles of the game.
Near them a group of men \vere standing, among \vhom
\vere S\vitzer, Waring-Gaunt, and Jack Ronlayne, listen-
ing to Far\vell's dissertation.
"You see, Mrs. Gwynne," he said, "no one may handle
the ball-head, feet, body, may be 1;1sed, but not the
hands."
"But I understand they sonletimes hurt each other,
Mr. Far\vell."
"Oh, accidents will happen even on the fann, 1\1rs.
G\vynne. For instance, Coleman this morning had a
horse step on his foot, necessitating Larry's going on."
"Is Lawrence going to play?" 5aid 1\1rs. Gwynne.
"Ah, here he is. Lawrence, are you in good condition?
You have not been playing."
"I am not really very fit, Mother, not very hard, but I
have been running a good deal. I don't expect I shall
be much use. Sam is quite dubious about it."
"fIe \vill be all right, Mrs. G\vynne," said Farwell
confidently. "He is the fastest runner in the team. If
he were only twenty pounds heavier and if he were a bit
tnore keen about the game he \vould be a star."
"\Vhy don't they play Sykes?" inquired Kathleen. "I
132
THE l\IAJOR
heard some of the boys say this morning that Sykes wa
going to play. He is quite wonderful, I believe."
"He is," replied Larry, "quite \vonderful, but unfor-
tunately he is not eligible. But let me introduce l\lr.
Duck\vorth, Captain of our enemy."
1\1rs. G\vynne received the young man \vith a bright
smile. "I am sorry I cannot wish you victory, and all
the more no\v that my o
n son is to be engaged. But I
don't understand, Larry," she continued, "\vhy Mr. Sykes
cannot play."
"Why, because there's a League regulation, l\1other,
that makes a month's residence in the district necessary
to a place on the team. Unfortunately Sykes has been
here only t\VO weeks, and so we are unwilling to put one
over on our gallant foe. Got to play the game, eh,
Duckworth ?"
Duckworth's face grew fiery red. "Yes, certainly,"
he said. "Rather an a\vkward rule but-"
"You see, Mother, we want to eliminate every sign of
professionalism," said Larry, "and emphasise the prin-
ciple of local material for clubs."
"Ah, I see, and a very good idea, I should say," said
his mother. "The Eagle Hill team, for instance, will be
made up of Eagle Hill men only. That is really much
better for the game because you get behind your team
all the local pride and enthusiasm."
"A foolish rule, I call it," said S\vitzer abruptly to
Kathleen, "and you can't enforce it any\vay. \Vho can
tell the personality of a team ten, twenty or fifty miles
away?"
"I fancy they can tell themselves," said Jack Romayne.
"Their Captain can certify to his men."
"Aha!" laughed S\vitzer. "rfhat's good. The Cap-
tain, I suppose, is keen to win. Do you think he \vou1d
keep a man off his team ,vho is his best player, and
who may bring him the game?" Switzer's face was full
of scorn.
EXCEPT HE STRIVE 133
"I take it they are gentlemen," was Romayne's quiet
rejoinder.
"Of course, Mr. Romayne," said Mrs. Gwynne.
"That gets rid of all the difficulty. Othervvise it seems
to me that all the pleasure would be gone from the con-
test, the essential condition of which is keeping to the
rules. "
"Good for you, Mother. You're a real sport," said
Larry.
"Besides," replied his mother, "we have Scripture for
it. You remember what it says? 'I f a man strive for
masteries yet is he not crowned except he strive law-
fully.' 'Except he strive lawfully,' you see. The crown
he might other\vise win would bring neither honour nor
pleasure. "
"Good again, Mother. You ought to have a place on
the League committee. We shall have that Scripture en-
tered on the rules. But I must run and dress. Farwell,
you can take charge of Duckworth."
But Duckworth was uneasy to be gone. "I f you will
excuse me, Mrs. G\vynne, I must get my men together."
"Well, Mr. Duckworth," said Mrs. G\vynne, smiling
on him as she gave him her hand, "I am sorry we can-
not \vish you a victory, but \ve can \vish you your very
best game and an honourable defeat."
"Thank you," said Duck\vorth. "I feel you have done
your best."
"Come and see us afterward, Mr. Duck\vorth. vVhat
a splendid young man," she continued, as Duckworth left
the party and set off to get his men together with the
words "except he strive la\vfully" ringing in his ears.
"She's a wonder," he said to himself. "I wonder
ho\v it is she got to me as she has. I know. She makes
me think-" But Duckworth refused even to himself
to say of whom she made him think. "Except he strive
lawfully" the crown \vould bring "neither honour nor
pleasure." Those words, and the face which had sud-
denly been recalled to Duck\vorth's memory recon-
134
THE MAJOR
structed his whole scheme of football diplomacy. "By
George, we cannot play Liebold; we can't do it. The
boys will kick like steers, but how can we? I'm up
against a fierce proposition, all right."
And so he found when he called his men together and
put to them the problem before him. "It seems a rotten
time to bring this matter up just when we are going on
to the ground, but I never really thought much about it
till that little lady put it to me as I told you. And, fe1-
lo"vs, I have felt as if it were really up to me to put it
before you. They have lost their goal man, Coleman-
there's no better in the League-and because of this in-
fernal rule they decline to put on a cracking good player.
They are playing the game on honour, and they are ex-
pecting us to do the same, and as that English chap says,
they expect us to be gentlemen. I apologise to you all,
and if you say go on as we are, I will go on because I feel
I ought to have kicked before. But I do so under protest
and feeling like a thief. I suggest that Harremann take
Liebold's place. Awfully sorry about it, Liebold, and I
apologise to you. I can't tell you how sorry I am, boys,
but that's how it is with me."
There was no time for discussion, and strangely
enough there was little desire for it, the Captain's person-
ality and the action of the Wolf Willow team carrying
the proposition through. Harremann took his place on
the team, and Liebold made his contribution that day
from the side lines. But the team "vent on to the field
with a sense that whatever might be the outcome of the
match they had begun the day with victory.
The match was contested with the utmost vigour, not
to say violence; but there was an absence of the rancour
which had too often characterised the clashing of these
teams on previous occasions, the Eagle Hill team carry-
ing on to the field a new respect for their opponents as
men who had shown a true sporting spirit. And by the
time the first quarter was over their action in substituting
an inferior player for Liebold for honour's sake was
EXCEPT lIE STRIVE 135
knovvn to all the members of the \V olf Willow team, and
avvakened in them and in their friends among the spec-
tators a new respect for their enemy. The match re-
sulted in a victory for the home team, but the generous
applause vvhich followed the Eagle Hill team from the
field and vvhich greeted them afterward at the dinner
where they occupied an honoured place at the table set
apart for distinguished guests, and the excellent dinner
provided by the thrifty Ladies' Aid of All Saints Church
went far to soothe their wounded spirits and to atone
for their defeat.
"Avvfully fine of you, Duckworth," said Larry, as they
left the table together. "That's the sort of thing that
makes for clean sport."
"I promised to see your mother after the match," said
Duckvvorth. "Can we find her now?"
"Sure thing," said Larry.
l\lrs. Gvvynne received the young man with hand
stretched far out to meet him.
"You made us lose the game, Mrs. Gwynne," said
Duckworth in a half-shamed manner, "and that is one
reason \vhy I came to see you again."
"I?" exclaimed Mrs. Gw
ynne.
"vVell, you quoted Scripture against us, and you know
you can't stand up against Scripture and hope to win,
can you?" said Duck\vorth with a laugh.
"Sit down here beside me, Mr. Duck\vorth," she said,
her eyes shining. "I \von't pretend not to undetstand
you," she continued when he had taken his place beside
her. "I can't tell you hovv proud I am of you."
"Thank you," said Duckworth. "I like to hear that.
You see I never thought about it very much. I am not
excusing myself."
"N 0, I know you are not, but I heard about it, Mr.
Duckworth. vVe all think so much of you. I am sure
your mother is proud of you."
Young Duckvvorth sat silent, his eyes fastened upon
the ground.
136
THE l\iAJOR
"Please forgive me. Perhaps she is-no longer ,vith
you," said 11rs. Gwynne softly, laying her hand upon his.
Duck,vorth nodded, refusing to look at her and keeping
his lips firmly pressed together. "I vvas "\vrong in vvhat
I said just novv," she continued. "She is with you still;
she kno\\rs and follows all your doings, and I believe she
is proud of you."
Duckvvorth cleared his throat and said with an evident
effort, "Yau made me think of her to-day, and I simply
had to play up. I must go no,v. I must see the fel-
lo,vs." He rose quickly to his feet.
"Come and see us, won't you?" said Mrs. Gwynne.
"YVon't I just," replied Duckworth, holding her hand
a n1on1ent or t,vo. "I can't tell you hovv glad I am that
I nlet you to...day."
"Oh, wait, Mr. Duckworth. Nora, come here. I
,vant you to meet my second daughter. Nora, this IS
Mr. Duckworth, the Captain."
"Oh, I know him, the Captain of the enemy," cried
Nora.
"Of our friends, Nora," said her mother.
"All right, of our friends, no,v that vve have beaten
you, but I ,vant to tell you, NIr. Duck\vorth, that I could
gladly have slain you many times to-day."
"A_nd ,vhy: pray?"
"Oh, you were so terribly dangerous, and as for
Larry, \vhy you just played \vith him. It ,vas perfectly
maddening to me."
"..All the same your brother got a way from me and shot
the vvinning goal. He's fearfully fast."
"A mere fluke, I tell him."
"Don't you think it for one little minute. It was a
neat bit of work."
CHAPTER X
THE SPIRIT OF CANADA
W HATEVER it \vas that rendered it necessary for
Duck\vorth to "see the fello\vs," that necessity
vanished in the presence of Nora.
"Are you going to take in the polo ?" he asked.
"Am I? Am I going to continue breathing?" cried
Nora. "Come along, 1\lother, we must go if we are to
get a good place."
"May I find one for you," said Mr. Duckworth, quite
forgetting that he "must see the fello\vs," and thinking
only of his good luck in falling in \vith such a "stunning-
looking gir1." He himself had changed into flannels, and
\vith his athletic figure, his brown, healthy face, bro\vn
eyes and hair, was a thoroughly presentable young man.
He found a place with ease for his party, a dozen people
offering to make room for them. As Mr. Duck\vorth
let his eyes rest upon the young lady at his side his sense
of good-fortune grew upon him, for Nora in ,vhite piqué
skirt and batiste blouse smartly girdled \vith a scarlet
patent leather belt, in \;vhite canvas shoes and sailor hat,
made a picture good to look at. Her dark olive bro\vn
skin, \vith rich warm colour showing through the sun-
burn of her cheeks, her dark eyes, and her hair for once
"done up in style" under Kathleen's supervision, against
the white of her costume made her indeed what her escort
thought, "a stunning-looking girl." Usually careless as
to her appearance, she had yielded to Kathleen's persua-
sion and had "gotten herself up to kilL" No \vonder her
friends of both sexes followed her with eyes of admira-
tion, for no one envied Nora, her frank manner, her gen-
137
138
THE l\IAJOR
erous nature, her open. scorn at all attempts to win ad-
miration, n1ade her only friends.
"Bring your mother over here," cried Mrs. Waring-
Gaunt, \vho rejoiced exceedingly in the girl's beauty.
"\Vhy, how splendidly you are looking to-day," she con-
tinued in a more confidentiaÌ tone as the party grouped
themselves about her. "\Vhat have you been doing to
yourself ? You are looking awfully fine."
",A.m I?" said Nora, exceedingly pleased with herself.
"I am awfully glad. It is all Kathleen's doing. I got
me the belt and the hat new for this show."
"Very smart, that belt, my dear," said her friend.
"I rather fancy it myself, and Kathleen would do up
my hair in this new vvay," said Nora, removing her hat
that the full glory of her coiffure might appear. "Do
you like it?"
"Perfectly spiffing!" ejaculated Mr. Duckworth, who
had taken a seat just behind her chair.
Nora thre\v him a challenging glance that made that
young man's heart skip a beat or two as all the excite-
ments of the match had not.
"Are you a judge?" said the girl, tipping her saucy
chin at hin1.
"Am I? With four sisters and dozens of cousins to
practise on, I fancy I might claim to be a regular bench
show expert."
"Then," cried Nora with sudden animation, "you are
the very man I \vant."
"Thank you so much," replied Mr. Duckvvorth fer-
vently.
"I mean, perhaps you can advise me. N ow as you
look at me--" The young man's eyes burned into
hers so that with all her audacity Nora felt the colour
rising in her face. "\Vhich would you suggest as the
most suitable style for me, the psyche knot or the neck
roll ?"
"I beg your pardon? I rather-"
"Or would you say the French twist?"
TIlE SPIRIT OF CANADA 139
"Ah, the French twist
"
"Or simply marcelled and pomped?"
"I am afraid-"
"Or perhaps the pancake or the coronet ?
'
"Well," said the young man, desperately plunging,
"the coronet I should say \\Tould certainly not be inap-
propriate. It goes with princesses, duchesses and that
sort of thing. Don't you think so, Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt?"
said Duckworth, hoping to be extricated. That lady,
however, gave him no assistance but continued to sn1Ïle
affectionately at the girl beside her. "What style is this
that you have no\v adopted, may I ask?" inquired Mr.
Duck\vorth cautiously.
"Oh, that's a combination of several. It's a creation
of Kathleen's which as yet has received no name."
"Then it should be named at once," said Duckworth
with great emphasis. :;'May I suggest the Thunderbolt?
You see, of course-so stunning."
"They are coming on," cried Nora, tunling her shoul-
der in disdain upon the young man. "Look, there's your
brother, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. I think he is perfectly
splendid. "
"Which is he?" said Mr. Duckworth, acutely inter-
ested.
"That tall, fine-looking man on the brown pony."
HOh, yes, I see. Met him this morning. By J ave,
he is some looker too," replied Mr. Duckworth with re-
luctant enthusiasm.
"And there is the High River Captain," said Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt, "on the grey."
"Oh, yes, lVlonteith, he played for All Canada last
year, didn't he?" said Nora with immense enthusiasm.
"He is perfectly splendid."
"I hear the High River club has really sent only its
second team, or at least two of them," said Mrs. Waring-
Gaunt. "Certainly Tremaine is not \vith them."
"I hope they get properly trimmed for it," said Nora,
indignantly. "Such cheek!"
..
140
THE l\IAJOR
The result of the match quite exceeded Nora's fondest
hopes, for the High River team, having made the fatal
error of despising the enemy, suffered the penalty of their
mistake in a crushing defeat. It was certainly a mem-
orable day for \V olf Willow, \vhose inhabitants were ex-
alted to a height of glory as they never experienced in all
their history.
"Serves us right," said Monteith, the High River Cap-
tain, apologising for his team's poor display to his friend,
Hec Ross, \vho had commanded the Wolf Willow team.
"\Ve deserved to be jolly \vell licked, and we got what
was coming to us."
"Oh, we're not \vorrying," replied the Wolf \Villow
Captain, himself a sturdy horseman and one of the most
famous stick handlers in the \Vest. "Of course, \Ve kno\v
that if J\lIurray and Knight had been with you the result
would have been different."
"I am not at all sure about that," replied Monteith.
"That ne\v man of yours, Romayne, is a \vonder. Army
man, isn't he?"
"Yes, played in India, I believe."
"Oh, no wonder hé's such a don at it. You ought to
get together a great team here, Ross, and I should like to
bring our team down again to give you a real gal11e."
"\ Vhen ?"
"Say t\VO V\Teeks. No. That thro\vs it a little late
for the harvest. Say a week from to-day."
"I shall let you know to-night," said Ross. "Y ou are
staying for the spellbinding fest and entertainment, are
you not?"
"Sure thing; we are out for the whole day. \Vho are
on for the speaking ?"
"Gilchrist for one, our Member for the Dominion, you
know."
"Oh, yes, strong man, I believe. He's a Liberal, of
cou rse. "
"Yes," replied Ross, "he's a Grit all right, hide-bound
too---"
THE SPIRIT OF CANADA 141
"\Vhich you are not, I take it," replied Monteith with
a laugh.
"Traditionally I am a Conservative," said Ross, "but
last election I voted Liberal. I don't know ho\v you were
but I was keen on Reciprocity."
"The contrary \vith me," replied Monteith. "Tra-
ditionally I am a Liberal, but I voted Conservative."
"You voted against Reciprocity, you a western man
voted against a better market for our wheat and stuff,
and against cheaper machinery?"
"Yes, I knew quite \vell it would give us a better mar-
ket for our grain here, and it would give us cheaper ma-
chinery too, but-do you really care to know why I
switched ?"
"Sure thing; I'd like awfully to hear if you don't mind.
We are not discussing politics, you understand."
"N o. Well," said l\1onteith, "two things made me
change my party. In the first place, to be quite frank, I
was afraid of American domination. vVe are a small
people yet. Their immense wealth would overwhelm our
manufacturers and flood our markets \vith cheap stuff,
and with trade dominance there would more easily go
political dominance. You remember Taft's speech?
That settled it for me. That was one thing. The other
,vas the Navy question. I didn't like Laurier's attitude.
I am a Canadian, born right here in Alberta, but I am an
Imperialist. I am keen about the Empire and that sort
of thing. I believe that our destiny is ,vith the Empire
and that with the Empire we shall attain to our best.
And since the Empire has protected us through all of
our history, I believe the time has come when we should
make our contribution to its defence. vVe ought to have
a fleet, and that fleet in time of \var should automatically
be merged with the Imperial Navy. That's how I felt at
the last election. r[his autonomy stuff of Laurier's is all
right, but it should not interfere with Imperial unity."
"It's a funny thing," replied Ross. "I take the op-
posite side on both these points. I was born in the Old
142
THE MAJOR
Country and like most Old Country people believe in
Free Trade. So I was keen to \vipe out all barriers be-
tween the United States and oursëlves in trade. I be-
lieve in trading wherever you can get the best tenns. As
for American domination, I have not the slightest fear in
the world of the Yankees. They might flood our mar-
kets at first, probably would, but they would certainly
bring in capital. We need capital badly, you know that.
And why should not factories be established on this side
of the line with American money? Pennsylvania does
not hurt N e,v York, nor Illinois Dakota. Why then,
with all trJùe barriers thrown down, should the United
States hurt Canada? And then on the other side, we
get a market for everything we grow at our doors. Reci-
procity looked good to me. As for imperilling our Im-
perial connections-I do not mean to be offensive at all
-of course you see what your position amounts to--
that our financial interests would swamp our loyalty, that
our loyalty is a thing of dollars and cents. lYly idea
is tha.t nothing in the world from the outside can ever
break the bonds that hold Canada to the Empire, and
after all, heart bonds are the strong bonds. Then in
regard to the Navy, I take the other view from you also.
I believe I am a better Canadian than you, although I am
not Canadian born. I think there's something awfully
fine in Canada's splendid independence. She \vants to nln
her own ranch, and by George she will, and everything
on it. She is going to boss her own job and \vill allow
no one else to butt in. I agree with what you say about
the Empire. Canada ought to have a Navy and quick.
She ought to take her share of the burden of defence.
But I agree here with Laurier. I believe her ships should
be under her own control. For after all only the Cana-
dian Government has the right to speak the word that
sends them out to war. Of course, ,vhen once Canada
hands them over to the Imperial Navy, they ,vill fall into
line and take their orders from the Adm'ira! that com-
THE SPIRIT OF CANADA 143
mands the fleet. Do you know I believe that Laurier is
right in sticking out for autonomy."
"I am awfully interested in what you say, and I don't
believe we are so far apart. It's a thousand pities they
did not keep together in the Commons. They could
easily have worked it out."
"Yes, it was a beastly shame," replied Ross.
"But isn't it rather queer," said Monteith, "and isn't
it significant, too? Here I am, born in Canada, sticking
out against reciprocity and anxious to guard our Im-
perial connection and ready to hand our Navy clean over
to the Imperial authorities, and on the other hand, there
you are, born in the Old Country, you don't appear to
care a darn about Imperial connections. You let that
take care of itself, and you stick up for Canadian auton-
omy to the limit."
"Well, for one thing," replied Ross, "we ought to get
together on the Navy business. On the trade question
we represent, of course, two schools of economics, but we
ought not to mix up the flag with our freight. This flag-
flapping business makes me sick."
"There you are again," said Monteith. "Here I am,
born right here in the West, and yet I believe in all the
flag-flapping you can bring about and right here in this
country too. \Vhy, you know how it is with these for-
eigners, Ruthenians, Russians, Germans, Poles. Do you
know that in la:-ge sections of this western country the
foreign vote controls the election? I believe we ought to
take every means to teach them to love the flag and shout
for it too. Oh, I know you Old Country chaps. You
take the flag for granted, and despise t
is flag-raising
business. Let me tell you sonlething. I went across to
Oregon a little ,,"hile ago and saw something that opened
my eyes. In a little school in the ranching country in a
settlement of mixed foreigners-Swedes, Italians, Ger-
l11ans, Jews-they had a great sho\v they called 'saluting
the flag.' Being Scotch you despise the whole thing as a
lot of rotten slushy sentimentality, and a lot of Canadians
144
THE
lA.JOR
agree with you. But let me tell you ho-\V they got me.
I "ratched those kids with their foreign faces, foreign
speech-you ought to hear them read-Great Scott,
you'd have to guess at the language. Then came this
flag-saluting business. A kid with Yiddish written all
over his face was chosen to carry in the flag, attended by
a bodyguard for the colours, and believe me they ap-
peared as proud as Punch 0 f the honour. They placed
the flag in position, sang a hymn, had a prayer, then every
kid at a signal shot out his right hand toward the flag held
aloft by the Yiddish colour bearer and pledged himself,
heart, and soul, and body, to his fla.g and to his country.
The ceremony closed with the singing of the national
hymn, mighty poor poetry and mighty hard to sing, but
do you know listening to those kids and watching their
foreign faces I found myself ,vith tears in my eyes and
swallo\ving like a darn fool. Ever since that day I be-
lieve in flag-flapping."
"Maybe you are right," replied Ross. "Y ou kno,v \ve
British folk are so fearfully afraid of showing our feel-
ings. We go. along like graven images; the more really
stirred up, the more graven we appear. But suppose \ve
move over to the platform where the speechifying is to
be done."
In front of the school building a platfonn had been
erected, and before the stage, preparations had been made
for seating the spectators as far as the school benches and
chairs from neighbours' houses would go. The pro-
gramme co.nsisted of patriotic songs and cho.ruses \vith
contributions from the minstrel company. The main
events of the ev
ning, however, were to be the addresses,
the principal speech being by the local member for the
Dominion Parliament, Mr. J. H. Gilchrist, who was to
be followed by a local orator, Mr. Alvin P. Jones, a for-
mer resident of the United States, but now an enthusias-
tic, energetic and most successful farmer and business
man, possessing one of the best appointed ranches in Al-
berta. The chainnan was, of course, Reverend Evans
THE SPIRIT OF CANADA 145
Rhye. The parsün ,vas a little Welshman, fat and fussy
and fiery of temper, but his heart was \vannly human, and
in his ministry he manifested a religion of such sin1-
plicity and devütion, of such complete unselfishness as
drew to him the loyal affection of the whole community.
Even such sturdy Presbyterians as McTavish, the Rosses,
Angus Frazer and his mother, while holding tenaciüusly
and without compron1ise to their o\vn particular form of
doctrine and \vorship, yielded Mr. Rhye, in the ab-
sence of a church and minister of their own denomina-
tion, a support and esteem unsurpassed even among his
o,\\yn folk. Their attitude was considered to. be stated
,vith sufficient clearness by Angus Frazer in McTavish's
store one day. "I am not that sure about the doctrine,
but he has the right kind of religion for me." And Mc-
Tavish's reply was characteristic: "Doctrine! He has
as gude as you can expec' frae thae Episcopavvlian bud-
dies. But he's a Godly man and he aye pays his debts
\vhatever," ,vhich from McTavish was as high praise as
could reasonably be expected.
The audience comprised the tütal population of '\tV olf
Willovv and its vicinity, as well as visitors from the
country within a radius of ten or fifteen miles.
Mr. J. H. Gilchrist, M. P., possessed the initial ad-
vantages of Scotch parentage and of early Scotch train-
ing, and besides these he was a farmer and knew the
farmer's mind. To these advantages he added those of a
course of training in Toronto University in the depart-
ments of metaphysics and economics, and an additional
advantage of five years' pedagogical experience. He
possessed, moreover, the gift of lucid and forceful
speech. With such equipment small ,;yünder that he was
in demand for just such üccasions as a Dominiün Day
celebration and in just such a community as Wolf \Vil-
low. The theme of his address was Canadian Citizen-
ship, Its Duties and Its Responsibilities, a theme some-
w hat worn but possessing the special advantage 0 f being
removed from the scope of party politics while at the
146
THE MAJOR
same time affording opportunity for the elucidation of
the political principles of that party which 1\1r. Gilchrist
represented, and above all for a fervid patriotic appeal.
With Scotch disdain of all that savoured of flattery or
idle compliment, Mr. Gilchrist plunged at once into the
heart of his subject.
"First, the area of Canada. Forty-six years ago,
when Canada became a nation, the Don1inion possessed
an area of 662,148 square miles; to-day her area covers
3,7 2 9,665 square miles, one-third the total size of the
British Empire, as large as the continent of Europe with-
out Russia, larger by over one hundred thousand square
miles than the United States." I
"Hear, hear," cried an enthusiastic voice from the
rear.
"Aye, water and snow," in a rasping voice from old
McTavish.
"Water and snow," replied Mr. Gilchrist. "Yes,
plenty of water, 125,000 square miles of it, and a good
thing it is too for Canada. Some people sniff at water,"
continued the speaker with a humorous glance at McTav-
ish, "but even a Scotchman may vvith advantage acknowl-
edge the value of a little ,vater." The cro\vd went off
into a roar of laughter at the little Scotchman who was
supposed to be averse to the custom of mixing too much
water with his drink.
. "My friend, 11 r. McTavish," continued the speaker,
"has all a Scotchman's hatred of bounce and brag. I am
not indulging in foolish brag, but I maintain that no
Canadian can rightly prize the worth of his citizenship
who does not know something of his country, something
of the wealth of meaning lying behind that word 'Can-
ada,' and I purpose to tell you this evening something of
some of Callada's big things. I shall speak of them
with gratitude and with pride, but chiefly with a solem-
nising sense of responsibility.
"As for the "vater and the sno,v' question: Let me
settle that now. Water for a great inland continental
THE SPIRIT OF CANADA 147
country like ours is one of its most valuable assets for
it means three things. First, cheap transportation. \Ve
have the longest continuous ,vater\vay in the world, and
,vith two small cuttings Canada can bring ocean-go-
ing ships into the very heart of the continent. Second,
water means climate rainfall, and there need be no fear
of snow and frost while great bodies of open water lie
about. And third, ,vater power. Do you kno,,, that
Canada stands first in the ,vorld in its water power? It
possesses Ì\vice the ,vater po,ver of the United States
(we like to get something in which we can excel our
American cousins), and lying near the great centres of
population too. Iøet me give you three examples. \Vith-
in easy reach of Vancouver on the west coast there is
at least 350,000 horse po\ver, of \vhich 75,000 is now
in use. \Vinnipeg, the metropolitan centre of Canada,
w here more than in any place else can be heard the
heart beat of the Dotninion, has 400,000 horse power
available, of which she no,,, uses 50,000. Toronto lies
,vithin reach of the great Niagara, whose power no
one can estimate, while along the course of the mighty
S1. La,vrence towns and cities lie within touch of water
power that is beyond all calculation as yet. And do you
Alberta people realise that right here in your own
province the big Bassano Dam made possible by a tiny
stream taken from the Bow River furnishes irrigation
power for over a million acres? Perhaps that will do
about the water."
"00 aye," said McTavish, with profound resignation
in his voice. "Ye'l1 dae ,vi' that."
"And snow," cried the speaker. "We would not \vill-
ingly be ,vithout our sno\v in Canada. Snow means
winter transport, better business, lumbering, and above
all, \yhea1. \\There you have no snow and frost you can-
not get the No. I hard wheat. Don't quarrel ,vith the
snow. It is Canada's sno\v and frost that gives her the
first place in the \vorld in ,vheat production. So much
for the ,vater and the sno\v."
148
THE lVIA.JOR
1fcTavish hitched about uneasily. He wanted to have
the speaker get done with this part of his theme.
From Canada's area Mr. Gilchrist passed on to deal
with Canada's resources, warning his audience that the
greater part of these resources \vas as yet undeveloped
and that he should have to indulge in loud-sounding
phrases, but he promised them that \vhatever \vords he
might employ he would still be unable to adequately pic-
ture to their imagination the magnitude of Canada's un-
developed \vealth. Then in a perfect torrent he poured
forth upon the people statistics setting forth Canada's
possessions in mines and forests, in fisheries, in furs, in
agricultural products, and especially in wheat. At the
word "wheat" he pulled up abruptly.
"Wheat," he exclaimed, "the world's great food for
men. And Canada holds the greatest ,,"heat farm in all
the world. Not long ago Jim Hill told the Minneapolis
millers that three-fourths of the wheat lands on the
American continent \vere north of the boundary line
and that Canada could feed every mouth in Europe. Our
wheat crop this year will go nearly 250,000,000 bushels,
and this, remember, without fertilisation and with very
poor fanning, for we \Vestern Canadians are poor farm-
ers. \Ve o\ve something to our American settlers ,vho are
teaching us something of the science and art a f agri-
culture. Remember, too, that our crop comes from only
one-seventh of our \vheat lands. Had the other six-
sevenths been cropped, our \vheat yield \votdd be over
three and a half billion bushels-just about the \vorld's
supply. We should never be content till Canada doe
her full duty to the ,vodd, till Canada gives to the \vorld
all that is in her po,ver to give. I make no apology for
dwelling at such length upon Canada's extent and re-
sources.
"N O\V let me speak to you about our privileges and
responsibilities as citizens of this Dominion. Our pos-
sessions and material things will be our destruction un-
less "Te use them not only for our own good, but for
THE SPIRIT OF CANADA 149
the good 0 f the world. And these possessions we can
never properly use till we learn to prize those other pos-
sessions 0 f heart and mind and souL"
\ Vith a light touch upon the activities of Canadians,
in the development of their country in such matters as
transportation and 111 an u factures, he passed to a con-
sideration of the educational, social, industrial, political
and religious privileges which Canadian citizens enjoyed.
"These are the things," he cried, "that have to do
with the nation's soul. These are the things that deter-
mine the quality of a people and their place among the
nations, their influence in the world. In the matter of
education ìt is the privilege of every child in Canada to
receive a sound training, not only in the elementary
branches of study, but even in higher branches as well.
In Canada social distinctions are based more upon worth
than upon wealth, more upon industry and ability than
upon blue blood. Nowhere in the world is it more pro-
foundly true that
" 'A man's a man for a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp;
The man's the gowd for a' that.' "
At this old McTavish surprised the audience and him-
self by crying out, "Hear-r-r, hear-r-r," glancing round
defiantly as if daring anyone to take up his challenge.
"In n1atters of religion," continued the speaker, "the
churches of Canada hold a position of commanding in-
fluence, not because of any privileges accorded them by
the State, nor because of any adventitious or meretricious
aids, bnt solely because of their ability to minister to
the social and spiritual needs of the people."
Briefly the speaker proceeded to touch upon some char-
acteristic features of Canadian political institutions.
"N owhere in the world," he said, "do the people of
a country enjoy a greater measure of freedom. vVe be-
long to a great world Empire. This connection we value
150
THE l\1AJOR
and mean to cherish, but our Imperial relations do not
in the slightest degree infringe upon our liberties. The
Government of Canada is autonomous. Forty-six years
ago the four provinces of Canada were united into a
single Dom. nion with representative Government of the
most complete kind. Canada is a Democracy, and in no
Democracy in the world does the will of the people find
more immediate and lTIOre complete expression than in
our Dominion. vVith us political liberty is both a heri-
tage and an achievement, a heritage from our forefa-
thers who made this Empire what it is, and an achieve-
ment of our o\vn people led by great and \vise states-
men. This priceless possession of liberty we shall never
surrender, for the nation that surrenders its liberty,
no matter what other possessions it may retain, has lost
its soul."
The address concluded with an appeal to the people
for loyal devotion to the daily duties of life in their va-
rious relations as members of families, members of the
community, citizens of the Province and of the Domin-
ion. In the applause that followed the conclusion of
this address, even old McTavish was observed to con-
tribute his share with something amounting almost to
enthusiasm.
CHAPTER XI
THE SHAOO\V OF \V AR
I T was finally agreed that a part at least of the respon-
sibility for the disturbance which marred the har-
mony of the Dominion Day celebration at Wolf vVillow
upon this occasion must rest on the shoulders of Mr.
Alvin P. Jones. The impressive presentation by Mr.
Gilchrist of Canada's greatness and the splendour of her
future appeared to stimulate Mr. Jones to unusual flights
of oratory. Under ordinary circumstances Mr. Jones'
oratory "vas characterised by such extraordinary physical
vigour, if not violence, and by such a fluency of orotund
and picturesque speech, that with the multitude sound
passed for eloquence and platitudes on his lips achieved
the dignity of profound wisdom. Building upon the
foundation laid by the previous speaker, J\1r. Jones pro-
ceeded to extol the grandeur of the Dominion, the \von-
ders of her poss.essions, the nobility of her people, the
splendour of her institutions, the glory of her future.
He himself was not by birth a Canadian, but so po\ver-
ful a spell had the Dominion cast over him that he had
become a Canadian by adoption. Proud of his Ameri-
can birth and citizenship, he "vas even more proud of
his Canadian citizenship. He saw before him a large
number of American citizens who had come to throw in
their lot with the Dominion of Canada. He believed
they had done a wise thing, and that among the most
loyal citizens of this Dominion none "vould be found
more devoted to the material welfare and the spiritual
\vell-being of Canada than those who came from the
other side of the line. He saw a number of those who
151
152
THE l\IAJOR
were sometimes in1properly called foreigners. He said
'"improperly" because \vhatever their origin, whether
Ruthenian, S\vede, French, German, or whatever their
race might be, here they \vere simply Canadians with
all the rights of Canadian citizenship assured to them.
He was glad to see so many of his German friends
present. They represent a great nation whose achieve-
ments in every department of human activity, in learn-
ing, in industrial enterprise, in commerce, \vere the envy
and admiration of the world (excursus here in glorifica-
tion o.f the great Gem1an people): To these, his Ger-
man fellow citizens, he would say that no. matter how
deep their devotion to the Vater land ( lVIr . Jones pro-
nounced it with a "v") he kne\v they would be loyal
citizens of Canada. The Gern1an Empire had its dif-
ferences and disagreements with Great Britain, the
American Republic has had the san1e, and indeed it was
possible that there \vere a number present who might
not cherish any very passionate regard fOor the wealthy,
complaisant, self-contained, some\vhat slo\v-going old
gentleman, John Bull. But here in Canada, ,ve were all
Canadians! First, last and all the time, Canadians (great
applause). Whatever might be said of other countries,
their \vealth, their po\ver, their glory, Canada was good
enough for him (more applause, follo\ved by a further
elabo!"ation 0 f Canada's vast resources, etc., etc. ) .
Canada's future was unclouded by the political compli-
cations and entanglements of the older countries in
Europe. For one hundred years they had been at peace
with the Republic south of that imaginary line which de-
Iin1ited the boundaries, but which did not divide the
hearts of these t\VO peoples (great applause). For his
part, while he rejoiced in the greatness of the British
Empire he believed that Canada's first duty was to her-
self, to the developing here of a strong and sturdy na-
tional spirit. Canada for Canadians, Canada first, these
were the motives that had guided his life both in public
serv ice and as a private citizen (loud applause). In this
THE SHADOW OF WAR 153
country there "vas a place for all, no matter from what
country they came, a place for the Ruthenian (enum-
eration of the various European and Asiatic states fron1
\vhich potential citizens of Canada had come). Let us
join hands and hearts in building up a great empire
\vhere our children, free from old-world entanglements,
free to develop in our own way our o\vn institutions
(eloquent passages on freedom) in obedience to la,vs of
our own making, defended by the strong arms and brave
hearts of our own sons, aided (here the speaker pennit-
ted himself a smile of gentle humour) by the ll1ighty wing
of the American eagle (references to the Monroe Doc-
trine and its protection of Canada's shores) \ve shall abide
in peace and security from all aggression and all alarm.
(Thunderous and continued applause, during which the
speaker resumed his seat.)
It \vas old McTavish who precipitated the trouble.
The old Highlander belonged to a family that boasted a
long line of fighting forbears. Ever since The Forty-
five "vhen the German king for the til11e occupying the
English throne astutely diverted the martial spirit of the
Scottish clans from the business of \vaging. "var against
his own armies, their chief occupation, to that of fight-
ing his continental foes, The lVlcTavish was to be. found
ever in the foremost ranks of British men-of-war, joy-
ously doing battle for his clan and for his king, who, if
the truth were told, he regarded with scant loyalty. Like
so many of the old timers in western Canada, this par-
ticular lVlcTavish had been at one time a servant of the
Hudson Bay Conlpany and as such had done his part
in the occupation, peaceful and otherwise, of the vast
territories administered by that great trading company.
In his fiery fighting soul there burned a passionate loy-
alty to the name and fame of the land of his birth, and
a passionate pride in the Empire under whose flag the
Conlpany's ships had safely sailed the northern seas and
had safely traded in these vast wild lands for nearly three
hundred years. Deep as this loyalty and pride in the soul
154
THE l\IAJOR
of him there lay a cold suspicion of the Yankee. He had
met him in those old days of trade war, had suffered and
had seen his Company suffer from his wiles, and finally
had been compelled to witness \vith bitter but upavailing
hate the steady encroachment of those rival traders upon
the ancient prerogatives and preserves of his own Com-
pany, once the sole and undisputed lords of the northern
half of the American continent. In the person of Mr.
Alvin P. Jones, McTavish saw the representative of those
ancient enemies of his, and in the oration to \vhich he
had just listened he fancied he detected a note of disloy-
alty to the flag, a suggestion of a break in the allegiance
of Canada to the Empire, and worst of aU, a hint that
Canada might safely depend for protection upon some-
thing other than the naval po\ver which had guarded
the shores of his country these l11any years from enemy
invasion. These things wrought in old McTavish an
uncontrollable anger, and no sooner had the tumultuous
applause died a,vay than he was on his feet and in a
high, rasping voice demanding audience.
"Will ye per-r-rmit me, Mr. Chair-r-rman, a few
words in regar-r-d to the remarkable address to \vhich
we haf listened ?" Permission was graciously granted
by the chairman, surprise and complaisant delight man-
tling the steaming face of l\1r. Alvin P. Jones, albeit at
his heart there lurked a certain uneasiness, for on more
than one occasion had he suffered under the merciless
heckling of the little Scotchman.
"'Tis a ,vonderful address ,ve haf been hearing, an
eloquent address. Some of it iss true an' some of it iss
lies [commotion in the audience-the smile on l\fr. Alvin
P. Jones's face slightly less expansive]. The speaker
has told us about Canada, its great extent, its vast r-r-re-
sources. Some of us haf kno,vn about these things while
yet his mother was still sucking hÍ1n [snickers of delight
from the younger members of the audience and cries of,
'Go to it, Mack]. 'Tis a great Dominion whatefer and
will be a gr-r-reater Dominion yet so lang as it keeps to
THE SHADOW OF WAR 155
right ways. I-Ie has told us of the mighty achievements
of Cher-r-rmany. I will jist be askin' him what has
Cher-r-rmany done for this country or for any country
but her ainsel? She has cluttered us up wi' pot-metal,
cutlery an' such things, an' cheap cloth that ye can put
yer finger through, an' that \vill be done in a month's
wear-r-ring. Musick, ye'll be sayin'! Musick! I was in
Calgary not long since. They took me to what they will
be call in' a n1usic-kale [delighted roars of laughter
from the audience]. A music-kale indeed! I haf
hear-r-rd of cauld kale an' het kale, of kale porridge an'
kale brose, but nefer haf I hear-r-rd before of a music-
kale. Bless me, man, I cud make neither head nor tail
0' it, and they wer-r-re no better themsel's. They had
printed notes about it an' a bit man makin' a speech about
it, but not one of them knew a thing about the hale hypo-
theck. Musick, quare musick I call it! I f it is musick
yer wantin', gif me Angus there wi' the pipes [wild
cheers testifying to Angus's popularity] or the master-r-r
himsel' an' the young lady here [this with a courteous
bow to Miss Switzer] wi' their feeddles. That's what I
will be callin' musick. An' lairnin'! Lairnin' that will
lay sacraleegious hands upon the Sacred Word, an'
tear-r-r it to bits. That like thing the Cher-r-rman lairnin'
is doin', and ye can ask Mr. Rhye yonder. An' other
things the Cher-r-nnans are doin' that keep us all from
restin' quiet in our beds. Let them come her-r-re to us if
they will. Let them come from all the countries of the
ear-r-rth. We will share wi' them what we haf, provided
they will be behavin' themsel's and mindin' their peezi-
ness. But this man is sayin' somethin' more. He is
tell in' us how safe we are, an' that the great Republic
south 0' us will be guar-r-rdin' us frae our enemies. I
doubt it will be the fox guar-r-rdin' the chicken frae the
weasel. Now I'll ask this gentleman what it is that has
guar-r-rded these shores for the past two hundred and
fifty year-r-rs? I will tell him-the Br-r-ritish Navy.
What has kept the peace of Europe once an' again? The
156
THE l\iA.JOR
Br-r-rit1sh Navy. Aye, ,vhat has protected America not
once or twice frae her enemies? The Br-r-ritish Navy,
an' that same Br-r-ritish Navy is gude enough fer me."
The tumultuous din that followed the conclusion of
the cantankerous little Highlander's speech '\rvas beyond
all ,vords, but before the chairman could get to his feet,
through the uproar a voice strident with passion was
demanding a hearing. "Mr. Ernest Switzer has the
floor," said the chairman.
The young man's face was white and his voice shaking
when he began. "Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen:
I stand here to claÏ111 the fair play that you say is British
for myself and for my race. I am a Canadian citizen.
I \\Tas born in America, but my blood is German. As a
Canadian citizen, as an American by birth, as a German
by blood, I have been insulted to-night, and I demand the
right to reply to the man ,vho has insulted me. There
are Canadians here to guard their own honour; the
Americans can be trusted to protect themselves. Ger-
l11any is not here to refute the slanders uttered against
her, but I claim the honour to speak for that great na-
tion, for she is a great nation. There is none greater.
rrhere is none so great in the vvorld to-day." The young
man's voice rang out \vith passionate conviction, his
pale set face, his blue eyes flaming with rage proclaimed
the intensity of his emotion. Before his flaming passion
the audience was subdued into a silence tense and pro-
found. "\Vhat has Germany done for the vvorld? this
man asks. I would like to ask in reply where he has lived
for the last twenty-five years, and if during those years
he has read anything beyond his local newspaper? \Vhat
has Germany done for the world? Germany has sho,vn
the way to the world, even to America, in every activity
of life, in industrial organisation, in scientific inquiry in
the laboratory and in the practical application of science
to every-day life. vVhere do your philosophers go for
their training? To German universities where they seek
to understand the philosophy of the immortal Emanuel
THE SHADO'V OF WAR 157
Kant. Where in the world has social reform reached its
highest achievement? In Gennany. \tVhere do you go
for your models for municipal government? To Ger-
many. lVIention any department of human enterprise
to-day and in that departlnent Germany stands easily in
the lead. This man asks \vhat has kept Europe at peace
all these years, and suggests the British Navy, the one
constant menace to the peace of Europe and to the free-
dom of the seas. No, if you ask who has kept the peace
of Europe I will tell you. The GenTIan Kaiser, Wilhelm
II. To him and to the Empire of which he is the glori-
ous head Europe owes its peace and the world its great-
est blessings to-day."
When Switzer sat down a half a dozen men were on
their feet demanding to be heard. Above the din a
quiet, but penetrating voice was distinguished. "Mr.
Romayne has the floor," said the Reverend Mr. Rhye,
who himself ,vas tingling with desire for utterance. Mr.
Romayne's appearance and voice suggested the boredom
of one \vho felt the \v4ole thing to be rather a nuisance.
"Ladies and Gentlel11en," he began, "I must apologise
for venturing to speak at all, having so recently come to
this country, though I am glad to say that I have been
received with such cordial kindness that I do not feel
mysel f a stranger."
"You're all right, Jack," cried a voice. "You're ríght
at home."
"I am at home," said Jack, "and that is one thing that
makes me able to speak. Fe\v of you can understand the
feeling that comes to one who, travelling six thousand
miles a,vay from the heart of the Empire, finds himself
still among his o,vn folk and under the same old flag.
Nor can I express the immense satisfaction and pride
that come to me when I find here in this nc\v world a
virile young nation offering a welcome to men of all na-
tionalities. an equal opportunity to make home and for-
tune for themselves, and find also these various nation-
alities uniting in the one purpose of building solid and
158
THE l\iAJOR
secure an outpost of the Empire to which we all belong.
I rise chiefly to say two things. The first is that if Ger-
many continues in her present mind she will be at war
with our country within a very short time. The young
man who has just sat down assures us that Germany is
a grea.t country. Let us at once frankly grant this fact,
for indeed it is a fact. \ Vhether she is as wonderful or
as great as she thinks herself to be may be doubted. But
it is of importance to kno\v that the opinion stated here
to-night is the opinion held by the whole body of the
Gennan people from the Kaiser to the lowest peasant
in the Empire. The universal conviction throughout
that Empire is that not only is Gennany the greatest
nation on earth, but that it has a divine mission to
confer her own peculiar quality of civilisation upon the
other nations of Europe, and indeed upon the whole
world. We might not quarrel with Germany for cher-
ishing this pleasing opinion in regard to herself, but
when this opinion is wrought into a purpose to domi-
inate the \v hole world in order that this mission might be
accomplished the thing takes on a some\vhat serious
aspect. Llet me repeat, Gennany is a great nation, mar-
vellously organised in every department of her life, agri-
cultural, manufacturing, educational, commercial. But
to what intent? What is the purpose dominating this
marvellous organisation? The purpose, Ladies and
Gentlemen, is war. The supreme industry of the Ger-
man nation is the manufacturing of a mighty \var ma-
chine. I challenge the gentleman who has just spoken
to deny either of these statements, that Gertnany believes
that she has a definite mission to Ii ft up the other nations
of Europe to her own high level and that to fulfil this
mission it is necessary that she be in a position of con-
tro1." The speaker paused for a moment or two. "He
cannot deny these because he knows they are true. The
second thing I wish to say is that the Kaiser means war
and is waiting only for the favourable moment. I believe
it is correct to say that for many years after his acces-
THE SHADOW OF WAR 159
sion to the throne he used his influence on the side of
peace, but I have every reason to believe that for some
years past he has cherished another purpose, the pur-
pose of war."
At this point Switzer sprang to his feet and cried,
"I challenge the truth of that statement. Modern Eu-
ropean history proves it to be false, and again and again
the Kaiser has prevented war. So much is this the case
that the trustees of the only European fund that rec-
ognises distinguished service in the interests of peace
bestowed upon the Kaiser the Nobel Prize." ·
"That is quite true," replied Mr. Romayne. "But let
me recall to this young man's mind a few facts. In 1875
Bismarck was determined to make war upon France.
He was prevented by the united action of England and
Russia. Gennany made the same attempt in '87 and '9 I.
In 1905 so definite was the threat of war that France
avoided it only by dismissing her war minister, Delcassé.
Perhaps my young friend remembers the Casablanca in-
cident in 1908 where again the Kaiser threatened France
with war. Indeed, for the last twenty years, even while
he was doubtless anxious to maintain peace, he has been
rattling his sword in his scabbard and threatening war
against the various nations of Europe. In most of these
cases even when he wanted peace he bluffed with threats
of war. Then came the Agadir incident in 1911 when
once more the Kaiser bluffed. But Great Britain called
his bluff that time and the great War Lord had to back
down with great loss of prestige not only \vith his o\\rn
people but with the whole of Europe. It hurt the Kaiser
to think that any nation in Europe should nlove in any
direction without his consent. Agadir taught him that he
must quit bluffing or make up his mind to fight."
Again Switzer was upon his feet. "This is a slander-
ous falsehood," he cried. "How does this man know?',t
"I happened to be there," was the quiet reply.
"How do we know?" again cried Switzer.
160
THE l\fAJOR
"Will you kindly repeat that remark?" said Mr. Ro-
mayne quietly.
"I believe this statement," shouted Switzer, "to be a
slanderous falsehood."
"If you accuse me of falsehood," said Romayne even
more quietly, "that is a matter of which \ve shall not dis-
cuss here, but later. But these statements that I have
made are history. All Germany knows, all Europe
knows, that at Agadir the IZaiser backed do\vn. He \v;s
not ready to fight, and he lost prestige by it. \Vhen Italy,
one of the Triple Alliance, \vent to war against Turkey
without consulting him, this lov{ered still further Ger-
man prestige. In. the late Balkan Vl ar Germany \vas
again humiliated. She backed the wrong horse. Her
protégé and pupil in war, Turkey, \vas absolutely beaten.
These things convince me that Germany kno\vs that her
hope of dominating Europe is rapidly waning, and she
believes that this hope can only be realised by war and,
therefore, I repeat that the l{aiser and his people are only
,vaiting a favourable moment to launch war upon Europe
and more particularly upon the British Empire, \vhich,
along \vith the great American democracy, stands be-
tween her and the reaIisation of her dream."
"The British Empire I" cried S\vitzer scornfully as
Romayne took his seat, "the British Empire 1 at the first
stern blow this ramshackle empire will fall to pieces.
Then Great Britain will be forced to surrender her rob-
ber hold upon these great free states which she has stolen
and \vhich she now keeps in chains." (Cries of "Never!"
"Rot!" "Shut your trap !") Switzer sprang to his feet
and, shaking his fist in their faces, cried: "I kno\v what I
am saying. This you will see before many months have
passed."
Again Roma yne rose to his feet and \vaited till a silence
fell upon the audience. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he
said solemnly, "this Gennan officer knows what he is
talking about. That Gennany within a few months will
make her supreme attempt to smash the British Empire
THE SHADOW OF 'V AR 161
I believe is certain. I am equally certain that the result
of that attempt "rill not be what this gentleman antici-
pates and desires."
For some mon1ents the silence remained unbroken.
Then young Monteith sprang to his feet and led the au-
dience in a succession of mad cheers that indicated the
depth of passion to which they were stirred. After the
cheering had subsided Larry rose and in a slightly
querulous tone and with a humorous smile upon his face
he said:
"]\1r. Chairman, don't you think we are becoming un-
necessarily serious? And are there not certain things
on "Thich \ve all agree? First that we are all Canadians,
first, last and all the time. Secondly, that \ve greatly
respect and adnlire our Anlerican cousins and we desire
only better mutual acquaintance for our mutual good.
Third, that we are loyal to and immensely proud of onr
Empire, and we mean to stick to it. And fourth, that
Germany is a great country and has done great things
for the world. As to the historical questions raised,
these dre not settled by discussicn but by reliable historic
documents. As to the prophecies made, we can accept or
reject them as \ve choose. Personally I confess that I
am unable to get up any real interest in this German
"rar menace. I believe Germany has more sense, not
to say proper Christian feeling, than to plunge herself
and the \vorld into war. I moye, lVlr. Chairman, that we
pass to the next order of business."
"Hear! Hear!" cried some. "Go on with the pro-
gramme."
"No! No!" said others. "Let's have it out."
"1\Ir. Chairman," said Hec Ross, rising to his feet,
"this thing is better than any silly old programme, let's
have it out."
But the chairman, much against his inclination, for he
was a fighter, ruled otherwise. "The differences that
separate us from one another here to-night are net differ-
. ences that can be settled by argument. They are d! Efer-
162
THE J.\tIA.JOR
ences that are due partly to our history and partly to
the ideals which we cherish. \Ve shall go on with the
programme. "
At first the people were in no mood for mere amuse-
ment. They had been made to face for a brief moment
the great and stern reality of war. The words and more
the manner of Jack Romayne had produced a deep sense
in their minds of the danger of a European conflagra-
tion, and the ominous words of the young German spoken
as from intimate knowledge only served to deepen the
impression made by ROlnayn
. But the feeling was
transitory, and speedily the possibility of ,var was dis-
missed as unthinkable. The bogey of a Gennan war
was familiar and therefore losing its power to disturb
them. So after two or three musical numbers had been
given the audience had settled back into its nonnal state
of mind which accepted peace as the natural and per-
manent condition for the \vorld.
The entertainment would have come to a perfectly
proper and hannonious close had it not been for the un-
restrained exuberance of Sam's humorous qualides on
the one hand and the complete absence of sense of hu-
mour in Ernest Switzer on the other. The final number
on the programme, which was to be a series of humorous
character sketches, had been left entirely in Sam's hands
and consisted 0 f a trilogy representing the character-
istics as popularly conceived of the French Canadian
habitant, the humorous Irishman and the obese Teuton
Sam's early association with the vaudeville stage had
given him a certain facility in the use of stage properties
and theatrical paraphernalia generally, and this combined
with a decided gi ft of mimicry enabled him to produce a
really humorous if some\vhat broadly burlesqued repro-
duction of these characters. In the presentation of his
sketch Sam had reserved to the close his representation
of the obese Teuton. The doings of this Teuton, while
sending the audience into roars of laughter, had quite a
dift2rent effect upon Switzer, \vho after a few moments
THE SHADOW OF "TAR 163
of wrathful endurance made toward the rear of the audi-
ence.
Meantime the obese Teuton has appeared upon the
stage in a famished condition demanding vociferously
and plaintively from the world at large sausage. But no
sausage is available. At this point a stray dog wanders
upon the stage. V/ith a cry of delight the famished Teu-
ton seizes the unfortunate cur and joyously announcing
that now sausage he will have, forthwith disappears. Im-
mediately from the wings arise agonised canine ho\vlings
with which mingles the crashing of machinery. Gradu-
ally the ho\vlings die into choking silence \vhile the crash
of the machinery proceeds for a few moments longer.
Thereupon reappears the Teuton, ecstatic and triumphant,
bearing with him a huge sausage, \vhich he proceeds to
devour with mingled lamentations over his departed
"hund" and raptures over its metamorphosed condition.
In the midst of this mingled lamentation and rapture
is heard in the distance upon a mouth organ band the
sound of the German national air. The Teuton is
startled, drops his sausage upon the stage and exclaiming
"Der Kronprinz," hastily beats a retreat.
At the mention of this august name Switzer disappears
from the rear of the audience and makes his way to the
back of the stage. In the meantime, to the accompani-
ment of organs and drums, appears upon the stage no less
a personage than "der Kronprinz," to the reproduction
of whose features Sam's peculiar facial appearance ad-
mirably lends itself. From this point the action proceeds
with increased rapidity. No sooner had "der Kronprinz,"
,vho is also in a famished condition, appeared upon the
stage than his eyes light upon the sausage. 'i\Tith a cry
of delight he seizes it and proceeds ravenously to devour
it. But at the first mouthful renewed ho\vlings arise.
"Der Kronprinz," in a state of intense excitement, drops
his sausage and begins a wild search in the corners of
the stage and in the wings for the source of the uproar.
The sausage thus abandoned, aided by an invisible cord,
164
THE 1\IAJOR
wabbles off the stage before the eyes of the wondering
and delighted audience. Thereafter "der Kronprinz" re-
appears \vith his "hund" under his arm and begins an
active and distracted search for his precious sausage.
Disappointed in his search for the sausage and rendered
desperate by his fal11ished condition, he seizes the
wretched cur and begins gna\ving at the tail and retires
from the scene, accompanied by the howls of the unhappy
canine and the applauding shouts of the audience.
Meantime \\Thile Sam is engaged in executing a light-
ning change from the rôle of "der I(ronprinz" to that
of the original obese T euton, S\vitzer beside himself with
rage comes upon hil11 at the preci8e moment vvhen he is
engaged in tying up his shoe preparatory to making his
final entry upon the stage. The posture is irresistibly in-
viting. The next instant the astonished audience beholds
the extraordinary spectacle of the obese T euton under
the impulse of the irate Switzer's boot in rapid flight
across the stage upon all fours, bearing down \vith terrific
speed upon th
rear of the unsuspecting chairman \vho,
facing the audience and with a genial smile upon his
countenance, is engaged in applauding Sam's previous
performance. l\1aking frantic but futile efforts to recover
himself, Sam plunges bead on with resistless impact full
upon the exact spot where the legs of the parson effect
a junction vvith the rest of his person and carries that
gentleman \vith him clear off the stage and fairly upon
the top of old l\1cTavish, \vho at that moment is engaged
in conversation \vith little 1\Iiss Haight immediately be-
hind him. Immediately there is a terrific uproar, in
which through the delighted yells of the crowd, the
crashing of the overturned chairs, and the general con-
fusion could be heard the shrieks of the little spinster
and \\
eird Scotch oaths from McTavish. After the
noise had somewhat subsided and when the confusion
had been reduced to a semblance oJ order, McTavish "Nas
discovered with his hand upon the coHar of the dazed par-
son who in turn held the obese Teuton in a firm and
THE SHADOW OF WAR 165
\vrathful grip, at which once more the "\\rhole crowd
rocked with an unholy but uncontrollable joy.
It ,vas Larry who saved the situation by appearing
upon the stage and gravely announcing that this unfoitu-
nate catastrophe was due to a sudden international up-
heaval which as usual in such cases had COI11e about in
an absolutely unexpected nlanner and as a result of mis-
understandings and mistakes for which no one could be
held responsible. He proposed in the name of the audi-
ence votes of thanks to those who had laboured so dili-
gently to make the Dominion Day celebration so great a
success, especially to the ladies and gentíel11en who had
served upon the various committees, to the speakers of
the evening, to those who had provided the entertain-
ment, and last but not least to the chairman who had pre-
sided with such grace and dignity oyer the proceedings
of the evening. The nlotion was carried \vith tumultu-
ous applause 7 and after the singing of "The !vIaple Leaf"
and the national anthem, the meeting came to a close.
After the entertainment was over Larry and his mother
slowly took the trail home\vards, declining many offers
of a lift from their friends in cars and carriages. It
was the Harvest Moon. Upon the folds of the rolling
prairie, upon the round tops of the hills, upon the broad
valleys, and upon the far-a wa y peaks in the west the
"\\rhite light lay thick and soft like a mantle. Above the
white-mantled world the concave of the sky hung blue
and deep and pricked out with pale star points. About
the world the night had thro\vn her mystic je,veller1 robes
of white and blue, making a holy shrine, a very temple
of peace for God and man. For some minutes they
walked together in silence, after they had bidden good-
night to the last of their friends.
"What a world it is, 110ther!" said Larry, gazing about
him at the beauty of the night.
"Yes, but alas, alas, that God's own children should
spoil all this glory \vith hatred and strife! This very
night in the unhappy Balkan States men are killing each
166
THE MAJOR
other. It is too sad and too terrible to think of. Oh,
if men would be content only to do justly by each other."
"Those people of the Balkan States are semi-bar-
barians," said L.arry, "and therefore war between them
is to be expected; but I cannot get myself to believe in
the possibility of war between Christians, civilised :1.a-
tions to-day. But, Mother, for the first time in my life,
listening to those two men, Romayne and Switzer, I had
a feeling that war might be possible. Switzer seemed
so eager for it, and so sure about it, didn't he? And
Romayne, too, seemed ready to fight. But then I always
remember that military men and military nations are
for ever talking war."
"That is quite true, my dear," said his mother. "1
too find it difficult to believe that war is possible in spite
of what we have heard to-night. Our Friends at Home
do not beli
ve that war is imminent. They tell me that
the feeling betvveen Germany and Britain is steadily im-
proving."
"And yet two years ago, :rv.rother, in connection with
the Agadir incident war might have happened any min-
ute. "
"That is true," replied his mother, "but every year of
peace makes ,var less likely. The Friends are ,vorking
and praying for a better understanding bet,veen these
nations, and they are very confident that these peace dele-
gations that are exchanging visits are doing a great deal
for peace. Your Uncle l\1atthevv, who has had a great
deal to do ,vith them, is very hopeful that a fe\v years
of peace will carry us past the danger point."
"W ell
I hope so, Mother. I loathe the very thought
of war," said Larry. "I think I am like you in this. I
never did fight, you know; as a boy I always got out of
it. Do you knO'N, l\fother, I think I would be afraid to
fight."
"1 hope so," replied his mother. "Fighting is no work
for man, but for brute."
THE SHADOW OF WAR 167
" "But you would not be afraid, Mother. I know you
would stand up to anything."
"Oh, no, no," cried his mother. "I could stand up
to very little. After all, it is only God that makes strong
to endure."
"But it is not quite the question of enduring, it is not
the suffering, Mother. It is the killing. I don't be-
lieve I could kill a man, and yet in the Bible they were
told to kill."
"But surely, Larry, we read our Bible somewhat dif-
ferently these days. Surely we have advanced since
the days of Abraham. We do not find our Lord and
Master commanding men to kill."
"But, l\tlother, in these present wars should not men
defend their women and children from such outrages as
,ve read about?"
"When it comes to the question of defending \vomen
and children it seenlS to me that the question is changed,"
said his mother. "As to that I can never quite make up
my mind, but generally speaking we hold that it is the
Cross, not the sword, that \vill save the world from op-
pression and break the tyrant's po\ver."
"But after all, Mother," replied Larry, "it was not
Smithfield that saved England's freedom, but Naseby."
"Perhaps both N aseby and Smithfield," said his moth-
er. "I am not very "vise in these things."
At the door of their house they came upon Nora sit-
ting in the moonlight. "Did you meet Ernest and Mr.
Romayne?" she inquired. "They've only gone five min-
utes or so. They walked down with us."
"N 0, we did not meet them."
"Y ou must be tired after the wild excitement of the
day, Mother," said Nora. "I think you had better go
at once to bed. As for me, I ám going for a swim."
"That's bully; I'm ,vith you," said Larry.
In a few minutes they were dressed in their bathing
suits, and, wrapped up in their mackintosh coats, they
strolled toward the little lake.
168
THE l\IAJOR
"Let's sit a few moments and take in this wonderful
night," said Nora. "Larry, I want to talk to you about
what we heard to-night from those two men. They made
me feel that war was not only possible but near."
"It did not impress me in the very least," said L.arry.
"They talked as military nlen always talk. They've got
the \var bug. These men have both held commissiûns in
their respective armies. Romayne, of course, has seen
war, and they look at everything from the military point
of view."
As he was speaking there came across the end 0 f the
lake the sound of voices. Over the, water the still air car-
ried the
Tords distinctly to their ears.
"Explain what?" It was Switzer's voice they heard,
loud and truculent.
"J ust \vhat you meant by the words 'slanderous false-
hood' which you used to-night," replied a voice which
they recognised to be Jack Romayne's.
"I rneant just what I said."
"Did you mean to impugn my veracity, because-"
"Because what ?"
"Because if you did I should have to slap your face
just now."
HlVlein Gott! Y ou-!"
"N ot so loud," said Romayne quietly, "unless you pre-
fer an audience."
"You schlap my face!" cried the German, in his rage
losing perfect centrol of his accent. "Ach, if you were
only in my country, we could settle this in the only way."
"Perhaps you \vill answer my question." ROlTlayne's
voice was low and clear and very hard. "Did you mean
to call Ine a liar? Yes or no. "
"A liar," replied the German. speaking more quietly.
"N 0, it is not a question of veracity. It is a question
of historical accuracy."
"Oh, very well. That's all."
"No, it is not all," exclaimed the German. "l\1:y God,
that I shouJd have to take insult from you! In this
"
..
'-
..
.....
'io
..
1
"THEY ARE GOING TO FIGHT," SAID NORA IN AN
A WED AND HORRIFIED VOICE. "OH, LARRY, DO GO
OYER,"
,.
THE SHADOW OF 'V AR 169
country of barbarians there is no "7ay of satisfaction ex-
cept by the beastly, the savage method of fists, but some
day ,ve will show you schwein of England-'"
"Stop!" Romayne's voice canle across the water with
a sharp ring like the tap of a halnty1
r on steel. "You
cannot use your hands, I suppose? That
aves you, but
if you say any such words again in regard to England or
Englishmen, I shan haye to punish you."
"Punish me!" shouted the German. "Gott in Him-
mel, that I must bear this I"
"They are going to fight," said Nora in an awed and
horrified voice. "Oh, l..arry, do go over."
"He-l-l-o," cried Larry across the water. "That you,
Switzer? \\Tho is that \vith you? Come along around
here, \von't you?"
There ,vas a silence 0 f son1e moments and then Ro-
mayne's voice came quietly across the water. "That you,
G\vynne? Rather late to come around, I think. I am
off for home. Well, Switzer, that's all, I think. just now.
I'll say good-night." There was no reply from Switzer.
"Y ou won't cOtTIe then?" called Larry. "\Vell, good-
night, both of you."
"Good-night, good-night," came from both men.
"Do you think they \vill fight?" said Nora.
"No, I think not. There's S,vitzer riding off now.
\Vhat fools they are."
"And Jack Romayne is so quiet and gentlemanly,"
said Nora.
"Quiet, yes, and gentlemanly, yes too. But I guess
he'd be what Sam calls a 'bad actor' in a fight. Oh, these
men make me tired ,vho can't have a difference of opin-
ion but they must think of fighting."
"Oh, Larry, I don't understand you a bit," cried Nora.
"Of course they want to fight when they get full of rage.
I \>vould myself."
"I believe you," said Larry. "You are a real Irish ter-
rier. You are like father. I am a Quaker, or p
rhaps
there's another \vord for it. I only hope I shall never be
170
THE
IAJOR
called on to prove just what I am. Come on, let's go
. "
m.
For a half hour they swam leisurely to and fro in
the moonlit water. But before they parted for the night
N ora returned to the subject which they had been dis-
cussing.
"Larry, I don't believe you are a coward. I could
not believe that of you," she said passionately; "I think
I would rather die."
"Well, don't believe it then. I hope to God I am not
but then one can never teIï. I cannot see myself hit-
ting a man on the bare face, and as for killing a fellow
being, I would much rather die myself. Is that being
a coward?"
"But if that man," breathed Nora hurriedly, for the
household were asleep, "if that man mad with lust and
rage vvere about to injure your mother or your sis-
ters-"
"Ah," said Larry, drawing in his breath quickly, "that
'\vould be different, eh ?"
"Good-night, you dear goose," said his sister, kissing
him quickly. "I am not afraid for you."
CHAPTER XII
MEN AND A MINE
I T was early in July that Mr. Gwynne met his family
with a proposition which had been elaborated by
Ernest Switzer to form a company for the working of
Nora's mine. \;Vith characteristic energy and thorough-
ness Switzer had studied the proposition from every
point of view, and the results of his study he had set
down in a document which Mr. G\vynne laid before his
wife and children for consideration. It appeared that
the mine itself had been investigated by expert friends
of Switzer's from the Lethbridge and Crows' Nest mines.
The reports of these experts were favourable to a degree
unusual with practical mining men, both as to the quality
and quantity of coal and as to the cost of operation.
The quality was assured by the fact that the ranchers in
the neighbourhood for years had been using the coal in
their own homes. In addition to this Switzer had secured
a report from the Canadian Pacific Raihvay engineers
sho"Ning that the coal possessed high steanling qualities.
And as to quantity, the seam could be measured "vhere
the creek cut through, showing enough coal in sight to
promise a sufficient supply to warrant operation for years
to come
In brief, the report submitted by the young
German was that there was every ground for believing
tha
a paying mine, possibly a great mine, could be devel-
oped from the property on Mr. Gwynne's land. In re-
gard to the nlarket, there was of course no doubt. Every
ton of coa1 produced could be sold at the mine mouth
without difficulty. There remained only the question of
171
1172
THE MAJOR
finance to face. This also Switzer had considered, and
the result of his consideration was before them in a de-
tailed scheme. By this scheme a local company was to
be organised with a capitalisation of $500,000, \vhich
would be sufficient to begin with. Of this amount $2<:10,-
000 should be assigned to the treasury, the remaining
$3 00 ,000 disposed of as follows: to Mr. Gwynne, as
o\vner of the mine, should be allotted $ 15 J ,000 stock,
thus giving him control; the remaining $ I 49,000 stock
should be placed locally. The proposition contained an
offer from Switzer to organise the company and to place
the stock, in consideration for which servjce he asked a
block 0 f stock such as the directors should agree upon,
and further that he should be secret
ry 0 f the company
for a term of five years at a salary of $2,000 per annum,..
\yhich should be a first charge upon the r
turns fron)
the mine.
"Ernest insists on being secretary ?" said Nora.
"Yes, naturally. His Ïnterests are all here. I-Ie însists
also that I be president."
"And why, Dad?" enquired Nora.
"YVell," said 1\1r. G\vynne, v
Tith a slight laugh, "he
frankly says he would like to be associated \vith me in
this business. Of course, he said some nice things about
me \.vhich I need not repeat."
"Oh pshavv!" exclaimed Nora, patting him on the
shoulder, "I thought you \vere a lot smarter man than
that. Can't you see why he \vants to be associated with
you? Surely you don't need me to tell you."
"Nora dear, hush," sa
d her nlother.
With an imploring look at her sister, Kathleen left
the room.
"Indeed, Mother, I think it is no time to hush. I will
tell you, Dad, \vhy he wants to be associated with you
in this coal mine business. Ernest S\vitzer wants our
Kathleen. Mother knows it. \"1 e all know it."
Her father gazed at her in astonishment.
"Surely this is quite unwarranted, Nora," he sa\d. "I
lVIEN AND A MINE
173
cannot allow a matter 0 f this kind to be dragged into a
matter of business."
"Ho\v would it do to take a few days to turn it over in
our minds ?" said his wife. "\Ve must not forget, dear,"
she continued, a note of grave anxiety in her voice, "that
if \ve accept this proposition it will mean a complete
change in our family life."
"Family life, Mother," said Mr. Gwynne \vith some
impatience. "You don't mean-"
"I mean, my dear," replied the mother, "that \ve shall
no longer be ranchers, but shall beconle coal miners. Let
us think it over and perhaps you might consult with some
of our neighbours, say \vith 1\1r. \Varing-Gaunt."
"Surely, surely," replied her husband. "Your advice
is \vise, as always. I shall just step over to Mr. \Varing-
Gaunt's immediately."
After 1\1 r. G\vynne's depaïture, the others sat silent
for sonle moments, their minds occupied with the ques-
tion raised so abruptly by Nora.
"You may as well face it, Mother," said the girl. "In-
deed, you must face it, and right now. If this Company
goes on \vith Ernest as secretary, it means that he will
necessarily be thrown into closer relationship with our
family. This \vill help his business with Kathleen. This
is what he means. Do you \vish to help it on?"
The nlother sat silent, her face sho\ving deep distress.
"Nora dear," at length she said, "this matter is really not
in our hands. Surely you can see that. I can't discuss
it \vith you." And so saying she left the room.
" N l\T " . d L I "
O\V, 1., ora, sat arry severe y, you are not to
worry Mother. And besides you can't play Providence in
this \vay. You must confess that you have a dreadful
habit of trying to run things. I believe you would have
a go at running the universe."
"Run things ?" cried Nora. "vVhy not? There is al-
together too much of letting things slide in this family.
It is all very well to trust to Providence. Providence
made the trees grow in the woods, but this house never
174
THE l\iA.JOR
would ha'le been here if Mr. Sleighter had not got on to
the job. N o,v I am going to ask you a straight question.
Do you want Ernest S\vitzer to have Kathleen?"
"Well, he's a r1
cent sort and a clever fello,v," began
Larry.
"Now, Larry, you may as well cut that 'decent sort,'
'clever fellow' stuff right out. I 'v ant to know your
mind. Would you like to see Ernest Switzer have Kath-
leen, or not?"
"\Vould you?" retorted her brother.
"N o. I would not," emphatically said Nora.
"Why not?"
"To tell the truth, ever since that concert night I feel
I can't trust him. He is different from us. I-Ie is no
real Canadian. He is a German."
"Well, Nora, you amaze me," said Larry. "What su-
preme nonsense you are talking ! You have got that
stuff of Romayne's into your mind. The war bug has
bitten you too. For Heaven's sake be reasonable. If you
object to Ernest because of his race, I am ashamed of
you and have no sympathy with you."
"Not because of his race," said Nora, "though, Larry,
let me tell you he hates Britain. I was close to him that
night, and hate looked out of his eyes. But let that pass.
I have seen Ernest with 'his women' as he calls them, and,
Larry, I can't bear to think of our Kathleen being treated
as he treats his mother and sister."
"Now, Nora, let us be reasonable. Let us look at this
fairly," bega
Larry.
"Oh, Larry! stop or I shall be biting the furniture next.
When you assume that judicial air of yours I want to
swear. Answer me. Do you want him to marry Kath-
leen? Y es or no."
"Well, as I was about to say-"
"Larry, will you answer yes or no?"
"\Vell, no, then," said Larry.
"Thank God 1" cried Nora, rushing at him and shak-
ing him vigorously. "Y ou wretch! Why did you keep
IEN AND A MINE 175
me in suspense? How I wish that English stick would
get a move on!"
"English stick? 'Whom do you mean?"
"You're as stupid as the rest, Larry. Whom should I
mean? Jack Romayne, of course. There's a man for
you. I just wish he'd waggle his finger at me! But he
won't do things. He just 'glowers' at her, as old Mc-
Tavish would say, \vith those deep eyes of his, and sets
his jaw like a wolf trap, and waits. Oh, men are so
stupid with women!"
"Indeed?" said Larry . "And how exactly?"
"Why doesn't he just make her love him, master her,
swing her off her feet?" said Nora.
"Like Switzer, eh? The cave man idea?"
"N 0, no. Surely you see the difference?"
"Pity my ignorance and elucidate the mystery."
'M ystery? Nonsense. It is quite simple. It is a
mere matter of emphasis."
"Oh, I see," said Larry, "or at least I don't see. But
credit me with the earnest and humble desire to under-
stand."
"Well," said his sister, "the on e
"Which one?"
"Switzer. He is mad to possess her for his very own.
He would carry her off against her will. He'd bully her
to death."
"Ah, you would like that ?'.
"N at 1. Let him try it on. The other, Roma yne, is
mad to have her too. He would give her his very soul.
But he sticks there waiting till she comes and flings her-
self into his arms."
"You prefer that, eh?"
"Oh, that makes me tired!" said Nora in a tone of
disgust.
"Well, I give it up," said Larry hopelessly. "What
do you want?"
"I want both. My man must want me more than he
wants Heaven itself, and he must give me all he has but
"
176
THE
IAJOR
honour. Such a man would be my slave! And such a
nlan-oh, 1'd just love to be bullied by him."
For some moments Larry stood looking into the glow-
ing black eyes, then said quietly, "May God send you such
a man, little sister, or none at all."
In a fevv weeks the Alberta Coal Mining and Develop-
nlent Company ,vas an established fact. Mr. \Varing-
Gaunt approved of it and showed his confidence in the
scheme by offering to take a large block of stock and
persuade his friends to invest as \vell. He also agreed
that it ,vas important to the success of the scheme both
that 1\1r. Gwynne should be the president of the company
and that young S\vitzer should be its secretary. Mr.
G\vynne's earnest request that he should become the treas--
urer of the company IVlr. \Varing-Gaunt felt constrained
in the meantitne to decline. He already had too many
irons in the fire. But he was willing to become a direc-
tor and to aid the scheme in any \vay possible. Before
the end of the month such was the energy displayed by
the new secretary of the conlpany in the disposing of
the stock it was announced that only a small block of
about $25,000 remained unsold. A part of this 1\1r.
\ V aring-Gaunt urged his brother-in-la\v to secure.
"Got twenty thousand n1ysel f, you know-looks to me
like a sound proposition-think you ought to go in-
\vhat do you say, eh, vJhat?"
"Very ,veIl: get ten or fifteen thousand for me," said
his brother-in-Ia\v.
\Vithin t\VO days Mr. \Varing-Gaunt found that the
stock had all been disposed of. "Energetic chap, that
young S\vitzer,-got all the stock placed-none left, so
he told n1e."
"Did you tell him the stock ,vas for me ?" enquired.
Romayne.
"Of course, ,vhy not?"
"Probably that accounts for it. He vtould not õe
especially anxious to have me in."
l\IEN AND A l\IINE 177
"\Vhat do you say? Nothing in that, I fancy. But
I must see about that, vvhat ?"
"Oh, let it go," said Romayne.
"G\vynne was after me again to take the treasurer-
ship," said \Varing-Gaunt, "but I am busy with so many
things-treasurership very hampering-demands close
attention-that sort of thing, eh, what ?"
"Personally I \vish you would take it," said Romayne.
"You \vould be able to protect your own money and the
investtl1ents of your friends. Besides, I understand the
manager is to be a German, \vhich, \vith a German sec-
retary, is too much German for my idea."
"Oh, you don
t like S\vitzer, eh? Natural, I suppose.
Don't like him myself; bounder sort of chap-but avoid
prejudice, my boy, eh, what? German-that sort of
thing-don't do in this country, eh? English, Scotch,
Irish, French, Galician, Swede, German-all sound Ca-
nadians-melting pot idea, eh, \\That?"
"I am getting that idea, too," said his brother-in-law.
"Sybil has been rubbing 'it into me. I believe it is
right enough. But apart altogether from that, frankly I
do not like that chap; I don't trust him. I fancy I
know a gentleman \v hen I see him."
"All right, all right, my boy, gentleman idea quite right
too-but new country, new standards-'Old Family' idea
played out, don't you know. Burke's Peerage not known
here-every nlug on its o\vn bottom-rather touchy Ca-
nadians are about that sort of thing-democracy stuff and
all that you know. Not too bad either, eh, \vhat? for a
chap who has got the stuff in hil11-architect of his for-
tune-founder of his own family and that sort of thing,
don't you know. Not too bad, eh, what?"
"I quite agree," cried Jack, "at least with most of it.
But all the sanle I hope you \vill take the treasurership.
Not only \vill you protect your own and your friends'
invesÌ111ents, but you will protect the interests of the
G\vynnes. The father apparently is no business tnan, the
178
THE J.\;IAJOR
son is to be away; anything might happen. I would hate
to see them lose out. You understand?"
His brother-in-law turned his eyes upon him, gazed
at him steadily for a few moments, then taking his hand,
shook it warmly, exclaiming, "Perfectly, old chap, per-
fectly-good sort, Gwynne-good family. Girl of the
finest-hope you put it off, old boy. Madame has put me
on, you know, eh, what? J oIly good thing."
"Now what the deuce do you mean?" said Romayne
angrily.
"AIl right-don't wish to intrude, don't you know.
Fine girl though-quite the finest thing I've seen-could
go anywhere."
His brother-in-law's face flushed fiery red. "Now
look here, Tom," he said angrily, "don't be an ass. Of
course I know what you mean but as the boys say here,
'Nothing doing!' "
"What? You mean it? Nothing doing? A fine girl
like that-sweet girl-good clean stock-wonderful
mother-would make a wife any man would be proud
of-the real thing, you know, the real thing-I have
known her these eight years-watched her grow up-
rare courage-pure soul. Nothing doing? My God,
man, have you eyes?" It was not often that Tom
Waring-Gaunt allowed himself the luxury of passion,
but this seemed to him to be an occasion in which he
might indulge himself. Romayne stood listening to him
with his face turned away, looking out of the window.
"Don't you hear me, Jack?" said Waring-Gaunt. "Do
you mean there's nothing in it, or have you burned out
your heart with those fool wonlen of London and Paris?"
Swiftly his brother-in-law turned to him. "No, Tom,
but I almost wish to God I had. No, I won't say that;
rather do I thank God that I know now what it is to
love a woman. I am not going to lie to you any longer,
old chap. To love a sweet, pure ,voman, sweet and pure
as the flowers out there, to love her with every bit of my
heart, with every fibre of my soul, that is the finest !hing
MEN AND A MINE 179
that can come to a man. I have treated women lightly in
my time, Tom. I have made them love me, taken what
they have Dad to give, and left them without a thought.
But if any of them have suffered through me, and if they
could know what I am getting now, they would pity me
and say I had got enough to pay me out. To think that
I should ever hear myself saying that to another man,
I who have made love to women and laughed at them and
laughed at the poor weak devils who fell in love with
women. Do you get me? I am telling you this and yet
I feel no shame, no humiliation! Humiliation, great
heaven! I am proud to say that I love this girl. From
the minute I saw her up there in the woods I have loved
her. I have cursed nlyself for loving her. I have called
myself fool, idiot, but I cannot help it. I love ber. It is
hell to me or heaven, which you like. It's both." fIe was
actually trembling, his voice hoarse and shaking.
Amazement, then pity, finally delight, succeeded each
other in rapid succession across the face of his brother-
in-law as he listened. "M y dear chap, my dear chap,"
he said when Romayne had finished. "Awfully glad, you
know-delighted. But why the howl? The girl is there
-go in and get her, by Jove. vVhy not, eh, what ?"
"It's no use, I tell you," said Romayne. "That damned
German has got her. I have seen them together too
often. I have seen in her eyes the look that women get
when they are ready to give themselves body and soul
to a man. She loves that man. She loves him, I tell
you. She has known him for years. I have come too
late to have a chance. Too late, my God, too late!" He
pulled hinlself up with an effort, then with a laugh said,
"Do you recognise me, Tom? I confess I do not recog..
nise myself. \Vell, that's out. Let it go. That's the
last you \vill get from me. But, Tom, this is more than
I can stand. I nlust quit this country, and I want you
to make it easy for me to go. \Ve'll get up some yarn
for Sibyl. You'll help me out, old man? God knows I
need help in this.."
180
THE l\fA.JOR
"Rot, beastly rot. Give her up to that German heel-
clicking bounder-rather not. Buck up, old man-give
the girl a chance any\vay-play the game out, eh, what?
Oh, by the way, I have made up my l11ind to take that
treasurership-beastly nuisance, eh? Gain' ? Where ?"
"Off with the <;logs for a run some,vhere."
"N 0, take the car-too beastly hot for riding, don't
you kno\v. Take my car. Or, I say, let's go up to the
mine. 1\1 ust get to kno\v more about the beastly old
thing, eh, vvhat? \Ve'll take the guns and Sweeper-
we'll be sure to see some birds and get the evening shoot
coming back. But, last word, my boy, give the girl a
chance to say no. Think of it, a German, good Lord!
You go and get the car ready. \tVe'll get Sybil to drive
while we shoot."
Tom \tVaring-Gaunt found his great, warm, simple
heart overflo\ving with delight at the tremendous news
that had come to him. It ,vas more than his nature
could bear that he should keep this from his ,vife. He
found her immersed in her domestic duties and adamant
against his persuasion to drive them to the mine.
"A shoot," she cried, "I'd love to. But, Tom, you
forget I am a rancher's wife, and you know, or at least
you don't know, "That that means. Run along and play
'\vith Jack. Some one must work. No, don't tempt me.
I have my programme all laid out. I especially prayed
this morning for grace to resist the lure of the outside
this day. 'Get thee behind me-' What? I am listen-
ing, but I shouldn't be. What do you say? Tom, it
cannot be!" She sat do,vn weakly in a convenient chair
and listened to her husband while he retailed her broth-
er's great secret.
"And so, my dear, \ve are going to begin a big cam-
paign-begin to-day-take the girls off with us for a
shoot-".hat do you say, eh?"
"\\Thy, certainly, Tom. Give me half an hour to get
Martha fairly on the rails, and I am with you. \Ve'll
take those dear girls along. Oh, it is perfectly splendid.
l\IEN AND A l\IINE 181
N ow let me go; that will do, you foolish boy. Oh, yes,
how lovely. Trust me to back you up. \Vhat? Don't
spoil things. \Vell, I like that. Didn't I land you? That
was 'some job,' as dear Nora would say. You listen to
me, Tom. You had better keep in the background.
Finesse is not your forte. Better leave these things to
me. Hurry up now. Oh, I am so excited."
Few women can resist an appeal for help fro
n a hus-
band. The acknowledgment of the need of help on the
part of the dominating partner is in itself the most subtle
flattery and almost always irresistible. No woman can
resist the opportunity to join in that most fascinating of
all sport-man-hunting. And when the man runs clear
into the open wildly seeking not escape from but an
opening into the net, this only adds a hazard and a con-
sequent zest to the sport. Her husband's disclosures had
aroused in Sybil Waring-Gaunt not so much her sport-
ing instincts, the affair went deeper far than that with
her. Beyond anything else in life she desired at that
time to bring together the two beings whom, next to her
husband, she loved best in the world. From the day
that her brother had arrived in the country she had
desired this, and more or less aggressively had tried to
assist Providence in the ordering of events. But in
Kathleen, with all her affection and all her sweet sim
plicity, there was a certain shy reserve that prevented
confidences in the matter of her heart affairs.
"How far has the Gennan got with her? That is
what I would like to know," said l\1rs. \Varing-Gaunt to
herself as she hastily prepared for the motor ride.
"There's no doubt about him. Everyone can see how he
stands, and he has such a masterful way with him that
it makes one think that everything is settled. If it is
there is no chance for Jack, for she is not the changing
kind." Meantime she would hope for the best and play
the game as best she could.
"W QuId you mind running into the Gwynnes' as \ve
182
THE l\IAJOR
pass, Tom?" said his wife as they settled themselves in
the car. "I have a message for Nora."
"Righto!" said her husband, throwing his wife a look
which she refused utterly to notice. "But remember you
must not be long. We cannot lose the evening shoot, eh,
what ?"
"Oh, just a moment ,viII do," said his wife.
At the door Nora greeted them. "Oh, you lucky peo-
ple-guns and a dog, and a day like this," she cried.
"Come along-lots of room-take my gun," said Mr.
Waring-Gaunt.
"Don't tempt me, or 1 shall come."
"Tell us what is your weakness, Miss Nora," said
Jack. "How can we get you to come?"
"M y weakness?" cri
d the girl eagerly, "you all are,
and especially your dear Sweeper dog there." She put
her arms around the neck of the beautiful setter, who
was frantically struggling to get out to her.
"Sweeper, lucky dog, eh, Jack, what?" said Mr. W ar-
ing-Gaunt, \vith a warm smile of admiration at the whole-
some, sun-browned face. "Come along, J\liss Nora-
back in a short time, eh, what?"
"Short time?''' said Nora. "Not if 1 go. Not till we
can't see the birds."
"Can't you come, Nora?" said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt,
"I want to talk to you, and \ve'l1 drive to-day and let the
men shoot. \Vhere is Kathleen? Is she busy?"
"Busy? vVe are all positively overwhelmed with work.
But, oh, do go away, or I shall certainly run from it
all. "
"I am going in to get your mother to send you both
out. Have you had a gun this fall? I don't believe you
have," 'said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
"N ot once. Yes, once. I had a chance at a hawk that
was paying too much attention to our chickens. No,
don't go in, J\1rs. Waring-Gaunt, I beg of you. \Vell,
go, then; 1 have fallen shamelessly. I f you can get Kath..
teen, 1 am on too."
MEN AND A l\lINE
183
In a fevv moments Mrs. Waring-Gaunt returned with
Kathleen and her mother. "Your mother SâYS, Nora,
that she does not need you a bit, and she insists on your
coming, both of you. So be quick."
"Oh, Mother," cried the girl in great excitement. "You
cannot possibly get along without us. There's the tea
for all those men."
"N onsense, Nora, run along. I can do quite well
\vithout you. Larry is coming in early and he will help.
Run along, both of you."
"But there isn't room for us all," said Kathleen.
"Room? Heaps," said Mr. Waring-Gaunt. "Climb
in here beside me, Miss Nora."
HOh, it will be great," said Nora. "Can you really
get along, Mother?"
"Nonsense," said the mother. "You think far too
much of yourself. Get your hat."
"Hat; who wants a hat?" cried the girl, getting in be-
side Mr. Waring-Gaunt. "Oh, this is more than I had
ever dreamed, and I feel so wicked!"
"All th
better, eh, what?"
"Here, Kathleen," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, "here be-
tween us."
"I am so afraid I shall crowd you," said the girl, her
face showing a slight flush.
"N at a bit, my dear; the seat is quite roomy. There,
are you comfortable? All right, Tom. Good-bye, Mrs.
Gwynne. So good of you to let the girls come."
In high spirits they set off, waving their farewell to
the mother \vho stood watching till they had swung out
of the lane and on to the main trai
CHAPTER XIII
A DAY IN SEPTEMBER
A SEPTEMBER day in Albe,rta. There is no other
day to be compared to it in any other month or in
any other land. Other lands have their September days,
and Alberta has days in other months, but the combina-
tion of Septetnber day in Alberta is sui generis. The
foothill country ,vith plain, and hill, and valley, and
mighty mountain, laced with stream, and river, and lake;
the over-arching sheet of blue with cloud shapes \vander-
ing and wistful, the kindly sun pouring its genial sheen
of yellow and gold over the face of the earth belovv,
purple in the mountains and gold and pearly grey, and
all s,vimming in air blown through the nlountain gorges
and over forests of pine, tingling \vith ozone and reach-
ing the heart and going to the head like new \vine-these
things go with a September day in Alberta.
And like ne\v ,vine the air seemed to Jack Romayne as
the Packard like a s\vallow skimmed along the undula-
ting prairie trail, smooth, resilient, 0 f all the roads in
the world for motor cars the best. For that day at least
and in that motor car life seen1ed good to Jack Romayne.
Not many such days would be his, and he meant to take
all it gave regardless of cost. His sister's proposal to
call at the G\vynnes' house he would have rejected could
he have found a reasonable excuse. The invitation to
the Gwynne girls to accompany them on their shoot he
resented also, and still more deeply h
resented the ar-
rangement of the party that set Kathleen next to him, a
close fit in the back seat of the car. But at the first
feeling of her warm soft body wedged closely against
184
A DAY IN SEPTE
IBER 185
hinl, all emotions fled except one of pulsating joy. .L\nd
this, with the air rushing at them from the V\Testern
l11ountains, ,,,rought in him the reckless resolve to take
,vhat the gods offered no matter ,,,hat might follo,v.
\s
he listened to the chatter about hitn he yielded to the in-
toxication of his love for this fair slim girl pressing soft
against his arm and shoulder. I-Ie 2.11o,ved his fancy to
play with surmises as to what would happen should he
turn to her and say, "Dear girl, do you kno,v ho,v fair
you are, how entrancingly lovely? Do you kno,v I am
nladly in love \vith you, and that I can hardl}T refrain
from putting this arm, against which you so quietly lean
your warm soft body, about you?" He looked boldly at
the red curves of her lips and allo\ved himself to riot
in the imagination of how deliciously they vvould yield
to his pressed against them. "M y God!" he cried aloud,
"to think of it."
The t\VO ladies turned their astonished eyes upon him.
"'Vhat is it, Jack? \rVait, Tom. Have you lost some-
thing?' ,
"Yes, that is, I never had it. No, go on, Tom, it
cannot be helped now. Go on, please do. \ \That a day
it is!" he continued. "'\Vhat a time \ve are having,' as
:rvliss Nora would say.
'
"Yes, \vhat a time!" exclaimed Nora, turning her face
toward them. "l\Irs. 'Varing-Gaunt, I think I tnust tell
you that your husband is making love to me so that I
am quite losing my head."
"Poor things," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "How could
either of you help it ?"
"vVhy is it that all the nice n"
n are married?" in-
quired Nora.
'1 beg your pardon, Miss Nora," said Jack in a pained
vOice.
"I mean-\vhy-I'm afraid I can't fix that up, can I?"
she said, appealing to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
"Certainly you can. vVhat you really mean is, why do
"
186
THE l\LAJOR
all married men become so nice ?" said Mrs. W aring-
Gaunt.
"Oh, thank you, the answer is so obvious. Do you
know!, I feel wild to-day."
"And so do I," replied Kathleen, suddenly waking to
life. "It is the wonderful air, or the motor, perhaps."
"Me, too," exclaimed Jack Romayne, looking straight
at her, "only with me it is not the air, nor the motor."
"What then I" said Kathleen with a swift, shy look at
him.
" 'The heart knoweth its own bitterness and a stranger
intermeddleth not with its joy.' "
"That's the Bible, I know," said Kathleen, "and it
really means 'mind your own business.' "
"N 0, no, not that exactly," protested Jack, "rather
that there are things in the heart too deep if not for tears
most certainly for words. You can guess \vhat I mean,
1vliss Kathleen," said Jack, trying to get her eyes.
"Oh, yes," said the girl, "there are things tl1at we
cannot trust to words, no, not for all the '''arId.''
"I know what you are thinking 0 f," replied Jack. "Let
me guess."
"N 0, no, you must not, indeed," she replied quickly.
"Look, isn't that the mine? \Vhat a crowd of people!
Do look."
Out in the valley before them they could see a pro-
cession of teams and men weaving rhythmic figures about
what was discovered to be upon a nearer vie\\T a road-
way which \vas being constructed to cross a little coo lee
so as to give access to the black hole on the hi llside
bevond which was the coal mine. In the noise and bustle
o{ the \vork the motor came to a stop unobserved behind
a long wooden structure \vhich Nora diagnosed as the
"grub shack."
"In your English speech, Mr. Romayne, the dining
room of the camp. He is certainly a hustler," exclaimed
N ora, gazing upon the scene before them.
"Who?" inquired l\1rs. Waring-Gaunt.
A DAY IN SEPTEMBER 187
"Ernest Switzer," said Nora, unable to keep the
grudge out of her voice. "It is only a \veek since I was
up here and during that time he has actual1y made this
village, the streets, the sidewalks-and if that is not
actually a system of water pipes."
"Some hustler, as you say, Miss Nora, eh, what?"
said Tom.
"Wonderful," replied Nora; "he is wonderfu1."
Jack glanced at the girl beside him. It seemed to him
that it needed no mind-reader to interpret the look of
pride, yes and of love, in the wonderful blue-grey eyes.
Sick as from a heavy blow he turned away from her;
the flicker of hope that his brother-in-Iaw's words had
kindled in his heart died out and left him cold. He was
too late; why try to deceive himself any longer? The
only thing to do was to pull out and leave this place
where every day brought him intolerable pain. But to-
day he would get aU he could, to-day he would love her
and win such poor scraps as he could from her eyes, her
smiles, her words.
"Glorious view that," he said, touching her ann and
sweeping his hand toward the mountains.
She started at his touch, a faint colour coming into
her face. "How wonderful!" she breathed. "I love
them. They bring me nIY best thoughts."
Before he could reply there came from behind the
grub shack a torrent of abusive speech florid with pro-
fane language and other adornment and in a voice thick
with rage.
"That's him," said Nora. "Some one is getting it."
The satisfaction in her voice and look were in sharp con-
trast to the look of dismay and shame that covered the
burning face of her sister. From English the voice
passed into German, apparently no less vigorous or
threatening. "That's better," said Nora \vith a wicked
glance at Romayne. "You see he is talking to some one
of his own people. They understand that. There are
188
THE l\IA.JOR
a lot of Germans from the Settlement, Freiberg, you
know."
As she spoke Switzer emerged from behind the shack,
driving before him a cringing creature evidently in ab-
ject terror of him. "Get back to your gang and carry
O'ut your orders, or you will get your time." I-Ie caught
sight of the car and stopped abruptly, and, waving his
hand imperiously to the workman, strode up to the party,
followed by a mild-looking man in spectacles.
"Came to see how you are getting on, Switzer, eh,
what?" said Tom.
"Getting on," he replied in a loud voice, raising his
hat in salutation. "How can one get on with a lot of
stupid fools ,yho cannot carry out instructions and dare
to substitute their own ideas for cOlnmands. They need
discipline. If I had my way they ",-ould get it, too.
But in this country there is no such thing as discipline."
He made no attempt to apologise for his outrageous out-
burst, ;vas probably conscious of no need of apology.
"This is your foreman, I think?" said Nora, who alone
of the party seemed to be able to deal with the situa-
tion.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Steinberg," said Switzer, presenting the
spectacled man.
"You are too busy to show us anything this after-
noon?" said Nora sweetly.
"Yes, much too busy," said Switzer, gnlffiy. "I have
no time for anything but work these days."
"You cannot come along for a little shoot ?" she said,
innocently. Nora was evidently enjoying herself.
"Shoot I" cried S\vitzer in a kind of coot
mptuous
fury. "Shoot, with these dogs, these cattle, tramping
around here when they need some one every minute to
drive them. Shoot! No, no. I am not a gentleman of
leisure. "
The distress upon Kathleen's face was painfully ap-
parent. Jack \vas in no hurry to bring relief. Like
A DAY IN SEPTEl\lBER 189
N ora he was enjoying himself as well. It was Tom
\vho brought about the diversion.
"Well, we l11ust go on, Switzer. Coming over to see
you one of these days and go over the plant. Treasur-
er's got to know something about it, eh, \vhat?"
Switzer started and looked at him in surprise. "Treas-
urer, who? Are you to be treasurer of the company?
Who says so? Mr. Gwynne did not ask-did not tell
nle about it."
"Ah, sorry-premature announcement, eh ?'" said Tom.
"Well, good-bye. .i\ll set."
The Packard gave forth sundry growls and snorts
and glided a.way down the trail.
Nora was much excited. "What's this about the
treasurership?" she demanded. "Are you really to be
treasurer, Mr. \\T aring-Gaunt? I anl awfully glad. You
kno\y this "Thole nline \vas getting terribly Svvitzery.
Isn't he awful? He just terrifies me. I know he will
undertake to run me one of these days."
"Then trouble, eh, what?" said \Varing-Gaunt, pleas-
antly.
After a short run the motor pulled up at a \vheat
field in which the shocks were still standing and which
lay contiguous t0' a poplar bluff.
"Good chicken country, eh ?" said Tom, slipping out
of the car quietly. "Nora, you come with me. Quiet
now. Off to the left, eh, what? y'" au handle S\veeper,
Jack.' ,
"I'll drive the car," said l\tIrs. \tVaring-Gaunt. "Go
on \vith Jack, Kathleen."
"Come on, Miss Kathleen, you take the gun, and
I'll look after the dog. Let me have the whistle, Tom."
They had not gone ten yards from the car \vhen the
setter stood rigid on point. "Steady, olrl boy," said
Jack. ":rvlove up quickly, Miss I(athleen. Is your gun
ready? Sure it's off safe ?"
"All right," said the girl, \valking steadily on the
dog.
190
THE 1\IAJOR
Bang! Bang! went Nora's gun. Two birds soared
safely aloft. Bang! Bang! ,vent Kathleen's gun.
"Double, by jove! Steady, S\veeper!" Again the dog
stood on point. S\viftly Jack loaded the gun. "Here you
are, Miss Kathleen. y"'ou ,vill get another," he said.
"There are more here." As he spoke a bird fie,,, up at
his right. Bang! went Kathleen's gun. "Another, good
,vork." Bang! went Nora's gun to the left. "Look out,
here he comes," cried Jack, as Nora's bird came careen-
ing across their front. It was a long shot. Once more
Kathleen fired. The bird tumbled in the air and fell
with a thump right at their feet.
S\veeper, released from his point, went bounding joy-
fully over the stubble. Jack rushed up to,vard the girl,
and taking her hand in both of his, shook it warmly.
"Oh, splendid, partner, splendid, great shooting I"
"Oh, it was easy. S\veeper had them fast," said
Kathleen. "And that last shot was just awfuily good
luck. "
"Good luck! Good Lord! it was anything but luck.
It was great shooting. Well, come along. Oh, we're
going to have a glorious day, aren't we, partner?" And
catching hold of her arm, he gave her a friendly little
shake.
"Yes," she cried, responding frankly to his mood,
"we will. Let's have a good day."
"vVhere did you learn to shoot?" inquired Jack.
"N ora and I have always carried guns in the season,'
replied Kathleen, "even when we were going to school.
You see, Larry hates shooting. vVe loved it and at
times were glad to get them-the birds, I mean. We did
not do it just for sport."
"Can your sister shoot as well as you?"
"Hardly, I think. She pulls too quickly, you see, but
when she steadies down she "Till shoot better than I."
"Yau are a wonder," said Jack enthusiastically.
"Oh, not a wonder," said the girl.
"Wait tiU I get the birds back to the car," he cried.
A DAY IN SEPTEl\IBER 191
"He-I-I-o," cried his sister as he came running. "What,
four of thffiTI?"
"Four," he answered. "By jove, she's a wonder, isn't
she. She really bowls me over."
"N onsense," said his sister in a low voice. "She's
just a fine girl \vith a steady hand and a quick eye, and,"
she added as Jack turned away from her, "a true heart."
"A true heart," Jack muttered to himself, "and given
to that confotmded bully of a German. If it had been
any other man-but we have got one day at least."
Resolutely he brushed away the thoughts that maddened
him as he ran to Kathleen's side. 1tleantitne, Tom and
N ora had gone circling around toward the left with
Sweeper ranging \videly before them.
"Let's beat round this bluff," suggested Kathleen.
"They may not have left the trees yet."
Together they strolled away through the stubble, the
girl moving with an easy grace that spoke of balanced
physical strength, and with an eagerness that indicated
the keen hunter's spirit. The bluff brought no result.
"That bluff promised chickens if ever a bluff did,"
said Kathleen in a disappointed voice. "We'll get them
further down, and then again in the stubble."
"Cheer-o," cried Jack. "The day is fine and we are
having a ripping time, at least I am."
"And I, too," cried the girl. "I love this, the open
fieIds,-and the sport, too."
"And good company," said Jack boldly.
"Yes, good company, of course," she said with a quick,
friendly glance. "And you are good company to-day."
"To-day?"
"Yes. Sometim,es, you know, you are rather-I don't
know what to say-but queer, as if you did not like-
people, or were carrying some terrible secret," she added
with a little laugh.
"Secret? I am, but not for long. I am going to tell
you the secret. Do you want to hear it now?"
The note of desperation in his voice startled the girl.
192
THE l\IAJOR
"Oh, no," she cried hurriedly. "\Vhere have we got to?
There are no birds in this open prairie here. \TV e n111st
get back to the stubble."
"You are not interested in my secret, then?" said
Jack. "But I atn going t0' tell you all the same, Kath-
leen."
"Oh, please don't," she replied in a distressed voice.
"\Ve are having such a splendid time, and besides \ye
are after birds, aren't \ye? And there are the others,"
she added, pointing across the stubble field, "and Sweeper
is on point again. Oh, let's run." She started for\vard
quickly, her foot caught in a tangle of vetch vine and
she pitched heavily for\vard. Jack sprang to catch her.
A shot crashed at their ears. The girl lay prone.
"My God, Kathleen, are you hurt?" said Jack.
"No, no, not a bit. but a\vfully scared,"
he panted.
Then she shrieked, "Oh, oh, oh, Jack, you are wounded,
you are bleeding I"
He looked do\vn at his hand. It was drif);>ing blood.
"Oh, oh," she moaned, covering her face with her hands.
Then springing to her feet, she caught up his hand in
hers.
"It is nothing at all," he said. "I feel nothing-. Only
a bit of skin. See," he cried, lifting his arm up. "There's
nothing to it. No broken bones."
"Let me see, Jack-Mr. Romayne," she said with
\vhite lips
" Say 'Jack,'" he begged.
"Let me take off your coat-Jack, then. I kno\v a
little about this. I have done something at it in Winni-
peg."
Together they rem0'ved the coat. The shirt sleeve was
hanging in a tangled, bloody mass from the arm.
"A wful t" groaned l{athleen. "Sit do\vn."
"Oh, nonsense, it is not serious."
"Sit down, Jack, dear," she entreated, clasping her
hands about his sound arm.
"Say it again," said Jack.
A DAY IN SEPTEl\IBER 193
"Oh, Jack, won't you sit do\vn, please?"
"Say it again," he commanded sternly.
"Oh, Jack, dear, please sit down," she cried in a piti-
ful voice.
He sat down, then lay back reclining on his arm.
"Now your knife, Jack," she said, feeling hurriedly
through his pockets.
"Here yüu are," he said, handing her the knife, biting
his lips the \vhile and fighting back a feeling of faint-
ness.
Quickly slipping behind hinl, she whipped off her white
petticoat and tore it into. strips. Then cutting the bloody
shirt sleeve, she laid bare the arm. The wound vIas super-
ficial. T'he shot had tom a wide gash little deeper than
the skin from "vrist to shoulder, "vith here and there a
bite into the flesh. Swiftly, deftly, \vith fingers that nev-
er fumbled, she bandaged the arm, putting in little pads
\\
here the blood seemed to be pwnping freely.
"That's fine," said Jack. 'P
T eu are a brick, IZathleen.
i think-l \vill-just lie down-a bit. I feel-rather
rotten." As he spoke he caught hold üf her arm to
steady himself. She caught him in her arms and eased
him do\vn upon the stubble. \\Tith eyes clüsed and a
face that looked like death he lay quite still.
"J ack," she cried aloud in her terror. "Don't faint.
You must not faint."
But "vhite and ghastly he lay unconscious, the blood
still \velling right through the bandages on his wounded
arm. She kne\v that in some way she must stOop the
bleeding. S\viftly she undid the bandages and found a
pumping artery in the forearm. "\Vhat is it that they
do?" she said to herself. Then she remel11bered. l\IIak-
ing a tourniquet, she applied it to the upper arm. I'hen
rolling up a bloody bandage into a pad, she laid it upon
the pumping artery and bound it firmly down into place.
Then flexing the foreann hard upon it, she bandaged all
securely again. Still the wounded man íay unconscious.
The girl was terrified. She placed her hand over his
194
THE l\iAJOR
heart. It ,vas beating but very faintly. In the agony
and terror of the moment as in a flash o.f light her heart
stood suddenly ,vide open to her, and the thing that for
the past months had lain hidden \vithin her deeper than
her consciousness, a secret joy and pain, leaped strong
and full into the open, and she knew that this man ,vho
lay bleeding and ghastly before her \vas dearer to her
than her own life. The suàden rush of this conscious-
ness sweeping like a flood over her soul broke down
and carried a way the barrier of her maidenly reserve.
Leaning o.ver him in a passion o.f self-abandonment, she
breat.hed, "Oh, Jack, dear, dear Jack." As he lay there
white and still, into her love there came a maternal ten-
d.er yearning of pity. She lifted his head in her arm,
and murmured brokenly, "Oh, my love, my dear love."
She kissed him on his \vhite lips.
At the touch of her lips Jack opened his eyes, gazed
at her for a moment, then with dawning recognition, he
said with a faint smile, "Do-it-again."
"Oh, you heard," she cried, the red blood flooding
face and neck, "but I don't care, only don't go off again.
You will not, Jack, you rnust not."
"No-I won't," he said. "It's rotten-of me-to act
-like this and-scare you-to death. Give m
a lit-
tle-time. I will be-all right."
"If they would only come! If I could only do. some-
thing I"
"You're all right-Kathleen. Just be---patient with
me-a bit. I am feeling-better every minute."
For a few moments he lay quiet. Then with a little
smile he looked up at her again and said, "I would go
off again just to hear you say those \vords once more."
"Oh, please don't," she entreated, hiding her face.
"Fo.rgive me, Kathleen, I am a beast. Forget it. I
am feeling all right. I believe I could sit up."
"No., no, no," she cried. "Lie a little longer."
She laid his head down, ran a hundred yards to the
\vheat field. returning with tvvo sheeves, and made a
A DAY IN SEPTEl\IBER 195
support for his head and shoulders. "'That is better,"
she said.
"Good work,s' he said. "N O\V I am going to be fit for
anything in a few moments. But," he added, "you look
rather badly, as if you might faint yourself."
"I ? What difference does it make how I look? I
am quite right. If they would only çome! I know what
I will do," she cried. "vVhere are your cartridges?"
She loaded the gun and fired in quick succession half a
dozen shots. "I think I see them," she exclaimed, "but
I am not sure that they heard me." Again she fired
several shots.
"Don't worry about it," said Jack, into whose face the
colour was beginning to come back. "They are sure
to look us up. Just sit down, won't you please, beside
me here? There, that's good," he continued, taking her
hand. "Kathleen," he cried, "I think you know my
secret. "
"Oh, no, no, please don't," she implored, withdrawing
her hand and hiding her face from him. "Please don't
be hard on me. I really do not know what I am doing
and I am feeling dreadfully."
"You have reason to feel so, Kathleen. You have
been splendidly brave, and I give you my word I am not
going to worry you."
"Oh, thank you; you are so good, and I love you for
it," she cried in a passion of gratitude. "You under-
stand, don't you?"
"I think I do," he said. "By the way, do you know
I think I could smoke."
"Oh, splendid!" she cried, and, springing up, she
searched through his coat pockets, found pipe, pouch,
matches, and soon he had his pipe going. "There, that
looks more like living," said Kath]een, laughing some-
what hysterically. "Oh, you did frighten me !" Again
the red flush came into her face and she turned a\vay
from him.
196
THE MAJOR
"There they are coming. Sure enough, they are com-
ing," she cried with a sob in her voice.
"Steady, Kathleen," said Jack quietly . "You won't
blow up now, will you ? You have been so splendid!
Can you hold on?"
She drew a deep breath, stood for a minute or two in
perfect silence, and then she said, "I can and I will.
I am quite right now."
Of course they exclaimed and stared and even wept
a bit-at least the ladies did-but Jack's pipe helped out
amazingly, and, indeed, he had recovered sufficient
strength to \valk unhelped to the car. And while Tom
sent the Packard humming along the smooth, resilient
road he kept up with Nora and his sister a rapid fire of
breezy conversation till they reached their own door. It
was half an hour before Tom could bring the doctor,
during which time they discussed the accident in all its
bearings and from every point of vie\v.
"I am glad it was not I \vho was \vith you," declared
Nora. "I cannot stand blood, and I certainly should
have fainted, and what would you have done then ?"
"N ot you," declared Jack. "That sort of thing does
not go \vith your stock. God kno\vs what would have
happened to me if I had had a silly fool with me, for
the blood \vas pumping out all over me. But, thank God,
I had a \vornan \vith a brave heart and clever hands."
\Vhen the doctor came, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt went in
to assist him, but when the ghastly bloody spectacle lay
bare to her eyes she found herself grow weak and hur-
ried to the kitchen \v here the others were.
"Oh, I al11 so silly," she said, "but I am -afraid I can.
not stand the sight of it."
J(athleen sprang at once to her feet. "Is there no
one there?" she demanded \vith a touch of impatience in
her voice, and passed quickly into the room, where she
stayed whil
the doctor snipped off the frayed patches of
skin and flesh and tied up the broken arteries, giving aid
,-vith quick fingers and steady hands till all was over.
A DAY IN SEPTEl\IBER 197
"You have done this sort of thing before, Miss
Gwynne?" said the doctor.
"N 0, never," she replied.
"VVell, you certainly are a brick," he said, turning ad-
miring eyes upon her. He was a young man and un-
married. "But this is a little too much for you." From
a decanter which stood o.n a side table he poured out a
little spirits. "Drink this," he said.
"N 0, thank yo.u, Dcctor, I am quite right," said Kath-
leen, quietly picking up the bloody debris and dropping
them into a basin \vhich she carried into the other room.
"He is all right now," she said to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt,
who took the basin from her, exclaiming,
"My poor dear, you are a.wfully white. I am ashamed
of myself. N ow you must lie down at once."
"N 0, please, I shall go home, I think. Where is
Nora ?"
"Nora has gone home. You won't lie down a little?
Then Tom shall take you in the car. You are perfectly
splendid. I did not think you had it in you."
"Oh, don't, don't," cried the girl, a quick rush of
tears coming to her eyes. "I must go, I must go. Oh, I
feel terrible. I don't know what I have done. Let me
go home." She almost pushed Mrs. Waring-Gaunt from
her and went o.ut of the house and found rrom standing
by the car smoking.
"Take her home, Tom," said "his wife. "She needs
rest. "
"Come along, Kathleen; rest-well, rather. Get in
beside me here. :Feel rather rotten, eh, what? Fine
bit of work, good soldier-no, don't talk-monologue
indicated." And monologue it was till he delivered her,
pale, \veary and spent, to her mother.
CHAPTER XIV
AN EXTRAORDINARY NURSE
A LETTER for you, Nora," said Larry, coming just
in from the post office.
"From Jane !" cried Nora., tearing open the letter.
"Oh, glory," she continued. "They are coming. Let's
see, written on the ninth, leaving to-morrow and arrive
at Melville Station on the twelfth. Why, that's to-
morrow."
"\Vho, Nora?" said Larry. "Jane?"
"Yes, Jane and. her father. She says, 'We mean to
stay two or three days, if you can have us, on our way to
Banff.' "
"Hurrah! Good old Jane! What train did you say?"
cried Larry.
"Sixteen-forty-five to-morrow at Melville Station."
" 'We'll have one trunk and two boxes, so you will
need some sort of rig, I am afraid. I hope this will not
be too much trouble.' "
"Isn't that just like Jane ?" said Larry. "I bet you
she gives the size of the trunk, doesn't she, Nora?"
"A steamer trunk and pretty heavy, she says."
"Same old girl. Does she give you the colour ?" In-
quired Larry. "Like an old Inaid, she is."
"Nonsense," said Nora, closing up her letter. "Oh,
it's splendid. Let's see, it is eight years since we sa.w
her."
"Just about fifteen months since I saw her," said
Larry.
"And about four months for me," said Kathleen.
"But eight years for me," cried Nora, "and she has
198
AN EXTRAORDIN ARY NURSE 199
never missed writing me every week, except once when
she had the mumps, and she made her father write that
week. N ow we shall have "to take our old democrat to
meet her, the awful old thing," said Nora in a tone of
disgust.
"J ane won't mind if it is a hayrack," said I.larry.
"N 0, but her father. lIe's such a swell. I hate meet-
ing him with that old bone cart. But we can't help it.
Oh, I am just nutty over her coming. I wonder "vhat
she's like?"
"vVhy, she's the same old Jane," said Larry. "That's
one immense satisfaction about her. She is always the
same, no matter when, how or where you meet her.
There's never a change in Jane."
"I wonder if she has improved-got any prettier, I
mean."
"Prettier! What the deuce a.re you talking about?"
said Larry indignantly. "Prettier! Like a girl that is!
You never think 0 f looks when you see Jane. All yOUt
see is just Jane and her big blue eyes and her smile.
Prettier! Who "vants her prettier?"
"Oh, all right, Larry. Don't fuss. She is plain-look-
ing, you know. But she is such a good sort. I must
tell Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt."
"Do," said Larry, "and be sure to ask her for her
car. "
Nora made a face at him, but ran to the 'phone and
in an ecstati
jumble of words conveyed the tremendous
ne\vs to the lady at the other end of the "vire and to all
the ears that might be open along the party line.
"Is that Mrs. Waring-Gaunt ?-It's Nora speaking. I
have the most glorious news for you. Jane is coming!
-You don't know Jane? My friend, you kno\v, in
Winnipeg. You must have often heard me speak of her.
-What?-Brown.-No, Brown, B-r-o-w-n. And she's
coming to-morrow.- N 0, her father is \vith her.- Yes,
Dr. Brown of Winnipeg.-Oh, yes. Isn't it splendid?-
Three days only, far too short. And \ve meet her to-
200
THE l\IAJOR
morrow.-I beg your pardon (-Sixteen-forty-five, she
says, and she is ahvays right. Oh, a change in the time
table is there?- Yes, I will hold on.-Sixteen-forty-five,
I might have kl1o\vn.-\Vhat do you say?-Oh, could
you? Oh, dear Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt, ho\v perfectly
splendid 0 f you! But are you sure you can ?-Oh, you
are just lovely.- Yes, she has one trunk, but that can
come in the democrat. Oh, that is perfectly lovely!
Thank you so much. Good-bye.-\Vhat? Yes, oh, yes,
certainly I must go.- Will there be room for him? I
am sure he will love to go. That will make five, you
kno\v, and they have two bags. Oh, lovely; you are
a\vfully good.-vVe shall need to start about fifteen
o'clock. Good-bye. Oh, how is Mr. Romayne?-Oh, I
am so sorry, it is too bad. But, Mrs. vVaring-Gaunt,
you know Dr. Bro\vn is a splendid doctor, the hest in
'vVinnipeg, one of the best in Canada. He vvill tell you
exactly what to do.-I beg your pardon?- Yes, she's
here. Kathleen, you are wanted. Hurry up, don't keep
her \vaiting. Oh, isn't she a dear ?"
"What does she want of me ?" said Kathleen, a flush
coming to her cheek.
"Come and see," said Nora, covering the transmitter
\vith her hand, "and don't keep her waiting. \Vhat is
the matter with you?"
Reluctantly IZathleen placed the receiver to her ear.
"Yes, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, it is Kathleen speaking.- Yes,
thank you, quite well.-Oh, I have been quite all right,
a little shaken perhaps.- Yes, isn't it splendid? Nora
is quite wild, you know., Jane is her dearest friend and
he has not seen her since we \vere children, but they
haye kept up a most active correspondence. Of course,
I sa\v a great deal of her last year. She is a splendid
girl and they \vere so kind; their house \vas like a home
to me. I am sure it is very kind of you to offer to meet
them.-I beg your pardon ?-Oh, I am so sorry to hear
that. We thought he was doing so well. \i\That brought
that on ?-Blood-poi
oning!-Oh, Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt,
AN EXTR,AORDIN ARY NURSE 201
you don't say so? How terrible! Isn't it good that Dr.
Brown is coming? He will know exactly \\7hat is wrong.
-Oh, I anI so sorry to hear that. Sleeplessness is so
trying.-Yes-Yes-Oh, Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt, I am
afraid I couldn't do that." Kathleen's face had flushed
bright crimson. "But I am sure Mother would be so
glad to go, and she is a perfectly wonderful nurse. She
knows just ,vhat to do.-Oh, I am afraid not. vVait,
please, a rnoment."
"\ Vhat does she want?" asked Nora.
Kathleen covered the transmitter vvith her hand. !aShe
'Wants me to go and sit vvith Mr. Romayne \vhile she
drives you to the station. I cannot, I cannot do that.
Where is l\lother? Oh, l\Iother, I cannot go to Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt's. I really cannot."
"\tVhat nonsense, Kathleen I"
cried Nora impatiently.
"\tVhy can't you go, pray? Let me speak to her." She
took the receiver from her sister's hand. "Yes t Mrs.
\Varing-Gaunt, it is Nora.-I beg your pardon ?-Oh,
yes, certainly, one of us will be glad to go.-No, no, cer-
tainly not. I ,,"ould not have Mr. \Varing-Gaunt leave
his work for the ,vorld.-I know, I kno,v, awfully slow
for him. We had not heard of the change. It is too
bad.- Yes, surely one of us \vill be glad to come. We
\vill fix it up some way. Good-bye."
Nora hung up the receiver and turned fiercely upon her
sister. "No\v, \vbat nonsense is this," she said, "and she
being so nice about the car, and that poor man suffering
there, and \ve never even heard that he \vas ,vorse? He
was doing so splendidly, getting about all right. Blood-
poisoning is so a\vfuI. \Vhy, you renlember the Mills
boy? I-Ie almost lost his ann."
"Oh, my dear Nora," said her mother. "There is
no need of imagining such terrible things, but I am glad
Dr. Bro\vn is to be here. It is quite providential. I am
sure he will put poor Mr. Romayne right. I(athleen.
dear," continued the mother, turning to her elder daugh-
ter, "I think it \vould be very nice if you would run over
202
THE l\1:AJOR
to-morrow while Mrs. Waring-Gaunt drives to the sta-
tion. I am sure it is very kind of her."
"I know it is, 1\1other dear," said Kathleen. "But
don't you think you would be so much better?"
"Oh, rubbish!" cried Nora. "If it were not Jane that
is coming, I would go myself; I would only be too glad to
go. He is perfectly splendid, so patient, and so jolly too,
and I(athleen, you ought to go."
"N ora, dear, we won't discuss it," said the mother in
the tone that the family kne\v meant the end of all con-
versation. Kathleen hurried away from then1 and took
refuge in her o\vn room. Then shutting the door, she
began pacing the floor, fighting once more the battle \vhich
during that last ten days she had often fought ,vith her-
self and of which she wa
thoroughly weary. "Oh," she
groaned, wringing her hands, "I cannot do it. I cannot
look at him." She thought of that cahll , impassive face
,vhich for the past three months this English gentleman
had carried in all of his intercourse with her, and over
against that reserve of his she contrasted her own pas-
sionate abandonment of herself in that dreadful moment
of self-revelation. The contrast caused her to writhe in
an agony of self-loathing. She knew little of men, but
instinctively she felt that in his sight she had cheapened
herself and never could she bear to look at hit:1 again.
She tried to recall those glances of his and those broken,
passionate ,vords uttered during the monlents of his phys-
ical suffering that seemed to mean something more than
friendliness. Against these, however, was the con-
stantly recurring picture of a calm cold face and of inter-
course marked \vith cool indifference. "Oh, he cannot
love me," she cried to herself. "I am sure he does not
love me, and I just thre\v myself at him." In her march
up and do\vn the room she paused before her 11).irror and
looked at the face that stared so vvildly back at her. Her
eyes rested on the red line of her tTIOutIl. "Oh," she
groaned, rubbing vigorously those full red lips. "I just
kissed him." She paused in the rubbing operation,
AN EXTRAORDIN ARY NURSE 203
gazed abstractedly into the glass; a tender glow drove the
glare from her eyes, a delicious softness as from some
inner vvell overflo\ved her countenance, the red blood
surged up into her \vhite face; she fled from her accusing
mirror, buried her burning face in the pillow in an exul-
tation of rapture. She dared not put into words the
thoughts that rioted in her heart. "But I loved it, I
loved it; I am glad I did." Lying there, she strove to re-
call in shameless abandon the sensation of those ecstatic
moments, \vhispering in passionate self-defiance, "I don't
care \vhat he thinks. I don't care if I was horrid. I
am not sorry. Besides, he looked so dreadful." But she
was too honest not to acknowledge to herself that not for
pity's sake but for love's she had kissed him, and vvith-
out even his invitation. Then once again she recalled
the look in his eyes of surprise in the moment of his
returning consciousness, and the little smile that played
around his lips. Again wave upon wave of sickening
self-loathing flooded from her soul every memory of the
bliss of that supreme moment. Even now she could feel
the bite of the cold, half humorous scorn in the eyes
that had opened upon her as she withdrevl her lips from
his. On the back of this came another memory, sharp
and stabbing, that this man was ill, perhaps terribly ill.
"vVe are a little anxious about hîm," his sister had said,
and she had mentioned the \vord "blood-poisoning." Of
the full meaning 0 f that dread \vord Kathleen had little
knowledge, but it held for her a horror of something un-
speakably dangerous. He had been restless, sleepless,
suffering for the last two days and two nights. That
very night and that very hour he was perhaps tossing in
fever. An uncontrollable longing came over her to go
to him. Perhaps she might give him a few hours' rest,
might indeed help to give him the turn to health again.
After all, \vhat mattered her feelings. \Vhat difference
if he should despise her, provided she brought him help
in an hour of crisis. Physically weary with the long
struggle through \vhich she had been passing during the
204
THE l\iA.JOR
last ten days, sick at heart, and tom with anxiety for
the man she loved, she threw herself upon her bed and
abandoned herself to a storm of tears. Her mother
came announcing tea. but this she dec1ìned, pleading head...
ache and a desire to sleep. But no sooner had her
mother withdra\vn than she rose from her bed and with
deliberate purpose sat herself down in front of her mir..
ror again. She would have this out \vith herself no\v.
"Well, you are a beauty, sure enough," she said, address-
ing her swollen and disfigured countenance. "vVhy can't
you behave naturally ? You are acting like a fool and
you are not honest with yourself. Come now, tell the
truth for a few minutes if you can. Do you want to
go and see this man or not? Ans\ver truly." "\"1 ell,
I do then." The blue eyes looked back defiantly at her.
"vVhy? to help him? for his sake? Come, the truth."
"Yes, for his sake, at least partly." "And for your own
sake, too? Come now, none of that. Never mind the
blushing." "Yes, for my o\vn sake, too." "Chiefly for
your own sake ?" "No, I do not think so. Chiefly I
wish to help him." "Then \vhy not go?" Ah, this is a
poser. She looks herself fairly in the eye, distinctly
puzzled. Why should she not simply go to him and help
him through a bad hour? \Vith searching, deliberate
persistence she demanded an answer. She will have
the truth out of herself. "Why not go to him if you so
desire to help him?" "Because I am ashamed, because
I have made myself cheap, and I cannot bear his eyes
upon me. Because if I have made a mistake and he
does not care for me-oh, then I never \vant to see him
again, for he would pity me, and that I cannot bear."
"What? Not even to bring him rest and relief from his
pain? Not to help him in a critical hour? He has been
asking for you, remember." Steadily they face each
other, eye to eye, and all at once she is conscious that the
struggle is over, and, looking at the face in the glass,
she says, "Yes, I think I would be willing to do that for
him, no matter how it would shame me." .i-\nother heart-
AN EXTRAORDINARY NURSE 205
searching pause, and the eyes answer her again, "I "vill
go to-morrow." At once she reads a new peace in the
face that gazes at her so "veary and wan, and she knows
that for the sake of the man she loves she is ,villing to
endure even the shame of his pity. The battle was over
and some sort of victory at least she had won. An eager
impatience possessed her to go to him at once. "I wish
it were to-morrow now, this very minute."
She rose and looked out into the night. There was
neither moon nor stars and a storm ,vas brewing, but
she kne,v she could find her way in the dark. Quietly
and with a great peace in her heart she bathed her swol-
len face, changed her dress to one fresh from the iron-
ing board-pale blue it was with a dainty vine running
through it-thre"v a wrap about her and went out to her
lTIother.
"I am going up to the \V aring-Gaunts', Mother. They
might need me," she said in a voice of such serene con-
trol that her mother only answer
d,
"Yes, dear, Larry will go with you. He will soon be
. "
In.
"There is no need, Mother, I am not afraid."
Her mother made no ans"ver but came to her and with
a display of tenderness unusual between them put her
arms about her and kissed her. "Good-night, then, dar-
ling; I am sure you will do them good."
The night ,vas gusty and black, but Kathleen had no
fear. The road was known to her, and under the im-
pulse of the purpose that possessed her she made noth-
ing of the darkness nor of the approaching storm. She
hurried down the lane toward the main trail, refusing
to discuss with herself the possible consequence of ,vhat
she was doing. Nor did she know just what situation
she might find at the \Varing-Gaunts'. They would
doubtless be surprised to see her. They might not need
her help at all. She might be going upon a fool's er-
rand, but all these suppositions and forebodings she
brushed aside. She was bent upon an errand of simple
206
THE MAJOR
kindness and help. If she found she was not needed she
could return home and no harm done.
Receiving no response to her knock, she V\Tent quietly
into the living room. A lamp burned low upon the ta-
ble. There was no one to be seen. Upstairs a child
,vas wailing and the mother's voice could be heard sooth-
ing the little one to sleep. From a bedroom, of \vhich
the door stood open, a voice called. The girl's heart
stood still. It ,vas Jack's voice, and he vvas calling for
his sister. She ran upstairs to the children's room.
"Re is calling for you," she said to Mrs. \Varing-
Gaunt vvithout preliminary greeting. "Let me take
Doris. "
But Doris set up a wail of such acute dismay that the
distracted mother said, "Could you just step in and see
what is wanted? Jack has been in bed for two days.
\Ve have been unable to get a nurse any\vhere, and to-
night both little girls are ill. I am so thankful you came
over. Indeed, I ,vas about to send for one of you.
Just run down and see \vhat Jack wants. I hope you
don't mind. I shall be down presently \vhen Doris goes
to sleep."
"I am not going to sleep, I\1:amma," answered Doris
emphatically. "I am going to keep awake, for if I go
to sleep I know you will go away."
"All right, darling, Mother is going to stay with you,"
and she took the little one in her arms, adding, "No\v
we are all right, aren't we."
Kathleen ran downstairs, turned up the light in the
living room and passed quietly into the bedroom.
"Sorry to trouble you, Sybil, but there's something
wrong with this infernal bandage."
l{athleen went and brought in the lamp. "Your sister
cannot leave Doris, 1\1r. Romayne," she said quietly.
"Perhaps I can be of use."
For a few moments the sick man gazed at her as at
a vision. "Is this another of them?" he said wearily.
"I have been having hallucinations of various sorts for
AN EXTRAORDINARY NURSE 207
the last two days, but you do look real. It is you, Kath-
leen, isn't it?"
"Really me, Mr. Romayne," said the girl cheerfully.
"Let me look at your arm."
"Oh, hang it, say 'Jack,' won't you, and be decent to a
fellovv. My God, I have wanted you for. these ten days.
Why didn't you come to me? \iVhat did I do? I
hurt you somehow, but you know I wouldn't willingly.
Why have you stayed away from me?" He raised him-
self upon his elbow, his voice was high, thin, weak, his
eyes glittering, his cheeks ghastly with the high lights of
fever upon them.
Shocked, startled and filled with a poignant mother-
ing pity, Kathleen struggled with a longing to take him
in her arms and comfort him as the mother was the little
wailing child upstairs.
"Excuse me just a moment," she cried, and ran out
into the living room and then outside the door and stood
for a moment in the dark, dra\ving deep breaths and
struggling to get control of the pity and of the joy that
surged through her heart. "Oh, God," she cried, lifting
her hands high above her head in appeal, "help me to be
strong and steady. fIe needs me and he wants me too."
F rom the darkness in answer to her appeal there came
a sudden quietness of nerve and a sense of strength and
fitness for her work. Quickly she entered the house and
went again to the sick room.
"Thank God," cried Jack. "I thought I was footed
again. You ,von't go away, Kathleen, for a little while,
will you? I feel just like a kiddie in the dark, do you
know? Like a fool rather. You won't go again?" lie
raised himself upon his arm, the weak voice raised to a
pitiful appeal.
It took all her own fortitude to keep her own voice
steady. "N 0, Jack, I am going to stay. I am your
nurse, you know, and I anl your boss too. You must
do just as I say. Remember that. You must behave
yourself as a sick man should."
208
THE l\IAJOR
He sank back quietly upon the pillow. "Thank God.
Anything under heaven I promise if only you stay, Kath-
leen. You \vill stay, won't you?"
"Didn't you hear me promise?"
"Yes, yes," he said, a great relief in his tired face.
"All right, I am good. But you have made me suffer,
Kathleen. "
"Now, then, no talk," said Kathleen. "We will look
at that arm."
She loosened the bandages. The inflamed and swollen
appearance of the arm sickened and alarmed her. There
\vas nothing she could do there. She replaced the ban-
dages. "You are awfully hot. I am going to sponge
your face a bit if you will let me."
"Go on," he said gratefully, "do anything you likt::
if only you don't go away again."
"Now, none of that. A nurse doesn't run away from
her job, does she ?" She had gotten control of herself,
and her quick, clever fingers, \vith their finn, cool touch.
seemed to bring rest to the jangling nerves of the sick
man. Whatever it \vas, whether the touch of her fingers
or the relief of the cool "vater upon his fevered face and
arm, by the time the bathing process \\Tas over, Jack \vas
lying quietly, already rested and looking like sleep.
"I say, this is heavenly," he murmured. "Now a
drink, if you please. I believe there is medicine about
due too," he said. She gave him a drink, lifting up his
head on her strong arm. "I could lift myself, you
know," he said, looking up into her face with a little
smile, "but I like this way so much better if you don't
mind."
"Certainly not; I am your nurse, you know," replied
Kathleen. "Now your medicine." She found the bot-
tle under his direction and, again lifting his head, gave
him his medicine.
'
Oh, this is fine. I will take my medicine as often as
you want me to, and I think another drink would be
good." She brought him the glass. "I like to drink
AN EXTRAORDIN ARY NURSE 209
slowly," he said, looking up into her eyes. But she shook
her head at him.
"l
o nonsense now," she warned him.
"Nonsense!" he said, sinking back with a sigh, "I
,vant you to believe me, Kathleen, it is anything but
nonsense. My God, it is r
ligion!"
"Now then," said Kathleen, ignoring his words, "I
shall just smooth out your pillows and straighten dO\Vl..
your bed, tuck you in and make you comfortable for the
night and then-"
"And then," he interrupted eagerly, "oh, Kathleen,
all good children get it, you know."
A deep flush tinged her face. "N ow you are not be-
having properly."
"But, KathJeen," he cried, "why not? Listen to me.
There's no use. I cannot let you go till I have this
settled. I must know. No, don't pull away from me,
I(athleen. You know I love yoa, with all my soul, with
all I have, I love you. Oh, don't pull away from me.
Ever since that day \\Then I first sa\v you three months
ago I ha ve loved you. I have tried not to. God kno\vs
I have tried not to because I thought you were pledged
to that-that German fellow. Tell me, Kathleen. Why
you are shaking, darling! Am I frightening you? I
would not frighten you. I would not take advantage of
yòu. But do you care a little bit? Tell me. I have
had ten days of sheer hell. For one brief minute I
thought you loved tne. You almost said you did. But then
you never came to me and I have feared that you did
not care. But to-night I must know. I must know
now." He raised himself up to a sitting posture. "Tell
me, I{athleen; I must know."
"Oh, Jack," she panted. "You are not yourself now.
You are weak and just imagine things."
"Imagine things," he cried with a kind of fierce rage.
"Imagine! Haven't I for these three months fought
against this every day? Oh, Kathleen, if yòu only
knew. Do you love nle a little, even a little ?"
210
THE MAJOR
Suddenly the girl ceased her struggling. "A little!"
she cried. "N 0, Jack, not a little, but with all my heart
I love you. I should not tell you to-night, and, oh, I
meant to be so strong and not let you speak till you
were well again, but I can't help it. But are you quite
sure, Jack? Are you sure you won't regret this when
you are well again ?"
He put his strong arm round about her and drew her
close. "I can't half hold you, darling," he said in her
ear. "This confounded arm of mine-but you do it for
me. Put your arms around me, sweetheart, and tell me
that you love me."
She wreathed her arms round about his neck and drew
him close. "Oh, Jack," she said, "I may be wrong, but
I am so happy, and I never thought to be happy again..
I cannot believe it. Oh, what awful days these have
been!" she said with a break in her voice and hiding her
face upon his shoulder.
"Never mind, sweetheart, think of all the days before
us."
"Are you sure, Jack?" she whispered to him, still hid-
ing her face. "Are you very sure that you will not be
ashamed of me? I felt so dreadful and I came in just
to help you, and I was so sure of myself. But vvhen I
saw you lYIng there, Jack, I just could not help myself."
Her voice broke.
He turned her face up a little toward him.. "Look
at me," he said. She opened her eyes and, looking stead-
ily into his, held them there. "Say, 'Jack, I love you,' "
he whispered to her.
A great flood of red blood rushed over her face, then
faded, leaving her white, but still her eyes held his fast.
"Jack," she whispered, "my Jack, 1 love you."
"Kathleen, dear heart," he said.
Closer he drew her lips toward his. Suddenly she
closei1 her eyes, ber whole body relaxed, and lay limp
against him. As his lips met hers, her arms tightened
AN EXTRAORDINARY NURSE 211
about him and held him in a strong embrace. Then she
opened her eyes, raised herself up, and gazed at him
as if in surprise. "Oh, Jack," she cried, "I cannot think
it is true. Are you sure? I could not bear it if you
were mistaken."
There was the sound of a footstep on the stair. "Let
me go, Jack; there's your sister coming. Quick! Lie
down." Hurriedly, she began once more to bathe his
face as l\lrs. Waring-Gaunt came in.
"Is he resting?" she said. "Why, Jack, you seem
quite feverish. Did you give hitn his medicine ?"
"Yes, about an hour ago, I think."
"An hour! Why, before you came upstairs? How
tong have you been in ?"
"Oh, no, immediately after I came down," said the
girl in confusion. "I don't know how long ago. I
didn't look at the time." She busied herself straighten-
ing the bed.
"Sybil, she doesn't know how long ago," said Jack.
"She's been behaving as I never have heard of any
properly trained nurse behaving. She's been kissing
me."
"Oh, Jack," gasped Kathleen, flushing furiously.
"Kissing you !" exclaimed Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt, looking
from one to the other.
"Yes, and I have been kissing her," continued Jack
shamelessly.
"Oh, Jack," again gasped Kathleen, looking at Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt beseechingly.
"Yes," continued Jack in a voice of triumph, "and
we are going to do it right along every day and all day
long with suitable pauses for other duties and pleas-
ures. "
"Oh, you darling," exclaimed Mrs. Waring-Gaunt
rushing at her. "I am so glad. \VeU, you are a 'wun-
ner' as the Marchioness says. I had thought-but never
mind. Jack, Gear, I do congratulate you. I think you
212
THE MAJOR
are in awful luck. Yes, and you too, Kathleen, for he
is a fine boy. I will go and tell Tom this minute."
"Do," said Jack, "and please don't hurry. My nurse
is perfectly competent to take care of me in the mean-
time. "
CHAPTER XV
THE COMING OF JANE
A T sixteen-forty-five the V\T aring-Gaunt car wa
standing at the Melville Statíon awaiting the arrival
of the train which was to bring Jane and her father, but
no train ,vas in sight. Larry, after inquiry at the wicket,
announced that she was an hour late. How much more
the agent, after the exasperating habit of railroad offi-
cials, could not say, nor could he assign any reason for
the delay.
"Let me talk to him," said N ora impatiently. "I
know Mr. Field."
Apparently the official reserve in which Mr. Field had
\vrapped himself "vas not proof against the smile which
N ora flung at him through the wicket.
"We really cannot say how late she will be, Miss Nora.
I may tell you, but we are not saying anything about it,
that there has been an accident."
"An accident I" exclaimed Nora. "Why, we are ex-
pecting-"
"No, there is no one hurt. A freight has been de-
railed, and torn up the track a bit. The passenger train
is held up just béyond Fairfield. It will be a couple of
hours, perhaps three, before she arrives." At this point
the telegraph instrument clicked. "Just a minut
, :rvliss
N ora, there may be something on the wir
." Wi th his
fingers on the key he executed some mysterious presti-
digitations, wrote down some words, and came to the
wicket again. "Funny," he said, "it is a wire for you,
Miss Nora."
N ora took the yellow slip and read: "Delayed by de.
213
214
THE IVIA.JOR
railed freight. Time of arrival uncertain. Very sorry,
Jane."
"What do you think of this?" cried Nora, carrying
the telegram out to the car. "Isn't it perfectly exasper-
ating? That takes off one of their nights."
"Where is the accident?" inquired Mrs. W aring-
Gaunt.
"Just above Fairfield."
"Fairfield! The poor things r Jump in and we ,vill
be there in no time. It is not much further to \7\1 olf
Willow from Fairfield than from here. Hurry up, we
must make time."
"Now, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, I know your driving.
Just remember that I am an only son. I prefer using all
four wheels on curves, please."
"Let her go," cried Nora.
And Mrs. Waring-Gaunt "let her go" at such speed
that Larry declared he had time for only two perfectly
deep breaths, one before they started, the other after
they had pulled up beside the Pullman car at the scene
of the wreck.
"J ane, Jane, Jane," yelled Larry, ,vaving his hands
,vildly to a girl who was seen sitting beside a ,vindow
reading. The girl looked up, sprang from her seat, and
in a moment or two appeared on the platform. "Come
on," yelled Larry. He climbed over a wire fence, and
up the steep grade of the railroad embankment. Down
sprang the girl, met him half way up the embankment,
and gave him both her hands. "Jane, Jane," exclaimed
Larry. "You are locking splendidly. Do you know,"
he added in a low voice, "I should love to kiss you right
here. Ma y I? Look at all the people; they ,vould enjoy
it so much."
The girl jerked away her hands, the blood showing
dully under her brown skin. "Stop it, you silly boy.
Is that Nora ? Yes, it is." She ,vaved her hand wildly
at Nora, who was struggling frantically ,vith the barbed
wire fence. "\Vait, I am coming, Nora," cried Jane.
THE C01\IING OF .JANE 215
Down the embankment she scrambled and, over the
wire, the two girls embraced each other to the delight
of the whole body of the passengers gathered at win-
dows and on platforms, and to the especial delight of a
handsome young giant, resplendent in a neVi suit of
striped flannels, négligé shirt, blue socks with tie to
match, and wearing a straw hat adorned with a band in
college colours. With a wide smile upon his face he
stood gazing down upon the enthusiastic osculation of
the young ladies.
"Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt, this is Jane," cried Nora. "Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt has come to meet you and take you
home," she added to Jane. "You kno\v we have no car
of our own."
"How do you do," said Jane, smiling at Mrs. Waring..
Gaunt. "I can't get at you very ,veIl just now. It was
very kind of you to come for us."
"And she has left her brother very sick at home," said
Nora in a low voice.
"We won't keep you waiting," said Jane, beg1nning to
scramble up the bank again. "Come, Larry, I shall get
father and you shall help with our things.."
"Right you are," said Larry.
"Met your friends, I see, Miss Brown," said the hand-
some giant. "I know it is mean of me, but I am real1y
disgusted. I t is bad enou.gh to be held up here for a
night, but to lose your company too."
"Well, I am awfully glad," said Jane, giving him such
a delighted smile that he shook his head disconsolately.
"No need telling me that. Say," he added in an un-
dertone, "that's your friend Nora, ain't it? Stunning
girl. Introduce me, won't you?"
"Yes, if you will help me with my things. I am in an
a\vful hurry and don't want to keep them waiting.
Larry, this is Mr. Dean \Vakeham." The young man
shook hands with cordial frankness, Larry with suspi-
cion in his heart.
216
THE MAJOR
"Let me ha
e your check, Jane, and I will go and get
your trunk," said Larry.
"No, you come with me, Larry," said Jane decidedly.
"The trunk is too big for you to handle. Mr. \ V ake-
ham, you will get it for me, won't you, please? I will
éend a porter to help."
"Gladly, l\1iss Brown. No, I mean with the deepest
pain and regret," said \"1 akeham, going for the trunk
while Larry accompanied her in quest of the minor
impedimenta that constituted her own and her father's
baggage.
"Jane, have you any idea how glad I am to see you?"
demanded Larry as they passed into the car.
Jane's radiant smile transformed her face. "Yes, I
think so," she said simply. "But we must hurry. Oh,
here is l')apa:
Dr. Bro\vn hailed Larry with acclaim. "This is very
kind of you, my dear boy; you have saved us a tedious
wait."
"We must hurry, Papa," said Jane, cutting him short.
"
Irs. Waring-Gaunt, who has come for us in her car,
has left her brother ill at home." She marshalled them
promptly into the car and soon had them in line for the
n10tor, bearing the hand baggage and wraps, the por-
ter following with Jane's own bag. "Thank you, por-
ter," said Jane, giving him a smile that reduced that func-
tionary to the verge of grinning imbecility, and a tip
,vhich he received with an air of absent-minded indiffer-
ence. "Good-bye, porter; you have nlade us very com-
fortable," said Jane, shaking hands vlith him.
"Thank you, 1fiss; it shuah is a pleasuah to ,vait on
a young lady like you, l\1iss. It shuah is, Miss. Ah
"Nish you a prospec jounay, Miss, Ah do."
"I wonder what is keeping Mr. Wakeham," said Jane.
"I am very sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. \Varing-
Gaunt. Larry, would you mind?"
"Certainly not," said Larry, hurrying off toward the
baggage car. In a few minutes Mr. Wakeham appeared
THE COMING OF JANE 217
with the doleful ne\vs that the trunk was not in the car
and must have been left behind.
"I am quite sure it is there," said Jane, setting off
herself for the car, the crestfallen Mr. Wakeham and
the f}orter follo\\Ting behind her.
A:
he door a f the car the baggage man met her with
regrè...
\111 apologies. "The trunk must have been left
behind."
He was brusquely informed by Jane that she had seen it
put on board.
"Then it must have been put off by mistake at Cal...
gary.;' This suggestion was brushed aside as un\vorthy
of consideration. The trunk was here in this car, she
was sure. This the baggage man and 1\lr. \ Vakeham
united in declaring quite impossible. "\Ve have turned
the blasted car upside do\vn," said the latter.
"Impossible?" exclaimed Jane, ,vho had been explor-
ing the dark recesses of the car. "vVhy, here it is, I
kne,v it ,vas here."
"Hurrah," cried Larry, "\ve have got it any\vay."
Mr. \\Takeham and the baggage man ,vent to work to
extricate the trt!nk from the lo\vest tier of boxes. They
were \vise enough to attempt no excuse or explanation,
and in Jane's presence they felt cribbed, cabined and
confined in the use of such vocabulary as they ,,,ere
wont to consider appropriate to the circumstances, and in
which they prided themselves as being adequately expert.
A small triumphal procession convoyed the trunk to the
motor, Jane leading as \vas fitting, Larry and Mr. \Vake-
banI forming the rear guard. The main body consisted
of the porter, together with the baggage man, \vho, un-
der a flagellating sense of his inconlpetence, ,vas so moved
fronl his ,vonted attitude of haughty indifference as to
the fate of a piece of baggage committed to his care
when once he had contemptuously hurled it forth from
the open door of his car as to personally aid in conduct-
ing by the unusual
nd humiliating process of actually
handling this particular bit of baggage do,vn a steep and
218
THE MAJOR
gravelly bank and over a ,vire fence and into a motor
car.
"Jane's a wonder," confided Larry to Mr. Wakeham.
"She sure is," said that young man. "Y ou cannot slip
anything past her, and she's got even that baggage man
tamed and tied and ready to catch peanuts in his mouth.
First time I have seen that done."
"You just wait till she smiles her farewell at him,"
said Larry, hugely enjoying the prospect.
Tog-ether they stood a\vaiting the occurrence of this
phenomenon. "Gosh-a-mighty, look at him," murmured
Mr. Wakeham. "Takes it like pie. He'd just love to
carry that blasted trunk up the grade and back to the
car, if she gave him the 'v ink. Say, she ain't much to
look at, but somehow she's got me handcuffed and
chained to her chariot wheels. Say," he continued with
a shyness not usual \vith him, "would you mind introduc-
ing me to the party?"
"Come along," said Larry.
The introduction, ho\vever, was performed by Jane,
,vho apparently considered Mr. Wakeham as bein
un-
der her protection. "Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, this is Mr.
Wakeham. Mr. Wakeham is from Chicago, but," she
hastened to add, "he knows some friends of ours in
Winnipeg."
"So you see I am fairly respectable," said Mr. Wake-
ham, shaking hand \vith Mrs. Waring-Gaunt and Nora.
When the laughter had ceased, Mr. \Vakeham said,
"If your car \vere only a shade larger I should beg hos-
pitality along \vith Dr. and Miss Bro\vn."
"Room on the top," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt with a
smile, "but it seems the only place left. You are just
passing through, Mr. Wakeham?"
"Yes, I am going on to Manor Mine."
"Oh, that's only t\venty mile
down the line."
"Then may I run up to see you ?" eagerly asked Mr.
Wakeham.
THE COl\IING OF JANE 219
"Certainly, we shall be delighted to see you," said the
lady.
"Count on me, then," said the delighted Mr. Wake-
ham, lifting his hat in fare\vell.
Dr. Brown took his place in the front seat beside Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt, the three young people occupying the
seat in the rear.
"\Vho is he?" asked Larry when they had finally got
under way.
"A friend of the James Murrays in \Vinnipeg. You
remember them, don't you? Ethel 11urray ,vas in your
year. He is very nice indeed, don't you think so, Papa ?"
said Jane, appealing to her father.
"Fine young chap," said Dr. Bro\vn with emphasis.
"His father is in mines in rather a big way, I believe.
Lives in Chicago, has large holdings in Alberta coal
mines about here some\vhere, I fancy. The young man
is a recent graduate from Cornell and is going into his
father's business. He strikes me as an exceptionally
able young fellow." And for at least five miles of the
way Dr. Brown discussed the antecedents, the character,
the training, the prospects of the young American till
Larry felt qualified to pass a reasonably stiff examination
on that young man's history, character and career.
"No,v tell me," said Larry to Jane at the first real
opening that offered, "what does this talk about a three
days' visit to us mean. The idea of cOI11ing a thousand
miles on your first visit to your friends, SaIne of \vhon1
you have not seen for eight years and staying three
davs I"
"You see Papa is on his way to Banff," explained Jane,
"and then he goes to the coast and he only has a short
time. So \ve could plan only for three days here."
"We can plan better than that," said Larry confidently,
"but never mind just no\v. We shall settle that to-mor-
row."
The journey home was given to the careful recital of
news of \Vinnipeg, of the . 'Varsity, and of mutual
220
THE
IAJOR
friends. It was like listening to the reading of a diary
to hear Jane bring up to date the doings and goings and
happenings in the lives of their mutual friends for the
past year. Gossip it was, but of such kindly nature as
left no unpleasant taste in the mouth and gave no un-
pleasant picture of any living soul it touched.
"Oh, ,vho do you think came to see me two ,veeks
ago? An old friend of yours, Hazel Sleighter. Mrs.
Phillips she is now. She has two lovely children. Mr.
Phillips is in charge of a department in Eaton's store."
"You don't tell me," cried Larry. "How is dear
Hazel? Ho,v I loved her once! I wonder where her
father is and Tom and the little girl. What was her
name ?"
"Ethel May. Oh, she is married too, in your old
home, to Ben-somebody."
"Ben, big Ben Hopper? Why, think of that kid mar-
ried. "
"She is just my age," said Jane soberly, glad of the
dusk of the falling night. She would have hated to
have Larry see the quick flush that came to her cheek.
\tVhy the reference to Ethel May's marriage should have
made her blush she hardly kne,v, and that itself was
enough to annoy her, for Jane always kne\v exactly why
she did things.
"And Mr. and Mrs. Sleighter," said Jane, continuing
her narrative, "have gone to Toronto. They hav
be-
come quite ,vealthy, Hazfl says, and Tom is with his
father in some sort of financial business. What is it,
Papa?"
Dr. Bro,vn suddenly waked up. "What is ,"That, my
dear ? You will have to forgive me. This wonderful
scenery, these hills here and those mountains are absorb-
ing my whole attention. So ,vonderful it all is that I
hardly feel like apologising to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt for
ignoring her."
"Don't think of it," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
"Do you know, Jane," continued Dr. Brown, "that at
THE COl\IING OF JANE 221
this present moment you are passing through scenery of
its kind unsurpassed possibly in the world ?"
"I was talking to Larry, Papa," said Jane, and they
all laughed at her.
"I \vas talking to Jane," said Larry.
"But look at this world about you," continued her
father, "and look, do look at the moon coming up behind
you away at the prairie rim." They all turned about
except 1Irs. \Varing-Gaunt, whose eye
,",Tere glued to
the two black ruts before her cutting through the grass.
"Oh, wonderful, wonderful," breathed Dr. Bro\vn.
"Would it be possible to pau
e, Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt, at
the top of this rise?"
"No," said Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt, "but at the top of the
rise beyond, ,vhere you ,vill get the full s\veep of the
country in both directions."
"Is that where vve get your lake, Nora," inquired
Jane, "and the valley beyond up to the mountains?"
"Ho\v do you knovv?" said Nora.
"I remember Larry told me once," she said.
"That's the spot," said Nora. "But don't look around
now. \iVait until you are told."
"Papa," said Jane in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice,
Hwhat is it that Tom is doing?" Larry shouted.
"Tom, vvhat Tom? Jane, my dear," said Dr. Brown
in a pained voice, "does Tom matter much or anyone
else in the midst of all this glory?"
"I think so, Papa," said Jane firmly. "You matter,
don't you? Everybody matters. Besides, we were told
not to look until \ve reached the top."
"\\T ell, Jane, you are an incorrigible Philistine," said
her father, "and I yield. Tom's father is a broker, and
Tom is by ,yay of being a broker too, though I doubt
if he is broking very much. :I\Iay I dismiss Tom for a
few minutes now?" Again they all laughed.
"I don't see what you are aU laughing at," said Jane,
and lapsed into silence.
"Novv then," cried Nora, "in three minutes."
222
THE MAJOR
At the top of the long, gently rising hill the motor
pulled up, purring softly. They all stood up and gazed
around about them. "Look back/' commanded Nora.
"It is fifty miles to that prairie rim there." From their
feet the prairie spread itself in long softly undulating
billo,vs to the eastern horizon, the hollows in shadow,
the crests tipped ,vith the silver of the rising moon.
Here and there wreaths of mist lay just above the
shadow lines, giving a ghostly appearance to the hills.
"Now look this way," said Nora, and they turned ahout.
Away to the west in a flood of silvery light the prairie
climbed by abrupt steps, mounting ever higher over
broken rocky points and rocky ledges, over bluffs of
poplar and dark masses of pine and spruce, up to the grey,
bare sides of the mighty taountains, up to their snow
peaks gleaming elusive, translucent, faintly discernible
against the blue of the sky. In the valley immediately at
their feet the waters of the little lake gleamed like a pol-
ished shield set in a frame of ebony. "That's our lake,"
said Nora, "with our house just behind it in the woods.
And nearer in that little bluff is Mrs. Waring-Gaunt's
home."
"Papa," said Jane softly, "we must not keep Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt."
"Thank you, Jane," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "I
fear I must go on."
"Don't you love it?" inquired Larry enthusiastically
and with a touch of impatience in his voice.
"Oh, yes, it is lovely," said Jane.
"But, Jane, you 'v ill not get wild over it," said Larry.
"Get wild? I love it, really I do. But why should I
get wild over it. Oh, I know you think, and Papa
thinks, that I am a,vfu1. He says I have no poetry in
me, and perhaps he is right."
In a few minutes the car stopped at the door of
1:rs.
Waring-Gaunt's house. "I shall just run in for a mo-
ment," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "Kathleen will want
THE CO
IING OF JANE 223
to see you, and perhaps will go home with you. I shall
send her out."
Out from the vine-shadowed porch into the white light
came Kathleen, stood a moment searching the faces of
the party, then moved to\vard Dr. Brown with her hands
eagerly stretched out. "Oh, Dr. Brown," she cried, "it
is so good to see you here."
"But my dear girl, my dear girl, how wonderful you
look 1 vVhy, you have actually grown more beautiful
than when we saw you last I"
"Oh, thank you, Dr. Brown. 'And there is Jane,"
cried Kathleen, running around to the other side of the
car. "It is so lovely to see you and so good of you to
come to us," she continued, putting her arms arotu1d
J
e and kissing her.
"I wanted to come, you know," said Jane.
"Yes, it is Jane's fault entirely," said Dr. Bro\vn. "I
confess I hesitated to impose t,vo people upon you this
way, willy-nilly. But Jane \vould have it that you would
be glad to have us."
"And as usual Jane was right," said Larry with em-
phasis.
"Yes," said Kathleen, "Jane was right. Jane is a
dear to think that way about us. Dr. Bro\vn," con-
tinued Kathleen with a note of anxiety in her voice,
"Mrs. Waring-Gaunt \vondered if you would mind com-
ing in to see her brother. He was wounded with a gun-
shot in the ann about ten days ago. Dr. Húdson, who
was onè of your pupils, I believe, said he would like to
have you see him when you came. I wonder if you
would mind coming in now." Kathleen's face was
flushed and her words flowed in a hurried stream.
"Not at all, not at all," answered the doctor, rising
hastily from the motor and gu;ng in with Kathleen.
"Oh, Larry," breathed Jane in a rapture of delight,
Clisn't she lovely, isn't she lovely? I had no idea she was
so perfectly lovely." Not the moon, nor the glory of the
landscape with all its wonder of plain and valley and
"-
224
THE l\IAJOR
mountain peak had been able to a,vaken Jane to ecstasy,
but the rare loveliness of this girl, her beauty, her sweet
simplicity, had kindled Jane to enthusiasm.
"\\T ell, Jane, you are funny," said Larry. "You rave
and go wild over Kathleen, and yet you keep quite cooJ
over that most wonderful view."
"View!" said Jane contemptuously. "N o. wait,
Larry, let me explain. I do think it all very \vonderful,
but I love people. People after all are better than
mountains, and they are more wonderful too."
"Are they?" said Larry dubiously. "N ot so lovely,
sometimes. "
"Some people," insisted Jane, "are more ,vonderful
than all the Rocky l\lountains together. Look at I(ath-
1een," she cried triun1phantly. "You could not love
that old mountain there, could you? But, Kathleen-"
"Don't know about that," said Larry. "Dear old
thing."
"Tell me how 1\1r. Romayne was hurt," said Jane,
changing the subject.
In graphic language Nora gave her the story of the
accident ,vith all the picturesque details, recounting
IZathleen's part in it ,vith appropriate emotional thrills.
Jane listened with eyes growing wider ,vith each horri-
fying elaboration.
"Do you think his arm ,vill ever be all right?" she in-
quired anxiously.
"\Ve do not know yet," said Nora sombrely.
"Nonsense," interrupted Larry sharply. "His arm
will be perfectly all right. You people make me tired
with your passion for horrors and possible horrors."
Nora was about to make a hot reply \vhen Jane in-
quired quietly, "What dJ.es the doctor say? He ought
to know."
"That's just it," said Nora. "He said yesterday he
did not like the look of it at all. You kno\v he did,
Larry. Mrs. Waring-Gaunt told me so. They are
THE CO
lING OF .JANE 225
quite anxious about it. But we will hear what Dr.
Bro,vn says and then ,ve will kno\v."
But Dr. Brown's report did not quite settle the matter,
for after the approved manner of the profession he de-
clined to commit himself to any definite statement ex-
cept that it ,vas a nasty wound, that it might easily
have been worse, and he pronlised to look in \vith Dr.
Hudson to-morrow. l\1eantime he expressed the pro-
found hope that Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt might get them as
speedily as was consistent \vith safety to their destina-
tion, and that supper might not be too long delayed.
"\Ve can trust }\tIrs. \Varing-Gaunt for the first," said
Larry ,vith confidence, "and mother for the second."
In neither the one nor the other was. Larry mistaken, for
Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt in a very few minutes discharged
both rassengers and freight at the Gwynnes' door, and
supper \vas waiting.
"\Ve greatly appreciate your kindness, 11rs. W ari
g-
Gaunt," said Dr. Bro\vn, bowing courteously over her
hand. "I shall look in upon your brother to-morrow
morning. I hardly think there is any great cause for
anxiety."
"Oh, thank you, Dr. Brown, I am glad to hear you
say that. It would be very good of you to look in
to-morrow. "
"Good-night," said Jane, her rare smile il1uminating
her dark face. "It was so good of you to come for us.
It has been a delightful ride. I hope your brother will
be better to-morrow."
"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "I
should be glad to have you come over to us. I am sure
my brother would be glad to know you."
"Do you think so," said Jane doubtfully. "You know
I am not very clever. I am not like Kathleen or Nora."
The deep blue eyes looked wistfully at her out of the
plain little face.
"I am perfectly certain he would love to know you,
226
THE MAJOR
,...
.Jane-if I may call you so," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt,
impuls.ively kissing her.
"Oh, you are so kind," said Jane. "I will come then
to-morrow."
The welcome to the Gwynne home was without fuss
or effusiveness but had the heart quality that needs no
noisy demonstration.
"\Ve are glad to have you with us at Lakeside Fann,"
said Mr. Gwynne heartily, as he ushered Dr. Brown and
Jane into the big living room, where his wife stood wait-
Ing.
"You are welcome to us, Dr. Brown," said the little
lady. And something in the voice and manner made
Dr. Bro,vn kno,v that the years that had passed since his
first meeting with her had only deepened the feeling of
gratitude and affection in her heart toward him. "We
have not forgotten nor shall we ever forget your kind-
ness to us when we were strangers passing through
Winnipeg, nor your goodness to Larry and Kathleen
while in Winnipeg. They have often told us of your
great kindness."
"And you may be quite sure, Mrs. Gwynne," said Dr.
Bro,vn heartily, "that Larry brought his ,velcome ,vith
him, and as for Kathleen, we regard her as one of our
family."
"And this is Jane," said ]vIrs. Gwynne. "Dear child,
you have gro,vn. But you have not changed. COlne
away to your room."
Once behind the closed door she put her arms around
the girl and kissed her. Then, holding her at arm's
length, scrutinised her face ,vith searching eyes. "No,"
she said again with a little sigh of relief, "you have not
changed. You are the same dear, wise girl I learned to
love in Winnipeg."
"Oh, I am glad you think I am not changed, Mrs.
Gwynne," said Jane, with a glovv of light in her dark
blue eyes. "I do not like people to change and I ,vould
hate to have you think me changed. I know," she
THE COl\;IING OF JANE 227
added shyly, "I feel just the same toward you and the
others here. But oh, how lovely they are, both Kath-
leen and Nora."
"They are good girls," said Mrs. Gwynne quietly,
"and they have proved goO'd girls to me."
"I know, I knovv," said Jane, with impulsive fervour,
"and through those winters and all. Oh, they were so
splendid. "
"Yes," said the mother, "they never failed, and Larry
too."
"Yes, indeed," cried Jane with increasing ardour, her
eyes shining, "with his teaching,-going there through
the awful cold,-lighting the school fires,-and the way
he stuck to his college vvork. Nora's letters told me all
about it. How splendid that was! And you know, Mrs.
Gwynne, in the 'Varsity he did sO' well. I mean besides
his standing in the class lists, in the Societies and in all
the college life. He was really awfully popular," added
Jane \vith something of a sigh.
"You must tell me, dear, sometime all about it. But
now you must be weary and hungry. COlne away out if
you are ready, and I hope you will feel as if you were
just one of ourselves."
"Do you know, that is just the way I feel, Mrs.
Gwynne," said Jane, putting the final touches to her
toilet. "I seem to know the house, and everything and
everybody about it. N ora is such a splendid corre-
spondent, you see."
"\Vell, dear child, we hope the days you spend here
will always be a very bright spot in your life," said Mrs.
Gwynne as they entered the living room.
The next few days saw the beginning of the realisa-
tion of that hope, for of all the bright spots in Jane's life
none shone with a brighter and more certain lustre than
the days of her visit to Lakeside Fann.
CHAPTER XVI
HOSPITALITY WITHOUT GRUDGING
B y arrangement made the previous evening Jane was
awake before the family was astir and in Nora's
hands preparing for a morning ride with Larry, who
was to give her her first lesson in equitation.
"Your habit will be too big for me, Nora, 1 am
afraid," she said.
"Habit I" cried Nora. "M y pants, you mean. You
can pull them up, you know. There they are."
"Pants!" gasped Jane. "Pants ! Nora, pants! Do you
mean to say you wear these things where all the men
will see you?" Even in the seclusion of her bedroom
Jane's face a t the thought went a fiery red. Nora
laughed at her scornfully. "Oh, but 1 can't possibly go
out in these before Larry. 1 won't ride at all. Haven't
you a skirt, a regular riding habit?"
But Nora derided her scruples. "Why, Jane, we all
wear them here."
"Does Kathleen?"
"Of course she does, and Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, and
everybody."
"Oh, she might, but 1 am sure your mother would
not.' ,
N ora shouted joyfully. "Well, that is true, she never
has, but then she has never ridden out here. Put them
on, hurry up, your legs are straight enough, your knees
don't knock."
"Oh, Nora, they are just terrible," said Jane, almost
in tears. "I know 1 will just squat down if Larry looks
at me."
228
HOSPITALITY
229
"V\Thy should he look at you? Don't you ever let on
but that you have worn them often, and he will never
think of looking at you."
In face of many protests Jane was at length arrayed
in her riding apparel.
"Why, you look perfectly stunning," said Nora.
"You have got just the shape for them. Pull them up a
little. There, that is better. N ow step out and let me
see you."
Jane walked across the room and N Dra rocked in
laughter. "Oh, Nora, I ,vill just take them off. You
are as mean as you can be. I will pull them off."
"N ot a bit," said N ora, still laughing, "only stretch
your legs a bit when you walk. Don't mince along.
tride like a man. These men have had all the fun in
the matter of clothes. I tell you it was one of the
proudest moments of my life when I saw my own legs
walking. Now step out and swing your arms. There,
you are fine, a fine little chap, Jane, round as a barrel.,
and neat as a ballet dancer, although I never saw one
except in magazines."
T'rim and neat Jane looked, the riding suit showing
off the beautiful lines of her round, shapely figure.
Shrinking, blushing, and horribly conscious of her pants,
Jane followed Nora from her bedroom. A swift glance
she threw around the room. To her joy it was empty
but for Mrs. Gwynne, who was ready with a big glass of
rich milk and a slice of home-made bread and delicious
butter.
"Good morning, my dear," said Mrs. Gwynne, kissing
her. "You will need something before you ride. You
will have breakfast after your return."
Jane went close to her and stood beside her, still blush-
ing. "Oh, thank you," she cried, "I am really hungry
already. I hope I won't get killed. I never was on a
horse before, you know."
"Oh, never fear, Lawrence is very careful. If it
230
THE MAJOR
were Nora novv I would not be so. sure about you, but
Lawrence is quite safe."
At this point Larry came in. "Well, Jane, all readv?
Good for you. I like a girl that is always on time."
"How do yo.u like her pants, Larry?" said Nora,
wickedly.
"Perfectly splendiferous," cried Larry.
"Oh, you mean thing, Nora," cried Jane, dropping
hurriedly into a chair with scarlet face and indignact
eyes.
"Come along, Jane, old chap, don't mind her. Those
pants never looked so well before, I assure you. vVe
are going to have a great time. I guarantee that in a
fevv minutes you will be entirely oblivious of such trivial
things as mere pants."
They all passed out into the front yard to see Jane
mount and take her first lesson.
"This is Polly," said Larry. "She has taught us all
to ride, and though she has lost her shape a bit, she
has still 'pep' enough to decline to take a dare."
"\Vhat do I do?" said Jane, gazing fearfully at the
fat and shapeless Polly.
"There is, just one rule in learning to ride," said Larry,
"step on and stick there. Polly will look after the rest."
"Step on-it is easy to say, but-"
"This way," said Nora. She seized hold of the horn
· of the saddle, put her foot into the stirrup and sprang
upon Polly's back. "Oh, there's where the pants come
in," she added as her dress caught on to the rear of the
saddle. "Now up you go. Make up your mind you are
going to do it, not going to try."
A look of serious determination came into Jane's face,
a look that her friends would have recognised as the
precursor of a resolute and determined attempt tQ
achieve the thing in hand. She seized the horn of the
saddle, put her foot into the stirrup and "stepped on."
The riding lesson "ras an unqualified success, though
for some reason, known only to herself, Polly signalised
HOSPITALITY
231
the event by promptly running away immediately her
head was turned homeward, and coming back down the
lane at a thundering gallop.
"Hello !" cried Nora, running out to meet them.
"Why, Jane, you have been fooling us all along. You
needn't tell me this is your first ride."
"My very first," said Jane, "but I hope not my last."
"But, my dear," said Mrs. Gwynne, who had also come
out to see the return, "you are doing famously."
"Am I?" cried Jane, her face aglow and her eyes
shining. "I think it is splendid. Shall we ride again
to-day, Larry?"
"Right away after breakfast and all day long if you
like. You are a born horsewoman, Jane."
"Weren't you afraid when Polly ran off with you like
that?" inquired Nora.
"Afraid? I didn't know there was any danger. Was
there any?" inquired Jane.
"N ot a bit," said Nora, "so long as you kept your
head."
"But there really \vas no danger, was there, Larry?"
insisted Jane.
"N one at all, Jane," said Nora, "I assure you. Larry
got rattled when he sa\v you tear off in that wild fash-
ion, but I knew you would be all right. Come in; break-
fast is ready."
"And so am I," said Jane. "I haven't been so hungry
I don't know when."
"\Vhy, she's not plain-looking after all," said Nora to
her mother as Jane strode manlike off to her room.
"Plain-looking?" exclaimed her mother. "I never
thought her plain-looking. She has that beauty that
shines from within, a beauty that never fades, but grows
with every passing year." .
A council of war was called by Nora immediately after
breakfast, at which plans were discussed for the best em-
ployment of the three precious days during \vhich the
visitors were to be at the ranch. There were so many
282
THE l\IAJ"OR
things to be done that unless some system were adopted
valuable time \yould be wasted.
"It appears to me, Miss Nora," said Dr. Brown after a
some\vhat prolonged discussion, "that to accomplish all
the things that you have suggested, and they all seem not
only delightful but necessary, "Ne shall require at least a
month of diligent application."
"At the very least," cried Nora.
"SO' what are \ve going to do?" said the doctor.
It was finally decided that the Browns should extend
their stay at Lakeside House for a \veek, aft
r which
the doctor should proceed to the coast and be n1f t on his
return at Banff by Jane, \vith Nora as her guest.
"Then that's all settled," said Larry. "Now vrhat's
for to-day?"
As if in answer to that question a honk of a mo
or
car was heard outside. N ora rushed to the door, saying,
"That's J\1rs. \Varing-Gaunt." But she returned hastily
with heightened colour.
"Larry," she said, "it's that Mr. \Vakeham."
"\Vakeham," cried Larry. "What's got him up so
early, I ,vonder ?" with a swift look at Jane.
"I wonder," said Nora, giving Jane a little dig.
"I thought I would just run up and see if you had
all got home safely last night," they heard his great voice
booming outside to Larry.
"My, but he is anxious," said Nora.
"But who is he, Nora.?" inquired her mother.
"A friend of Jane's, and apparently terribly concerned
about her welfare."
"Stop, Nora," said Jane, flushing a fiery red. "Don't
be silly. He is a young man "vhom we met on the tra.in r
Mrs. G\vynne, a friend of some of our Winnipeg
friends."
"We shall be very glad to have him stay \vith us, my
dear," said Mrs. Gwynne. "Go and bring him in."
"Go on, Jane," said Nora.
HOSPITALITY
233
"Now, Nora, stop it," said Jane. "I will get really
cross with you. Hush, there he is."
The young man seen1ed to fill up the door with his
bulk. "1\fr. \Vakeham," said Larry, as the young fel-
low stood looking around on the group \vith a frank, ex-
pansive snlÏle upon his handsome face. As his eye
fell upon a little lady the young man seemed to come to
attention. Insensibly he appeared to assume an attitude
of greater respect as he bOV\Ted low over her hand.
"I hope you will pardon my coming here so early in
the morning," he said with an embarrassed air. "I have
the honour of knowing your guests."
"Any friend of our g-uests is very \velcome here, J\fr.
Wakeham," said Mrs. Gwynne, smiling at him with gen-
tle dignity.
"Good morning, Mr. 'Vakeham," said Jane, con1ing
forward "vith outstretched hand. "You are very early
in your cans. You could not have slept very much."
"No, indeed," replied 1fr. Wakehan1, "and that is one
reason \vhy I waked so early. My bed was not so
terribly attractive."
"Oh," exclaimed Nora in a disappointed tone, as she
shook hands with him, "we thought you \vere anxious
to see us."
"Quite right," said the young man, holding her hand
and looking boldly into her eyes. "I have come to see
you. "
Before his look Nora's saucy eyes fell and for some
unaccountable reason her usually ready speech forsook
her. Mr. \Vakeham fell into easy conversation with Mr.
G,vynne and Dr. Brown concerning mining matters, in
"Yhich he ,vas especially interested. He had spent an
hour about the l\fanor Mine and there he had heard a
good deal about Mr. Gwynne's mine and was anxious to
see that if there were no objections. He wondered if
he might drive Mr. Gwynne-and indeed, he had a large
car and would be glad to fill it up with a party if any_
234
THE 1\1AJOR
one cared to come. He looked at Mrs. Gwynne as he
spoke.
""Yes, l\iother, you go. It is such a lovely day," said
1\ ora enthusiastically, "and Jane can go \vith you."
"J ane is going riding," said Larry firmly.
"I am going to 1\irs. vVaring-Gaunt's," said Jane. "I
arranged with her last night."
While they were settling Mrs. Gwynne's protests, and
covered by the noise of conversation, Mr. \tVakeham
managed to get close to Nora. . "I want you to come,"
he said in a lo\v voice. "That's \vhat I came for."
Startled and confused by this extraordinary announce-
ment, Nora could think of no answer.
"I think you were to show me the mine," he added.
Then \vhile Nora gasped at him, he said aloud, "My car
is a s
ven passenger, so we can take quite a party."
"Why not Kathleen?" suggested Jane.
"Yes, indeed, Kathleen might like to go," said Mrs.
G"vynne.
"Then let's all go," cried Nora.
"Thank you a\vfully," murmured 1'vlr. \tVakeham.
"\Ve shall only be two or three hours at most," con-
tinued Nora. "\t\T e shall be back in time for lunch."
"For that matter," said l'vIr. Gwynne, '\ve can lunch
at the mine."
"Splendid," cried Nora. "Come along. \Ve'll run up
with you to the \\Taring-Gaunts' for Kathleen," she added
to l\1r. \Vakehan1.
At the Waring-Gaunts' they had S011le difficulty per-
suading Kathleen to join the party, but under the united
influence of Jack and his sister, she agreed to go.
"N o\v then," said 1\1 rs. Waring-Gaunt, "you have your
full party, Mr. \;Vakeham-l\1r. and l\1rs. Gwynne, Dr.
Brown, and the three girls."
"vVhat about me?" said Larry dolefully.
"I shall stay with you," cried Nora, evading Mr.
\;V akeham' s eyes.
"NO', Nora," said Jane in a voice of quiet deèision.
HOSPITALITY
235
"Last night Mrs. Waring-Gaunt and I arranged that I
should visit her to-day."
There ,vas a loud chorus of protests, each one mak-
ing an alternative suggestion during which Jane ,vent to
Mrs. Waring-Gaunt's side and said quietly, "I want to
stay vvith you to-day."
"All right, dear," said J\1rs. vVaring-Gaunt. "Stay
you shall." And then to the company announced, "We
have it all arranged. Jane and I are to have a visit to-
gether. The rest of you go off."
"And what about me, Jane ?" again said Larry.
"You are going "\vith the others," said Jane calmly,
"and in the afternoon vve are to have our ride."
"And this is Jane," said Jack Romayne as Mrs. War-
ing-Gaunt ushered the girl into his room. "If half of
",-hat I have heard is true then I am a lucky man to-day.
Kathleen has been telling n1e about you."
Jane's smile expressed her delight. "I think I could
say the same of you, Mr. Romayne."
"\tVhat? Has Kathleen been talking about me ?"
"No, I have not seen Kathleen since I came, but there
are others, you know. "
"Are there ?" asked Jack. "I hadn't noticed. But I
know all about you."
It was a hasty introduction for Jane. Kathleen was
easily a subject for a day's conversation. Ho"\v long she
discoursed upon Kathleen neither of them kne"\v. But
vvhen 1frs. \Varing-Gaunt had finished up her morning
household duties Jane was still busy dilating upon Kath-
leen's charms and graces and expatiating upon her tri-
umphs and achievements during her stay in \Vinnipeg
the previous 'v inter.
"Still upon Kathleen?" inquired Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt.
"Oh, I am learning a great deal and enjoying myself
immensely," said Jack.
"You must be careful. Jane. Don't tell Jack every-
thing about Kathleen. There are certain things we keep
to ourselves, you know. I don't tell TOtTI everything."
236
THE MAJOR
Jane opened her eyes. "I have not told Jane yet,
Sybil," said Jack quietly. "She doesn't know, though
perhaps she has guessed how dear to me I(athleen is."
"Had you not heard ?" inquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
"N 0, I only came last night, you see." Then turning
to Jack, she added, "And is-is Kathleen going 1:0 marry
you ?" Her astonishment was evident in her voice and
eyes.
"I hope s.o," said Jack, "and you are no more aston-
ished than I am myself. I only found it out night before
last. "
It was characteristic of Jane that she sat gazing at
him in silence; her tongue had not learned the trick of
easy compliment. She was trying to take in the full
meaning of this surprising announcement.
"Well?" said Jack after he had \vaited for some mo-
ments.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," she sa5d hurriedly. "I con-
gratulate you. I think you are a very lucky man."
"I am, indeed," said Jack \vith emphasis. "And
Kathleen ? You are not so sure about her luck?"
"\Vell, I don't know you yet," said Jane gravely, "and
Kathleen is a very lovely girl, the very loveliest girl I
know. "
"You are quite right," said Jack in a tone as grave as
her own. "I am not good enough for her."
"Oh, I did not say that. Only I don't kno\v you, and
you see I know Kathleen. She is so lovely and so good.
I love her." Jane's face \vas earnest and grave.
"And so do I, Jane, if I may call you so," said Jack,
"and I am going to try to be worthy of her."
Jane's eyes rested quietly on his face. She made up
her mind that it was an honest face and a face one could
trust, but to Jane it seemed as if something portentous
had befallen her friend and she could not bring herself
immediately to accept this ne\v situation \vith an out-
burst of joyous acclaim such as ordinarily greets an an-
nouncement of this kind. For a reason she could not
HOSPITALITY
237:
explain her mind turned to the memory she cherished of
her own mother and of the place she had held with her
father. She \vondered if this Ivan could give to Kath-
leen a place so high and so secure in his heart. While
her eyes \vere on his face Jack could see that her mind
,vas far away. She was not thinking of him.
"What is it, Jane?" he said gently.
Jane started and the blood rushed to her face. She
hesitated, then said quietly but \vith charming frank-
ness, "I was thinking of my mother. She died \vhen I
was t\VO years old. Father says I am like her. But I
am not at all. She \vas very lovely. I(athleen makes
me think of her, and father often tells me about her.
He has never forgotten her. Y Û'U see I think he loved
her in quite a wonderful way, and h e " Jane paused
abruptly.
Mrs. Waring-Gaunt rose quietly, came to her side.
"Dear Jane, dear child," she said, kissing her. "That's
the only \vay to love. I am sure your mother was a
lovely woman, and a very happy woman, and you are
like her."
But Jack kept his face turned away from them.
"Oh, Mrs. 'vVaring-Gaunt," cried Jane, shaking her
head emphatically, "I am not the least bit like her. That
is one of the points on which I disagree with father. We
do not agree upon everything, you know."
"No? \Vhat are some of the other points ?"
"\Ve agree splendidly about Kathleen," said Jane,
laughing. "Just now \ve differ about Germany."
"Aha, how is that?" inquired] ack, immediately alert.
"Of course, I knovv very little about it, you under-
stand, but last winter our minister, Mr. McPherson, who
had just been on a visit to Germany the summer before,
gave a lecture in which he said that Germany had made
enonnous preparations for war and was only waiting a
favourable moment to strike. Papa says that is all
nonsense."
"Oh, Jane, Jane," cried Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, "you
238
THE J\IAJOR
have struck upon a very sore spot in this house. Jack
,vill indorse all your minister said. He \vill doubtless
go much further."
"YVhat did he say, Jane ?" inquired Jack.
"He was greatly in earnest and he urged preparation
by Canada. He thinks \ve ought at the very least to be-
gin getting our fleet ready right away."
"That's politics, o.f course," said l\1rs. \Varing-Gaunt,
"and I do not kno\v what you are."
"I am not sure that I do either," she replied, "but I
believe too that Canada ought to get at her fleet without
loss 0 f time."
"But ,vhat did he say about Germany?" continued
Jack.
"I can't tell you everything, o.f course, but he assured
us that Germany had made the greatest possible prepara-
tion, that the cities, towns and villages were full o.f drill-
ing men; that there ,vere great stores of \var material,
guns and shells, every\\" here throughout Germany; that
they were preparing fleets of Zeppelins and submarines
too; that they were ready to march at t\venty-four hours'
notice; that the whole railroad system of Germany was
organised, ,vas really built for war; that ,vithin the last
few years the \vhole nation had COlne to believe that
Germany must go to war in order to fulfil her great
destiny. Father says that this is all foolish talk, and
that all this war excitement is prompted chiefly by pro-
fessional soldiers, like Lord Roberts and others, and by
armament makers like the Armstrongs anà the IZrupps."
"What do. you think about it all, Jane?" inquired Jack,
looking at her curiously.
"\Vell, he had spent some mo.nths in Germany and
had taken pains to inquire of all kinds of people, o.fficers
and pro.f essors and preachers and \vorking people and
politicians, and so I think he ought to kno.w better than
others \vho just read books and the newspapers, don't
you think so?"
"1 think you are entirely right., and I hope that minis-
HOSPITALITY
239
ter of yours will deliver that lecture in many places
throughout this country, for there are not many people,
even in England, who believe in the reality of the Ger-
man menace. But this is my hobby, my sister says, and
I don't want to bore you."
"But I am really interested, Mr. Romayne. Papa
la.ughs at me, and Larry too. He does not believe in the
possibility of war. But I think that if there is a chance,
even the slightest chance, of it being true, it is so terrible
that we all ought to be making preparation to defend
ourselves. "
"Well, if it won't bore you," said Jack, "I shall tell
you a few things."
"Then excuse me," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "I have
some matters to attend to. I have no doubt that you
at least, Jack, will have a perfectly lovely time."
"I am sure I shall too," cried Jane enthusiastically.
"I just \vant to hear about this."
"Will you please pass n1e that green book ?'" said Jack,
after Mrs. \Varing-Gaunt had left the room. "No, the
next one. Yes. The first thing that it is almost im-
possible for us Britishers to get into our minds is this,
that Germany, not simply the Kaiser and the governing
classes, but the \vhole body of the German people, take
themselves and their enlpire and their destiny with most
ama.zing seriousness. Listen to this, for instance. This
will give you, I say, the psychological condition out of
\vhich war may easily and naturally arise." He turned
the leaves of the book and read:
"'To live and expand at the expense of other less
meritorious peoples finds its justification in the convic-
tion that we are of all people the most noble and the nlost
pure, destined before others to work fQr the highest de-
velopment of humanity.'
"One of their poets-I haven't got him here-speaks
of the 'German life curing all the evils of humanity by
mere contact with it.' You see that row of books?
These are only a few. Most of them are Gennan. They
240
THE
IAJOR
are all by different authors and on different subjects, but
they are quite unanimous in setting forth the German
ideal, the governing principle of German "VV orld politics.
They are filled \vith the most unbelievable glorification
of Germany and the GenTIan people, and the most ex-
traordinary prophe
ies as to her wonderful destiny as a
V\T arId Power. Unhappily the German has no sense of
humour. A Britisher talking in this way about his coun-
try ,vould feel himself to be a fool. Not so the German.
\Vith a perfoctly serious face he will attribute to him-
self and to his nation all the virtues in the calendar. For
instance, listen to this:
" 'Domination belongs to Germany because it is a su-
perior nation, a noble race, and it is fitting that it should
control its neighbours just as it is the right and duty of
every individual endowed ,vith superior intellect and
force to control inferior individuals about him.'
"Here's another choice bit:
H '\ V e are the superior raCe in the fields 0 f science
and of art. \Ve are the best colonists, the best sailors,
the best merchants.'
"That's one thing. Then here's another. For many
years after his accession I believe the I(aiser was gen-
uinely anxious to preserve the peace of Europe and tried
his best to do so, though I am bound to say that at times
he adopted rather peculiar methods, a mingling of bully-
ing and intrigue. But no\v since 19o-t--just hand me
tha t thin book, please. Thank you-the Kaiser has
changed his tone. For instance, listen to this:
" 'God has called us to civilise the world. \Ve are the
lTIissionaries of human progress.'
"And again this:
" 'The German people will be the b10ck of granite on
,vhich our Lord \vill be able to elevate and achieve the
civilisation of the world.'
"But I need not weary you with quotations. The
political literature of Germany for the last fifteen years
is saturated with this spirit. The British people dismiss
IIOSPITALITY
241
this \vith a good-natured smile of contempt. To them it
is simply an indication of Gernlan bad breeding. If you
care I shall have a number of these books sent you. They
are somewhat difficult to get. Indeed, some of them can-
not be had in English at all. But you read German, do
you not? Kathleen told me about your German prize."
"I do, a little. But I confess I prefer the English,"
said Jane with a little laugh.
"The chief trouble, ho\vever, is that so few English-
speaking people care to read them. But I assure you
that the one all-absorbing topic of the Gernlan people is
this one of Germany's manifest destiny to rule and ele-
vate the world. And relTIember these two things go to-
gether. They have no idea of dominating the world in-
tellectually or even commercially-but perhaps you are
sick of this."
"N ot at all. I am very greatly il?terested," said Jane.
"Then I shall just read you one thing more. The
German has no idea that he can benefit a nation until he
conquers it. Listen to this:
" 'The dominion of German thought can only be ex-
tended under the ægis of political po\ver, and unless we
act in conformity to this idea \ve shall be untrue to our
great duties to\vard the human race.' "
"I shall be very glad to get those books," said Jane,
"and I \vish you \vould mark some of these passages.
And I promise you I shall do all I can to make all my
friends read them. I shall begin with Papa and Larry.
They are always making fun of me and my German
scare." .
"I can quite understand that," replied Jack. "That
is a very common attitude with a great majority of the
people of England to-day. But you see I have been close
to these things for years, and I have personal knowledge
of many of the plans and purposes in the minds of the
German Kaiser and the political and military leaders of
Germany, and unhappily I know too the spirit that domi-
nates the whole body of the Gennan people."
242
THE l\IAJ"OR
"You lived in Germany for some years?"
"Yes, for a number of years."
"And did yo.u like the life there ?"
"In many ways I did. I met some channing Gennans,
and then there is always their superb music."
And for an hour Jack Romayne gave his listener a
series of vivid pictures of his life in Germany and in
other lands for the past ten years, mingling with personal
rel11iniscences incidents connected with international
politics and personages. He talked well, not only because
his subject was a part of himself, but also. because Jane
possessed that rare ability to listen with intelligence and
sympathy. Never had she met with a man who had been
in such intimate touch with the world's Great Affairs
and \\Tho was possessed at the same tÏ111e of such brilliant
powers of description.
Before either of them was aware the party from the
mine had returned.
"We have had a perfectly - glorious time," cried Nora
as she entered the room with her cheeks and eyes glow-
Ing.
"So have we, Miss :r-
ora," said Jack. "In fact, I had
not the slightest idea of the flight of. time."
"You may say so," exclaimed Mrs. vVaring-Gaunt.
"These two have been so utterly absorbed in each other
that my presence in the room or absence from it ,vas a
matter of perfect indifference. And ho,v Jane managed
it I don't kno\v, but she got Jack to do for her what he
has never done for me. He has actually been giving
her the story of his life."
Jane stood by listening with a smile of frank delight
on her face.
aHo\v did you do it, Jane?''' asked Kathleen shyly.
"He has never told me."
"Oh, I just listened," said Jane.
"That's a nasty jar for you others," said Nora.
"But he told me something else, Kathleen," said Jane
\vith a bright blush, "and I am awfully glad." As she
HOSPITALITY
243
spoke she ,vent around to I(athleen and, kissing her, said,
"It is perfectly lovely for you both."
"Oh, you really mean that, do. you ?" said Jack. "Y ou
know she ,yas exceedingly dubious of me this n1orning."
"\;Vell, I am not now," said Jane. "I kno\v you better,
you see."
"Thank God,'
said Jack fervently. "The day has not
been lost. Yau \vill be sure to come again to see me,"
he added as Jane said good-bye.
"Yes, indeed, you may be quite sure of that," replied
Jane, sfililing brightly back at him as she left the room
\vith Nora.
"vVhat a pity she is so plain," said Mrs. ',Varing-
Gaunt V\Then she had returned from seeing Jane on her
way with Nora and Mr. \Vakeham.
"11 y dear Sybil, you waste your pity," said her
brother. "That young lady is so attractive that one
forgets whether she is plain o.r not. I can't quite explain
her fascination for file. There's perfect sincerity to be-
gin with. She is never posing. And perfect simplicity.
And besides that she is so intellectually keen, she keeps
one alive."
"I just love her," said IZathleen. "She has such a good
heart. "
"You have said it," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, "and
that is why Jane will never lose her charm."
CHAPTER XVII
THE TRAGEDIES OF LOVE
W HEN the \veek had fled Dr. Bro,vn could hardly
persuade himself and his hosts at Lakeside Farm
that the time had come for his departure to the coast.
Not since he had settled down to the practice of his pro-
fession at \Vinnipeg more than t\venty years ago had
such a holiday been his. Alberta, its climate, its life of
large spaces and far visions, its hospitable people, had got
hold of him by so strong a grip that in parting he vowed ,
that he \vould not await an opportunity but nlake one
to repeat his visit to the ranch. And so he departed
"vith the understanding that Jane should follow hitn to
Banff ten days later with her friend Nora.
The ten days were to Jane as a radiant, s\viftly mo.v-
ing dream. Yet with so much to gratify her, one wish
had remained ungratified. Though from early morning
until late night she had ridden the ranges no,v with
one and now with another, but for the most part with
Larry, Jane had never "do.ne the mine."
"And I just know I shall go away without seeing that
mine, and vVinnipeg people will be sure to ask me about
it, and what shall I say? And I have never seen that
wonderful secretary, Mr. Switzer, either."
"To-morrow," said Larry solemnly, "no tnatter what
happens we shall have you see that mine and the won-
derful Mr. S\vitzer."
It was the seeing of Mr. Switzer that brought to
Jane the o.nly touch of tragedy to the perfect joy of her
visit to. Alberta. Upon arrival at the mine she was given
over by Larry to Mr. Switzer's courteous and intelli-
2A4
THE TRAGEDIES OF LOVE 245
gent guidance, and with an enthusiasm that never wear-
ied, her guide left nothing of the mine outside or in, to
which with painstaking minuteness he failed to call her
attention. It was with no small degree of pride that
Mr. S\vitzer explained all that had been accomplished
during the brief ten weeks during which the mine had
been under his care. For although it was quite true
that Nlr. Steinberg was the manager, Switzer- left no
doubt in Jane's mind, as there was none in his ovvn, that
the mine owed its present state of development to his
driving energy and to his organising ability. Jane read-
ily forgave him his evident pride in himself as he ex-
claimed, s\veeping his hand toward the little village that
lay along the coolee,
"Ten weeks ago, Miss Brown, there was nothing here
but a little black hole in the hillside over there. To-day
look at it. We have a company organised, a village built
and equipped \vith modern inlprovements, \vater, light,
drainage, etc. Weare actually digging and shipping
coal. It is all very small as yet, but it is something to
feel that a beginning has been made."
"I think it is really quite a remarkable achievement,
Mr. Switzer. And I feel sure that I do not begin to
know all that this nleans. They all say that you have
accomplished great things in the short tin1e you have
been at work."
"Weare only beginning," said Switzer again, "but
I believe we shall have a great mine. It will be a good
thing-for the Gwynnes, I mean-and that is worth
while. Of course, my own money is invested here too
and I am working for myself, but I assure you that I
chiefly think of them. It is a joy, Miss Brown, to work
for those you love."
"It is," replied Jane, slightly puzzled at this altruistic
point 0 f view. "The Gwynnes are dear people and I am
glad for their sakes. I love theln."
"Yes," continued Switzer, "this will be a great mine.
They will be wealthy some day."
246
THE MAJOR
"That will be splendid," said J ane. "You see I have
only got to know them well during this visit. Nine
years ago I met them in Winnipeg when I was a little
girl. Of course, Kathleen \vas with us a great deal last
winter. I got to know her well then. She is so lovely,
and she is lovelier now than ever. She is so happy, you
kno\v."
S\vitzer looked puzzled. "Happy? Because you are
here?"
"N 0, no. Because of her engagement. Haven't you
heard? I thought everybody knew."
S\vitzer stood still in his tracks. "Her engagement?"
he said in a hushed voice. "Her engagenlent to-to
that"-he could not apparently get the word out with-
out a great effort-"that Englishman?"
Looking at his white face and listening to his tense
voice, Jane felt as if she were standing at the edge of a
mine that might explode at any moment.
"Yes, to 1\1r. Romayne," she said, and waited, almost
holding her breath.
"It is not true!" he shouted. "It's a lie. Ha, Ha."
S\vitzer's laugh was full of incredulous scorn. "En-
gaged? And how do you. knqw?" He swung fiercely
upon her, his eyes glaring out of a face ghastly white.
"I aln sorry I said anything, 1\1r. Switzer. It was not
my business to speak of it," said Jane quietly. "But I
thought you knew."
Gradually the thing seemed to reach his mind. "Your
business?" he said. ""'\Vhat difference whose business it
is? It is not true. I say it is not true. Ho\v do you
know? Tell me. Tell me. Tell me." He seized her by
the arm, and at each "Tell me" shook her violently.
"You are hurting me, Mr. S\vitzer," said Jane.
He dropped her arm. "Then, my God, will you not
tell me? Ho\v do you know?"
"Mr. Switzer, believe nle it is true," said Jane, trying
to speak quietly, though she was shaking with excitenlent
'THE TRAGEDIES OF LOVE 247
and terror. "Mr. Romayne told me, they all told me,
Kathleen told me. It is quite true, 11r. S\vitzer."
He stared at her as if trying to take in the meaning of
her \vords, then glared arolUld him like a hunted animal
seeking escape from a ring of foes, then back at her
again. There were workmen passing close to them on
the path, but he saw nothing of them. Jane was looking
at his ghastly face. She was stricken with pity for him.
"Shall we walk on this way?" she said, touching his
arm.
He shook off her touch but followed her away from
the busy track of the workers, along a quieter path
among the trees. Sheltered from observation, she slowed
her steps and turned towards him.
"She loves him?" he said in a low husky voice. "You
say she loves him?"
"Yes, Mr. Switzer, she loves him," said Jane. "She
cannot help herself. No one can help one's self. You
must not blame her for that, lVIr, S\vitzer."
"She does not love me," said Switzer as if stunned by
the utterly inexplicable phenomenon. "But she did
once," he cried. "She did before that sch\vein canle."
No words could describe the hate and contenlpt in his
voice. He appeared to concentrate his passions strug-
gling for expression, love, rage, hate, wounded pride,
into one single stream of fury. Grinding his teeth, foam-
ing, sputtering, he poured forth his \vords in an inlpetu-
ous torrent.
"He stole her from me! this sch\vein of an English-
man! I-Ie came like a thief, like a dog and a dog's son
and stole her! She \vas mine! She would have been
mine! She loved me! She was learning to love me. I
was too quick \vith her once, but she had forgiven me
and was learning to love me. But this pig!" He gnashed
his teeth upon the \vord.
"Stop, Mr. S\vitzer," said Jane, controlling her agita-
tion and her terror . "You nlust not speak to me like
that. Yau are forgetting yourself."
248
THE MAJOR
"Forgetting myself I" he raged, his face livid blue and
\vhite. "FÖrgetting myself! Yes, yes 1 I forget every-
thing but one thing. 1"'hat I shall not forget. I shall not
forget him nor ho\v he stole her from nle. Gott in
Himnlell Hinl I shall never forget. No, \vhen these
hairs are '\vhite," he struck his head with his clenched
fist, "I shall still rCl11elnber and curse him." Abruptly
he stayed the rush of his \vords. Then more deliberately
but \vith an added intensity of passion he continued,
"But no, never shall he have her. Never. God hears
nle. Never. Him I \vill kill, destroy." He had \vrought
himself up into a paroxysm oî uncontrollable fury, his
breath came in jerking gasps, his features \vorked \vith
convulsive t\\'itchings, his ja\vs chanlped and snapped
upon his words like a dog's \vorrying rats.
To Jane it seenled a horrible and repulsive sight, yet
she could not stay her pity fronl him. She renlembered
it was love that had moved hinl to this pitch of madness.
Love after all ,vas a terrible thing. She could not despise
him. She could only pity. Her very silence at length
recalled him. For some monlents he stood struggling to
regain his composure. Gradually he became aware that
her eyes \vere resting on his face. 1-'he pity in her eyes
touched him, subdued him, quenched the heat of his
rage.
"I have lost her," he said, his lips quivering. "She
will never change."
"N 0, she will never change," replied Jane gently.
"But you can ahvays love her.. And she \vill be happy."
"She will be happy?" he exclainled, looking at her in
astonishl11ent. "But she will not be mine."
"N 0, she will not be yours," said Jane still very gently,
"but she will be happy, and after all, that is \vhat you
most ,vant. You are anxious chiefly that she shall be
happy. You would give everything to make her happy."
"I would give my life. Oh, gladly, gladly, I would
give my life, I would give my soul, I would give every-
thing I have on earth and heaven too."
THE TRAGEDIES OF LOVE 249
"Then don't grieve too much," said Jane, putting her
hand on his arm. "She will be happy."
"But ,vhat of me?" he cried pitifully, his voice and
lips trembling like those of a little chi]d in distress.
"Shall I be happy?"
"No, not no'v," replied Jane steadily, striving to keep
back her tears, "perhaps SOlne day. But you ,vill think
more of her happiness than of your o\vn. Love, you
know, seeks to make happy rather than to be happy."
For some moments the man stood as if trying to un-
derstanJ what she had said. Then with a ne,v access of
grief and rage, he cried, "But my God! ]\;1 y God! I
\vant her. I cannot live \vithout her. I could make her
happy too."
"N 0, never," said Jane. "She loves hinl."
"Ach-so. Yes, she loves him, and I-hate him. He
is the cause of this. SOlne day I ,vill kill him. I will
kill him."
"Then she would never be happy again," said Jane,
and her face ,vas full of pain and of pity.
"Go a\vay," he said harshly. "Go. a,vay. You knü'v
not 'v hat you say. Some day I shall make him suffer as
I suffer to-day. God hears me. SaIne day." He Ii fted
his hands high above his head. Then with a despairing
cry, "Oh, I have lost her, I have lost her," he turned from
Jane and rushed into the ,voods.
Shaken, trembling and penetrated \vith pity for him,
Jane made her ,yay to,vard the office, near which she
found Larry \vith the manager discussing an engineering
problem \vhich appeared to interest them both.
"\Vhere's Ernest?" inquired Larry.
"He has just gone," said Jane, struggling to speak
quietly. "I think \ve must hurry, Larry. Come, please.
Good-bye, Mr. Steinberg." She hurried a\vay toward
the horses, leaving Larry to follow.
"What is it, Jane?" said Larry when they were on
their way.
"Why didn't you tell me, Larry, that he was fond of .
250
THE l\IAJOR
Kathleen?" she cried indignantly. "I hurt him terribly,
and, oh, it was a\vful to see a man like that."
"\Vhat do you say? Did he cut up rough?" said
Larry.
Jane made no reply, but her face told its own story of
shock and suffering.
"He need not have let out upon you, Jane, anyway,"
said Larry.
"Don't, Larry. You don't understand. He loves
Kathleen. You don't know anything about it. How
can vou?"
"Óh, he will get over it in time," said Larry with a
slight laugh.
Jane flashed on him a look of indignation. "Oh, ho\v
can you, Larry? It was just terrible to see him. But
you do not know," she added with a touch of bitterness
unusual \vith her.
"One thing I do know," said Larry. "I would not
pour out nlY grief on some one else. I would try to keep
it to myself."
But Jane refused to look at him or to. speak again on
the matter. N ever in her sheltered life had there been
anything suggesting tragedy. N ever had she seen a
strong man stricken to the heart as she knew this man to
be stricken. The shadow of that tragedy stayed with her
during all the remaining days of her visit. The sight of
Kathleen's happy face never failed to recall the face of
the man v/ho loved her distorted \vith agony and that
cry of' despair, "I have lo.st her, I have lost her."
N üt that her last days at the ranch \vere not happy
days. She \vas far too healthy and wholesome, far too
sane to alIo\v herself to miss the gladness of tho.se last
few days with her friends where every moment offered
its full measure of joy. Nora ,vould have planned a
grand picnic for the last day on \vhich the t\VO house-
holds, including Jack Romayne, who by this time was
quite able to go about, were to pay a long-talked-of visit
to a famous canyon in the mountains. The party vV'ould
THE TRAGEDIES OF LOVE 251
proceed to the canyon in the two cars, for Mr. \Vake-
ham's car and Mr. Wakeham's person as driver had
been constantly at the service of the Gwynnes and their
guests during their stay at the farm.
"But that is our very last day, Nora," said Jane.
"Well, that's just why," replied N ora. "We shall
wind up our festivities in one grand, g10rious finale."
But the wise mother interposed. "It is a long ride,
N ora, and you don't \vant to be too tired for your jour-
ney. I think the very last day we had better spend
quietly at home."
Jane's eyes flashed upon her a grateful look. And so
it came that the grand finale was set back to the day be-
fore the last, and proved to be a gloriously enjoyable if
exhausting outing. The last day was spent by Nora in
making preparations for her visit with Jane to Banff
and in putting the final touches to such household tasks
as might help to lessen somewhat the burden for those
who would be left behind. Jane spent the morning in a
farewell visit to the W aring-Gaunts', which she made in
company with Kathleen.
"I hope, my dear Jane, you have enjoyed your stay
with us here at \V olf Willow," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt
as Jane was saying good-bye.
"I have been very happy," said Jane. "Never in my
life have I had such a happy time."
"N ow it is good of you to say that," said Mrs. VVar-
ing-Gaunt. "You have made us all10ve you."
"Quite true," said her husband. "Repetition of the
great Cæsar's experience veni vidi vici, eh? \Vhat ?"
"So say I," said Jack Romayne. "It has been a very
real pleasure to know you, Jane. For my part, I shan't
forget your visit to me, and the talks we have had to-
gether. "
"You have all been good to me. I cannot tell you ho\v
I feel about it." Jane's voice was a little tremulous, but
her smile \vas as bright as ever. "I don't believe I shall
ever have such a perfectly happy visit again."
252
THE l\IA.JOR
"What nonsense, my dear," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
"I predict many, many very happy days for you. You
have that beautiful gift of bringing your joy \vith you."
Jack acconlpanied them on their way to the road.
"I(athleen and I are hoping that perhaps you may be
able to come to our wedding. It will be very soon-in a
few weeks."
"Yes, could you, Jane, dear?" said Kathleen. "We
should like it above everything else. I know it is a long,
long journey, but if you could."
"\Vhen is it to be?" said Jane.
"Some\vhere about the middle of October." But Jane
shook her head disconsolately. By that time she knew
she would be deep in her university work, and with
Jane work ever came before play.
"I am afraid not," she said. "But, oh, I do '\vish you
all the happiness in the world. Nothing has ever made
me so glad. Oh, but you will be happy, I know. Both
of you are so lovely." A sudden rush of tears filled the
deep dark eyes as she shook hands with Jack in farewell.
"But," she cri
d in sudden rapture, "why not conle to
us for a day on your wedding trip ?"
"That's a splendid idea." For a moment or two Jack
and Kathleen stood looking at each other.
"J ane, we shall surely come. You may count on us,"
said Jack.
In the afternoon Mrs. Gwynne sent Jane away for a
ride with Larry.
"J ust go quietly, Larry," said his mother. "Don't
race and don't tire Jane."
"I will take care of her," said Larry, "but I won't
promise that we won't race. Jane would not stand for
that, you know. Besides she is riding Ginger, and
Ginger is not exactly like old Polly. But never fear, we
shall have a good ride, Mother," he added, waving his
hand gaily as they rode away, taking the coo lee trail to
the timber lot.
La rry was in high spirits. He talked of his work fOI-
THE TRAGEDIES OF LOVE 253
the winter. He was hoping great things from this his
last year in college. For the first time in his university
career he would be able to give the full term to study.
He would be a couple of weeks late on account of I(ath-
leen's marriage, but he would soon nlake that up. He
had his work well in hand and this year he nleant to do
something worth while. "I should like to take that
medal home to Mother," he said \vith a laugh. "I just
fancy I see her face. She ,vould try awfully hard not
to seem proud, but she would just be running over with
it." Jane gave, as ever, a sympathetic hearing but she
had little to say, even less than was usual \vith her. Her
smile, however, \vas as quick and as bright as ever, 2nd
Larry chattered on beside her apparently unaware of
her silence. Up the coolee and through the woods and
back by the dump their trail led them. On the way
home they passed the Switzer house.
"Have you seen l\1r. Switzer?" said Jane.
"N 0, by Jove, he hasn't been near us for a week, has
he?" replied Larry.
"Poor man, I feel so sorry for him," said Jane.
"Oh, he will be all right. He is busy with his work.
He is awfully keen about that mine of his, and once the
thing is over-after Kathleen is married, I mean-it will
be different."
Jane rode on in silence for some distance. Then she
said,
"I wonder how much you know about it, Larry. I
don't think you know the very least bit."
"Well, perhaps not," said Larry cheerfully, "but they
always get over it."
"Oh, do they?" said Jane. "I wonder."
And again she rode on listening in silence to Larry's
chatter.
"You will have a delightful visit at Banff, Jane. Do
you know Wakeham is going to motor up? He is to
meet his father there. He asked me to go with him,"
and as he spoke Larry glanced at her face.
254
THE l\IAJOR
"That would be splendid for you, Larry," she said,
"but you couldn't leave them at home with all the work
going on, could you?"
"No," said Larry gloomily, "I do not suppose I could.
But I think you might have let me say that."
"But it is true, isn't it, Larry?" said Jane.
"Yes, it's true, and there's no use talking about it,
and so I told hinl. But," he said, cheering up again, "I
have been having a holiday these two weeks since you
have been here."
"I know," said Jane remorsefully, "we must have cut
into your ,vork dreadfully."
"Yes, I have loafed a bit, but it was worth while.
What a jolly time we have had! At least, I hope you
have had, Jane."
"Y ou don't need to ask me, do you, Larry?"
"I don't know . You are so dreadfully secretive as to
your feelings, one never knows about you."
"Now, you are talking nonsense," replied Jane hotly.
"You know quite ,veIl that I have enjoyed every minute
of my visit here."
They rode in silence for some time, then Larry said,
"J ane, you are the best chum a fellow ever had. You
never expect a chap to. pay you special attention or make
love to you. There is none of that sort of nonsense
about you, is there?"
"No, Larry," said Jane simply, but she kept her face
turned away from him.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS
T HE results of the University examinations filled
three sheets of the Winnipeg marning papers.
With eager eyes and anxiaus hearts hundreds of the
youth of Manitoba and the other western provinces
scanned these lists. It was a veritable Day of Judgment,
a day of glad surprises for the faithful in duty and the
humble in heart, a day of Nemesis for the vainly self-
confident slackers who had grounded their hopes upon
eleventh hour cramming and lucky shots in exam. papers.
There \vere triumphs which won universal approval, oth-
ers which received grudging praise.
Of the former, none of those, in the Junior year at
least, gave more general satisfaction than did Jane
Brown's in the ,vinning of the German prize over Hein-
rich Kellerman, and for a number of reasons. In the
first place Jane beat the German in his own language,
at his own game, so to. speak. Then, too, Jane, while a
hard student, took her full share in callege activities, and
carried thraugh these such a spirit of generosity and
fidelity as made her liked and adl11ired by the \vhale body
of the students. Kellerman, on the other hand, was of
that species of student known as a pot-hunter, who took
no interest
n callege life, but devoted himself solely to
the business of getting for hinlself everything that the
college had to offer.
Perhaps Jane alone, of his fellaw students, gave a
single thought to the disappointment of the little Jew.
She alone kne,v hovv keenly he had striven for the prize,
and how surely he had counted upon winning it. She
had the feeling, too, that somehow th
class lists did not
255
256
THE l\lAJOR
represent the relative scholarship of the Jew and her-
self. He knew more German than she. It was this
feeling that prompted her to \vrite him a note \vhich
brought an answer in formal and stilted English.
"Dear ]\Jliss Brown," the ans\ver ran, "1 thank you for
your beautiful note, which is so nluch like yourself that
in reading it I could see your smile, which so constantly
characterises you to all your friends. I confess to dis-
appo.intment, but the disappointnlent is largely mitigated
by the kno\vledge that the prize which I failed to ac-
quire ,vent to one who is so worthy of it, and for \vhom
I cherish the enlotions of profound esteen1 and good will.
Your devoted and disappointed rival, Heinrich Keller-
man.' ,
"Rather sporting of him, isn't it?" said Jane to her
friend Ethel lVlurray, \vho had conle to dinner.
"Sporting?" said Ethel. "It is the last thing I would
have said about Kellerman."
"That is the worst of prizes," said Jane, "sonle one has
to lose. "
"J ust the \vay I feel about l\fr. 1iacLean," said Ethel.
"He ought to have had the medal and not 1. He knows
more philosophy in a n1inute than I in a \veek."
"Oh, I \vouldn't say that," said Jane judicially. "...'\nd
though I am awfully glad you got it, Ethel, I am sorry
for l\lr. l\1acLean. You kno\v he is working his ,vay
through college, and has to keep up a mission through
the term. He is a good man."
"yT es, he is good, a little too good," said Ethel, mak-
ing a little face. "Isn't it splendid about Larry Gwynne
getting the Proficiency, and the first in Engineering?
N ow he is what I call a sport. Of course he doesn't go
in for games much, but he's into everything, the Lit.,
the Dramatic Society, and Scuddy says he helped him
tremendously with the Senior class in the Y. M. C. A.
work. "
"Yes," said Jane, "and the Register told Papa that
the University hall never graduated such a brilliant stu-
VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS: 257
dent. And Ramsay Dunn told me that he just ran the
Athletic Association and was really responsible for the
winning of the track team."
"\Vh.t a pity about Ramsay Dunn," said Ethel. "He
just managed to scrape through. Do you know, the boys
say he kept himself up mostly on whiskey-and-sodas
through the exams. He must be a.wfully clever, and he
is so good-looking."
"Poor Ramsay," said Jane, "he has not had a very
good chance. I mean, he has too much money. He is
coming to dinner to-night, Ethel, and Frank Smart, too."
"Oh, Frank Smart! They say he is doing a,vfully
well. Father says he is one of the coming men in his
profession. He is a great friend of yours, isn't he,
Jane?" said Ethel, with a meaning s.mile.
"\Ve have kno\vn him a long time," said Jane, ignor-
ing the smile. "\Ve think a great deal of him."
"When have you seen Larry?" enquired Ethel. "He
comes here a lot, doesn't he ?"
"Yes. He says this is his Winnipeg home. I haven't
seen him all to-day."
"You don't mean to tell me!" exclaimed Ethel.
"I mean I haven't seen him to congratulate him on
his medal. His mother will be so glad."
"You know his people, don't you? Tell me about
them. You see, I may as welI confess to you that I
have a fearful crush on Larry."
"I know," said Jane sympathetically.
"But," continued Ethel, "he is awfully difficult. His
people are ranching, aren't they? And poor, I under-
stand. "
"Yes, they are ranching," said Jane, "and Larry has
had quite a hard time getting through. I had a lovely
visit last fall with them."
"Oh, tell me about it I" exclaimed Ethel. "I heard
a little, you know, from Larry."
For half an hour Jane dilated on her western visit to
the Lakeside Farm.
258
THE MAJOR
"Oh, you lucky girl!" cried Ethel. "What a chance
you had! To think of it! Three \veeks, lonely rides,
moonlight, and not a soul 'to butt in! Oh, Jane! I only
wish I had had such a chance! Did nothing happen,
Jane? Oh, come on no,v, you are too awfully oyster-
esque. Didn't he come across at all?"
Jane's face glo\ved a dull red, but she made no pre-
tence of failing to understand Ethel's meaning. "Oh,
there is no nonsense of that kind ,vith Larry," she said.
"'vVe are j l1st good friends."
"Good friends!" exclaimed Ethel indignantly. "That's
just \vhere he is so awfully maddening. I can't under-
stand him. He has lots of red blood, and he is a sport,
too. But somehow he never knows a girl from her
brother. He treats me just the way he treats Bruce
and Leslie. I often wonder what he would do if I kissed
hinl. I've tried squeezing his hand."
"Have you?" said Jane, ,vith a delighted laugh.
"v\That did he do?"
"\\Thv, he never knew it. I could have killed him,"
said Ethel in disgust.
"He is going a.way to Chicago," said Jane abruptly,
"to your friends, the Wakehams. !vIr. Wakeham is in
mines, as you kno\v. Larry is to get t\VO thousand dol-
lars to begin with. It is a good position, and I am glad
for him. Oh, there I see 11r. IVlacLean and Frank Smart
coming in."
vVhen the party had settled down they discussed the
Class lists and prize winners till Dr. Brown appeared.
"Shall vve have dinner soon, Jane?" he said as she
welcomed him. "I wish to get through with my ,york
early so as to take in the big political meeting this even-
ing. l-Ær. Allen is to speak and there is sure to be a
crowd."
"I shall have it served at once, Papa. Larry is com-
ing, but we won't wait for him."
They ".ere half through dinner before Larry appeared.
He came in looking worn, pale and thinner even than
VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS 259
usual. But there was a gleam in his eye and an energy
in his movements that indicated sound and vigorous
health.
"You are not late, Larry," said Jane; "we are early.
Papa is going to the political meeting."
"Good I"
cried Larry. "So am 1. You are going,
Frank, and you, MacLean?"
"I don't kn0\v yet," said MacLean.
"\Ve are all due at Mrs. Allen's, Larry, you remember.
It is a party for the Graduating Class, too," said Jane.
"So we are. But \ve can take in the political meeting
first, eh, Mac ?"
But MacLean glanced doubtfully at Ethel.
"I have just had a go \vith Holtzman," said Larry,
"the German Socialist, you know. He \vas ramping and
raging like a wild man do\vn in front of the post office.
I kno\v him quite well. He is going to heckle Mr. Allen
to-nIght. "
The girls were keen to take in the political meeting,
but Larry objected.
"There will be a rough time, likely. It will be no
place for ladies. vVe will take you to the party, then
join you again after the meeting."
The girls were indignant and appealed to Dr. Bro\vn.
"I think," said he, "perhaps you had better not go.
The young gentlemen can join you later, you kno\v, at
AlIens' party."
"Oh, we don't want them then," said Ethel, "and, In-
deed, \ve can go by ourselves to the party."
"No\v, Ethel. don't be naughty," said Larry.
"I shall be very glad to take you to the party, Miss
1Iurray," said MacLean. "I don't care so much for the
meeting. "
"'that will be fine, Mac I"
exclaimed Larry enthusiasti-
cally. "In this way neither they nor we will need to
hurry."
"Disgustingly selfish creature," said Ethel, making a
face at him across the table.
260
THE MAJOR
Jane said nothing, but her face fell into finner lines
and her cheeks took on a little colour. The dinner was
cut short in order to allow Dr.. Brown to get through
with his list of waiting patients.
"We have a few minutes, Ethel," said Larry. "Won't
you give us a little Chopin, a nocturne or t\VO, or a bit
of Grieg?"
"Do, Ethel," said Jane, "although you don't deserve
it, Larry. Not a bit," she added.
"\Vhy, ,,,hat have I done?" said Larry.
"For one thing," said Jane, in a lo'\v, hurried voice,
moving close to him, "you have not given me a chance
to congratulate you on your medal. Where have you
been all day?"
The reproach in her eyes and voicp. stirred Larry to
quick defence. "I have been awfully busy, Jane," he
said, "getting ready to go off to-morrow. I got a tele-
gram calling me to Chicago."
"To Chicago? To-morrow?" said Jane, her eyes \vide
open with surprise. "And you never came to tell me--
to tell us? Why, we may never see you again at all.
But you don't care a bit, Larry," she added.
The bitterness in her voice was so unusual with Jane
that Larry in his astonishment found himself without
reply.
"Excuse me, Ethel," she said, "I must see Ann a
minute."
As she hurried from the room Larry thought he
caught a glint of tears in her eyes. He was imme-
diately conscience-stricken and acutely a ,yare that he had
not treated Jane with the consideration that their long
and unique friendship demanded. True, he had been
busy, but he could have found time for a fe\v minutes
with her. Jane was no ordinary friend. He had not
considered her and this had deeply wounded her. And
to-morrow he was going away, and going a\vay not to
return. He was surprised at the quick stab of pain that
came with the thought that his days in Winnipeg were
VOICE IN THE 'ïVILDERNESS 261
over. In all likelihood his life's vrork would take him
to Alberta. This meant that when he left Winnipeg to-
morrow th
re would be an end to all that delightful com-
radeship ",-ith Jane which during the years of his long
and broken college course had f onned so large a part
of his life, and which during the past winter had been
closer and dearer than ever. Their lives would neces-
sarily drift apart. Other friends would come in and pre-
occupy her mind and heart. Jane had the art of making
friends and of "binding her friends to her with hooks of
steel." He had been indulging the opinion that of all
her friends he stood first with her. Even if he were
right, .he could not expect that this would continue. And
now on their last evening together, through his selfish
stupidity, he had hurt her as never in all the years they
had been friends together. But Jane was a sensible girl.
He would make that right at once. She was the one
girl he knew that he could treat with perfect frankness.
Most girls \vere afraid, either that you were about to
fall in love with them, or that you would not. Neither
one fear nor the other disturbed the serenity of Jane
s
soul.
As Jane re-entered the room, Larry sprang to meet
her. "J ane," he said in a low, eager tone, "I am going
to take you to the party."
But Jane was her own serene self again, and made
answer, "There is no need, Larry. l\1r. MacLean will
see us safcly there, and after the tneeting you will come.
We must go now, Ethe1." There was no bitterness in
her voice. Instead, there was about her an air of gentle
self-mastery, remote alike from pain and passion
that
gave Larry the feeling that the comfort he had thought
to bring was so completely unnecessary as to seem an
impertinence. Jane walked across to \vhere F'rank Smart
was standing and engaged him in an animated conversa-
tion.
As Larry '\vatched her, it gave him a quick sharp pang
to remember that Frank Smart ,vas a friend of older
262
THE MAJOR
standing than he, that Smart was a rising young lawyer
,vith a brilliant future before him. He ,vas a constant
visi tor at this house. Why was it? Like a flash the
thing stood revealed to him. Without a doubt Smart
was in love with Jane. His o\yn heart \vent cold at the
thought. But why? he impatiently asked himself. He
was not in love with Jane. Of that he \vas quite cer-
tain. Why, then, this dog-in-the-manger feeling? A
satisfactory answer to this was beyond him. One thing
only stood out before his nlind \vith startling clarity, if
Jane should give herself to Frank Smart, or, indeed, to
any other, then for him life would be emptied of one
of its greatest joys. He threw do,vn the music book
whose leaves he had been idly turning and, looking at
his watch, called out, "Do you know it is after eight
0' clock, people?"
"Come, Ethel," said Jane, "we must go. And you
boys will have to hurry. Larry, don't wait for Papa.
He will likely have a seat on the platform. Good night
for the present. You can find your way out, can't you?
And, Mr. MacLean, you will find something to do until
'\ve come down?"
Smiling over her shoulder, Jane took Ethel off with
her upstairs.
"Come, Smart, let's get a move on," said Larry, ab-
ruptly seizing his hat and making for the door. "We
will have to fight to get in now."
The theatre ,vas packed, pit to gods. Larry and his
friend with considerable difficulty made their way to the
front ro\v of those standing, \vhere they found a group
of University men, \vho gave them enthusiastic \velcome
to a place in their company. The Chairman had made
his opening remarks, and the first speaker, the Honour-
able B. B. Bomberton, was well on into his oration by the
time they arrived. He was at the moment engaged in
dilating upon the peril through \v hich the country had
recently passed, and thanking God that Canada had loy-
VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS 263
ally stood by the Empir
and had refused to sell her
heritage for a nless of pottage.
"Rot I" cried a voice from the first gallery, followed by
cheers and counter cheers.
The Honourable gentleman, however, was an old cam-
paigner and not easily thro\vn out of his stride. He
fiercely turned upon his interrupter and impaled him up-
on the spear point of his scornful sarcasm, waving the
\vhile with redoubled vigour, "the grand old flag that
for a thousand years had led the embattled hosts of free-
dom in their fight for human rights."
"Rot!" cried the same voice again. "Can the flag
stuff. Get busy and say something." (Cheers, counter
cheers, yells of "Throw him out," followed by disturbance
in the gallery.)
Once more the speaker resumed his oration. He re-
peated his statement that the country had been delivered
from a great peril. The strain upon the people's loyalty
had been severe, but the bonds that bound them to the
Empire had held fast, and please God \vould ever hold
fast. (Enthusiastic demonstration from all the audience,
indicating intense loyalty to the Empire.) They had
been invited to enter into a. treaty for reciprocal trade
with the Republic south of us. He would yield to none
in admiration, even affection, for their American neigh-
bourse He knew them well; many of his warmest friends
were citizens of that great Republic. But great as ,vas
his esteem for that Republic he \vas not prepared to hand
over his country to any other people, even his American
neighbours, to be exploit
d and finally to be led into finan-
cial bondage. He proceeded further to elaborate and
illustrate the financial calamity that would overtake the
Dominion of Canada as a result of the establishment of
Reciprocity between the Dominion and the Republic. But
there was more than that. They all knew that ancient
political maxim "Trade follo\vs the flag." But like most
proverbs it was only half a tntth. The other half was
equally true that "The flag followed trade." There was
264
THE MAJOR
an example of that within their own Empire. No na-
tion in the world had a prouder record for loyalty than
Scotland. Yet in 1706 Scotland was induced to sur-
render her independence as a nation and to enter into
union \vith England. vVhy? Chiefly for the sake of
trade advantag
s.
"Ye're adorn leear," shouted an excited Scot, rising
to his feet in the back of the hall. "It was no Scotland
that surrendered. Didna Scotland's king sit on Eng-
land's throne. Speak the truth, 111 on. " ( Cheers, up-
roarious laughter and cries, "Go to it, Scotty; do\vn wi'
the Sassenach. Scotland forever!")
vVhen peace had once more fallen the Honourable B.
B. Bomberton went on. He \vished to say that his Scot-
tish friend had misunderstocxl him. He was not a Scot
himself-
"Ye needna tell us that," said the Scot. (Renewed
cheers and laughter.)
But he \vould say that the best three-quarters of him
was Scotch in that he had a Scotch woman for a '\vife,
and nothing that he had said or could say could be in-
terpreted as casting a slur upon that great and proud and
noble race than whom none had taken a larger and more
honourable part in the building and the maintaining of the
Empire. But to resume. The cOt1ntry was asked for the
sake of the alleged economic advantage to enter into a
treaty with the neighbouring state which he was con-
vinced would perhaps not at first but certainly eventually
imperil the Imperial bond. The country rejected the pro-
posal. The fanners were offered the double lure of high
prices for their produce and a lower price for machinery.
N ever ,vas he so proud of the farmers of his country as
when they resisted the lure, they refused the bait, they
could not be bought, they declined to barter either their
independence or their imperial allegiance for gain.
(Cheers, groans, general uproor.)
Upon the subsidence of the uproar Frank Smart who,
witq Larry, had worked his way forward among a body
VOICE IN 'ïHE WILDERNESS 265
of students standing in the first row immediately be-
hind the seats, raised his hand and called (j11t in a clear,
distinct and courteous voice, "1\1r. Chairman, a question
if you will permit me." The chairman graGtea permis-
sion. "Did I understand the speaker to sa y that those
Canadians who approved of the policy of Reciprocity
were ready to barter their independence or their imperial
allegiance for gain? If so, in the flame of one half of
the Canadian people I want to brand the statelnent as an
infamous and slanderous falsehood."
Instantly a thousand people \vere on their feet cheering,
yelling, on the one part shouting, "Put hin1 out," and on
the other demanding, "Withdra\v." A half dozen fights
started up in different parts 0 f the theatre. In Smart's
iml11ediate vicinity a huge, pugilistic indívidual rushed
toward him and reached for him ,vith a s,vinging blo\v,
which would undoubtedly have ended for him the meet-
ing then and there had not Larry, who vias at his side,
caught the swinging arm with an upward cut so that it
missed its mark. Before the blo\v could be repeated
Scudamore, the centre rush of the University football
team, had flung himself upon the pugilist
seized him by
the throat and thrust him back and back through the
crowd, supported by a vvedge of his fello\v students, strik-
ing, scragging, fighting and all yelling the while with
cheerful vociferousness. By the efforts of nlutual friends
the two parties were torn asunder just as a policeman
thrust himself through the crowd and demanded to knoyv
the cause of the uproar.
"Here," he cried, seizing Larry by the shoulder, "what
does this mean?"
"Don't ask me," said Larry, smiling pleasantly at him.
"Ask that fighting man over there."
"You were fighting. I saw you," insisted the police-
man.
"Did you ?" said Larry. "I am rather pleased to hear
you say it, but I knew nothing of it."
"Look here, Sergeant," shouted Smart above the up-
266
THE MAJOR
roar. "Oh, it's you, Mac. You know lne. You've got
the \vrong nlan. There's the nlan that started this thing.
He deliberately attacked nle. Arrest hinl."
Immediateìy there were clamorous counter charges
and demands for arrest of Smart and his student crevv.
"Come no\v," said Sergeant Mac, "keep quiet, or 1'11
be takin' ye all into the coop."
Order once nlore being restored, the speaker resunled
by repudiating indignantly the accusation of his young
friend. Far be it from him to inlpugn the loyalty of
the great Liberal party, but he was bound to say that
while the Liberals might be themselves loyal both to the
Donlinion and to the Enlpire, their policy \vas disastrous.
They were sound enough in their hearts but their heads
were weak. After SOITIe further remarks upon the fiscal
issues bet\veen the t\VO great political parties and after
a final wave of the imperial flag, the speaker declared
that he no\v proposed to leave the rest of the tÏ111e to
their distinguished fellow citizen, the I-Ionourable J. J.
Allen.
Mr. Allen found hitl1self facing an audience highly
inflamed \vi th passion and alert for trouble. In a cour-
teous and pleasing introduction he strove to allay their
excited feelings and to ,vin for himself a hearing. The
matter ,vhich he proposed to bring to their attention was
one of the very greatest importance, and one \vhich
called for calm and deliberate consideration. He only
asked a hearing for some facts which every Canadian
ought to know and for sonle arguments based thereupen
which they nlight receive or reject according as they ap-
pealed to them or not.
"You are all right, Jim; go to it," cried an enthusiastic
adnlirer.
With a smile 1\1r. .l\l1en thanked his friend for the in-
vitation and assured him that without loss of time he
,vould accept it. He begged to announce his theme:
"The Imperative and Pressing Duty of Canada to Pre-
pare to do Her Part in Defence of the Enlpire." He
VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS 267
was prepared frankly and without hesitation to make the
assertion that war was very near the world and very near
our Empire and for the reason that the great military
power of Europe, the greatest military power the \vorld
had ever seen-Gernlany-purposed to make war, was
ready for \var, and wa
,vaiting only a favourable oppor-
tunity to begin.
"'Oh, r-r-rats-s," exclaimed a harsh voice.
"That's Holtzman," said Larry to Snlart.
(Cries of "Shut up!-Go on.")
"I beg the gentlenlan who has so courteously inter-
rupted me," continued Mr. Allen, "simply to wait for 111Y
facts." ("Hear! Hear!" from many parts of the build-
ing.) The sources of his information \vere three: first
his own observation during a three months' tour in Ger-
nlany; second, his conversations with representative men
in Great Britain, France and Germany; and third, the
experience of a young and brilliant attaché of the British
Embassy at Berlin no\v living in Canada, with whonl
he had been brought into touch by a young lJniversity
student at present in this city. From this latter source
he had also obtained possession of literature accessible
only to a fe\v. He spoke with a full sense of responsi-
bility and ,vith a full appreciation of the value of words.
The contrast between the Honourable Mr. Allen and
the speaker that preceded him was such that the audience
was not only willing but eager to hear the facts and argu-
ments which the speaker claimed to be in a position to
offer. Under the first head he gave in detail the story of
his visit to Germany and piled up an amazing accul11ula-
tion of facts illustrative of Gertnany's military and naval
preparations in the way of land and sea forces, muni-
tions and munition factories, railroad construction, food
supplies and financial arrangements in the way of gold
reserves and loans. The preparations for war which, in
the world's history, had been made by Great Po\yers
threatening the world's freedom, \vere as child's play to
these preparations novv marle by Germany, and these
268
THE l\IAJOR
which he had given were but a few illustrations of Ger-
many's war preparations, for the more important of
these ,vere kept hidden by her fronl the rest of the
world. "M y argument is that preparation by a nation
whose commercial and economic instincts are so strong
as those of the GenTIan people can only reasonabiy be
interpreted to mean a Purpose to War. That that pur-
pose exists and that that purpose detennines Germany's
world.s politics, I have learned from nlany prominent
Germans, military and naval officers, professors, bank-
ers, preachers. And more than that this same purpose
can be discovered in the works of many distinguished
German \vriters during the last twenty-five years. You
see this pile of books beside me? They are filled with
open and avovved declarations of this purpose. The
-raison d
être of the great Pan-German League, of the
powerful Navy League with one million and a half mem-
bers, and of the other great German Grganisations is \-var.
Bear with me while I read to you extract5 from sonle of
these writings. I respectfully ask a patient hearing. I
would not did I not feel it to be important that from rep-
resentative Germans themselves you should learn the
dominating purpose that has directed and determined the
course of German 2
ctivity in every departmf'nt of its
n
tionallife for the last quarter of a century."
For almost half an hour the speaker read extracts
from the pile of books on the table beside him. "I think
I may now fairly claim to have established first the fact
of vast preparations by Germany for war and the further
fact that Germany cherishes in her heart a settled Pur-
pose of Vlar." It was interesting to know how this pur-
pose had come to be so firmly established in the heart of
a people whom we had always considered to be devoted
to the cultivation of the gentler arts of peace.. The his-
tory of the rise and the development of this Purpose to
War would be found in the history of Germany itself.
He then briefly touched upon the outstanding features
in the history of the GenTIan Empire from the days of
VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS 269
the great Elector of Brandenburg to the present time.
During thes
last three hundred years, ,vhile the English
people were steadily fighting for and winning their rights
to freedom and self-government from tyrant kings, in
Prussia t,,.o po,vers were being steadily built up, namely
autocracy and militarism, till under Bismarck and after
the War of 1870 these two powers were firmly estab-
lished in the very fibre of the new modem German Em-
pire. Sinc:e the days of Bis.marck the autocrat of Ger-
many had claimed the hegemony of Europe and had
dreamed of winning for hinlself and his Empire a su-
preme place among the nations of the world. .A.nd this
dream he had taught his people to share with him, for to
them it meant not simply greater national glory, \vhich
had bf'come a mania with them, but expansion of trade
and larger commercial returns. And for the realisation
of this dream, the German Kaiser and his people with
him were ready and were waiting the opportunity to
plunge the world into the bloodiest war of all time.
At some length the speaker proceeded to develop the
idea of the necessary connection between autocracy and
militarism, and the relation of autocratic and military
power to wars of conquest. "The German Kaiser," he
cOIllinued, "is ready for war as no would-be world con-
queror in the world's history has ever been ready. The
German I{aiser cherishes the purpose to make war, and
this purpose is shared in and approved by the whole body
of the German people." These facts he challenged any
one to controvert. If these things were so, what should
Canada do? Manifestly one thing only-she should pre-
pare to do her duty ir.t defending herself and the great
Empire. "So far," he continued, "I have raised no con-
troversial points. I have purposely abstained from deal-
ing with questions that may be regarded from a partisan
point of view. I beg now to refer to a subject which
unhappily has become a matter of controversy in Canada
-the subject, namely, of the construction of a Canadian
Navy. [Disturbance in various parts of the building.]
270
THE
IA.JOR
You have been patient. I earnestly ask you to be patient
for a fe\v moments longer. Both political parties fortu-
nately are agreed upon two points; first, that Canada
must do its share and is \vining to do its share in the
defence of the Empire. On this point all Canadians are
at one, all Canadians are fully cletenl1ined to do their full
duty to the Empire \vhich has protected Canada during
its whole history, and with which it is every loyal Cana-
dian's earnest desire to maintain political connection.
Second, Canada must have a Navy. Unfortunately, \vhile
,ve agree UDon these two points, there are two points
upon \vhich \ve differ. First, we differ upon the l11ethod
to be adopted in constructing our Navy and, second,
upon the question of Navy control in war. In regard
to the second point, I would only say that I should be
content to leave the settle111ent of that question to the
event. \\Then war comes that question will speedily be
settled, and settled, I am convinced, in a way consistent
with what we all desire to preserve, Canadian autonomy.
In regard to the first, I would be willing to accept any
method of construction that promised efficiency and
speed, and Vvith all my povver I oppose any method that
necessitates delay. Considerations of such questions as
location of dockyards, the type of ship, the size of ShiP, I
contend, are altogether secondary. The main considera-
tion is speed. I leave these facts and arguments with
you, and speaking not as a party politician but simply
as a loyal Canadian and as a loyal son of the Empire, I
would say, 'In God's name, for our country's honour anó
for the sake of our Empire's existence
let us \vith our
whole energy and \vith all haste prepare for war.' "
The silence that greeted the conclusion of this address
gave eloquent proof of the profound impression pro-
d ueed.
As the chairman rose to close the meeting the audience
received a shock. The raucous voice 0 f Holtzman ,yas
heard again demanding the privilege of asking two ques-
tions.
VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS 271
"The first question I vvould ask, 1\1r. Chairman, is this:
Is not this immense war preparation of Germany ex-
plicable on the theory of the purpose of defence? Mr.
Allen knows well that both on the eastern and southern
frontiers Gennany is threatened by the aggression of
the Pan-Slavic movement, and to protect herself from
this Pan-Slavic movement, together \vith a possible
French alliance, the ,var preparations of Germany are
none too vast. Besides, I would ask 1\lr. Allen, What
about Britain's vast navy?"
"The answer to this question," said Mr. Allen, "is
quite simple. What nation has threatened Gennany for
the past forty years? On the contrary, everyone knows
that since 1875 five separate times has Germany threat-
ened war against France and twice against Russia. Fur-
thermore military experts assure us that in defensive
war an anny equipperl with modern weapons can hold
off from four to eight times its own strength. It is ab-
surd to say that Germany's military preparations are
purely defensive. As for Britain's navy, the ans\ver is
equally simple. Britain's Empire is like no other Em-
pire in the ,,,"arId in that it lies spread out upon the
seven seas. It is essential to her very life that she be able
to keep these ,vater\vays open to her ships. Otherwise
she exists solely upon the sufferance of any nation that
can wrest from her the supremacy of the sea. At her
\vill Germany has the right to close ag-ainst all the wo:ld
the highways of her etnpire; the highways of Britain's
empire are the open seas which she shares with the other
nations of the world and \vhich she cannot close. There-
fore, these highways she must be able to make safe."
"If Mr. Allen jmagines that this answer of his will
satisfy any but the most bigoted Britain. I an1 content.
Another question I would ask. Does not Mr. Allen think
that if the capitalistic classes, who leave their burdens to
be borne by the unhappy proletariat, were abo1ished \vars
\vould immediately cease? Does he not know that re-
cently it was proved in Germany that the Krupps were
272
THE MAJOR
found to be promoting war scares in France in the inter-
ests of their o,vn infernal trade? And lastly does not
history prove that Britain is the great robber nation of
the \vorld? And does he not think that it is time she was
driven from her high place by a nation which is her su-
perior, commercially, socially, intellectually and every
other way?"
i\s if by a preconcerted signal it seemed as if the
\YÌ1ole top gallery broke into a pandemonium of approv-
ing yells, \vhile through other parts of the house arose
fierce shouts, "Throw him out." 11r. Allen rose and
stood quietly waiting till the tumult had ceased.
"I f the gentleman wishes to engage me in a discussion
on socialism, my ans\ver is that this is not the time nor
place for such a discussion. The question \vhich I have
been considering is one much too grave to be mixed up
with an academic discussion of any socialistic theories."
"Aha! Aha I"
laughed Holtzman scornfully.
"As for Britain's history, that stands for all the world
to read. All the nations have been guilty of crimes; but
let me say that anyone "Tho kno\vs the history of Ger-
many for the last three hundred years is aware that in
unscrupulous aggression upon \veaker neighbours, in
treachery to friend and foe, Germany is the equal of any
nation in the world. But if you consider her history
since 1864 Germany stands in shanleless and solitary
pre-eminence above any nation that has ever been for un-
scrupulous greed, for brutal, re
:J
ess oppression of
smaller peoples, and for cynical disregard of treaty cov-
enants, as witness Poland, Austria, Denmark, Holland
and France. As to the treachery of the Krupps, I be-
lieve the gentleman is quite right, but I would remind
him that the Kaiser has no better friend to-day than
Bertha Krupp, and she is a German."
From every part of the theatre rose one mighty yell
of delight and derision, during which Holtzman stood
wildly gesticulating and sh0uting till a hand was seen
to reach his collar and he dÜ
appeared from view. Once
VOICE IN THE 'VILDERNESS 273
more order "
ðS,_ restored and the chairman on the point
of closing the meeting, when Larry said to his friend
Smart:
"I should dearly Jove to take a hand in this."
"Jump in," said Smart, and Larry "jumped in."
"Mr. Chairman," he said quietly, "may I ask Mr. Allen
a question?"
"N 0," said the chairman in curt reply. "The hour is
late and I think further discussion at "present is un-
profitable. "
But here Mr. Allen interposed. "I hope, Mr. Chair-
man," he said, "you \vill allow my young friend, Mr.
Gwynne, of vvhose brilliant achievements in our Univer-
ty we are all so proud, to ask his question."
"Very well," said the chairman in no good will.
"Allow me to thank l\fr. Allen for his courtesy," said
Larry. "Further I wish to say that though by birth, by
training, and by conviction I am a pacifist and totally
opposed to ,var, yet to-night I have been profoundly im-
pressed by the imposing array of facts presented by
the speaker and by the arguments built upon these facts,
and especially by the fine patriotic appeal with which Mr.
Allen closed his adi1 ress. But I am not satisfied, and my
question is this-"
"\\Till not Mr. Gwynne come to the platform?" said
11r. Allen.
"Thank you," said Larry, "I prefer to stay where I
am, I am much too shy."
Cries of "Platform! Platfo,:m I" however, rose on
every side, to which Larry finally yielded, and encour-
aged by the cheers of his fellow students and of his other
friends in the audience, he climbed upon the platform.
His slight, graceful form, the look of intellectual strength
upon h;s pale face, his modest bearing, his humorous
smile won sympathy even from those who were impatient
at the prolonging of the meeting.
"Mr. Chairman," he began with an exaggerated look
of fear upon his face, "I confess I am terrified by the
274
THE
IAJOR
position in which I find myself, and were it not that I
feel deeply the immense importance of this question and
the gravity of the appeal with which the speaker closed
his address, I would not have ventured to say a word.
My first question is this: Does not Mr. Allen greatly
exaggerate the danger of war with Germany? And my
reasons for this question are these. Everyone knows
that the relations between Great Britain and Germany
have been steadily improving during the last two or
three years. I note in this connection a statement made
only a fe\v months ago by the First Lord of the
Admiralty, Mr. Winston Churchill. It reads as follo\vs:
" 'The Germans are a nation with robust minds and a
high sense of honour and fair play. They look at affairs
in a practical military spirit. They like to have facts put
squarely before them. They do not want them wrapped
up lest they should be shocked by them, and relations
between the two countries have steadily improved during
the past year. They have steadily improved side by side
with every evidence of our determination to maintain our
naval supremacy.'
"These words spoken in the British House of Com-
mons give us Mr. Winston Churchill's deliberate judg-
ment as to the relations between Germany and Great
Britain. Further Mr. Allen knows that during the past
two years various peace delegations composed of people of
the highest standing in each country have exchanged vis-
its. I understand from private correspondence from those
who have promoted thes
delegations that the last British
delegation was received in Germany with the utmost en-
thusiasm by men of all ranks and professions, generals,
admirals, burgomasters, professors and by the Kaiser
himself, all professing devotion to the cause of peace and
all wishing the delegation Godspeed. Surely these are
indications that the danger of war is passing away.
You, Sir, have made an appeal for war preparation to-
night, a great and solemn appeal and a moving appeal for
war-merciful God, for war! I have been reading about
VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS 275
v/ar during the past three months, I have be
n reading
again Zola's Débâcle-a great appeal for preparedness,
you would say. Yes, but a terrific picture of the woes of
war.' ,
Larry paused. A great silence had fallen upon the
people. There flashed across his mind as he spoke a
vision of war's red, reeking way across the fair land of
France. In a low but far-penetrating voice, thrilling
with the agonies which were spread out before him in
vision, he pictured the battlefield with its mad blood lust,
the fury of men against men with whom they had no
quarrel, the mangled ruins of human remains in dressing
station and hospital, the white-faced, wild-eyed women
waiting at home, and back of all, safe, snug and cynical,
the selfish, ambitious promoters of war. Steady as a
marching column without pause or falter, in a tone mo-
notonous yet thrilling with a certain subdued passion, he
gave forth his indictment of war. He was on familiar
ground for this had been the theme of his prize
ssay last
winter. But to-night the thing to him was vital, terri-
fying, horrible. He was delivering no set address, but
with all the power of his soul he was pleading for C0111-
rades and friends, for wives and sweethearts, for little
babes and for white-haired mothers, "and in the face of
all this, you are asking us to prepare that we Canadians,
peaceful and peace-loving, should do our share to per-
petrate this unspeakable outrage upon our fellow men,
this insolent affront against Almighty God. Tell me, if
Canada, if Britain, were to
xpend one-tenth, one-
hundredth part of the energy, skill, wealth, in promoting
peace which they spend on war, do you not think we
might have a surer hope of warding off from our Cana-
dian homes this unspeakable horror?" With white face
and flaming eyes, his fornl tense and quivering, he stood
facing the advocate of war. For some n10ments, during
which men seemed scarcely to breathe, the t\VO faced each
other. Then in a voice that rang throughout the theatre
276
THE MAJOR
as it had not in all his previous speech, but vibrant with
sad and passionate conviction, Mr. Allen made reply.
"It is to ward off from our people and from our
Canadian homes this calamity that you have so vividly
pictured for us that I have made my appeal to-night.
Your enemy who seeks your destruction will be more
likely to halt in his spring if you cover him with your
gun than if you appeal to him with empty hands. For
this reason, it is that once more I appeal to my fellow
Canadians in God's name, in the name of all that \ve hold
dear, let us with all our power and with all speed pre-
pare for war."
"God Save the King," said the Chairman. And not
since the thrilling days of 11afeking had Winnipeg peo-
ple sung that quaint archaic, but moving anthem as they
sang it that night.
CHAPTER XIX
THE CLOSING OF THE DOOR
F ROM the remarks of his friends even as they
throng-ed him. offering congratulations, Mr. Allen
could easily gather that however impressive his speech
had been, fe\v of his audience had taken his warning
seriously.
"Y ou queered my speech, Larry/' he said, "but I for-
give you."
uN ot at all, Sir," replied Larry. "You certainly got
me."
"I fear," replied Mr. Allen, "that I am 'the voice cry-
ing in the \vildemess.' "
At the AlIens' party Larry was overwhelmed with
congratulations on his speech, the report of which had
been carried before him by his friends.
"They tell me your speech was quite thrilling," said
Mrs. Allen as she greeted Larry.
"Your husband is responsible for everything," replied
Larry .
"N 0," said Mr. Allen, "Miss Jane here is finally re-
sponsible. Hers were the big shells I fired."
"N ot mine," replied Jane. "I got them from Mr. Ro-
mayne, your brother-in-law, Larry."
"\Vell, I'm blowed I" said Larry. "That's where the
stuff came from! But it was mighty effective, and cer-
tainly you put it to us, Mr. Allen. You made us all
feel like fighting. Even Scuddy, there, ran amuck for
a while."
"What?" said Mr. Allen, "you don't really mean to
say that Scud amore, our genial Y. 11. C. A. Secretary,
was in that scrap? That cheers me greatly."
277
278
THE l\IA.JOR
"Was he!" said Ramsay Dunn, whose flushed face and
preternaturally grave demeanour sufficiently explained his
failure to appear at Dr. Brown's dinner. "While Mr.
Smart's life ,vas saved by the timely upper-cut of our
distinguished pacifist, Mr. Gwynne, without a doubt Mr.
Scudamore-hold him there, Sca1lons, while I adequately
depict his achievement-" Iml11ediately Scallons and
Ted Tuttle, Scudamore's right and left supports on the
scrimmag
line, seized him and held him fast. "As I was
saying," continu
d Dunn, "great as ,,,ere the services ren-
dered to the cause by our distinguished pacifist, Mr.
Gvvynne, the supreme glory must linger round the head
of our centr
scrim and Y. 1\1. C. A. Secretary, 1\1r. Scud-
amore, to whose effective intervention both Mr. Smart
and Mr. Gwynne owe the soundness of their physical
condition which we see them enjoying at the present
moment."
In the midst of his flowing periods Dunn paused
abruptly and turned away. He had caught sight of
Jane's face, grieved and shocked, in the group about him.
Later he approached her with every appearance of pro-
found humiliation. "Miss Brown," he said, "I must apol-
ogise for not appearing at dinner this evening."
"Oh, 1\fr. Dunn," said Jane, "why will you do it?
\Vhy break th
hearts of all your friends?"
"Why? Because I am a fool," he said bitterly. "If
I had more friends like you, 1\1iss Brown," he paused
abruptly, then burst forth, "Jane, you always make me
feel like a beast." But Larry's approach cut short any
further conversation.
"Jane, I ,vant to talk to you," said Larry impetuously.
"Let us get away some,,,here."
In the library they found a quiet spot, where they sat
down.
"I want to tell you," said Larry, "that I feel that I
treated you shabbily to-day. I have only a poor excuse
to offer, but I should like to explain."
"Don't, Larry," said Jane, her words coming ,,,ith
THE CLOSING OF THE DOOR 279
hurried impetuosity. "1 was very silly. I had quite
forgotten it. You know we have always told each other
things, and 1 expected that you would come in this morn-
ing just to talk over your medal, and I did want a chance
to say how glad I was for you, and how glad and how
proud I knew your mother would be; and to tell the
truth really," she added with a shy little laugh, "I wanted
to have you congratulate me on my prize, too. But,
Larry, I understand how you forgot."
"Forgot!" said Larry. "N 0, Jane, I did not forget,
but this telegram from Chicago came last night, and I
was busy with my packing all morning and then in the
afternoon I thought I would hurry through a few calls-
they ahvays take longer than one thinks-and before I
knew it I was late for dinner. I had not forgotten; I
was thinking of you all day, Jane."
"Were you, Larry?" said Jane, a gentle tenderness in
her sn1Ïle. "1 am glad."
Then a silence fell between them for some moments.
They were both thinking of the change that was coming
to their lives. l,arry was wondering how he would ever
do without this true-hearted friend whose place in his
Ii fe he vias only discovering now to be so large. He
glanced at her. Her eyes were glowing with a soft
radiance that seemed to overflow from some inner
spnng.
"Jane," he cried with a sudden impulse, "you are
lovely, you are perfectly lovely."
A shy, startled, eager look leaped into her eyes. Then
her face grew pale. She waited, expectant, tremulous.
But at that instant a noisy group passed into the library.
"Larry," whispered Jane, turning swiftly to him and
laying her hand upon his arm, "you will take me home
to-night."
"All right, Jane, of course," said Larry.
As they passed out from the library Heten Brookes
met them. "Larry, come her
," she said in a voice of
suppressed excitei11ent. "Larry, don't you want to do
280
THE MAJOR
.
something for me? Scuddy wants to take me home to-
night, and I don't want him to."
"But why not, Helen ? You ought to be good to
Scuddy, poor chap. He's a splendid fello\v, and I vvon't
have him abused."
"Not to-night, Larry; I can't have him to-night. You
will take me home, won't you? I am going very soon."
"You are, eh? Well, if you can go \vithin ten min-
utes, I shall be ready."
"Say fifteen," said Helen, turning to meet Lloyd Rush-
brook, the Beau Brummel of the college, who came claim-
ing a dance.
Larry at once ,vent in search of Jane to tell her of his
engagement with Helen Brookes, but could find her no-
where, and after some time spent in a vain search, he
left a nlessage for her with his hostess. At the head
of the stairs he found Helen waiting.
"Oh, hurry, Larry," she cried in a fever of excitement.
"Let's get a "va y qui ckl y."
"Two minutes will do me," said Larry, rushing into
the dressing room.
There he found Scudamore pacing up and down in
fierce, gloomy siJence.
"You are taking her home, Larry?" he said.
"Who ?" said Larry. Then glancing at his face, he
added, "Yes, Scuddy, I am taking Helen home. She is
apparently in a great hurry."
"She need not be; I shall not bother her any more,"
said Scuddy bitterly, "and you can tell her that for me,
if you like."
"N 0, I \von't teU her that, Scuddy," said Larry, "and,
Scuddy," he added, imparting a bit of worldly \visdom,
ucampaigns are not won in a single battle, and, Scuddy,
remember too that the whistling fisherman catches the
fish. So cheer up, old boy." But Scuddy only glowered
at him.
Larry found Helen awaiting him, and quietly they.
..J
THE CLOSING OF THE DOOR 281
slipped out together. "This is splendid of you, Larry,"
she said, taking his arm and giving him a little squeeze.
"I don't know about that, Helen. I left Scuddy rag-
ing upstairs there. You girls are the very devil for
cruelty sometimes. You get men serious \vith you, then
you flirt and flutter about till the unhappy \vretches don't
kno\v \vhere they are at. Here's our car."
"Car I" exclaimed Helen. "With this moonlight,
Larry? And you going away to-morro\v? Not if I
know it."
"It is fearfully unromantic, Helen, I know. But I
must hurry. I have to take Jane home."
"Oh, Jane! It's always Jane, Jane!"
"\Vell, why not?" said Larry. "For years Jane has
been my greatest pal, my best friend."
"Nothing more ?" said Helen earnestly. "Cross your
heart, Larry."
"N othing more, cross my heart and all the rest of it,"
replied Larry. "\Vhy! here's another car, Helen."
"Oh, Larry, you are horrid, perfectly heartless. ! We
may never walk together again. Here I am thro\ving
myself at you and you only think of getting away back.."
Under her chaffing words there sounded a deeper note.
"So I see," said Larry, laughing and refusing to hear
the deeper undertone.. "But I see something else as
well."
"\Vha t?" challenged Helen.
"I see Scuddy leading out from Trinity some day the
loveliest girl in \Vinnipeg."
"Oh, I Vlon't talk about Scuddy," said Helen impa-
tiently. "I want to talk about you. T ell me about this
Chicago business."
For the rest of the way home she led Larry to talk
of his plans for the future. At her door Helen held out
her hand. "You won't come in, Larry, I know, so we
will say good-bye here." Her voice was gentle and
earnest. The gay, proud, saucy air which she had ever
_ worn and which had been one of her chief charms, was
282
THE J.\;IA.JOR
gone. The moonlight revealed a lovely wistful face from
which misty eyes looked into his. "This is the end of
our good times together, Larry. And we have had good
times. You are going to be a great man some day. I
wish you all the best in life."
"Thank you, Helen," said Larry, touched by the tones
of her voice and the look in her eyes. "We have been
good friends. We shall n
ver be anything else. With
my heart I wish you-oh, just everything that is good,
Helen dear. Good-bye," he said, leaning toward her.
"How lovely you are!" he murmured.
"Good-bye, dear Larry," she whispered, lifting up her
face.
"Good-bye, you dear girl," he said, and kissed her.
"Now go," she said, pushing him away from her.
"Be good to Scuddy," he replied as he turned from
her and hurried away. .
He broke into a run, fearing to be late, and by the
time he arrived at the .l\llens' door he had forgotten all
about Helen Brookes and was thipking only of Jane and
of what he wanted to say to her. At the inner door he
met Macleod and Ethel coming out.
"Jane's gone," said Etpel, "some time ago."
"Gone?" said Larry.
"Yes, Scuddy took her home."
"Are they all gone?" inquired Larry.
"Yes, for the most part."
"Oh, all right then; I think I shall not go in. Good-
night," he said, turned abruptly about and set off for Dr.
Brown's. He looked again at his watch. He \vas sur-
prised to find it was not so very late. Why had Jane not
waited for him? Had he hurt her again? He was
sorely disappointed. Surely she had no reason to be of-
fended; and this was his last night. As he thought the
matter over he came to the conclusion that now it was
he that had a grievance. Arrived at Dr. Brown's house
the only light to be seen was in Jane's room upstairs.
Should he go in or should he go home and wait till to-
THE CLOSING OF THE DOOR 283
morrow. He was too miserable to think of going home
without seeing her. He determined that he must see her
at all cost to-night. He took a pebble and flung it up
against her window, and another and another. The win-
dow opened and Jane appeared.
"Oh, Larry," she whispered. "Is it you ? Wait, I
shall be down."
She opened the door for him and stood waiting for
him to speak. "Why didn't you wait?" he asked, passing
into the hall. "I \vas not very long."
"Why should I wait, Larry?" she said quietly. "Scuddy
told me you had gone home with Helen."
"But didn't I promise that I would take you home?"
"You did, and then went away."
"\Vell, all I have to say, Jane, is that this is not a bit
like you. I am sorry I brought you do\vn, and I won't
keep you any longer. Good-night. I shall see you to-
morrow."
But Jane got between him and the door and stood with
her back to it. "No, Larry, you are not going away like
that. Go into the study." Larry looked at her in as-
tonishment. This was indeed a new Jane to him.
Wrathful, imperious, she stood waving him toward the
study door. In spite of his irritation he was conscious
of a new admiration for her. Feeling a little like a boy
about to receive his punishment, he passed into the study.
"Didn't Mrs. Allen give you my message?" he sa:d.
"Your message, Larry?" cried Jane, a light breaking
upon her face. "Did you leave a message for me?"
"I did. I told Mrs. Allen to tell you ,vhere I had
gone-Helen ,vas so anxious to go-and that I would
b
right back." Larry's voice ,vas full of reproach.
"Oh, Larry, I am so glad," said Jane, her tone indi-
cating the greatness of her relief. "I knew it was all
right-that something had prevented. I am so glad you
came in. y'" ou must have thought me queer."
"No," said Larry, appeased, "I knew an the time there
284
THE l\IA.JOR
must be some explanation, only I was feeling so miser-
able.' ,
"And I was miserable, too, Larry," she said gently.
"It seemed a pity that this should happen on our last
night." All her wrath was gone. She was once
more the Jane that Larry had ahvays known, gentle,
sweet, straightforward, and on her face the old transfig-
uring sn1Íle. Before this change of mood all his irritation
vanished. Humbled, penitent, and \vith a rush of wann
affection filling his heart, he said,
"I should have known you wen
not to blame, but
you are always right. Never once in all these years have
you failed me. You always understand a fellow. Do
you know I am wondering how I shall ever do \vithout
you? Have you thought, Jane, that to-morro\v this old
life of ours together will end?"
"Yes, Larry." Her voice ,;vas low, almost a whisper,
and in her eyes an eager light shone.
"It just breaks my heårt, Jane. \Ve have been-vIe
are such good friends. If we had only fallen in love
with each other.-But that would have spoiled it all. We
are not like other people; we have been such chums,
Jane."
"Yes, Larry," she said again, but the eager light had
faded from her eyes.
"Let's sit a bit, Larry," she said. "I am tired, and
you are tired, too," she added quickly, "after your hard
day. "
For a little time they sat in silence together, both
shrinking from the parting that they knew was so near.
Larry gazed at her, wondering to himself that he had
ever thought her plain. To-night she seemed beauti ful
and very dear to him. Next to his mother, "vas her place
in his heart. \Vas this that he felt for her what they
called love? With all his soul he wished he could take
her in his arms and say, "Jane, I love you." But still he
knew that his words would not ring true. More than
that, Jane would know it too. Besides, might not her
THE CLOSING OF THE DOOR 285
feeling for him be of the same quality? What could he
say in this hour which he recognised to be a crisis in
their lives? Sick at heart and oppressed with his feeling
of loneliness and impotence, he could only look at her in
speechless misery. Then he thought she, too, was suf-
fering, the same misery was filiing her heart. She looked
utterly spent and weary.
"J ane," he said desperately. She started. She, too,
had been thinking. "Scuddy is in love with Helen, Mac-
leod is in love ,vith Ethel. I wish to God I had fallen
in love with you and you with me. Then we would have
something to look forward to. Do you kno,v, Jane, I
am like a boy leaving home? We are going to drift
apart. Others "\vill come between us."
"No, Larry," cried Jane with quick vehemence. "Not
that. You \von't let that come."
"Can we help it, Jane ?" Then her ,veariness appealed
to him. "It is a shame to keep you up. I have given
you a hard day, Jane." She shook her head. "And
there is no use waiting. vVe can only say good-bye."
He rose from his chair. Should he kiss her, he asked
himself. He had had no hesitation in kissing Helen an
hour ago. That seemed a light thing to him, but some-
how he shrank from offering to kiss Jane. I f he could
only say sincerely, "Jane, I love you," then he could kiss
her, but this he could not say truly. Anything but perfect
sincerity he knew she would detect; and she would be
outraged by it. Yet as he stood looking do\vn upon
her pale face, her wavering smile, her quivering lips, he
was conscious of a rush of pity and of tenderness al-
most uncontrollable.
"Good-bye, Jane; God keep you always, dear, dear
U ane." He held her hands, looking into the deep blue
eyes that looked back at him so bravely. He felt that he
was fast losing his grip upon himself, and he must hurry
away.
"Good-bye, Larry," she said simply.
"Good-bye," he said again in a husky voice. AbruptJy
286
THE l\/IA.JOR
he turned and left her and passed out through the door.
Sore, sick at heart, he stumbled do\vn the ftepS. "My
God," he cried, "what a fool I am! \rVhy didn't I kiss
her? I might have done that at least."
He stood looking at the closed door, struggling against
an almost irresistible impulse to return and take her in
his arms. Did he not love her? What other was this
that filled his heart? Could he honestly say, "Jane, I
want you for my wife"? He could not. Miserable and
cursing himself he went his way.
CHAPTER XX
THE GERMAN TYPE OF CITIZENSHIP
M R. DEAN \VAKEHAM was always glad to have
a decent excuse to run up to the Lakeside Farm.
His duties at the Manor Mine were not so pressing that
he could not on occasion take leave of absence, but to
impose himsel f upon the Lakeside household as fre-
quently as he desired made it necessary for him to utilise
all possible excuses. In the letter which he held in his
hand and which he had just read he fancied he had
found a perfectly good excuse for a call. The letter
was from his sister Rowena and was dated 11ay 15th,
1914. It was upon his sister's letters that he depended
for information regarding the family life generally and
about herself in particular. His mother's letters were
intimate and personal, reflecting, however, various phases
of her ailments, her anxieties for each member of the
family, but especially for her only son now so far from
her in that \vild and uncivilised country, but ever over-
flowing with tender affection. Dean ahvays put down
his mother's letters with a smile of gentle pity on his
face. "Poor, dear Mater," he would say. "She is at
rest about me only when she has me safely tucked up in
my little bed." His father's letters kept him in touch
with the office and, by an illuminating phrase or two,
with the questions of Big Business. But when he had
finished Rowena's letters he always felt as if he had been
paying a visit to his home. Through her letters his sister
had the rare gift of transmitting atmosphere. There
\tv-ere certain passages in his letter just received which he
felt he should at the earliest moment share with the
Lakeside Farm people, in other words, with Nora.
287
288
THE MAJOR
His car conveyed him with all speed to Lakeside Fann
in good time for the evening meal. To the assembled
family Dean proceeded to read passages which he con-
sidered of interest to them. " 'Well, your Canadian has
really settled do\vn into his place in the office and into his
o\vn rooms. I t was all \ve could do to hold him with us
for a month, he is so fearfully independent. Are all
Canadians like that? The 1Iater would have been glad
to have had him remain a month longer. But would he
stay? He has a way with him. He has struck up a ter-
rific friendship with Hugo Raeder. Yeu remember the
Yale man who has come to Benedick, Frame and Com-
pany, father's financial people? Quite a presentable
young man he is of the best Yale type, which is sayin
something. Larry and he have tied up to each other in
quite a touching way. In the office, too, Larry has found
his place. He captured old Scread the very first day by
,vorking out some calculations that had been allowed to
accumulate, using son1e method of his own which quite
paralysed the old chap. Oh, he has a way vvith him, that
Canadian boy! Father, too, has fallen for him. To hear
him talk you would imagine that he fully intended hand-
ing over ere long the business to Larry's care. The Ma
ter has adopted him as well, but ,vith reservations. Of
course, what is troubling her is her dread of a Canadian
invasion of her household, especially-' urn um-"
At this point 11r. Dean \Vakeham read a portion of the
letter to himself with slightly heightened colour. " 'While
as for Elfie, he has captured her, baggage and bones.
The little monkey apparently lives only for him. While
as for Larry, you would think that the office and the
family were thp merest side issues in comparison with the
kid. All the same it is very beauti fu! to see them to-
gether. At times you would think they were the same
age and both children. At other times she regards him
with worshipful eyes and drinks in his words as if he
,vere some superior being and she his equal in age and
experience. She has taken possession of him, and never
GER'
IAN CITIZENSHIP 289
hesitates '
Q carry him off to her o,vn quarters, apparently
to his delight. Oh, he has a way with him, that Canadian
boy! The latest is that he has invited Elfie to stay a
month with him in Alberta when he gets his first holiday.
He has raved to her over Polly. Elfie, I believe, has ac-
cepted his invitation regardless of the wishes of either
family. The poor little soul is really better, I believe,
for his companionship. She is not so fretful and she
actually takes her medicine without a fight and goes to
bed at decent hours upon the merest hint of his Lord-
ship's desire in the matter. In short, he has the family
quite prostrate before him. I alone have been able to
stand upright and maintain my own individuality.' "
"I am really awfully glad about the kid," said Dean.
"After all she really has rather a hard time. She is so
delicate and needs extra care and attention, and that, I
am afraid, has spoiled her a bit."
"\Vhy shouldn't the little girl spend a few weeks with
us here this summer, J\tIr. Wakeham ?" said Mrs.
Gwynne. "Will you not say to your mother that we
should take good care 0 f her?"
"Oh, Mrs. G,vynne, that is a vv-fully good of you, but
T am a little afraid you would find her quite a handful.
- 1-5 I have said, she is a spoiled little monkey and not
easy to do \vith. She \vould give you all a lot of trouble,"
added Dean, looking at Nora.
"Trouble? Not at all," said Nora. "She could do
just as she likes here. vVe \vould give ner Polly and
let her roam. And. on the farm she would find a nunlber
of things to interest her."
"It \vould be an a\vfully good thing for her, I know,"
said Dean, vainly trying to suppress the eagerness in his
tone, "and if you are really sure that it would not be too
much of a burden I might \vrite."
"No burden at all, 11r. vVakeham," said Mrs. Gwynne.
uIf you will \vritE. and ask Mrs. vVakeham, and bring
her with you when you return, we shall do what we can
290
THE l\iAJ"OR
to make her visit a happy one, and indeed, it m. y do the
dear child a great deal of good."
Thus it came about that the little city child, delicate,
fretted, spoiled, \vas installed in the household at Lake-
side Farm for a visit which lengthened out far beyond its
original limits. The days spent upon the farnl \vere full
of bliss to her, the only dra\vback to the perfect happiness
of the little girl being the separation from her beloved
fidus Achates
\\Tith \\Thom she maintained an epistolary
activity extraordinarily intimate and vivid. Upon this
correspondence the \Vakeham family came chiefly to de-
pend for enlightenment as to the young lady's activities
and state of health, and it came to be recognised as part
of Larry's duty throughout the summer to carry a weekly
bulletin regarding Elfie's health and manners to the Lake
Shore summer home, \vhere the \VakehalTIS sought relief
from the prostrating heat of the great city. These week
ends at the Lake Shore home \vere to Larry his sole and
altogether delightful relief from the relentless drive of
business that even throughout the hottest summer weather
knew neither let nor pause.
It becanle custom that every Saturday forenoon Row-
ena's big car would call at the Rookery Building and.
carry off her father, if he chanced to be in town, an
Larry to the- Lake Shore home. An hour's swift rUll
over the perfect macadam of the Lake Shore road that
wound through park and boulevard, past splendid sum-
mer residences of Chicago financial magnates, through
quiet little villages and by country farms, ahvays \vith
gleams of Michigan's blue-grey waters, and ahvays \vith
Michigan's exhilarating breezes in their faces, vvould
bring them to the cool depths of Birchwood's shades and
silences, where for a time the hustle and heat and roar
of the big city would be as completely forgotten as if a
thousand miles away. It \vas early on a breathless after-
noon late in July vvhen from pavement and wall the quiv-
ering air smote the face as if blo\vn from an opened fur-
nace that Rowena drove her car down La Salle Street and
GER'MAN CITIZENSHIP 291
pulled up at the Rookery Building resolved to carry off
with her as a special treat Uher men" for an evening
at Birchwood.
"Come along, Larry, it is too hot to live in town to-
day," she said as she passed through the outer office
where the young man had his desk. "I am just going
in to get father, so don't keep me waiting."
"Miss \Vakeham, why will you add to the burdens of
the day by breezing thus in upon us and making us dis-
contented ,vith our lot. I cannot possibly accept your
invitation this afternoon."
"What? Not to-day, ,vith the thermometer at ninety-
four? Nonsense!" said the young lady brusquely. "You
look fit to drop."
"It is quite useless," said Larry with a sigh. "You see
'\ve have a man in all the ,vay from Colorado to get plans
of a mine ,vhich is in process of reconstruction. These
plans will take hours to finish. The ,vork is pressing, in
short must be done to-day."
"Now, look here, young man. All work in this office
is pressing but none so pressing that it cannot pause at
d "
my cornman.
"But this man is due to leave to-morrow."
"Oh, I decline to talk about it; it is much too hot. Just
close up your desk," said the young lady, as she swept on
to her father's pffice.
III a short tilne she returned, bearing that gentleman in
triumph with her. "N at ready?" she said. "Really you
are most exasperating, Larry."
"Y ou may as well thro\v up your hands, Larry. You'd
better knock off for the day," said Mr. \Vakeham. "It
is really too hot to do anything else than surrender."
"You see, it is like this, sir," said Larry. "It is that
Colorado mine reconstruction business. Their nlanager,
Dimock, is here. He must leave, he says, to-morrow
morning. Mr. Scread thinks he should get these off as
soon as possible. So it is necessary that I stick to it till
we get it done."
!92
THE l\;IAJOR
"How long will it take?" said Mr . Wakeham.
"I expect to finish to-night some tÏ1ne. I have already
had a couple of hours with Dimock to-day. He has left
me the data."
"vVell, I am very sorry, indeed," said Mr. \Vakehan1.
"It is a great pity you cannot come with us, and you look
rather fagged. Dimock could not delay, eh?"
"He says he has an appointment at Kansas City \vhich
he must keep."
"Oh, it is perfect rubbish," exclaimed Rowena impa-
tiently, "and \ve have a party on to-night. Your friend,
Mr. Hugh Raeder, is to be out, and Professor Schaefer
and a friend of his, and some perfectly charming girls."
"But why tell me these things now, Miss Wakeham,"
said Larry, "when you know it is impossible for me to
come ?"
"You \von't come ?"
"I can't come."
"Come along then, father," she said, and with a stiff
little bow she left Larry at his desk.
Before the car moved off Larry came hurrying out.
"Here is Elfie's letter," he said. "Perhaps Mrs. Wake-
ham would like to see it." Miss Wakeham was busy at
the wheel and gave no sign of having heard or seen. So
ber father reached over and took the letter from him.
"Do you kno\v," said Larry gravely, "I do not think it
is quite so hot as it was. I almost fancy I feel a chil!."
"...4.. chill?" said Mr. \Vakeham anxiously. "\Vhat do
you mean ?"
1Iiss \Vakeham bit her lip, broke into a slnile and then
into a laugh. "Oh, he's a clever thing, he is," she said.
"I hope you may have a real good roast this afternoon."
"I hope you \vill call next Saturday," said Larry ear-
nestly. "It is sure to be hot."
"You don't deserve it or anything else that is good."
"Except your pity. Think what I am missing."
"Get in out of the heat," she cried as the car slipped
away.
GERlVIAN CITIZENSHIP 293
For some blocks Miss Wakeham \vas busy getting her
car through the crush of the traffic, but as she s\vung into
the Park Road she remarked, "That young man takes
himself too seriously. You would think the business be-
longed to him."
"I wish to God I had more men in my office," said her
father, '\vho thought the same thing. Do you know,
young lady, why it is that so many greyheads are holding
clerk's jobs? Because clerks do not feel that the business
is their o,vn. The careless among them are working for
five o'clock, and the keen alnong them are out for number
one. Do you know if that boy keeps on thinking that the
business is his he will o'w'n a big slice of it or something
better before he quits. I confess I was greatly pleased
that you failed to move him."
"An the same, he is a wfuIly stubborn," said his daugh-
ter.
"You can't bully him as you do your old dad, eh ?"
"I had counted on him for our dinner party to-night.
I particularly "vant to have him meet Professor Schaefer,
and now \ve will have a girl too many. It just throws
things out."
They rolled on in silence for some time through the
park when suddenly her father said, "He may be finished
by six o'clock, and !VIichael could run in for hinl."
At six o'clock Miss Wakeham called Larry on the
'phone. "Are you still at it?" she enquired. "And when
will you be finished?"
"An hour, I think, will see me through," he replied.
"Then," said Miss Wakeham, "a little before seven
o'clock the car will be \vaiting at your office door."
"Hooray f" cried Larry. "You are an angel. I will
be through. "
At a quarter of seven Larry was standing on the pave-
Inent, ,vhich was still radiating heat, and so absorbed in
watching for the Wake hams' big car that he failed to no-
tice a little Mercer approaching till it drew up at his
side.
294
THE l\IAJOR
"What, you, Miss Rowena?" he cried. "Your own
self? How very lovely of you, and through all this
heat !"
"Me," replied the girl, "only me. I thought it might
still be hot and a little cool breeze would be acceptable.
But jump in."
"Cool breeze, I should say so!" exclaimed Larry. "A
lovely, cool, s\veet spring breeze over crocuses and vio-
lets! But, I say, I must go to my room for my clothes."
"No evening clothes to-night," exclaimed Rowena.
"Ah, but I have a new, lovely, cool suit that I have
been hoping to display at Birchwood. These old things
would hardly do at your dinner table."
"We'll go around for it. Do get in. Do you knO'\v,
I left my party to come for you, partly because I was
rather nasty this afternoon?"
"You were indeed," said Larry. "You almost broke
my heart, but this wipes all out; my heart is singing
again. That awfully jolly letter of Elfie's this week
made me quite homesick for the open and for the breezes
of the Alberta foothills."
"Tell me what she said," said Rowena, not because she
wanted so much to hear Elfie's news but because she loved
to hear him talk, and upon no subject could Larry wax
so eloquent as upon the foothill country of Alberta.
Long after they had secured Larry's new suit and gone
on their \va y through park and boulevard, Larry con-
tinued to expatiate upon the glories of Alberta hills and
valleys, upon its cool breezes, its flowing rivers and
limpid lakes, and always the western rampart of the eter-
nal sno,v-clad peaks.
"And how is the mine doing?" inquired Rowena, for
Larry had fallen silent.
"The mine? Dh, there's trouble there, I am afraid.
Switzer-you have heard of Switzer?"
"Oh, yes, I know all about him alld his tragic disap-
pointment. He's the manager, isn't he?"
"The manager? No, he's the secretary, but in this case
GERl\IAN CITIZENSHIP 295
it means the same thing, for he runs the mine. ,ry ell,
Switzer wants to sell his stock. He and his father hold
about twenty-five thousand dollars bet\veen them. He
means to resign. And to make matters worse, the man-
ager left last week. They are both pulling out, and it
makes it all the worse, for they had just gone in for
rather important extensions. I am anxious a bit. You
see they are rather hard up for money, and father raised
all he could on his ranch and on his mining stock."
"How much is involved?" inquired Ro\vena.
"Oh, not so l11uch money as you people count it, but
for us it is all we have. He raised some fifty thousand
dollars. \Vhile the mine goes on and pays it is safe
enough, but if the mine quits then it is all up with us.
There is no reason for anxiety at present as far as th
mine is concerned, ho\vever. It is doing splendidly and
promises better every day. But S\vitzer's going will em-
barrass then1 terribly. He was a perfect marvel for work
and he could handle the miners as no one else could.
Most 0 f them, you kno\v, are his own people."
"I see you are \vorrying," said Rowena, glancing at
his face, ,vhich she thought unusually pale.
"N ot a bit. At least, not very much. Jack is a level-
headed chap-- Jack Romayne, I mean-my brother-in-
law. By the way, I had a wire to say that young Jack
had safely arrived."
"Young Jack? Oh, I understand. Then you are
Uncle Larry."
"I am. How ancient I feel! And what a lot of re-
sponsibility it lays upon me!"
"I hope your sister is quite well."
"Everything fine, so I am informed. But what was I
saying? Oh, yes, Jack is a level-headed chap and his
brother-in-Ia\v, Waring-Gaunt, who is treasurer of the
company, is very solid. So I think there's no doubt but
that they will be able to make all necessary arrange-
ments."
"Well, don't worry to-night," said Rowena. "I ,vant
296
THE l\IAJOR
you to have a good time. I am particular1y anxious that
you should meet and like Professor Schaefer."
"A German, eh?" said Larry.
"Yes-that is, a German-American. He is a metal-
lurgist, quite \vonderful, I believe. He does a lot of
work for father, and you will doubtless have a good deal
to do with him yourself. And he spoke so highly of
Canada and of Canadians that I felt sure you \vould be
glad to meet him. He is really a very charming man,
musical and all that, but chiefly he is a man of high in-
telligence and quite at the top of his profession. He
asked to bring a friend of his with him, a Mr. Meyer,
whom I do not kno\v at all; but he is sure to be interest-
ing if he is a friend of Professor Schaefer's. We have
some nice girls, too, so \ve hope to have an interesting
evening."
The company ,vas sufficiently varied to forbid monot-
ony, and sufficiently intellectual to be stimulating, and
there ,vas ahvays the background of Big Business. Larry
,vas conscious that he was moving amid large ideas and
far-reaching interests, .and that though he hirnself was a
small element. he was playing a part not altogether insig-
nificant, with a promise of bigger things in the future.
Profess0r Schaefer became easily the centre of interest in
the party. He turned out to be a man of the world. He
kne\v great cities and great men. He was a connoisseûr
in art .and something more than an amateur in music.
His piano playing, indeed, was far beyond that of the
amateur. But above everything he was a man of his
",ork. He knew metals and the1r qualities as perhaps
few men in America, and he was enthusiastic in his devo-
tion to his profession. After dinner, with apologies to
the ladies, he discoursed from full and accurate knowl-
edge of the problems to be met within his daily work
and their solutions. He was frequently highly technical,
but to everything he touched he lent a charm that capti-
vated his audience. To Larry he was especially gracious.
-He was interested in Canada. He apparently had a mi-
GER1tIAN CITIZENSHIP 297
nute knowledge of its mineral history, its great deposits
in metals, in co
l, and oil, \vhich he declared to be
among the richest in the \vorld. The mining operations,
however, carried out in Canada, he dismissed as being
unworthy of consideration. He deplored the lack of
.scientific knowledge and the absence of organisation.
"\Ve should do that better in our country. Ah, if only
our Governlnent would take hold of these deposits," he
exclaimed, "the \vhole world should hear of thel11." The
nickel mining industry alone in the Sudbury district he
considered vvorthy of respect. Here he became enthusi-
astic. "If only my country had such a magnificent bit
of ore I" he cried. "But such bungling, such childish
trifling \vith one of the greatest, if not the very greatest,
mining industries in the world! To think that the Gov-
ernlnent of Canada actually allows the refining of that
ore to be done outside of its own country! Folly, folly,
criminal folly! But it is all the same in this country,
too. The mining \vork in America is unscientific, slov-
enly, unorganised, \vasteful. I am sorry to say," he con-
tinued, turning suddenly upon Larry, "in your western
coal field
you waste more in the smoke of your coke
ovens than you make out of your coal mines. Ah, if only
those \vonderful, lvonderful coal fields were under the or-
ganised and scientific direction of my country! Then
you would see-ah, what would you not see!"
"Your country?" said Hugo Raeder, smiling. "I un-
derstood you \vere an American, Professor Schaefer."
"An American? Surely! I have been eighteen years
in this country."
"You are a citizen, I presume?" said Mr. \Vakeham.
"A citizen? Yes. I neglected that matter till recently;
but I love my Fatherland."
"Speaking of citizenship, I have ahvays \vanted to
know about the Delbrück La\v, Professor Schaefer, in re-
gard to citizenship," said Larry.
The professor hesitated, "The Delbrück Law?"
298
THE MAJOR
"Yes," said Larry. "How does it affect, for instance,
your American citizenship?"
"N ot at all, I should say. Not in the very least," re-
p1ied Professor Schaefer curtly and as if dismissing the
subject.
"I am not so sure of that, Professor Schaefer," said
Hugo Raeder. "I was in Germany when that la\v was
passed. It aroused a great deal of interest. I have not
looked into it myself, but on the face of it I should say
it possesses certain rather objectionable features."
"Not at all, not at all, I assure you," exclaimed Pro-
fessor Schaefer. "It is simply a concession to the intense,
but very natural affection for the Fatherland in every
German heart, while at the same time it facilitates citi-
zenship in a foreign country. For instance, there are
millions of Germans living in America \vho like my-
self shrank from taking the oath
lhich breaks the bond
with the Fatherland. vVe love Anlerica, vJ'e are Ameri-
cans, we live in America, we work in America; but nat-
urally our hearts turn to Germany, and \ve cannot for-
get our childhood's home. That is good, that is worthy,
that is noble-hence the Delbrück La\v."
"But what does it provide exactly?" enquired Mr.
Wakeham. "I confess I never heard of it."
"It permits a German to become an Aæerican citizen,
and at the same time allows him to retain his connection,
his heart connection, with the Fatherland. It is a beauti-
ful law."
"A beautiful law," echoed his friend, 1vlr. Meyer.
"Just what is the connection?" insisted Hugo Raeder.
"Dear friend, let me explain to you. It permits him to
retain his place, his relations with his o\vn old country
people. You can surely see the advantage of that. For
instance: When I return to Germany I find myself in
full possession of all my accustomed privileges. I am no
stranger. Ah, it is beautiful! And you see further hoW'
it establishes a new bond between the two countries.
Every German-American will become a bond of unity
GERMAN CITIZENSHI.P 299
between these t\VO great nations, the t\VO great coming
nations of the world."
"Beautiful, beautiful, glorious I"
echoed J\1eyer.
"But I do not understand," said Larry. "Are you still
a citizen of Germany?"
"I am an American citizen, and proud of it," ex-
claimed Professor Schaefer, dramatically.
uAch, so, geviss/' said Meyer. "Sure! an American
citizen I"
"But you are also a citizen of Germany?" enquired
Hugo Raeder.
"I f I return to Germany I resume the rights of my
German citizenship, of course."
"Beautiful, beautiful I"
exclaimed 1feyer.
"Look here, Schaefer. Be frank about this. Which
are you to-day, a citizen of Germany or of Arne-rica?'''
"Both, I tell you," exclaimed Schaefer proudly. "That
is the beauty of the arrangement."
"Ah, a beautiful arrangement 1" said Meyer.
"'VVhat ? You are a citizen of another country while
you claim American citizenship?" said Raeder. "You
can no nlore be a citizen of two countries at the same
time than the husband of two wives at the same time."
"Well, why not ?" laughed Schaefer. "An American
wife for America, and a German wife for Germany.
You will excuse me," he added, bowing toward Mrs.
Wakeham.
"Don't be disgusting," said Hugo Raeder. "
Apart
from the legal difficulty the chief difficulty about that
scheme \vould be that whatever the German wife might
have to say to such an arrangement, no American wife
would tolerate it for an instant."
"I was merely joking, of course," said Schaefer.
"But, Professor Schaefer, suppose Viar should come be-
tween Germany and America," said Larry.
"War between Germany and America-the thing is
preposterous nonsense, not to be considered among the
possibilities I"
300
THE l\IAJOR
"But as a mere hypothesis for the sake of argument,
what would your position be ?" persisted Larry.
Professor Schaefer was visibly annoyed. "I say the
hypothesis is nonsense and unthinkable," he cried.
'Come on, Schaefer, you can't escape it like that, you
know," said Hugo Raeder. "By that law of yours, where
would your allegiance be should war arise? I am ask-
ing what actually ","ould be your standing. 'V ould you
be a German citizen or an American citizen?"
"The possibility does not exist," said Professor Schae-
fer.
"Quite imposstble," exclaimed Meyer.
"Well, what of other countries then?" said Hugo, pur-
suing the subject with a wicked delight. His sturdy
Americanism resented this bigamous citizenship. "vVhat
of France or Britain?"
"Ah," said Professor Schaefer with a sharpening of
his tone. "That is quite easy."
"You would be a German, eh?" said Raeder.
"You ask me," exclaimed Professor Schaefer, "yoa
ask me as betvveen Gennany and France, or between
Gennany and Britain? I reply," he exclaimed vvith a
dramatic flourish of his hand, "I am a "Torshipper of the
life-giving sun, not of the dead moon; I follow the dawn,
not the dying day."
But this was too much for Larry. "Without discuss-
ing which is the sun and vvhich is the moon, about which
we might naturally differ, Pròfessor Schaefer, I want to
be quite clear upon one point. Do I understand you to
say that if you were, say a naturalised citizen of Canada.
having sworn allegiance to our Government, enjoying
the full rights and privileges of our citizenship, you at
the same time would be free to consider yourself a citizen
of Germany, and in case of war with Britain, you \vould
feel in duty bound to support Germany? And is it that
,vhich the Delbrück Law is deliberately drawn to per-
mit you to do?"
GERl\IAN CITIZENSHIP 301
"Well put, Larry I" exclaimed Hugo Raeder, to whom
the German's attitude was detestable.
Professor Schaefer's lips curled in an unpleasant smile.
"Canada, Canadian citizenship 1
iy dear young man,
pardon! AIlo\v me to ask you a question. I f Britain
were at ,var ,vith Germany, do you think it at all likely
that Canada would allo\v herself to become involved in
a European \var? Canada is a proud, young, virile na-
tion. Would she be likely to link her fortunes with those
of a decadp.nt power? Excuse me a moment," checking
Larry's impetuous reply \vith his hand. "Believe l11e, "\ve
know something about these things. We make it our
business to know. You ackno,vledge that we know some-
thing about your mines; let me assure you that there
is nothing about your country that ,ve do not know.
Nothing. Nothing. \"1 e kno\v the feeling in Canada.
\ Vhere \vould Canada be in such a "\var? Not with Ger-
many, I \vould not say that. But would she stand with
England ?"
Larry sprang to his feet. . "\Vhere would Canada be?
Let me ten you, Professor Schaefer," shaking his finger
in the professor's face. "To her last man and her last
dollar Canada "\vould be with the Elnpire."
"Hear, hear I" shouted Hugo Raeder.
The professor looked incredulous. "And yet," he said
with a sneer, "one-half of your people voted for Reci-
procity with the United States."
"Reciprocity! And yet you say you know Canada,"
exclaimed Larry in a tone of disgust. "Do you know,
sir, \vhat defeated Reciprocity with this country? Not
hostility to the United States; there is nothing but the
kindliest feeling among Canadians for Americans. But
I ,vill tell you what defeated Reciprocity. It was what
\ve might caIl the ultra loyal spirit of the Canadian peo-
ple toward the Empire. The Canadians were Empire
mad. The bare suggestion of the possibility of any peril
to the Elnpire bond made them throw out Sir \Vilfrid
302
THE MAJOR
Laurier and the Liberal Party. That, of course, ,vith
other subordinate causes."
"I fancy our Mr. Taft helped a bit," said Hugo Rae-
der.
"Undoubtedly Mr. Taft's unfortunate remarks were
"vorked to the limit by the Conservative Party. But all
I say is that any suggestion, I will not say of disloyalty,
but even of indifference, to the Empire of Canada is
simply nonsense."
At this point a servant brought in a te 1 egram and
handed it to Mr. \Vakeham. "Excuse me, my dear," he
said to his wife, opened the wire, read it, and passed it to
Hugo Raeder. "From your chief, Hugo."
"l\iuch in that, do you think, sir ?" inquired Hugo,
passing the telegram back to him.
"Oh, a little flurry in the market possibly," said Mr.
\Vakeh2.m. "\rVhat do you think about that, Schaefer?"
Mr. \Vakeham continued, handing him the ,vireo
Professor Schaefer glanced at the telegram. "My
God I" he exclaimed, springing to his feet. "It is come,
it is come at last I"
He spoke hurriedly in German to his
friend, l\1eyer, and handed him the telegranl.
.I\leyer read it. "God in heaven!" he cried. "It is
here I" In intense excitement he poured forth a tor-
rent of interrogations in German, receiving animated
replies from Professor Schaefer. Then grasping the pro-
fessor's hand in both of his, he shook it with wild en-
thusiasm.
"At last I" he cried. "At last! Thank God, our day
has come!"
Completely ignoring the rest of the company, the t,vo
Germans carried on a rapid and passionate conversation
in thcir own tongue with excited gesticulations, which the
professor concluded by turning to his hostess and saying,
"Mrs. Wakehaln, you will excuse us. Mr. Wakeham,
you can send us to town at once?"
By this time the ,vhole company were upon their feet
gazing with amazement upon the two excited Germans.
GERl\IAN CITIZENSHIP 303
"But what is it?''' cried Mrs. \Vakeham. "\Vhat has
happened? Is there anything 'ìVrong? What is it,
Professor Schaefer? vVhat is your wire about, Gar-
rison ?"
"Oh, nothing at all, my dear, to get excited about.
1:y financial agent 'ìVires me that the Press \vill announce
to-morrow that Austria has presented an ultimatum to
Servia demanding an ans,ver within forty-eight hours."
"Oh, is that all," she said in a tone of vast relief.
"\ì\That a start you all gave me. An ultimatum to Ser-
via? \Vhat is it aU about ?"
"\Vhy, you renlember, my dear, the murder of the
Archduke Ferdinand about three weeks ago?"
"Oh, yes, I remember. I had quite forgotten it. Poor
thing, how terrible it ,vas! Didn't they get the mur-
derer? It seems to me they caught hÍ1ll."
"You will excuse us, 11r5. \Vakeham," said Professor
Schaefer, approaching her. "\;\T e deeply regret leaving
this pleasant party and your hospitable home, but it is im-
perative that we go."
"But, my dear Professor Schaefer, to-night ?" ex-
claimed Mrs. \tVakeham.
"vVhy, Schaefer, ,vhat's the rush? Are you caught in
the market?" said \Vakeham ,vith a little laugh. "You
cannot do anything to-night at any rate, you know. We
will have you in early to-morro\v morning."
"No, no, to-night, now, immediately!" shouted Meyer
in uncontrollable excitement.
"But \vhy all the excitement, Schaefer ?" said Hugo
Raeder, smiling at him. "Þ
ustria has presented an ulti-
matum to Servia-what about it ?"
"\Vhat about it? Oh, you Americans; you are so pro-
vincial. Did YOll read the ultimatum? Do you know
what it means? It means ,var!"
"\Var!" cried Meyer. "\Var at last! Thank God!
To-night must \ve in New York become."
Shaking hands hurriedly with 11rs. 'VVakeham, and
with a curt bo\v to the rest of the company, Meyer hur-
304
THE l\IAJOR
riedly left the room, followed by Professor Schaefer and
Mr. Wakeham.
U Aren't they funny!" said Ro\vena. "They get so ex-
cited about nothing."
"\Vell, it is hardly nothing," said Hugo Raeder. ",A.ny
European war is full of all sorts of possibilities. You
cannot thro\v matches about in a pc\vder magazine with-
out some degree of danger."
"l\1ay I read the ultimatum ?" said Larry to Mrs.
Wakeham, who held the telegram in her hand.
"'Pretty stiff ultimatum," said Hugo Raeder. "Read
it out, Larry."
"Servia will have to eat dirt," said I..Jarry vvhen he had
finished. "Listen to this: She must 'accept the collab-
oration in Servia of representatives of the Austro-Hu!1-
garian Government for the consideration of the subver-
sive movements directed against the Territorial integrity
of the 110narchy.' 'Accept collaboration' of the repre-
sentatives of the Austro-Hungarian Governtnent in this
purely internal business, mind you. And listen to this:
'Delegates of the Austro-Hungarian Government \vill
take part in the invest1gation relating thereto.' Austrian
lawyers and probably judges investigating Servian sub-
jects in Servia? \Vhy, the thing is impossible."
lilt is quite evident," said Hugo Raeder, "that Austria
means war."
"POor little Servia, she will soon be eaten up," said
Rowena. "She must be oankrupt frOITI her last \var."
"But \vhy all this excitement on the part of our Ger-
man friends?" inquired :rvIrs. \Vakeham. "\Vhat has
Germany to do with Austria and Servia?"
At this point Professor Schaefer and his friend re-en-
tered the room ready for their departure.
"I was just inquiring," said Mrs. \\T akeham, "ho\v
this ultimatul11 of Austria's to Servia can affect Ger-
many particularly."
"Affect Germany?" cried Professor Schaefer.
GER
lAN CITIZENSHIP 305
"Yes," said Hugo Raeder, "what has Germany to do
with the scrap unless she vvants to butt in?"
"Ha! ha! My dear man, have you read no history of
the last twenty years? But you Americans know noth-
ing about history, nothing about anything except your
own big, overgro\vn country."
"I thought you were an American citizen, Schaefer ?"
inquired Hugo.
"J-\n American," exclaimed Schaefer, "an American,
ah, yes, certainly; but in Europe and in European poli-
tics, a German, always a German."
"But why should Germany butt in?" continued Hugo.
"Butt in, Genllany b1;1tt in? Things cannot be set-
tled in Europe withe ut Germany. Besides, there is Rus-
sia longing for the opportunity to attack."
"To attack Germany?"
"To attack Austria first, Germany's ally and friend,
and then Germany. The trouble is YOll Americans do
not live in the world. You are living on your o\vn con-
tinent here removed from the big world, ignorant of all
world movements, the most provincial people in all the
world. Else you would not ask me such foolish ques-
tions. This ultimatum means war. First, Austria
against Servia; Russia will help Servia; France \vill help
Russia; Germany will help Austria. There you have the
beginning of a great European war. How far this con-
flagration will spread, only Goà knows."
The car being announced, the Germans made a hurried
, in their overpo\vering excitement omitting the
courtesy of farewells to household and guests.
"They seem to be terribly excited, those Germans,"
said l\Iiss Rowena.
"They are," said Hugo; "I alTI glad I am not a Ger-
man. To a German war is so much the biggest thing in
Ii f e. "
"It is really too bad," said Mrs. \Vakeham; "we shaH
not have the pleasure of Professor Schaefer's music. He
plays quite exquisitely. You would all have greatly en-
306
THE MAJOR
joyed it. Rowena, you might play something. \\r ell,
for my part," continued Mrs. Wakeham, settling herself
placidly in her comfortable chair, "I am glad I am an
American. Those European countries, it seems to me,
are always in some trouble or other."
"I am glad I am a Canadian," said Larry. "We arc
much too busy to think of anything so foolish and use-
1 "
ess as war.
CHAPTER XXI
WAR
C OME, Jane, we have just time to take a look 2tt the
lake from the top of the hill before we get ready
for church," said Ethell\1urray. "It \vill be \vorth see-
ing to-day."
"Me too, me too," shrieked two wee girls in bare leg
and sandals, clutching Jane about the legs.
"All right, Isabel; all right, Helen. I'll take you with
me," said Jane. "But you must let me go, you know."
They all raced around the house and began to climb the
sheer, rocky hill that rose straight up from the rear.
"Here, Jim, help me with these kiddies,"
aid Jane
to a lank lad of fifteen, whom she ran into at the corner
of the house just where the climb began.
Jim swung the younger, little Helen, upon his shoulder
and together they raced to the top, scrambling, slipping,
falling, but finally arriving there, breathless and trium-
phant. Before them lay a bit of Canada's loveliest lake,
the Lake of the \V oods, so-called frOln its myriad, heav-
ily wooded islands, that make 0 f its vast expanse a tnaze
of channels, rivers and waterways. Calm, \vithout a
ripple, lay the glassy, sunlit surface, each island, rock and
tree meeting its reflected image at the water line, the
sky above flecked with floating clouds, making with the
mirrored sky below one perfect whole.
"Oh, Ethel, I had forgotten just how beautiful this
is," breathed Jane, while the rest stood silent looking
down upon the mirrored rocks and islands, trees and sky.
Even the two little girls stood perfectly still, for they
had been taught to take the first views from the top in
silence.
307
308
THE lVIA.JOR
"Look at the Big Rock," said Helen. "They are two
rocks kissing each other."
"Oh, you little s\veetheart," said Jane, kissing ber.
"That is just \vhat they are doing. It is not often that
you get it so perfectly still as this, is it, Jim?"
"Not so very often. Sometimes just at sunrise you
get it this way."
"At sunrise! Do you very often see it then ?"
"Yes, he gets up to catch fishes," said wee Helen.
"Do you?"
Jjm nodded. "Are you game to come along to-mor-
. ?"
row mornIng.
"At vvhat hour?"
"Five o'clock."
"Don't do it, J ane/' said Ethel. "It tires you for
the day."
"I will come, Jim; I would love to conIe," said Jane.
For some time they stood gazing down upon the scene
below them. Then turning to the children abruptly,
Ethel said, "Now, then, children, you run do\vn and
get ready; that is, if you are going to church. Take
them do\vn, Jim."
"All right, Ethel," said Jim. "See there, Jane," he
continued, "that neck of land across the traverse
that's
where the old Hudson Bay trail used to run that goes
from the Big Lakes to \Vinnipeg. It's the old war trail
of the Crees too. Wouldn't you like to have seen them
in the old days?"
"I \vould run and hide," said Isabel, "so they could not
see me."
"I \vould not be afraid," said Helen, straightening up
to her full height of six years. "I vvould shoot them
dead. "
"Poor things," said Jane, in a pitiful voice. "And
then their little babies at home would cry and cry."
Helen looked distressed. "I would not shoot the ones
that had babies."
"But then," sai
Jane, "the poor wives would sit on
-wN AR
309
the ground and \vail and wail, like the Indians we heard
the other night. Oh, it sounded very sad."
"I would not shoot the ones with \vives or babies or
anything," said Helen, determined to escape from her
pain ful dilen1ma.
"Oh, only the boys and young men ?" said J ane. "And
then the poor old mothers \vould cry and cry and tear
their hair for the boys who would never come back."
Helen stood in perplexed silence. Then she said
shyly, "I wouldn't shoot any of them unless they tried
to shoot me or Mother or Daddy."
"Or me," said Jane, thro\ving her arms around the lit-
tle girl.
"Yes," said Helen, "or you, or anybody in our house."
"That seems a perfectly safe place to leave it, Helen,"
said Ethel. "I think even the most pronounced pacifist
would accept that as a justification of \var. I fancy
that is \vhy poor little Servia is fighting big bullying
Austria to-day. But run down no\v; hurry, hurry; the
launch will be ready in a few minutes, and if you are
not ready you kno\v Daddy \von't \vait."
But they were ready and with the round dozen, which
with the visitors constituted the Murray household at
their island home, they filled the launch, Jim at the \vheeI.
It was a glorious Sunday morning and the \vhole world
breathed peace. Through the mazes 0 f the channels
among the wooded islands the launch made its \vay,
across open traverse, down long waterways like rivers
bet\veen high, \vooded banks, through cuts and gaps,
where the waters boiled and foamed, they ran, for the
most part drinking in silently the exquisite and varied
beauty of lake and sky and ,voods. Silent they
were but for the quiet talk and cheery laughter
of the younger portion of the company, until they
neared the little tovln, when the silence that hung over the
lake and woods was invaded by other launches outbound
and in. The Kenora docks were crowded with row-
boats, sailboats, canoes and launches of all sorts and
310
THE l\IAJOR
sizes, so that it took some steering skill on Jin1's part
to land them at the dock without bumping either them-
selves or anyone else.
"Oh, look I" exclaimed Isabel, whose sharp eyes were
darting everywhere. "There's the Rushbrooke's lovely
new launch. Isn't it beautiful I"
"Huh I" shouted Helen. "It is not half as pretty as
ours. "
"Oh, hush, Helen," said the scandalised Isabel. "It is
lovely, isn
t it, Jane? And there is Lloyd Rushbrooke.
I think he's lovely, too. And who is that ,vith him,
Jane-that pretty girl? Oh, isn't she pretty?"
"That's Helen Brookes," said Jane in a low voice.
"Oh, isn't she lovely I" exclaimed Isabel.
"Lovely bunch, Isabel," said Jim with a grin.
"I don't care, they are," insisted Isabel. ".A.nd there
is Mr. McPherson, Jane," she added, her sharp eyes
catching sight of their 'Nïnnipeg minister through the
crowd. "He's coming this way. What are the people
all waiting for, Jane?"
The Reverend Andrew McPherson was a tall, slight,
dark man, straight but for the student's stoop of his
shoulders, and with a strikingly Highland Scotch cast of
countenance, high cheek bones, keen blue eyes set deep
below a wide forehead, long jaw that clamped firm lips
together. He came straight to where Mr. l\1urray and
Dr. Brown were standing.
"I have just received from a friend in Winnipeg the
most terrible news," he said in a lo\v voice. "Germany
has declared war on Russia and France."
"War! 'vVar ! Gerl11any !" exclaimed the men in
awed, hushed voices, a startled look upon their grave
faces.
"What is it, James?" said Mrs. Murray.
Mr. Murray repeated the news to her.
"Germany at war?" she said. "I t1:ought it was Aus-
tria and Servia. Isn't it?"
"Yes, my dear," said Mr. Murray hastily, as if anx-
WAR
311
ious to cover up his wife's display of ignorance of the
European situation. "Austria has been at \var with Ser-
via for some days, but no'\v Germany has declared war
apparently upon France and Russia."
"But what has Germany to do with it, or Russia either,
or France ?"
They moved off together from the docks toward the
church, discussing the ominous ne'\vs.
"Oh, look, Jane," said Isabel once more. "There's
Ramsay Dunn. Isn't he looking funny?"
"Pickled, I guess," said Jim, with a glance at the young
man who with puffed and sodden face was gazing with
dull and stupid eyes across the lake. On catching sight
of the approaching party Ramsay Dunn turned his back
sharply upon them and became intensely absorbed in the
launch at his side. But Jane would not have it thus.
"Ask him to come over this afternoon," she said to
Ethel. "His mother would like it."
"Good morning, Ramsay," said Ethel as they passed
him.
Ramsay turned sharply, stood stiff and straight, then
saluted ,vith an elaborate bow. "Good morning, Ethel.
Why, good morning, Jane. You down here? Delighted
to see you."
"Ramsay, could you come over this afternoon to our
island?" said Ethel. "Jane is going back this week."
"Sure thing, Ethel. Nothing but scarlet fever,
small-pox, or other contectious or infagious, confagious
or intexious-eh, disease will prevent me. The after-
noon or the evening?" he added \vith what he meant to
be a most ingratiating smile. "The late afternoon or the
early evening?"
The little girls, who had been staring at him with wide,
wondering eyes, began to giggle.
"I'll be there," continued Ramsay. "I'll be there, 1'1}
be there, when the early evening cometh, I'll be there."
He bo\ved deeply to the young ladies and winked sol-
312
THE IVIA.JOR
emnly at Isabel, who by this time was finding it quite
impossible to control her giggles.
"Isn't he awfully funny?" she said as they moved
off. "I think he is a'iVfully funny."
"Funny!" said Ethel. "Disgusting, I think."
"Oh, Ethel, isn't it terribly sad?" said Jane. "Poor
Mrs. Dunn, she feels so a,vîully about it. They say he
is going on these days in a perfectly dreadful way."
The little brick church \vas comfortably filled with
the tovýnsfolk and with such of the summer visitors as
had not "left their religion behind them in Winnipeg,"
as Jane said. The preacher \vas a Ii ttle man whose
speech betrayed his birth, and the theology and delivery
of whose sermon bore the unmistakable marks of his
Edinburgh training. He discoursed in somewhat for-
mal but in finished style upon the blessings of rest, with
obvious application to the special circumstances of the
greater part of his audience \vho had come to this most
beautiful of all Canada's beautiful spots seek:ng these
blessings. To further emphasise the value of their priyi-
leges, he contrasted with their lot the condition of un-
happy Servia now suffering from the horrors of war and
threatened \vith extinction by its tyrannical neighbour,
Austria. The ,var could end only in one ,vay. In spite
of her gallant and heroic fight Servia was doomed to
defeat. But a day of reckoning would surely come, for
this was not the first time that Austria had exercised its
superior power in an act of unrighteous tyranny over
smaller states. The God of righteousness was still rul-
ing in his 'iVorld, and righteousness would be done.
At the close of the service, \vhile they were singing the
final hymn, Mr. McPherson, after a vvhispered colloquy
with l\lr. IVlurray, Inade his way to the pulpit. \yhere he
held an earnest conversation \vith the minister. Instead
of pronouncing the benediction and dismissing the con-
gregation \vhen the final "Amen" had been sung, the
minister invited the people to resume their seats, v.rhen
Mr. McPherson rose and said,
"WAR
dI3
"Friends, we have just learned that a great and terri-
ble evil has fallen upon the world. Five days ago the
world was shocked by the announcement that Austria
had declared war upon Servia. Through these days the
powers of Europe, or at least some of them, and chief
among them Great Britain, have been labouring to local-
ise the war and to prevent its extension. To-day the sad,
the terrible announcement is made that Germany has de-
clared war upon both Russia and France. \Vhat an
hour may bring forth, we know not. But not in our day,
or in our fathers' day, have "re faced so great a peril as
we face to-day. For we cannot forget that our Empire
is held by close and vital ties to the Republic of France
in the entente cordiale. Let us beseech Almighty God
to grant a speedy end to war and especially to guide the
King's counsellors that th
y n1ay lead this Empire in the
,yay that is "rise and right and honourable."
In the brief prayer that followed there fell upon the
people an overpo\vering sense of the futility c f man's
wisdom, and of the need of the might and wisdom that
are not man's but God's.
Two days later Mr. Murray and the ch
ldren accom-
panied Dr. Brown and Jane to Kenora on their way back
to the city. As they "vere proceeding to the railway sta-
tion they \vere arrested by a group that stood in front of
the bulletin board upon "rhich since the "var began the
local newspaper "vas ,vont to affix the latest despatches.
The group was standing in awed silence staring at the
bulletin board before them. Dr. Bro\vn pushed his ,yay
through, read the despatch, looked around upon the
faces beside him, read the words once more, can1e back
to where his party were standing and stood silent.
"What is it ?" inquired Mr. Murray.
"War," said Dr. Brown in a husky whisper. Then
clearing his throat, "War-Britain and Germany."
War! For the first time in the memory of living man
that \vord was spoken in a voice that stopped dead still
the Empire in the daily routine of its life. \Var! That
314
THE l\iAJOR
word whispered in the secret silent chamber of the man
. whose chief glory had been his title as Supreme ,,, ar
Lord of Europe, swift as the lightning's flash circled the
globe, arresting multitudes of men busy ,vith their peace-
ful tasks, piercing the hearts of countless ,yomen \vith a
new and nameless terror, paralysing the activities of na-
tions engaged in the arts of peace, transforming into
bitter enemies those living in the bonds of brotherhood,
and loosing upon the \vorld the fiends of hell.
11r. 1\1urray turned to his boy. "Jim," he said, "I
must go to vVinnipeg. Take the children home and tell
their mother. I sha 11 wire you to-morro\v '.vhen to meet
me." A wed, solemnised and in silence they took their
ways.
Arrived at the railway station, l\fr. l\1urray changed
his mind. He
Tas a man clear in thought and swift in
action. His first thought had been of his business as
being immediately affected by this ne\v and mighty fact
of war. Then he thought of other and wider interests.
"Let us go back, Dr. Brown," he said. "A large nun1-
ber of our business men are at the Lake. I suppose half
of our Board of Trade are down here. \Ve can reach
them more easily here than any place else, and it is im-
portant that \ve should immediately get them together.
Excuse me while I wire to my architect. I must stop
that block of mine."
They returned together to the launch. On their way
back to their island they called to see Mr. McPherson.
"You were right," was Mr. Murray's greeting to him.
"It has COIne; Britain has declared war."
l\1r. McPherson stood gazing at him in solemn silence.
"War," he said at length. "We are really in."
"Yes, you were right, Mr. McPherson," said Dr.
Brown. "I could not believe it; I cannot believe it yet.
vVhy we should have gone into this particular quarrel,
for the life of me I cannot understand."
"I was afraid from the very first," said McPherson,
WAR
315
"and when once Russia and France were in 1 knew that
Britain could not honourably escape."
As they were talking together a launch went swiftly
by. "That's the Rushbrooke's launch," said Jim.
Mr. l\Iurray rushed out upon the pier and, waving his
hand, brought it to a halt and finally to the dock. "Have
you heard the ne\vs?" he said to the lady who sat near
the stem. "Britain has declared "var."
"Oh," replied 1Irs. Rushbrooke, '''vhy on earth has
she done that? It is perfectly terrible."
"Terrible, indeed," said Mr. l\1cPherson. "But we
must face it. I t changes everything in Ii fe--business,
society, home, everything will immediately feel the effect
of this thing."
"Oh j Mr. McPherson," exclaimed Mrs. Rushbrooke,
"1 can hardly see ho,v it will quite change everything for
us here in Canada. For instance," she added with a gay
laugh, "I do not see that it will change our bonfire to-
night. By the way, 1 see you are not gone, Dr. Brown.
You and Jane will surely come over; and, Mr. l\1urray,
you will bring your young people and Mrs. Murray; and,
Mr. McPherson, 1 hope you will be able to come. It is
going to be a charming evening and you will see a great
many of your friends. 1 think a bonfire on one of the
islands makes a very pretty sight."
"I am not sure whether I can take the time, Mrs.
Rushbrooke," said Mr. Murray. "I had thought of see-
ing a number of our business men who are down here
at the Lake. "
"Oh, can't you leave business even while you are here?
You really ought to forget business during your holi-
days, Mr. l\1urray."
"I mean in relation to the war," said Mr. Murray.
"Good gracious, what can they possibly do about the
war down here? But if you want to s
e thelll they will
all be with us to-night. So you had better come along.
But '\ve shall have to hurry, Lloyd; I have a lot of things
316
THE MAJOR
to do and a lot of people to feed. We have got to live,
haven't we?" she added as the launch got under way.
"Got to live," said lVlr. McPherson after they had
gone. "Ah, even thé..t necessity has been changed. The
necessity for living, \vhich I am afraid most of us have
considered to be of first importance, has suddenly given
place to another necessity."
"And that?" said l\lr. Murray.
"The necessity not to live, but to do our duty. Life
has become all at once a very simple thing."
"\ V ell, \ve have got to keep going in the meantime at
any rate," said Mr. l\1urray.
"Going, yes; but going \vhere?" said Mr. 11cPherson.
"All roads no\v, for us, lead to one spot."
"And that spot?" said Mr. Murray.
"The battlefield."
"vVhy, 1fr. McPherson, V\Te tTIust not lose our heads;
we must keep sane and reasonable. Eh, Doctor?"
"I confess that this thing has completely stunned me,"
said Dr. Brown. "You see I could not believe, I would
not believe that war was possible in our day. I would
not believe you, Mr. l\1cPherson. I thought you had
gone mad on this German scare. But you V\Tere right.
My God, I can't get my bearings yet; \ve are really at
war!' ,
"God grant that Canada may see its duty clearly," said
Mr. McPherson. "God make us strong to bear His
will. "
They hurried back to their island, each busy \vith his
thoughts, seeking to readjust life tQ this new and horrible
environment.
Mrs. Murray met them at the dock. "Y ou are back,
Dr. Bro\vn," she cried. "Did you forget something?
We are glad to see you at any rate." Then noticing the
men's faces, she said, "What is the matter, James? Is
there anything wrong?"
"We bring terrible news, Mother," he said. "vVe are
at war."
'VAR
317
I\frs. Murray's mind, like her husband's, moved
s\viftly. She was a life partner in the fullest sense. In
business as in the home she shared his plans and pur-
poses. "\Vhat about the block, James?" she asked.
"I ,vired East\vood," he replied, "to stop that."
"What is it, Mother?" inquired Isabel, ,vho stood upon
the dock clinging to her mother's dress, and who sawin
the g-rave faces about her signs of disaster.
"Hush, dear," said her mother. "N othing that you
can understand." She would keep from her children
this horror as long as she could.
At lunch in the midst of the most animated conversa-
tion the talk ,vould die out, and all would be busy fitting
their lives to war. Like waves ever deepening in volume
and increasing in force, the appalling thought of war
beat upon their minds. After lunch they sat together
in the screened veranda talking quietly together of the
issues, the consequences to them and to their community,
to their country, and to the world at large, of this thing
that had befallen them. They made the amazing- discov-
ery that they were almost entirely ignorant of every-
thing that had to do \vith war, even the relative military
strength of the belligerent nations. One thing like a
solid back ,vall of rock gave them a sense of security-
the British Navy was still supreme.
"Let's see, did they cut do\vn the Navy estimates dur-
ing the last p'arliament? I kno,v they were ahvays talk-
ing of reduction," inquired 1\1r. Murray.
"I am afraid I know nothing about it," said Dr.
Bro,vn. "Last week I would have told you 'I hope so';
to-day I profoundly hope not. Jane, you ought to know
about this. Jane is the war champion in our family," he
added with a smile.
"N 0, there has been no reduction; \Vinston Churchill
has carried on his programme. He \vanted to halt the
building programme, you remember, but the Germans
would not agree. So I think the Navy is quite up to
318
THE MAJOR
the mark. But, of course," she added, "the German
Navy is very strong too."
"Ah, I believe you are right, Jane," said Dr. Brown.
"How completely we were all hoodwinked. I cannot
believe that we are actually at war. Our friend Ro-
mayne ,vas right. By the way, what about Romayne,
Jane?"
"'VVho is he?" inquired Mr. Murray.
"Romayne?" said Dr. Brown. "Oh, he's a great
friend of ours in the West. He married a sister of
young Gwynne, you know. He vvas an attaché of the
British Embassy in Berlin, and was, as ,ve thought, quite
mad on the subject of preparation for ,var. He and
Jane hit it off tremendously last autumn when we were
visiting the Gwynnes. Was he not an officer in the.
Guards or something, Jane?"
"Yes," replied Jane, fear leaping into her eyes. "Oh,
Papa, do you think he will have to go? Surely he would
not. "
"What? Go back to England?" said Dr. Brown. "I
hardly think so. I do not kno\v, but perhaps he may."
"Oh, Papa!" exclaimed Jane, the quick tears in her
eyes. "Think of his wife and little baby!"
"My God!" exclaimed Dr. Brown. "It is war that is
upon us."
A fresh wave of horror deeper than any before swe
t
their souls. "
urely he won't need to go," he said after
a pause.
"But his regiment will be going," said Jane, whose face
had become very pale and whose eyes ,vere ,vide with
horror. "His regiment will be going and," she added,
"he will go too." The tears were quietly running down
her face. She knew Jack Romayne and she had the
courage to accept the truth which as yet her fath
r put
from his mind.
Dumb they sat, unschooled in language fitted to deal
with the tides of emotion that surged round this new and
WAR
319
over\vhelming fact of war. vVhere next would this
dread thing strike?
"Canada will doubtlec;;s send some troops," said Dr.
Bro\vn. "\,r e sent to South Africa, let me see, was it
five thousand?"
"More, I think, Papa," said Jane.
"\Ve will send twice or three times that number this
time," said Mr. Murray.
And again silence fell upon them. They were each
busy with the question who would go. Swiftly their
minds ran over the homes of their friends and acquaint-
ances.
'\V ell, Doctor," said Mr. Murray, with a great effort
at a laugh, "you can't send your boy at any rate."
"No," said Dr. Brown. "But if my girl had been a
boy, I fear I could not hold her. Eh, Jane?" But Jane
only smiled a very doubtful smile in answer.
"We may all have to go, Doctor," said Mr. Murray.
"'If the \var lasts long enough."
"N on sense, James," said his wi fe with a quick glance
at her two little girls. Her boy was fi fteen. Thank
God, she would not have to face the question of his duty
in regard to war. "They would not be taking old men
like you, James," she added.
Mr. Murray laughed at her. "Well, hardly, I sup-
pose, my dear," he replied. "I rather guess we vvon't be
allowed to share the glory this time, Doctor."
Dr. Brown sat silent for a few moments, then said
quietly, "The young fellows, of course, will get the first
chance. "
"Oh, let's not talk about it," said Ethel. "'Come,
Jane, let's go exploring."
Jane rose.
"And me, too," cried Isabel.
"And me," cried Helen.
Ethel hesitated. "Let them come, Ethel," said Jane.
"We shall go slowly."
An exploration of the island was always a thing of
820
THE l\IAJ"OR
unmixed and varied delight. There were something over
twenty-five acres of wooded hills running up to bare
rocks, ravines deep in shrub and ferns, and lovver levels
thick \vith underbrush and heavy timber. Every step
of the way new treasures disclosed themselves, ferns and
grasses, shrubs and vines, and everywhere the wood
flowers, shy and svveet. Every\vhere, too, an fallen logs,
on the grey rocks, and on the lo,ver ground where the
aromatic balsams and pines stood silent and thick, were
mosses, mosses of all hues and depths. In the sunlit
open spaces gorgeous butterflies and glean1ing dragon
flies fluttered and darted, bees hummed, and birds sang
and twittered. 1'here the children
s voices were mingled
in cheery shouts and laughter \vith the other happy
sounds that filled the glades. But ,vhen they came to
the dark pines, solemn and silent except when the wind
1110ved in their tasselled tops ,vith mysterious, mournful
'\ivhispering, the children hushed their voices and vvalked
softly upon the deep moss.
"It is like being in church," said I-Ielen, her little soul
exquisitely sensitive to the mystic, fragrant silences and
glooms that haunted the pine grove.
On a sloping hillside under the pines they lay upon
the mossy bed, the children listening for the things that
lived in these shadovvy depths.
"They are all looking at us," said Isabel in a voice of
awed mystery. "Lots and lots of eyes are just looking,
looking, and looking."
"'Vhy, Isabel, you give me the creeps," laughed Jane.
"\Vhisht! They'll hear you," said Isabel, darting swift
glances among the trees.
"The clear things," said Jane. "They would love to
play ,vith you if they only knew how. 1J This was quite a
new idea to the children. Hitherto the shy things had
been more associated with fear than \vith play. "They
would love to play tag with you," continued Jane, "round
these trees, if you could only coax them out. They are
so shy."
WAR
821
Stealthily the children began to move among the
bushes, alert for the '\vatching eyes and the shy faces of
the wild things that made their homes in these dark
dwellings. The girls sat silent, looking out through the
interlacing boughs upon the gleam of the lake below.
They dearly loved this spot. It ,vas a favourite haunt
with them, the very spot for confidence, and many a
happy hour had they spent together here. To-day they
sat without speech; there ,vas nothing that they cared to
talk about. It was only yesterday in this same place
they had talked over all things under the sun. They had
exchanged with each other their stores of kindly gossip
about all their friends and their friends' friends. Only
yesterday it was that Ethel for the t,ventieth time had
gone over with Jane all the intricately perplexing and
delightful details in regard to her coming-out party next
winter. All the boys and girls were to be invited, and
Jane was to help with the serving. It ,vas only yester-
da y that in a moment of quite unusual frankness Ethel
had read snatches of a letter which had come from Mac-
leod, who was out in a mission field in Saskatchewan.
How they had laughed together, all in a kindly way, over
the solemn, formal phrases of the young Scotch Cana-
dian missionary, Ethel making sport of his solemnity
and Jane warmly defending him. How they had talked
over the boys' affairs, as girls will talk, and of their vari-
ous loves and how they fared, and of the cruelties prac-
tised upon them. And last of all Ethel had talked of
Larry, Jane listening warily the while and offering an oc-
casional bit of information to keep the talk going. And
all of this only yesterday;
ot ten years ago, or a year
ago, but yesterday! And to-day not a ,vord seemed
possible. The world had changed over night. How
different from that unshaded, sunny world of yesterday!
How sunny it was but yesterday! Life now was a thing
of different values. Ah, that was it. The values were
all altered. Things big yesterday had shrunk almost
to the point of disappearance to-day. Things that yes-
322
THE l\iAJOR
terd3.Y seemed remote and vague, to-day filled their hori-
zon, for some of them dark enough. Determined to ig-
nore that gaunt Spectre standing there in the shadow
silent and grim, they would begin to talk on themes good
yesterday for an hour's engrossing conversation, but be-
fore they were aware they had forgotten the subject of
their talk and found themselves sitting together dumb
and looking out upon the gleam of the waters, thinking,
thinking and ever thinking, while nearer and ever more
terrible moved the Spectre of \Var. It was like the fall-
ing of night upon their world. From the landscape
things familiar and dear were blotted out, and in their
place moved upon them strange shapes unreal and hor-
rible.
At length they gave it up, called the children and ,vent
back to the others. At the dock they found a launch
filled with visitors bringing news-great news and glori-
ous. A big naval battle had been fought in the North
Sea! Ten British battleships had been sunk, but the
whole German fleet had been destroyed! F or the first
time war took on some colour. Crimson and purple and
gold began to shoot through the sombre black and grey.
A completely new set of emotions filled their hearts, a
new sense of exultation, a new pride in that great British
Navy which hitherto had been a mere word in a history
book, or in a song. The children who, ,after their man-
ner, were quickest to catch and to carryon to their ut-
most limits the emotions of the moment, were jubilantly
triumphant. Some of them ,vere carrying little Union
Jacks in their hands. For the first. time in their lives
that flag became a thing of pride and po,ver, a thing
to shout for. It stood for something invisible but very
real. Even their elders ,vere not insensible to that
something. I-litherto they had taken that flag for
granted. They had hung it out of their \vindows on
Empire Day or on Dominion Day as a patriotic symbol,
but few of them would have confessed, except in a half-
'shamed, apologetic way, to any thrill at the flapping of
WAR
323
that bit of bunting. They had shrunk from a display
of patriotic emotion. They were not like their Ameri-
can cousins, who were ever ready to rave over Old Glory.
That sort of emotional display was un-Canadian, un-
British. But to-day somehow the flag had changed.
The flag had changed because it fluttered in a new world,
a nevv light fell upon it, the light of battle. It \vas a war
flag to-day. Men were fighting under it, were fighting
for all it represented, were dying under its folds, and
proudly and gladly.
"And all the men \vill go to fight, your father and my
father, and all the big- boys," Ethel heard a little friend,
confide to Isabel.
"Hush, Mabel," said Ethel sharply. "Don't be silly."
i But the word had been spoken and as a seed it fell
upon fertile soil. The launch went off with the children
waving their flags and cheering. And again upon those
left upon the dock the shadow settled heavier than be-
fore. That was the ,vay with that shadow. It was al-
ways heavier, thicker, more ominous after each interlude
of relief.
It was the same at the bonfire in the evening at the
Rushbrookes'. The island was a fairy picture of min-
gling lights and shadows. As the flaming west grew grey,
the pale silver of the moon, riding high and serene, fell
upon the crowding, gaily decked launches that thronged
the docks and moored to the shore; upon the dark bal...
sams and silver birches hung with parti-coloured gaudy
Chinese lanterns; upon the groups of girls, fair and
sweet in their white summer camping frocks, and young
men in flannels, their bare necks and arms showing
brown and strong; upon little clusters of their fathers
and mothers gravely talking together. From the ver-
anda above, mingling with the laughing, chattering
voices, the alluring strains of the orchestra invited to
waltz, or fox trot. As the flame died from the western
sky and the shadows crept down from the trees, the bon-
fire was set alight. As the flame leaped high the soft
4
324
THE l\IAJOR
strains of the orchestra died away. Then suddenly,
clear, full and strong, a chord sounded forth, another,
and then another. A hush fell upon the chattering,
laughing crowd. Then as they caught the strain men
lolling upon the ground sprang to their feet; lads stood
at attention.
"Send him victorious,"
some one sang timidly, giving words to the music. In
one instant a hundred throats were wide open singing the
words:
"Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us,
God save our King."
Again the chords sounded and at once the verse from the
first was sung again.
"God save our gracious King,
Long live our noble King,
God save our King,
Send hin1 victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us,
God save our King."
As the last note died Ramsay Dunn leaped upon a huge
boulder, threw up his hand and began,
"In days of yore, from Britain's shore."
A yell greeted him, sudden, fierce, triumphant, drowned
his voice, then ceased! And again from a hundred
throats of men and women, boys and girls, the word
rang out,
"There may it wave, our boast and pride,
And joined in love together,
WAR
321J
The thistle, shamrock, rose entwine,
The Maple Leaf forever."
:Again and again and once again they followed Ram
ay
in the quick, shrill Canadian cheer that was to be heard
in after days in places widely different and far remote
from that gay, moonlit, lantern-decked, boat-thronged,
water-lapped island in that far northern Canadian lake.
Following the cheers there came stillness. Men looked
sheepishly at each other as if caught in some silly prank.
Then once more the Spectre drew near. But this time
they declined not to look, but with steady, grave, apprais-
ing eyes they faced The Thing, resolute to know the
worst, and in quiet undertones they talked together of
War.
The bonfire roared gloriously up through the dark
night, throwing far gleams out upon the moonlit waters
in front and upon the dark woods behind. The p
ople
gathered about the fire and disposed themselves in groups
upon the sloping, grassy sward under the trees, upon the
shelving rocks and upon the sandy shore.
But Mr. Murray had business on hand. In company
with Dr. Brown and the minister, Mr. McPherson, he
sought his host. "Would it be possible, Mr. Rush-
brooke," he said, "to gather a number of business
men here together ?'"
"What for?" inquired Rushbrooke.
"Well, I may be all wrong," said l\fr. Murray apolo-
getically, "but I have the feeling that we ought without
delay to discuss what preliminary steps should be taken
to meet with the critical conditiol1-s brought on by the
war.' ,
"But, Mr. Murray," cried Mrs. Rushbrooke, who wa
standing by her husband's side, "they are all so happy
it would seem a great pity to introduce this horrible thing
at such a time."
"Do you really think it necessary, Murray?" said Mr.
Rushbrooke, \vho was an older man than
lr. l\Iurray,
326
THE MAJOR
and who was unwilling to accede to him any position of
dominance in the business world of Winnipeg. "There's
really nothing we can do. It seems to me that we must
keep our heads and as far as possible prevent undue ex-
citement and guard against panic."
"Perhaps you are right, Mr. Rushbrooke. The
thought in my mind was that we ought to get a meeting
together in Winnipeg soon. But everybody is away. A
great many are here at the Lake; it seemed a good op-
portunity to make some preliminary arrangement."
"My dear Mr. Murray," said 1\I1rs. Rushbrooke, "I
cannot help feeling that you take this too seriously, be-
sides there can hardly be need for such precipitate action.
Of course, we are at "var, and C
'1ada will do her part,
but to introduce such a horrible theme in a company of
young people seems to me to be somehow out of place."
"Very well, Mrs. Rushbrooke, if you say so. I have
no desire to intrude," said Mr. Murray.
"But, lVIr. Rushbrooke, the thing has to be faced," in-
terposed Mr. McPherson. "\Ve cannot shut our eyes to
the fact of war, and this is the supreme fact in our na-
tional life to-day. Everything else is secondary."
"Oh, I do not agree with you, 11:r. McPherson," said
Mrs. Rushbrooke, taking the word out of her husband's
mouth. "Of course war is terrible and all that, but men
must do their work. The Doctor here must continue to
look after his sick, Mr. Murray has his business, you
must care for your 'congregation."
"I do not know about that, Mrs. Rushbrooke," said the
minister. "I do not know about that at all."
"Why, 11r. McPherson, you surprise me! Must not
my husband attend to his business, must not the Doctor
look after his patients?"
A number of men had gathered about during the
course of the conversation. "No," said Mr. McPherson,
his voice ringing out in decided tones. "There is only
one 'must' for us no\v, and that is War. For the Em-
WAR
327
pire, for every man, \voman, and child in Canada, the first
thing, and by conlparison the only thing, is \Var."
That dread word rang out sharp, insistent, penetrating
through the quiet hum of voices rising from the groups
about the fire. By this time a very considerable number
of men present had joined themselves. to the group about
the speakers.
"Well, Mr. Murray," said Mr. Rushbrooke, with a
laugh, "it seems to me that we cannot help it very well.
If you wish to discourse upon the war, you have your
audience and you have my permission."
"It is not my intention to discourse upon the war, Mr.
Rushbrooke, but with your permission I will just tell
our friends here how my mind has worked since learn-
ing this terrible news this morning. My first impulse
was to take the first train to Winnipeg, for I kno,v that it
will be necessary for me to readjust my business to the
new conditions created by war. 11y second thought was
that there were others like me; that, in fact, the \vhole
business public of vVinnipeg would be similarly affected.
I felt the need of counsel so that I should make no
mistake that would imperil the interests of others. I ac-
cepted Mrs. Rushbrooke's invitation to come to-night in
the hope of meeting \vith a number of the business men
of Winnipeg. The more I think of it the more terrible
this thing becomes. The ordinary conditions of business
are gone. \Ve shall all need to readjust ourselves in
every department of life. It seems to me that ,ve must
stand together and meet this calamity as best we can,
wisely, fairly and fearlessly. The main point to be con-
sidered is, should we not have a general meeting of the
business men of Winnipeg, and if so, when?"
Mr. Murray's words were received in deep silence, and
for a time no one made reply. Then Mr. Rushbrooke
made answer.
"We all feel the importance of what Mr. Murray has
said. Personally, though, I am of the opinion that ,ve
should avoid all unnecessary excitement and everything
328
THE l\IAJOR
approaching panic. The war will doubtless be a short
on
. Germany, after long preparation, has decided to
challenge Great Britain's po\ver. Still, Britain is ready
for her. She has accepted the challenge; and though her
army is not great, she is yet not unprepared. Between
the enemy and Britain's shores there lies that mighty,
invisible and invincible line of defence, the British navy.
With the French armies on the one side and the Russian
on the other, Germany can not last. In these days, ,vith
the terrible engines of destruction that science has pro-
duced, wars will be short and sharp. Germany will get
her medicine and I hope it will do her good."
If Mr. Rushbrooke expected his somewhat flamboyant
speech to awaken enthusiastic approval, he must have
been disappointed. His words were received in grave
silence. The fact of ,var was far too unfamiliar and
too overwhelming to make it easy for them to compass
it in their thoughts or to deal in any adequate way with
its possible issues.
After some moments of silence the minister spoke. "I
\vish I could agree with Mr. Rushbrooke," he said. "But
I cannot. My study of this question has impressed me
with the overwhelming might of Germany's military
power. The war maybe short and sharp, and that is
what Germany is counting upon. But if it be short and
sharp, the issue will be a German victory. The French
army is not fully prepared, I understand. Russia is an
untrained .and unwieldy n1ass. TherE is, of course, the
British navy, and with all my heart I thank God that our
fleet appears to be fit for service. But '\vith regard even
to our navy we ought to remember that it is as yet un-
tried in modem \varfare. I confess I cannot share Mr.
Rushbrooke's optimistic views as to the war. But
whether he be right or I, one thing stands out clear in
my mind-that we should prepare ourselves to do our
duty. At whatever cost to our country or to ourselves,
as individuals, this duty is laid upon us. It is. the first,
the immediate, the all-absorbing duty of every man, .
WAR
329
woman and child in Canada to make ,var. God help us
not to shrink."
"How many in this company will be in vVinnipeg this
week, say to-morrow?" inquired Mr. Murray. The
hand of every business man in the company went up.
"Then suppose we call a meeting at my office immediately
upon the arrival of the train." And to this they agreed.
The Rushbrooke bonfire ,vas an annual event and ever
the n10st notable of all its kind during the holiday season
at the Lake. This year the preparations for the festive
gathering had exceeded those of previous years, and
Mrs. Rushbrooke's expectations of a brilliantly success-
ful function were proportionately high. But she had not
counted u{X)n War. And so it came that ever as the ap-
plause follo,ving song or story died do"vn, the Spectre
drew near, and upon even the most light-hearted of the
company a strange quiet would fall, and they would find
themselves staring into the fire forgetful of all about
them, thinking of "\vhat might be. They \vould .have
broken up early but Mrs. Rushbrooke strenuously
resisted any such attempt. But the sense of the
impending horror chilled the gaiety of the evening and
halted the rush of the fun till the hostess gave up in de-
spair and no longer opposed the departure of her guests.
"Mr. McPherson," she said, as that gentleman came
to bid her good-night, "I am quite cross with you. You
made us all feel so blue and serious that you quite spoiled
our bonfire."
"I wish it were only I that had spoiled it, Mrs. Rush-
brooke," said Mr. McPherson gravely. "But even your
graceful hospitality to-night, ,vhich has never been ex-
celled even by yourself at the Lake of the \V oods, could
not make us forget, and God forgive us if we do forget."
"Oh, Mr. McPherson," persisted Mrs. Rushbrooke, in
a voice that strove to be gaily reproachful, "we must not
become pessimistic. We must be cheerful even if we are
at war."
"Thank you for that word," said the minister 501-
380
THE l\iAJOR
emnly. "It is a true word and a right \vord, and it is a
':\lord we shall need to remember more and more."
"The man \votdd drive me mad," said Mrs. Rush-
brooke to Mr. Murr2Y as they watched the boats
away. "I am more than thankful that he is not my
clergyman. "
"Yes, indeed," said her husband, who stood near her
and shared her feelings of disappointment. "It seems
to me he takes things far too seriously."
"I wonder," said Dr. Brown, who stood ,vith Mr.
Murray preparatory to taking his departure. "I won-
der if we know just how serious this thing is. I frankly
confess, Mr. Rushbrooke, that my mind has been in an
appalling condition of chaos this afternoon; and every
hour the thing grows more terrible as I think of it. But
as you say, we must cheer up."
"Surely we must," replied Rushbrooke impatiently.
"I am convinced this ,var will soon be over. In three
months the .British navy together with the armies of their
allies will "vind this thing up."
Through a wonder world of moonlit vvaterways and
dark, mysterious channels, around peninsulas and be-
tween islands, across an open traverse and down a little
bay, they took their course until Jim had them safely
landed at their own dock again. The magic beauty of
the white light upon wooded island and gleaming lake
held them in its spell for some minutes after they had
landed till Mrs. Murray came down from the bungalo,v
to meet them.
"Safe back again," she cried ,vith an all too evident
effort to be cheery. "How lovely the night is, and how
peaceful! J ames," she said in a !01V voice, turning to
her husband, "I wish you would go to Isabel. I cannot
get her to sleep. She says she must see you."
"Why, what's up?"
"I think she has got a little fright," said his wife.
"She has been sobbing pitifully."
Mr. Murray found the little thing wide awake, her
WAR
331
breath coming in the deep sobs of exhaustion that fol-
lo\vs tempestuous tears. "What's the trouble, Sweet-
heart ?"
"Oh, Daddy," cried the child, flinging herself upon
him and bursting ane\v into an ecstasy of weeping, "she
-said-you would-have-to--go. But-you won't-
will you-Daddy?"
"Why, Isabel, \vhat do you mean, dear? Go where?"
"To the-\var-Daddy-they said-you would-have
h "
-to go--to t e war.
"Who said ?"
"Mabel. But-you-won't, will you, Daddy?"
"Mabel is a silly little goose," said Mr. 11urray
angrily. "N 0, never fear, my Sweetheart, they won't
expect me to go. I am far too old, you know. Now,
then, off you go to sleep. Do you know, the moon is
shining so bright outside that the little birds can't sleep.
I just heard a little bird as we were coming home cheep-
ing away just like you. I believe she could not go to
sleep. "
But the child could not forget that terrible word which
had rooted itself in her heart. "But you will not go;
promise me, Daddy, you will not go."
"Why, Sweetheart, listen to me."
"But promise me, Daddy, promise me." The little
thing clung to him in a paroxysm of grief and terror.
"Listen, Isabel dear," said her father quietly. "Y ou
know I ahva ys tell you the truth. N ow listen to me. I
promise you I won't go until you send me yourself. \Vill
that do?"
"Yes, Daddy," she said, and drew a long breath. "Now
I am so tired, Daddy." Even as she spoke the little
form relaxed in his arms and in a moment she was fast
asleep.
As her father held her there the Spectre drew near
again, but for the moment his courage failed him and he
dared not lool,.
CHAPTER XXII
THE TUCK OF DRUM
I N the midst of her busy summer work in field and fac-
tory, on lake and river, in mine and forest, on an
August day of 1914, Canada was stricken to the heart.
Out of a blue summer sky a bolt as of death smote her,
dazed and dumb, gasping to God her horror and amaze.
'Vithout "\vord of ,varning, without thought of prepara-
tion, without sense of desert, War, brutal, bloody, devil-
ish War, "vas thrust into her life by that power whose
business in the world, whose confidence and glory, ,vas
war.
For some days, stunned by the unexpectedness of the
blovl, as much as by its weight, Canada stood striving to
regain her poise. Then with little outcry, and with less
complaint, she gathered herself for her spring. A ,veek,
and then another, she stood breathless and follo,ving
with eyes astrain the figure of her ally, little Belgium,
gallant and heroic, which had moved out upon the \vorld
arena, the first to offer battle to the armour-weighted,
monstrous ,var lord of Europe, on his way to sate his
soul long thirsty for blood-men's if he could, women's
and little children's by preference, being less costly.
And as she stood and strained her eyes across the sea by
this and other sights moved to her soul's depths, she
made choice, not by compulsion but of her own free ,vill,
of war, and having made her choice, she set herself to the
business of getting ready. From Pacific to Atlantic,
from Vancouver to Halifax, reverberated the beat of the
drum calling for men ,villing to go out and stand ,vith
the Empire's sons in their fight for life and faith and
332
THE TUCK OF DRUl\I 333
freedom. T\venty-five thousand Canada asked for. In less
than a month a hundred thousand men were battering at
the recruiting offices demanding enlistment in the First
Canadian Expeditionary Force. From all parts of
Canada this demand was heard, but nowhere with louder
insistence than in that part which lies beyond the Great
Lakes. In Winnipeg, the Gateway City of the \Vest,
every regiment of militia at once volunteered in its full
strength for active service. Every class in the com-
munity, every department of activity, gave an immediate
response to the country's call. The Board of Trade; the
Canadian Club, that free forum of national public opin-
ion; the great courts of the various religious bodies; the
great fraternal societies and \vhatsoever organisation had
a voice, all pledged unqualified, unlimited, unhesitating
support to the Government in its resolve to make ,var.
Early in the first week of war wild rumours flew of
victory and disaster, but the heart of Winnipeg as of
the nation was chiefly involved in the tragic and glorious
struggle of little Belgium. And when two \veeks had
gone and Belgium, bruised, crushed, but unconquered,
lay trampled in the bloody dust beneath the brutal boots
of the advancing German hordes, Canada with the rest
of the world had come to measure more adequately the
nature and the immensity of the work in hand. By her
t\VO weeks of glorious conflict Belgium had uncovered to
the world's astonished gaze t"vo portentous and signifi-
cant facts: one, stark and horrible, that the German
military power knew neither ruth nor right; the other,
gloriously conspicuous, that Germany's much-vaunted
men-of-war were not invincible.
On the first Sunday of the war the churches of Winni-
peg were full to the doors. Men, whose attendance "vas
more or less desultory and to a certain extent dependent
upon the w'eather, ,vere conscious of an impulse to go
to church. \^1 ar had shaken the foundations of their
world, and men were thinking their deepest thoughts and
facing realities too often neglected or minimised. "I
334
THE MAJOR
have been thinking of God these days," said a man to
Mr. l\1urray as they walked home from business on Sat-
urday, and there were many like him in Canada in those
first days of August. Without being able definitely to
define it there ,vas in the hearts of men a sense of need
of sonle clear vvord of guiding, and in this crisis of
Canadian history the churches of Canada \vere not found
wanting. The same Spirit that in ancient days sent
forth the H
hrew Isaiah with a message of ,yarning and
counsel for the people of his day and which in the great
crises of nations has found utterance through the lips of
men of humble and believing hearts once more became a
source of guidance and of courage.
The message varied with the character and training
of the messenger. In the church of which Reverend An-
drew McPherson was the minister the people were called
to repentance and faith and courage.
"Listen to the Word of God," cried the minister,
"spoken indeed to men of another race and another time,
but spoken as truly for the men of this day and of this
nation. 'Thus saith Jehovah, thy Redeemer, the Holy
One of Israel; I am Jehovah thy God, \vhich teacheth
thee to profit, which leadeth thee by the way that thou
shouldst go. Oh, that thou ,vouldst hearken to my com-
mandments! then would thy peace be as a river, and thy
righteousness as the \vaves of the sea. . . . There is
no peace, saith J ehovab, to the ,vicked.' Echoing do,vn
through the centuries, these great \vords have verified
themselves in every age and may in our day verify them-
selves ane\v. Peace and righteousness are necessarily
and eternally bound together." He refused to discuss
\vith them to-day the causes of this calanlity that had
fallen upon them and upon the world. But in the name
of that same Almighty, Holy God, he summoned the peo-
ple to repentance and to righteousness, for without right-
eousness there could be no peace. '
In the Cathedral there rang out over the assembled
people the Call to Sacrifice. "He that saveth his life
THE TUCK OF DRUl\I 335
shaUlose it; and he that loseth his life for
1y sake shall
find it." The instinct to save life was fundamental and
universal. There \vere times when man must resist that
instinct and choose to surrender life. Such was the
present time. Dear as life .was, there were things infi-
nitely more precious to mankind, and these things were
in peril. For the preserving of these things to the world
our Empire had resolved upon ,var, and throughout the
Empire the call had sounded forth for men willing to
sacrifice their lives. To this caIl Canada \vould make
response, and only thus cotlld Canada saye her Ii fe. For
faith, for righteousness, for humanity, our Empire had
accepted war. And now, as ever, the path\vay to im-
mortality for men and for nations was the pathway of
sacrifice.
In St.
1ary's the priest, an Irishman of wann heart
and of fiery fighting sririt, summoned the faithful to
faith and duty. To faith in the God of their fathers
who through his church had ever led his people along the
stern pathway of duty. The duty of the hour was that
of united and \vhole-hearted devotion to the cause of
Freedom, for ,vhich Great Britain had girded on her
sword. The heart of the Empire had been thrilled by
the noble words of the leader of the Irish Party in the
House of Commons at Home, in '\vhich he pledged the
Irish people to the cause of the \vorld's Freedom. In
this great struggle all loyal sons of Canada of all races
and creeds would be found united in the defence of this
sacred cause.
The ne\vspaper press published full reports of many of
the sermons preached. These sermons all struck the
same note-repentance, sacrifice, service. On 1\10nday
morning men \valked \vith surer tread because the light
was falling clearer upon the path they must take.
In the evening, when Jane and her friend, Ethel
1t1r-
ray, \vere on their way downtown, they heard the beat
of a drum. Was it fancy, or was there in that beat
something they had never heard in a druBl beat before,
386
THE l\IAJOR
something more insistent, more compelling? Th
y hur-
ried to Portage Avenue and there saw Winnipeg's fa-
mous historic regiment, the Ninetieth Rifles, march with
quick, brisk step to the drum beat of their bugle band.
"Look," cried Ethel, "there's Pat Scallons, and Ted
Tuttle, and Fred Sharp, too. I did not know that he
belonged to the Ninetieth." And as they passed, rank
on rank, Ethel continued to name the friends whom she
recognised.
But Jane stood uttering no word. The sight of these
lads stepping to the drum beat so proudly had sent a chin
to her heart and tears to her eyes. "Oh, Ethel," she
cried, touching her friend's ann, "isn't it terrible?"
"Why, what's the matter?" cried Ethel, glancing at h
r.
"Think of what they are marching to I"
"Oh, I can't bear it," said Jane.
But Ethel was more engaged with the appearanc
of
the battalion, from the ranks of which she continued to
pick out the faces of her friends. "Look," she cri
d,
"that surely is not Kellerman! It is! It is! Look,
Jane, there's that little Jew. Is it possible?"
"Kellerman ?" cried Jane. "N 0, it can't b
he.
There are no Jews in the Ninetieth."
"But it is," cried Ethel. "It is Kellerman. . ut us
go up to Broadway and we shall meet them again."
They turned up a cross street and were in tim
to
secure a position from which they could get a good look
at the faces of the lads as they passed. The battalion
was marching at attention, and so rigid was the discipline
that not a face was turned to\vard the two young ladies
standing at the street corner. A glance of the eye and
a smile they received from their friends as they passed,
but no man turned his head.
"There he is," said Jane. "I t is Kellerman-in the
second row, see ?"
"Sure enough, it is Kellennan," said Ethel. .Well,
what has come to Winnipeg?"
"War," said Jane solemnly. "And a good many more
THE TUCK OF DRU
i 837
of th
boys will be going too, if they are any good."
As Kellerman came stepping along he caught sight of
the girls standing there, but no sign of recognition did
he make. He was too anxious to be considered a soldier
for that. Steadiness was one of the primary principles
knocked into the minds of recruits by the Sergeant
Major.
The girls moved along after the column had pas
ed at
a sufficient distance to escape the rabble. At the drill
hall they found the street blocked by a crowd of men,
-women and children.
"What is all this, I wonder?" said Ethel. "L
t us
wait here awhile. Perhaps we may come across some
one we know."
It was a strange crowd that gathered about the
n-
trance to the drill hall, not the usual assemblage of noisy,
idly curious folk of the lighter weight that are wont to
follow a marching battalion or gather to the sound of a
band. It was composed of substantial and solid people,
serious in face and quiet in demeanour. They were
there on business, a business of the gravest character.
As the girls stood waiting they heard far down Broad-
way the throbbing of drums.
"Listen, Ethel," cried Jane. "The Pipes!"
liThe Pipes I"
echoed Ethel in great excitement. "The
Kilties !"
Abov
the roll and rattle of the drums they caught
those high, heart-thrilling sounds which for nearly t\VO
hundred years have been heard on every famous British
battlefield, and which have ever led Scotland's sons down
the path of blood and death to imperishable glory.
A young Ninetieth officer, intent on seeing that th
way was kept clear for the soldiers, came striding out of
the annoury.
"Oh, there's Frank Smart," said Ethel. UI wish h
would S
us. ff
As if in answer to her wish, Smart turned about and
sa Vf tb
m in the crowd. Immediately he came to th
m.
338
THE lVIA.JOR
"I didn't know you were a soldier, Frank," said Jane,
greeting him with a radiant smile.
"1 had almost forgotten it myself," said Frank. "But
I was, at church yesterday and I ,vent home and looked
up my uniform and llere I am."
"You are not going across, F rank, are you?" said
Ethel.
"If I can. There is very strong competition between
both officers and men. I have been paying little atten-
tion to soldiering for a year or so; I have been much
too busy. But no,v things are different. If I can make
it, I guess I ,vill go."
"Oh, Frank, you don't need to go," said Ethel. "I
mean therr are heaps of men allover Canada wanting
to go. vVhy should you go?"
"The question a fellow must ask himself is rather
why should he stay," replied the young officer. "Don't
you think so, Jane?"
"Yes," said Jane, drawing in her breath sharply but
smiling at him.
"Do you \vant to go in ?" asked Frank.
"Oh, do let's go in," said Ethel.
But Jane shrank back. "I don't like to go through all
those men," she said, "though I should like greatly to see
Kel1erman," she added. "I ,vander if I could see him."
"Kellerman ?"
"Yes, he's Jane' s special, you knovV' ," said Ethel.
"They ran close together for the German prize, you re-
member. You don't know him? A little Jew chap."
"No, I don't know him," said Smart. "But you can
certainly
ee him if you \vish. Just come ,vith me; I will
get you in. But first I have got to see that this way is
kept clear for the Highlanders."
"Oh. let's wait to see them come up," said Ethel.
"\VeII, then. stand here," said Frank. "There may be
a crush. but if you don't mind that we will follow right
after them. Here they come. Great lads, aren't
they?"
THE TUCK OF DRUl\1 339
"And they have their big feather bonnets on, too,"
said Ethel.
Down the street the Highlanders came in column of
fours, the pipe band leading.
"Aren't they gorgeous?" said Smart Vvith generous
praise for a rival battalion. "Chesty-Iooking devils, eh ?"
he added as they drew near. "Y ou would think that
Pipe Major o,vned at least half of \Vinnipeg."
"And the big drummer the other half," added Ethel.
"Look at his sticks. He's got a classy t,virl, hasn't he?"
Gorgeous they "\vere, their "\vhite spats flashing in time
with their step, their kilts swaying free over their tartan
hose and naked knees, their ,,,hite tunics gleaming
through the dusk of the evening, and over all the tossing
plumes of their great feather bonnets nodding rhythmi-
cally with their swinging stride.
"Mighty glad ,ve have not to fight those boys," said
Frank as the column swung past into the armoury.
The cro\vd which on other occasions ,vould have
broken into enthusiastic cheers to-night stood in silence
while the Highlanders in all their gorgeous splendour
went past. That grave silence was characteristic of the
Winnipeg crowds those first days of waf. Later they
found voice.
"N ow "Te can go in. Come right along," said Smart.
UStand clear there, boys. You can't go in unless you
have an order."
"\Ve ar-r-e wantin' tae join," said a Scotch voice.
"You are, eh? Come along then. Fall into line
there." The men immediately dropped into line. "Ah,
you have been there before, I see," said Smart.
'Aye, ye'er-r-r right ther-r-re, sir-r-r," ansvvered the
VOIce.
"You will be for the Kitties, boys?" said Frank.
" Aye. What else?" asked the same man in surprise.
"There is only one regiment for the Scotchman ap-
parently/' said Frank, leading the way to the door. "Just
hold these men here until I see what's dOlng, ,,,ill you?"
340
THE 1;iA.JOR
he said to the sentry as he passed in. "N ow, then, young
ladies, step to your right and await me in that corner. I
must see \vhat's to be done with these recruits. Then I
shall find Kellerman for you."
But he had no need to look for Kellerman, for before
he returned the little Jew had caught sight of the young
ladies and had made his way to them.
"Why, how splendid you look, Mr. Kellerman," said
Ethel. "I did not kno\v you were in the Ninetieth."
"I wasn't until Friday."
"Do you mean to say you joined up to go away?"
inquired Ethel.
"That's what," said I{ellerman.
"But you are-I mean-I do not see-" Ethel
stopped in confusion.
"vVhat you mean, Miss Murray, is that you are sur-
prised at a J e\v joining a military organisation," said
Kellerman with a quiet dignity quite new to him. For-
merly his normal condition was one of half defiant, half
cringing nervousness in the presence of ladies. To-night
he carried himself with an easy self-possession, and it
was due to more than the uniform.
"I am afraid you are right. It is horrid of me and
I am a\vfully sorry," said Ethel, impulsively offering him
her hand.
"Why did you join, Mr. Kellerman?" said Jane in her
quiet voice.
"vVhy, I hardly know if I can tell you. I will,
though," he added \vith a sudden il11pulse, "if you care
to hear."
"Oh, do tell us," said Ethel. But Kellerman looked
at Jane.
"If you care to tell, Mr. Kellerman," she said.
The little Jew stood silent a few minutes, leaning upon
his rifle and looking down upon the ground. Then in a
low, soft voice he began: "I was born in Poland-Ger-
man Poland. The first thing I remember is seeing my
mother kneeIir:g, \veeping and \vringing her hands beside
THE TUCK OF DRUM 841
my father's dead body outside the door of our little
house in our village. He was a student, a scholar, and a
patriot." Kellerman's voice took on a deeper and firmer
tone. "He stood for the Polish language in the schools.
There was a riot in our village. A German officer struck
my father do\vn and killed him on the ground. My
mother wiped the blood off his white face-I can see that
white face now-with her apron. She kept that apron;
she has it yet. We got s-omehow to London soon after
that. The English people were good to us. The Ger-
man people are tyrants. They have no use for free peo-
ples." The little Jew's words snapped through his teeth.
"When war came a week ago I could not sleep for two
nights. On Friday I joined the Ninetieth. That night
I slept ten hours." As he finished his story the lad stood
staring straight before him into the moving crowd. He
had forgotten the girls who \vith horror-stricken faces
had been listening to hitll. He was still seeing that white
face smeared with blood.
"And your mother?" said Jane gently as she laid her
hand upon his arm.
The boy started. "M y mother? Oh, my mother, she
went with me to the recruiting office and saw me take the
oath. She is satisfied now."
For some moments the girls stood silent, unable to find
their voices. Then Jane said, her eyes glo\;ving \vith a
deep inner light, "Mr. Kellerman, I am proud of you."
"Thank you, Miss Bro\vn; it does me good to hear you
say that. But you have always been good to me."
"And I want you to come and see me before you go,"
aid Jane as she gave him her hand. "N o\V will you
take us out through the crowd ? We must get along."
"Certainly, Miss Brown. Just come with me." vVith
a fine, soldierly tread the young Jew led them through
the crowd and put them on their \vay. He did not shake
hands with them as he said good-bye, but gave them
instead a military salute, of which he was apparently dis-
tinctly proud.
342
THE ,MAJOR
"Tell me, Jane," said Ethel, as they set off down the
street, "am I awake? Is that little Kellerman, the greasy
little Jew whom we used to think such a beast?"
"Isn't he splendid?" said Jane. "Poor little Keller-
man! You know, Ethel, he had not one girl friend in
college? I am sorry now we were not better to him."
The streets were full of people walking hurriedly or
gathered here and there in groups, all with grave, solemn
faces. In front of The Ti1nes office a huge concourse
stood before the bulletin board'S reading the latest des-
patches. These were ominous enough: "The Germans
Still Battering Liége Forts-Kaiser's Army Nearing
Brussels-Four Millions of Men Marching on France-
Russiz. Hastening Her Mobilisation-Kitchener Calls for
One Hundred Thousand Men-Canada Will Send Expe-
ditionary Force of Twenty-five Thousand Men-Camp at
Valc
rtier Nearly Ready-Parliament Assembles Thurs-
day." Men read the bulletins and talked quietly to
each other. They had not yet reached clearness in their
thinking as to how this dread thing had fallen upon
their country so far from the storm centre, so remote in
all vital relations. There was no cheering-the cheering
days came later-no ebullient emotion, but the tighten-
ing of lip and jaw in their stern, set faces was a sufficient
index of the tensity of feeling. Canadians were thinking
things out, thinking keenly and swiftly, for in the atmos-
phere and actuality of war mental processes are carried
on at high pressure.
As the girls stood at the corner of Portage Avenue
and Main waiting for a crossing, an auto held up in the
traffic drew close to their side.
"Hello, Ethel! \V on't you get in?" said a voice at
their ear.
"Hello, Lloyd! Hello, Helen!" cried Ethel. "We
will, most certainly. Are you joying, or what ?"
"Both," said Lloyd Rushbrooke, who was at the wheel.
,"Helen wanted to see the soldiers. She is interested in
THE TUCK OF DRUl\l 343
. the Ninetieth but he wasn't there and I am just taking her
about. "
"'VVe saw the Ninetieth and the Kitties too," said
Ethel. "Oh, they are fine! Oh, Helen, whom do you
think we sa\v in the Ninetieth ? You \vill never guess-
Heinrich Kellerman."
"Good Lord! That greasy little Sheeney?" exclaimed
Rushbrooke.
"Look out, Lloyd. He's Jane's friend," said Ethel.
Lloyd laughed uproariously at the joke. "And you
say the little Yid was in the Ninetieth? 'VVell, what is
the Ninetieth coming to?"
"Lloyd, you l11ustn't say a \vord against Mr. Keller-
man," said Jane. "I think he is a real man."
"Oh, come, Jane. That little Hebre\v Shyster? Why,
he does not \vash more than once a year!"
"I don't care if he never washes at all. I won't have
you speak of him that \vay," said Jane. "I mean it. He
is a friend of mine."
"And of mine, too," said Ethel, "since to-night. Why,
he gave me thrills up in the armoury as he told us why
he joined up."
"One ten per, eh?" said Lloyd.
"Shall I tell him?" said Ethel.
((N 0, you \vill not," said Jane decidedly. "Lloyd would
not understand."
"Oh, I say, Jane, don't spike a fellow like that. I am
just joking."
"I won't have you joke in that way about Mr. Keller-
man, at least, not to me." Few of her college mates had
ever seen Jane angry. They all considered her the per-
sonification of even-tempered serenity.
"If you take it that way, of course I apologise," said
Lloyd.
"Now listen to me, Lloyd," said Jane. "I am going
to tell you \\Thy he joined up." ...A.nd in tones thrilling
with the intensity of her emotion and finally breaking,
she recounted Kellerman's story. "And that is why he
344
THE l\IA.JOR
is going to the war, and I am proud of him," sh
added.
"Splendid!" cried Helen Brookes. "You are in the
Ninetieth, too, Lloyd, aren't you ?"
"Yes," said Lloyd. "At least, I "vas. I have not gone
much lately. I have not had time for the military stuff,
so I canned it."
"And we saw Pat Scallons and Ted Tuttle in the
Ninetieth, too, and Ramsay Dunn-oh, he did look fine
in his uniform-and Frank Smart-he is going if he
can," said Ethel. "I wonder what his mother will do.
Re is the only son, you know."
"Well, if you ask me, I think that is rot. It is not
right for Smart. There are lots of fellows who can go,"
said Lloyd in quite an angry tone. "Why, they say they
have nearly got the twenty-five thousand already."
"My, I would like to be in the first t\venty-fiv
thou-
sand if I were a man," said Ethel. "There is something
fine in that. Wouldn't you, Jane?"
"I am not a man," said Jane shortly.
"Why the first twenty-five thousand ?" said Lloyd.
"Oh, that is just sentimental rot. I f a man was really
needed, he would go; but if not, why should he? There's
no use getting rattled over this thing. Besides, some-
body's got to keep things going here. I think that is a
fine British motto that they have adopted in England,
'Business as usual.' "
"'Business as usual!'" exclaimed Jane in a tone 0 f
unutterable contempt. "I think I must be going home,
Lloyd," she added. "Can you take me?"
"What's the rush, Jane? It is early yet. Let's take
a turn out to the Park."
But Jane insisted on going home. Never before in all
her life had she found herself in a mood in which she
could with difficulty control her speech. She could not
understand how it was that Lloyd Rushbrooke, \vhom
she had always greatly liked, should have become at once
distasteful to her. She could hardly bear the look upon
his handsome face. His clever, quick-\vitted fun, which
THE TUCI
OF' DRUM 345
she had formerly enjoyed, now grated horribly. Of all
the college boys in her particular set, none was more
popular, none better liked, than Lloyd Rushbrooke. Now
she was mainly conscious of a desire to escape from his
company. This feeling distressed her. She \vanted to
be alone that she might think it out. That was Jane's
way, She ahvays knew her own mind, could always
account for her emotions, because she was intellectually
honest and had sufficient fortitude to look facts in the
face. At the door she did not ask even her friend, Ethel,
to come in with her. Nor did she make excuse for
omitting this courtesy. That, too, was Jane's way. She
was honest with her friends as with herself. She em-
ployed none of the little fibbing subterfuges which polite
manners approve and which are employed to escape a\vk-
\vard situations, but which, of course, deceive no one.
She \vas simple, sincere, direct in her mental and moral
processes, and possessed a courage of the finest quality.
Under ordinary circumstances she would have cleared
up her thinking and worked her soul through the mist
and stress of the rough weather by talking it over with
her father or by writing a letter to Larry. But during
the days of the past terrible week she had discovered
that her father, too, was tempest-tossed to an even
greater degree than she was herself; and somehow she
had no heart to write to Larry. Indeed, she knew not
what to say. Her whole world "vas in confusion.
And in Winnipeg there were many like her. In every
home, ,vhile faces carried bold fronts, there was heart
searching of the ultimate depths and there ,vas purgin!{
of souls. In every office, in every shop, men went about
their \vork resolute to keep minds sane, faces calm, and
voices steady, but haunted by a secret something which
they refused to call fear-which was not fear-but which
as yet they were unwilling to ackno\\Tledge and which
they \vere unable to name. With every bulletin from
across the sea the uncertainty deepened. Every hour
they waited for news of a great victory for the fleet.
346
THE l\IAJOR
The second day of the war a rumour of such a victory
had conle across the wires and had ra
sed hopes for a
day which next day ,vere dashed to è-=
-
.... One ray of
light, thin btÜ marvellously bright, came from Belgium.
For these six breathless days that gallant little people had
barred the \vay against the onrushing multitudes of Ger-
many's tnilitary hosts. The story of the defence of Liége
was to the Allies like a big drink of wine to a fainting
man. But Belgium could not last. And what of France?
\i\lhat France ,vould do 110 man could say. It ,vas ex-
ceedingly doubtful whether there was in the French soul
that enduring quality, whether in the army or in the
nation, that \vould be steadfast in the face of disaster.
The British navy was fit, thank God! But as to the
army, months must elapse before a British army of any
size could be on the fighting line.
Another agonising week passed and still there was no
sure word of hope from the Front. In Canada one
strong, heartening note had been sounded. The Cana..
dian Parliament had lllet and with splendid unhesitating
unanimity had approved all the steps the Government
had taken, had voted large sums for the prosecution of
the war, and had pledged Canada to the Empire to the
limit of her po\\rer. That fearless challenge flung out
into the cloud ,vrapped field of war ,vas like a clear bugle
call in the night. It rallied and steadied the young na-
tion, touched her pride, and breathed serene resolve into
the Canadian heart. Canadians of all classes drew a long,
deep breath of relief as they heard of the action of
their Parliament. Doubts, uncertainties vanished like
morning mists blo,vn by the prairie breeze. They knew
not as yet the magnitude of the task that lay before them,
but they kne\v that whatever it might be, they would not
go back from it.
At the end of the second week the last fort in Liég
had fallen; Brussels, too, "vas gone; Antwerp threatened.
Belgium ,vas lost. From Belgian villages and towns
were beginning to come those tales of unbelievable atroci-
THE TUCK OF DRU
I 347
ties that were to shock the world into horrified amaze-
ment. These tales read in the Canadian papers clutched
men's throats and gripped men's hearts as \vith cruel fin-
gers 0 f steel. Canadians were beginning to see red. The
blood of Belgium's murdered victims was indeed to prove
throughout Canada and throughout the world the seed of
mighty armies.
At the end of the second week Jane could refrain no
longer. She wrote to Larry.
CHAPTER XXIII
A NEUTRAL NATION
T HE first days of the war were for Larry days of
dazed bewildennent and of ever-deepening misery.
The thing \vhich he had believed impossible had come.
That great people upon whose generous ideals and liberal
Christian culture he had grounded a sure hope of perma-
nent peace had flung to the winds all the wisdom, and all
justice, and all the humanity vvhich the centuries had gar-
nered for them, and, following the primal instincts of the
brute, had hurled forth upon the world ruthless war.
Even the great political party of the Social Democrats
upon ,vhich he had relied to make ,var impossible had
,vithout protest or di vision proclaimed enthusiastic alle-
giance to the war programme of the I(aiser. The univer-
sities and the churches, with their preachers and profes-
sors, had led the people in mad acclaim of war. His
whole thinking on the subject had been proved vvrong.
Passionately he had hoped against hope that Britain
would not allow herself to enter the war, but apparently
her struggle for peace had been in vain. His first feel-
ing was one of bitter disappointment and of indignation
,vith the great leaders of the British people vvho had al-
lowed themselves to become involved in a 1\1id-European
quarrel. Sir Ed"rard Grey's calm, moderate-sub-mod-
erate, indeed-exposition of the causes which had forced
Britain into vvar did much to cool his indignation, and
Bethmann-Hollweg's cynical explanation of the violation
of Belgium's neutrality vvent far to justify Britain's ac-
tion consequent upon that outraging of treaty faith. The
deliberate initiation of the policy of "frightfulness"
348
A NEUTRAL NATION 349
which had heaped such unspeakable horrors upon the
Belgian people tore the veil from the face of German
militarisll1 and revealed in its sheer brutality the ruth-
lessness and la\vlessness of that monstrous system.
From the day of Austria's ultimatum to Servia Larry
began to read everything he could find dealing with
modern European history, and especially German history.
Day and night he studied \vith feverish intensity the
diplomacy and policies of the great powers of Europe
till at length he came to a somewhat clear understanding
of the modem theory and world policy of the German
state vvhich had made war inevitable. But, though his
study made it possible for him to relieve his country from
the charge òf guilt in this war, his anxiety and his misery
remained. For one thing, he ,vas oppressed \vith an
overwhelming loneliness. He began to feel that he was
dwelling among an alien people. He had made many
and close friends during the n10nths of his stay in Chi-
cago. But while they were quick to offer him sympathy
in his anxiety and misery, he could not fail to observe
on every hand the obvious and necessary indications of
the neutral spirit. He could expect nothing else. In this
conflict America had decided that she was not immedi-
ately concerned and she was resolute to remain uncon-
cerned. ÞA- leading representative of the Chicago press
urged Americans to be careful not to "rock the boat."
The President of the United States counselled his people
"to keep calm" and to observe the strictest neutrality.
Larry discovered, too, an unconfessed, almost uncon-
scious desire in the heart of many an American, a relic
of Revolutionary days, to see England not destroyed or
even seriously disabled, but, say, ",veIl trimmed." It
would do her good. There was, beside, a large element
in the city distinctly and definitely pro-German and in-
tensely hostile to Great Britain. On his way to the office
one afternoon Larry found himself held up by a long pro-
cession of young German reservists singing with the ut-
most vigour and with an unmistakable note of triumph
350
THE lVIAJOR
the German national air, "Die Wacht Am Rhein," and
that ne\ver song \vhich embodied German faith and Ger-
man anlbitioll, "Deutschland Über Alles." When he ar-
rived at the office that afternoon he was surprised to find
that he was unable to go on ,vith his work for the
trembling of his hands. In the office he was utterly alone,
for, ho,vever his friends there might take pains to sho\v
extra kindness, he was conscious of complete isolation
from their life. Unconc
rned, indifferent, coolly critical
of the great conflict in which his people \vere pouring
out blood like water, they "vere like spectators at a foot-
ball match on the side lines willing to cheer good play
on either side and ready to acclaim tte winner.
The Wakehams, though extremely careful to avoid a
word or act that might give him pain, naturally shared
the general feeling of their people. For them the war
was only another of those constantly recurring European
scraps which were the inevitable result of the forms of
government which these nations insisted upon retaining.
If peoples were determined to have kings and emperors,
vt'-hat other could they expect but \vars. France, of
course, "vas quite another thing. The sympathy of
America with France ,vas deep, warm and sincere.
America could not forget the gallant Lafayette. Be-
ides, France was the one European republic. As for
Britain, the people of Chicago vvere content to maintain
a profoundly neutral calm, and to a certain extent the
Wakehanls shared this feeling.
In Larry's immediate circle, ho\vever, there ''\Tere two
exceptions. One, within the Wakeham family, "vas
Elfie. Quick to note the signs of \vretchedness in him
and quick to feel the attitude of neutrality assunled by
her family to\vard the ,var, the child, without stint and
without thought, gave him a love and a sympathy so
,vann, so passionate, that it was to his heart like balm to
an open "vound. There was no neutrality about Elfie.
She was openly, furiously pro-Ally. The rights and
wrongs of the great world conflict were at first nothing
A NEUTRAL NATION 351
to her. With Canada and the Canadians she was l11adly
in love, they were Larry's people and for Larry she would
have gladly given her life. Another exception to the gen-
eral state of feeling was that of I-Iugo Raeder. Frorn the
first Raeder was an intense and confessed advocate of
the cause of the Allies. From personal observation he
knew Germany \vell, and from wide reading he had come
to understand and appreciate the significance of her
world policy. He recognised in German autocracy and
in German militarism and in German ambition a menace
to the liberties of Europe. He represented a large and
intellectually influential class of men in the city and
throughout the country generally. Graduates of the
great universities, men high in the leadership of the finan-
cial world, the editors of the great newspapers aIrnost to
a man, magazine editors and magazine writers untinged
by racial or personal affinity with Germany, these \vere
represented by Raeder, and were strongly and enthusias-
tically in sympathy with the aims of the Allies, and as the
war advanced became increasingly eager to have their
country assume a definite stand on the side of those na-
tions whom they believed to be fighting for the liberties
and rights of humanity. But though these exceptions
were a source of unspeakable comfort to him, Larry car-
ried day by day a growing sense of isolation and an in-
creasing burden of anxiety.
Then, too, there was the question of his duty. He had
no clear conviction as to what his duty was. With all
his hatred and loathing of "var, he had come to the con-
viction that should he see it to be the right thing for him,
he would take his place in the fighting line. There ap-
peared. however, to be no great need for rI1en in Canada
just now. In response to the call for twenty-five
thousand men for the First Expeditionary Force, nearly
one hundred thousand had offered. And yet his country
"vas at war; his friends whether enlisted for the fighting
line or in the civilian ranks were under the burden.
Should he not return to Canada and find some way to
352
THE MAJOR
help in the great cause? But again, on the other hand,
his work here was important, he had been treated with
great consideration and kindness, he had made a place
for himself where he seemed to be needed. The lack
of clear vision of his duty added greatly to his dis-
tress.
.
wire had informed him in the first days of the war
that his brother-in-law had gone to rejoin his old regi-
ment in the Coldstream Guards. A letter from Nora did
not help much. "J ack has gone," she wrote. "\'''1 e all
felt he could do nothing else. Even poor, dear Mother
agreed that nothing else was possible. I(athleen amazes
us all. The very day after the awful news came, with-
out a word from Jack, I found her getting his things
together. 'Are you going to let him go?' I asked her,
perfectly amazed at her coolness. 'Let me go?' said Jack,
who ,vas muddling about her. 'Let me go? She would
not let me stay. \V ould you, Kathleen?' 'No,' she said,
'I do not think I \vould like you to stay, Jack.' And this
is our pacifist, Kathleen, mind you! How she came to
see through this thing so rapidly I don't know. But
sooner than any of us Kathleen saw \vhat the war \vas
about and that we must get in. She goes about her
work quietly, cheerfully. She has no illusions, and there
is no bravado. Oh, Larry dear, I do not believe I could
do it. When she smiles at the dear wee lnan in her arms
I have to run a way or I should ho,v 1. I must tell you
about Duckworth. You know \vhat a dear he is. We
have seen a good deal of him this year. He has quite
captivated Mother. vVell, he had a letter from his father
saying, 'I am just about rejoining my regiment; your
brother has enlisted; your sister has gone to the Red
Cross. We have given our house to the Government for
a hospital. Come home and join up.' What a man he
must be! The dear boy came to see uS and, Larry, he
wanted me. Oh, I wish I could have said yes, but some-
how I couldn't. Dear boy, I could only kiss him and
weep over him till he forgot himself in trying to comfort
t
,
".
1 ,1'>-
f
"
A LETTER FROM JANE HELPED HIM SOME.
!
, /
.
A NEUTRAL NATION 858
me. He went with the Calgary boys. . Hec Ross is off,
too; and Angus Fraser is up and down the country with
kilt and pipes driving Scotchmen mad to be at the war.
He's going, too, although what his old mother will do
\vithout him I do not kno\v. But she ,vill hear of nothing
less. Only four \veeks of this war and it seems like a
year. Switzer has gone, you know, the wicked devil.
If it had not been for Sam, who had been working
around the Inine, the whole thing would have been blown
up with dynamite. Sam discovered the thing in time.
The Germans have all quit work. Thank God for that.
So the mine is not doing much. Mother is worried about
the war, I can see, thinking things through."
A letter from Jane helped him some. It ,vas very
unlike Jane and evidently written under the stress of
strong emotion. She gave him full notes of the Rev-
erend Andrew McPherson's sermons, which she appeared
to set great store by. The rapid progress of recruiting
filled her with delight. It grieved her to think that her
friends were going to the war, but that grief was as
nothing compared to the grief and indignation against
those who seemed to treat the war lig
tly. She gave a
page of enthusiastic appreciation to KeÎip.rman. Another
page she devoted to an unsuccessful attempt to repress
her furious contempt for Lloyd Rushbrooke, who talked
largely and coolly about the need of keeping sane. The
ranks of the first contingent were all filled up. She knew
there were t,vo million Canadians in the United States
who if they were needed would flock back home. They
were not needed yet, and so it would be very foolish for
them to leave good positions in the meantime.
Larry read the last sentence with a smile. "Dear old
Jane," he said to himself. "She wants to help me out;
and, by George, she does." Somehow Jane's letter
brought healing to his lacerated nerves and heart, and
steadied him to bear the disastrous reports of the steady
drive of the enemy towards Paris that were released by
the censor during the last days of that dreadful August.
354
THE l\iA.JOR
With each day of that appalling retreat Larry's agony
deepened. The reports were vague, but one thing was
clear-the drive was going relentlessly for\vard, and the
French and the British armies alike were po\verless to
stay the overwhelming torrent. . The check at the Marne
lifted the gloom a bit. But the reports of that great
fight were meagre and as yet no one had been able to
estimate the full significance of that mighty victory for
the Allied armies, nor the part played therein by the gal-
lant and glorious little army that constituted the British
Expedi tionary Force.
Blacker days came in late September, ,vhen the news
arrived of the disaster to the Aboukir and her sister
ships, and a month later of the destruction of the Good
H ope and the M onl1touth in the South Pacific sea fight.
On that dreadful morning on his way dovvntown he pur-
chased a paper. After the first glance he crushed the
paper together till he reached his office, where he sat with
the paper spread out before him on his desk, staring at
the headlines, unable to see, unable to think, able only to
suffer. In the midst of his misery Professor Schaefer
passed through t
"':e office on his way to consult with Mr.
Wakeham and threw him a smile of cheery triumph. It
was a way Schaefer had these days. The very sight of
him was enough to stir Larry to a kind of frenzied nlad-
ness. This morning the German's smile wa.s the filling up
of his cup of misery. He stuffed the paper into his desk,
took up his pen and began to make figures on his pad,
gnawing his lips the while.
An hour later Hugo Raeder came in \vith a message
for him. Raeder after one look at his face took Larry
away ,vith him, sick with rage and fear, in his car, and
for an hour and a half drove through the Park at a rate
that defied the traffic regulations, talking the while in
quiet, hopeful tones of the prospects of the Allies, of the
marvellous recovery of the French and British armies on
the Maroe and of the splendid Russian victories. He
touched lightly upon the recent naval disaster, which was
A NEUTR.Lt\.L NATION 355
entirely due to the longer range of the enemy's guns and
to a fevv extraordinarily lucky shots. The clear, crisp
air, the swift motion, the bright sun, above all the deep,
kindly sympathy of this strong, clear-thinking man be-
side him, brought back to Larry his courage if not his
cheer. As they were nearly back to the office again, he
ventured his first observation, for throughout the drive
he had confined his speech to monosyllabic answers to
Raeder's stream 0 f talk.
"In spite of it aU, I believe the navy is all right," he
said, with savage emphasis.
"l\Iy dear chap," exclaimed Raeder, "did you ever
doubt it? Did you read the account of the fight?"
"No," said Larry, "only the headlines."
"Then you did not see that the British ships were dis-
tinctly outclassed in guns both as to range and as to
weight. Nothing can prevent disaster in such a case.
It was a bit of British stupidity to send those old cruisers
on such an expedition. ':'be British navy is all right If
not, then God help America."
"Say, old chap," said I..#arry as they stepped out of the
car, "you have done me a mighty good turn this morning,
and I will not forget it."
"Oh, that is all right," said Raeder. "We have got
to stand together in this thing, you knO\v."
"Stand together?" said Larry.
"Yes, stand together. Don't you forget it. We are
with you in this. Deep down in the heart America is
utterly sound; she knows that the cause of the Allies is
the cause of justice and humanity. America has no use
for either brutal tyranny or slimy treachery. The real
Al11erican heart is with you now, and her fighting anny
will yet be at ynur side."
These sentim
nts were so unusual in his environment
that Larry gazed at him in amazement.
"That is God's truth," said Raeder. "Take a vote of
the col1ege men to-day, of the big business men, of the
big newspaper men-these control the thinking and the
356
THE l\fAJOR
acting of America-and you will find ninety per cent. of
these pro-Ally. Just be patient and give the rest of us
time. Americans will not stand for the bully," added
Raeder, putting his hand on Larry's shoulder. "You
hear me, my boy. l
ovv I am going in to see the boss.
He thinks the same way, too, but he does not say much
out loud."
New hope and courage came into Larry's heart as he
listened to the pronouncement of this clear-headed, virile
young American. Oh, if America would only say out
loud what Raeder 11ad been saying, how it would tone
up the spirit of the Allies! A moral vindication of their
cause from America \vould be \vorth many an army
corps.
The morning brought him another and unexpected
breeze of cheer in the person of Dean vVakeham straight
from Alberta and the Lakeside Farm. A little before
lunch he walked in upon Larry, who was driving himself
to hi
work that he might forget. It was a veritable
breath from home for Larry, for Dean was one who car-
ried not only news but atmosphere as \vell. He was a
great, ,varm-hearted boy, packed with human energies
of body, heart and soul.
"Wait till I say good-morning to father," he said after
he had shaken hands warmly with Larry. "I will be back
then in a minute or two."
But in a few minutes NIr. Wakeham appeared and
called Larry to him. "Come in, boy, and hear the ne\vs,"
he said.
Larry went in and found Dean in the full tide of a
torrential outpouring of passionate and enthusiastic, at
times incoherent, tales of the Canadians, of their spirit,
of their sacrifice and devotion in their h01:r of tragedy.
"Go on, Dean," said Raeder, who was listening with
face and eyes aglow.
"Go on? I cannot stop. N ever have I come up against
anything like what is going on over there in Canada.
Not in one spot, either, but everywhere; not in one
A NEUTRAL NATION 357
hotne, but in every home; not in one class, but in every
class. In Calgary during the recruiting I saw a mob
of men in fronl the ranches, from the C. P. R. shops,
from the mines, from the offices, fighting mad to get their
names do\vn. My God! I had to go a wa y or I would
have had mine in too. The women, too, are all the same.
No man is getting under his wife's skirts. You know
old Mrs. Ross, Larry, an old Scotch woman up there
with four sons. \1\T ell, her eldest son could not wait
for the Canadian contingent, but ,vent off with Jack
Romayne and joined the Black \1Vatch. He vvas in that
Le Cateau fight. Oh, \vhy don't these stupid British tell
the people sonlething about that great fighting retreat
from Tvions to the Marne? \\T ell, at Le Cateau poor Hec
Ross in a glorious charge got his. His Colonel wrote the
old lady about it. I never savv such a letter; there never
was one like it. I motored Tvirs. Gwynne, your mother,
Larry, over to see her. Say, men, to see those t\VO
women and to hear them! There \vere no tears, but a
kind of exaltation. Your mother, Larry, is as bad, as
good, I mean, as any o.f them no\v. I heard that old
Scotch '\\?Onlan say to your mother in that Scotch voice
of hers, 'l\1isthress G\vynne, I dinna grudge my boy. I
wouldna hae him back.' Her youngest son is off "vith the
Canadians. As she said good-bye to us I heard her say
to your mother, 'I hae gi'en twa sons, 1Vlisthress G\yynne,
an' if they're ,vanted, there's t\va mair.' 11y God! I
found myself blubbering like a child. It sounds all mad
and furious, but believe me, there is not nluch noise, no
hurrahing. They kno\v they are up against a deadly seri-
ous business, and that is getting clearer every minute.
Did you see that the Government had offered one hun-
dred and fifty thousand men no\v, and more if \vanted?
And all classes are the same. That little vVelch preacher
at \V olf \Villovv-Rhye, his name is, isn't it? By George,
you shou
d hear him flaming in the pulpit. He's the
limit. There won't be a man in that parish \vill dare
hold back. He will just have to go to war or quit the
358
TI-IE l\IAJOR
church. And it is the same all over. The churches are
a mighty force in Canada, you kno,V', even a political
force. I ha ve been going to church every Sunday,
Father, this last year. Believe nle, God is some real
Person to those people, and I want to tell you He has
beconle real to me too." As Dean said this he glanced
half defiantly at his father as if expecting a challenge.
But his father only cleared his throat and said, "All
right, my boy. \Ve won't do anything but gladly agree
with you there. And God may come to be more real to
us all before we are through with this thing. Go on."
"Let's. see,. what was I talking about ?"
"01urches. "
"Yes, in Calgary, on my way do,vn this time, the
Archdeacon preached a sermon that simply sent thrills
do\vn my spine. In \Vinnipeg I went \vith the Murrays
to church and heard a clergyman, McPherson, preach.
The soldiers ,vere there. Great Cæsar ! No ,vonder Win-
nipeg is sending out thousands of her best men. He was
like an ancient Hebrew prophet, Peter the Hermit and
Billy Sunday all rolled into one. y
et there ",-as no noisy
drum pounding and no silIy flag flapping. Say, let me
tell you something. I said there was a battalion of sol-
diers in church that day. The congregation were going
to take Holy Communion. You know the Scotch way.
iThey all sit in their pe,vs and you know they are fear-
fully strict about their Communion, have rules and regu-
lations and so on about it. "VVell, that old boy McPher-
son just leaned over his pulpit and told the boys ,vhat
the thing stood for, that it was just like swearing in,
and he told them that he ,vould just throw the rules
aside and man to man would ask them to join up with
God. Say, that old chap got my goat. The boys just
naturally stayed to Communion and I stayed too. I was
not fit, I kno,v, but I do not think it did me any ham."
At this point the boy's voice broke up and there was
silence for some moments in the office. Larry had his
face covered with his hands to hide the tears that were
A NEUTRAL NATION 359
streaming down. Dean's father wa3 openly '\viping his
eyes, Raeder looking stern and straight in front of him.
"Father," said Dean suddenly, "1 want to give you
warning right now. If it ever comes that Canada is in
need of men, I al11 not going to hold back. I could not
do it and stay in the country. I am an American, heart,
body and soul, but I would count myself meaner than a
polecat if I declined to line up with that bunch of Cana-
dians."
"Think '\vell, my boy," såid his father. "Think well.
I have only one son, but I will never stand between you
and your duty or your honour. Now '\ve go to lunch.
Where shall we go?"
"\Vith me, at the University Club, all of you," said
Raeder.
"No, with me," said Mr. Wakeham. "I will put up the
fatted calf, for this my son is home again. Eh, my boy?".
During the lunch hour try as they would they could
not get away from the war. Dean ,vas so completely
obsessed with the subject that he could not divert his
mind to anything else for any length of time.
"I cannot help it," he said at length. "All my switches
run the same ,vay."
They had almost finished when Professor Schaefer
came into the dining hall, spied them and hastened over
to them.
"Here's this German beast," said Dean.
"Steady, Dean. We do business with him," said his
father.
"All right, Father," replied the boy.
The Professor drew in a chair and sat down. He only
wanted a light lunch and if they ,vould allow him he
would break in just '\vhere they '\vere. He was full of
excitement over the German successes on sea and on land.
"On land?" said Raeder. "Well, I should not radiate
too freely about their land successes. What about the
Maroe ?"
"The Marne!" said Schaefer in hot contempt. "The
360
THE l\IAJOR
Marne-strategy-strategy, my dear sir. But wait.
Wait a fe\v days. If we could only get that boasted
British navy to venture out from their holes, then the
war would be over. Mark what happens in the Pacific.
Scientific gunnery, three salvos, t\VO hundred minutes
from the first gun. It is all over. T\vo British ships
sunk to the bottom. That is the German \vay. They
would force war upon Germany. Now they have it. In
spite of all the Kaiser's peace efforts, they drove Ger-
many into the war."
"The Kaiser I"
exclaimed Larry, unable any longer to
contain his fury. "The Kaiser's peace efforts! The only
efforts that the l<aiser has made for the last fe\v years
are efforts to bully Europe into submission to his will.
The great peace-maker of Europe of this and of the
last century was not the Kaiser, but I(ing Ed ward VII.
All the world knows that."
"I(ing Ed\vard VII!" sputtered Schaefer in a fury of
contempt. "King Edward VII a peacemaker! A -!"
calling him a vile name. "And his son is like him!"
The foul word ,vas like a flame to povvder ,vith Larry.
His hand closed upon his glass of water. "You are a
liar," he said, leaning over and thrusting his face close
up to the German. "You are a slanderous liar." He
flung his glass of water full into Schaefer's face, sprang
quickly to his feet, and as the German rose, swung "vith
his open hand and struck hard upon the German's face,
first on one cheek and then on the other.
vVith a roar Schaefer flung himself at hin1, but Larry
in a cold fury "vas waiting for him. vVith a stiff, full-
armed blo\v, which carried the whole \veight of his body,
he caught him on the chin. The professor was lifted
clear over his chair. Crashing back upon the floor, he
lay there still.
"Good boy, Larry," shouted Dean. "Great God!
You did something that time."
Silent, vvhite, cold, rigid, Larry stood waiting. More
than any of them he \vas amazed at \yhat he had done.
A NEUTRAL NATION 361
Some friends of the Professor rushed toward them.
"Stand clear, gentlemen," said Raeder. "vVe are per-
fectly able to handle this. This man offered my friend
a deadly insult. My friend sinlply anticipated what I
myself would gladly have done. Let me say this to you,
gentlemen, for some time he and those of his kind have
made themselves offensive. Every man is entitled to his
opinion, but I have made up my mind that if any German
insults my friends the Allies in my presence, I shall treat
him as this man has been treated."
There was no more of it. Schaefer's friends after
reviving him led him off. As they passed out of the
dining hall Larry and his friends were held up by a score
or more of men who crowded around him with wann
thanks and congratulations. The affair ,vas kept out
of the press, but the news of it spread to the limits of
clubland. The following day Raeder thought it best that
they should lunch again together at the University Club.
The great dining-room was full. As Raeder and his com-
pany entered there was first a silence, then a quick hum
of voices, and finally applause, \vhich gre\v in volume till
it broke into a ringing cheer. There was no longer any
doubt as to where the sympathy of the men of the Uni-
versity Club, at least, lay in this world conflict.
Two days later a telegram was placed upon Larry's
desk. Opening it, he read, "Word just received J a
k
Romayne killed in action." Larry carried the telegram
quietly into the inner office and laid it upon his chief's
desk.
"I can stand this no longer, sir," he said in a quiet
voice. "I \vish you to release me. I must return to
Canada. I am going to the "var."
"Very well, my boy," said Mr. Wakeham. "I know
you have thought it over. I feel you could not do other-
wise. I, too, have been thinking, and I \vish to say that
your place will a wai t you here and your salary will go
on so long as you are at the war. No! not a word!
There is not nluch we Americans can do as yet, but I
362
THE J\IAJOR
shan count it a privilege as an American sympathising
with the Allies in their great cause to do this l11uch at
least. And you need not worry about that coal mine.
Dean has been telling me about it. \Ve will see it
through."
CHAPTER XXIV
THE MAJOR AND THE MAJOR'S \VIFE
W HEN Larry went to take fareweU of the Wake-
hams he found Rowena ,vith Hugo Raeder in
the drawing-room.
"You are glad to leave us," said Rowena, in a tone of
reproach.
"N 0," said Larry, "sorry. You have been too good to
me. "
Hy"" ou are glad to go to war?"
"No; I hate the ,var. I am not a soldier, but, thank
God, I see my duty, and I am going to have a go at it."
"Right you are," said Hugo. "What else could any
l11an do when his country is at war ?"
"But I hate to go/' said Larry, "and I hate this busi-
ness of saying good-bye. You have all been so good to
me."
"It was easy," said Rowena. "Do you know I was on
the ,yay to fall in love with you? Hugo here and Jane
saved me. Oh, I mean it," she added, flushing as sh
laughed.
"Jane!" exclaimed Larry.
"Yes, Jane. Oh, you men are so stupid," said Row-
ena. "And Hugo helped me out, too," she added, with
a shy glance at him.
Larry looked from one to the other, then rush
d to
Hugo. "Oh, you lucky beggar! y""ou two lucky beg-
gars! Oh, joy, glory, triumph! Could anything be
finer in the wide world?" cried Larry, giving a hand to
each.
"And, Larry, don't be a fool," said Rowena. "Try
363
364
THE M.liJOR
to uncierstand your dear, foolish heart, and don't break
your o\vn or anyone's else."
Larry gazed at her in astonishment and then at Hugo,
\vho nodded wisely at him.
"She is quite right, Larry. I want to see that young
lady Jane. She must be quite unique. I o\ve her some-
thing."
"Good-bye, then," said Larry. "I have already seen
your mother. Good-bye, you dear things. God give you
everything good. He has already given you almost the
best."
"Good-bye, you dear boy," said Rowena. "I have
vvanted to kiss you many a time, but didn't dare. But
now-you are going to the war"-there was a IitttIe
break in her voice-"where men die. Good-bye, Larry,
dear boy, good-bye." She put her arms about him.
"And don't keep Jane waiting," she \vhispered in his ear.
"If I vvere a German, Larry," said Hugo, giving him
both hands, "I would kiss you too, old boy..1 but being
plain American, I can only say good luck. God bless
you."
"You \vill find Elfie in her room," said Rowena. "She
refuses to say good-bye \vhere anyone can see her. She
is not going to weep. Soldiers' women do not weep, she
says. Poor kid!"
Larry found Elfie in her reom, with high lights as of
fever on her cheeks and eyes glittering.
"I am not going to cry,Jf she said bet\veen her teeth.
"You need not be afraid, Larry. I am going to be like
the Canadian ,vomen."
Larry took the child in his arms, every muscle and
every nerve in her slight body taut as a fiddle-string.
He smoothed her hair gently and began to talk quietly
with her.
"\Vhat good times we have had!" hç said. "I remem-
ber well the very first night I saw you. Do you?"
"Oh:" she breathed, "don't speak of it, or I can't hold
in."
l\IAJOR AND 1tIAJOR'S WIFE 365
"Elfie," said Larry, "our Canadian women when they
are seeing their men off at the station do not cry; they
smile and wave their hands. That is, many of them do.
But in their own rooms, like this, they cry as much as
they like."
"Oh, Larry, Larry," cried the child, flinging herself
upon him. "Let me cry, then. I can't hold in any
1 0' "
onber.
"N either can I, little girl. See, Elfie, there is no use
trying not to, and I am not ashamed of it, either," said
Larry.
The pent-up emotion broke forth in a storm of sob-
bing and tears that shook the slight body as the tempest
shakes the sapling. Larry, holding her in his arms, talked
to her about the good days they had had together.
"And isn't it fine to think that ,ve have those forever,
and, ,vhenever ,ve want to, \ve can bring them back
again? And I want you to remember, Elfie, that "Then
I ,vas very lonely and homesick here you were the one
that helped me most."
"And you, Larry, oh, what you did for me I"
said the
child. "I \vas so sick and miserable and bad and cross
and hateful."
"That was just because you were not fit," said Larry.
"But now you are fit and fine and strong and patient, and
you will always be so. Remember it is a soldier's duty
to keep fit." Elfie nodded. "And I want you to send me
socks and a lot of things výhen I get over there. I shall
\vrite you all about it, and you will \vrite me. \V on't
you ?" Again Elfie nodded.
"I am glad you let me cry," she said. "I was so hot
and sore here," and she laid her hands upon her throat.
"And I am glad you cried too, Larry; and I won't cry
before people, you kno\v."
"That is right. There are going to be too many sad
people about for us to go crying and making them feel
worse," said Larry.
366
THE l\IAJOR
"But I will say good-bye here, Larry. I could go to
the train, but then I might not quite smile."
But when the train pulled out that night the last face
that Larry saw of all his \varm-hearted American friends
was that of the little girl, who stood alone at the end of
the platfonn, waving both her hands wildly over her
head, her pale face effulg
nt with a glorious smile,
through which the tears ran unheeded do,vn her cheeks
like rain on a sunny day. And on Larry's face, as he
turned away, there was the same gleam of sunshine and
of rain.
"This farewell business is something too fierce," he
said to himself savagely, tbinking with a sinking heart
of the little group at \Volf vVillo,v in the \Vest to \vÌlom
he mu
L say farewell, and of the one he must leave be-
hind in W inni peg. "How do these women send their
husbands off and their sons? God kno\vs, it is beyond
me."
Throughout the train journey to Calgary his mind
as
chiefly occupied with the thought of the parting that
awaited him. But when he reached his destination he
found himself so over\vhelmed with the rush of prepara-
tion and with the strenuous daily grind of training that
he had no time nor energy left for anything but his ,york.
A change, too, was coming swiftly over the heart of
Canada and over his o,vn heart. The tales of Belgian
atrocities, at first rejected as impossible, but afterwards
confirmed by the Bryce Commission and by nlany private
letters, kindled in Canadian hearts a passion 0 f furious
longing to wipe from the face of the earth a system that
produced such horrors. Women who, with instincts na-
tive of their kind, had at the first sought how they might
with honour keep back their men from the perils of war,
now in their compassion for women thus relentlessly out-
raged and for their tender babes pitilessly mangled, con-
sulted chiefly how they might best fit their men for the
high and holy mission of justice for the wronged and
protection for the helpless. It was this that wrought in
l\IAJOR AND MAJOR'S WIFE 367
Larry a fury of devotion to his duty. Night and day
he gave himself to his training with his concentrated
powers of .body, mind and soul, till he stood head and
shoulders above the members of the Officers' Training
Corps at Calgary. .
After six \vceks of strenuous grind Larry was ordered
to report to his battalion at Wolf vVillow. A new world
awaited him there, a world recreated by the mysterious
alchemy of war, a ,vorld in which men and women moved
amid high ideals and lofty purposes, a world where the
dominant note was sacrifice and the regnant motive duty.
Nora met him at the station in her own car, which, in
view of her activity in connection ,vith the mine ,vhere
her father \vas now manager, the directors had placed at
her disposal.
"How big and fine you took, Larry! You must be
pounds heavier," she cried, viewing him from afar.
"Twenty pounds, and hard as hickory. N ever so fit
in my life," replied her brother, who was indeed a pic-
ture of splendid and vigorous health. .
"Y ou are perfectly astonishing. But everything is
astonishing these days. Why, even father, till he broke
his leO"-"
b
"Broke his leg?"
"There was no use worrying you about it. .L
week
ago, \vhile he was pottering about the mine, he slipped
down a ladder and broke his leg. He will probably stay
where he belongs no\v-in the office. But father is as
splendid as anyone could well be. He has gripped that
mine business hard, and even Switzer in his palmiest
days could not get better results. He has quite an ex-
traordinary way with the men, and that is something
these days, \vhen men are almost impossible to get."
"And mother ?" enquired Larry.
"1fother is equally surprising. But you will see for
yourself. And dear old Kathleen. She is at it day and
night. They made her President of the "Vornen's War
Association, and she is- Well, it is quite beyond
368
THE l\IAJ"OR
words. I can't talk about it, that's all." Nora's voice
grew unsteady and she took refuge in silence. After a
fe\v moments she \vent on: "And she has had the most
beautiful letter from Jack's col( úel. It was on the Big
Retreat from Mons that he was killed at the great fight
at Landrecies. You know about that, Larry?"
"No, never heard anything; I know really nothing of
that retreat," said Larry.
"Well, we have had letters about it. It must have
been great. Oh, it will be a glorious tale some day.
They began the fight, only seventy-five thousand of the
British-think of it! with two hundred guns against four
hundred thousand Germans with six hundred guns.
They began the fight on a Saturday. The French on
both their flanks gave way. One army on each flank
trying to hem thelTI in and an army in front pounding the
life out of them. They fought all Saturday. They began
the retreat on Saturday night, fought again Sunday,
marched Sunday night, they fought Monday and marched
Monday night, fought Tuesday, and marched Tuesday
night. The letter said they staggered do\vn the roads
like drunken men. Wednesday, dead beat, they fought
again-and against ever fresh masses of men, remem-
ber. Wednesday night one corps canle to Landrecies.
At half-past nine they were all asleep in billets. At ten
o'clock a perfectly fresh army of the enemy, field guns
backing them up behind, machine guns in front, bore
down the streets into the village. But those \iVonderful
Coldstreams and Grenadiers and Highlanders just filled
the streets and every man for himself poured in rifle
fire, and every machine gun fired into the enemy masses,
smashed the attack and then they went at them with the
bayonet and flung them back. Again and again through-
out the night this thing was repeated until the Germans
drew off, leaving five hundred dead before the village
and in its streets. I t was in the last ba yonet charge,
when leading his men, that Jack was killed."
"My God!" cried Larry. "What a great death!"
l\IAJ"OR AND MAJOR'S WIFE 369
.
"And so Kathleen goes about with her head high and
Sybil, too,-Mrs. vVaring-Gaunt, you kno\v," continued
Nora, "she is just like the others. She never thinks of
herself and her two little kids who are going to be left
behind but she is busy getting her husband ready and
helping to outfit his men, as all the women are, with socks
and mits and all the rest of it. Before Tom made up his
mind to raise the battalion they were both wretched, but
now they are both cheery as crickets with a kind of ex-
alted cheeriness that makes one feel like hugging the
dear things. And, Larry, there won't be a man left in
this whole country if the war keeps on except old Mc-
Tavish, who is furious because they won't take him and
,vho declares he is going on his own. Poor Mr. Rhye
is feeling so badly. He was rejected-heart trouble,
though I think he is more likely to injure himself here
preaching as he does than at the war."
"And yourself, Nora? Carrying the whole load, I
suppose,-ranch, and now this mine. You are getting
thin, I see."
"No fear," said Nora. "Joe is really doing awfully
well on the ranch. He practically takes charge. By the
way, Sam has enlisted. He says he is going to stick to
you. He is going to be your batman. And as for the
mine, since father's accident Mr. Wakeham has been
very kind. If he were not an ,A.merican he would have
enlisted before this."
"Oh! he would, eh?"
"He would, or he would not be coming about Lakeside
Farm."
"Then he does come about ?"
"Oh, yes," said Nora with an exaggerated air of indif-
ference. "He would be rather a nuisance if he were not
so awfully useful and so jolly. After all, I do not see
what we should have done without him."
"Ah, a good man is Dean."
"I had a letter from Jane this week," continued Nora,
. changing the subject abruptly.
370
THE l\IAJOR
"I have not heard for two weeks," said Larry.
"Then you h
ve not heard about Scuddy. Poor Scud-
dy! But vvhy say 'poor' Scuddy? He ,vas doing his duty.
It was a patrol party. He \vas scouting and ran into an
enemy patrol and ,vas instantly killed. The poor girl,
Helen Brookes, I think it is."
"Helen Brookes!" exclaimed Larry.
"Yes, Jane says you knew her. She was engaged to
Scuddy. And Scallons is gone too."
"Scal1ons I"
"And Smart, Frank Smart."
"Frank Smart! Oh! his poor mother! My God, this
war is a\vful and grows more awful every day."
"Jane says Mrs. Smart is at every meeting of the
'V omen's Association, quiet and steady, just like our
Kathleen. Oh, Larry, how can they do it? If my hus-
band-i f I had one-were killed I could not, I just could
not, bear it."
"I fancy, little girl, you would measure up like the
others. This is a damnable business, but we never kne\v
our women till now. But the sooner that cursed race is
wiped off the face of the earth the better."
"Why)> Larry, is that you? I cannot believe my ears."
"Yes, it is me. I have come to see that there is no
possibility of peace or sanity for the 'va rId till that race
of mad militarists is destroyed. I am still a pacifist, but,
thank God, no longer a fool. Is there no other news
from Jane?"
"Did you hear about Ramsay Dunn? Oh, he did splen-
didly. He ,vas wounded; got a cross or something."
"Did you know that 1fr. Murray had organised a bat-
talion and is Lieutenant-Colonel and that Doctor Brown
is organising a Field Ambulance unit and going out in
command ?"
"Oh, that is settled, is it ? Jane told me it was pos-
sible. "
"Yes, and perhaps Jane and Ethel Murray "rill go
with the AlYlb111ance lJnit. Oh, Larry, is there any way
'\
IAJOR AND l\;IAJOR'S WIFE 37t
I might go? I could do so much-drive a car, an ambu-
lance, wash, scrub, carry despatches, anything."
"By Jove, you would be a good one!" exclaimed her
brother. "I would like to have you in my company."
"Couldn't it be worked in any possible way?" cried
Nora.
But Larry made no reply. He kne\v well that no
reply ,vas needed. What "vas her duty this splendid girl
would do, whether in Flanders or in Alberta.
At the door of their home the mother met them. As
her eyes fell upon her son in his khaki uniform she gave
a little cry and ran to hinl with arms upli fted.
"Come right in here," she whispered, and took him to
the inner room. There she drew him to the bedside and
down upon his knees. With their arms about each other
they knelt, mingling tears and sobs together till their
strength was done. Then through the sobs the boy heard
her voice. "You gave him to me," he heard her whisper,
not in her ordinary manner of reverent formal prayer,
but as if remonstrating "vith a friend. "You know you
gave him to me and I gave him back.-1 know he is not
mine.-But ,von't you let me have him for a little ,vhile?
-It ,vill not be so very long.- Yes, yes, I know.
-I am not holding him back.-No, no, I could
not, I \vould not do that.-Oh, I would not.-What am I
better than the others ?-But you will give him back to
me again.-There are so many never coming back, and
I have only one boy.-You will let him come back.-He
is my baby boy.-It is his mother asking."
Larry could bear it no longer. "Oh, mother, mother,
mother," he cried. "You are breaking my heart. You
are breaking my heart." His sobs \vere shaking the bed
on which he leaned.
His mother lifted her head. "What is it, Lawrence,
my boy?" she asked in surprise. "\Vhat is it ?" Her
voice was calm and steady. "We must be steadfast, my
boy. We must not grudge our offering. No, with will-
ing hearts we must bring our sacrifice." She passed into
-372
THE l\:IAJOR
prayer. "Thou, ,vho didst give Thy Son, Thine only
Son, to save Thy world, aid me to give mine to save our
world to-day. Let the vision of the Cross make us both
strong. Thou Cross-bearer, help us to bear our cross."
With a voice that never faltered, she poured forth her
prayer of sacrifice, of thanksgiving, of supplication, till
serene, steady, triumphant, they arose fronl their knees.
She was heard "in that she feared," in her surrender she
found victory, in her cross, peace. And that serene calm
of hers remained undisturbed to the very last.
There were tears again at the parting, but the tears
fell gently, and through them shone ever her smile.
A few short days Larry spent at his home moving
about among those that ,vere dearer to him than his own
life, wondering the while at their courage and patience
and power to sacrifice. In his father he seemed to dis-
cover a new man, so concentrated was he in his devotion
to business, and so wise, his only regret being that he
could not don the king's uniform. \i\Tith Kathleen he
spent many hours. Not once throughout all these days
did she falter in her steady, calm endurance, and in her
patient devotion to duty. Without tears, without a word
of repining against her cruel fate, with hardly a sugges-
tion, indeed, of her irreparable loss, she talked to him
of her husband and of his glorious death.
After tvvo months an unexpected order called the bat-
talion on t\venty-four hours' notice for immediate serv-
ice over seas, and amid the cheers of hundreds of their
friends and fellow citizens, although women being in the
majority, the cheering \vas not of the best, they steamed
out of Melville Station. There were tears and faces
white ,vith heartache, but these only after the last cheer
had been flung upon the empty siding out 0 f which the
cars of the troop-train had passed. The tears and the
,vhite faces are for that immortal and glorious Army of
the Base, whose finer courage and more heroic endur-
ance make victory possible to the army of the Fighting
First Line.
IAJOR AND I\IAJOR'S WIFE 373
At Winnipeg the train ,vas halted for a day and a
night, where the battalion enjo'j'ed the hospitality of the
city which never tires of \velcoming and speeding on
the various contingents of citizen soldiers of the \Vest
en route for the Front. There was a dinner and enter-
tainment for the men. For Larry, because he was Act-
ing Adjutant, there was no respite from duty through
all the afternoon until the l11en had been safely disposed
in the care of those who were to act as their hosts at
dinner. Then the Colonel took him off to Jane and her
father, \vho were waiting with their car to take them
home.
"My! but you do look fine in your uniform," said
Jane, "and so strong, and so big; you have actually
gro\vn taller, I believe." Her eyes were fairly standing
out ,vith pride and joy.
"N ot nluch difference north and south," said Larry,
"but east and ,vest, considerable. And you, Jane, you
are looking better than ever. \i\Thatever has happened
to you ?"
"Hard \vork," said Jane.
"I hear you are in the Big Buslness up to your neck,"
said Larry. "There is so much to do, I can ,yell believe
it. And so your father is going? Ho\v splendid óf
him I"
"Oh, everyone is doing what he can do best. Father
,vill do the ambulance well."
"And I hear you are going too."
"I do not know about that," said Jane. "Isn't it aw-
fully hard to tell just ,vhat to do? I should love to go,
but that is the very reason I wonder \vhether I should.
There is so much to do here, and there ,vill be more and
more as we go on, so many families to look after, so
much work to keep going; work for soldiers, you know, -
and for their ,vives and children, and collecting money.
And it is all so easy to do, for everyone is eager to do
what he can. I never kne\v people could be so splendid,
_Larry, and especially those \vho have lost some one.
374
THE l\iAJOR
There is Mrs. Smart, for instance, and poor Scallan's
mother, and Scuddv's."
"Jane," said Lar"'ry abruptly, "I must see Helen. Can
've go at once \vhen we take the others home?"
"I \vill take you," said Jane. "I am glad you can go.
Oh, she is lovely, and so sweet, and so brave."
Leaving the Colonel in Dr. Brown's care, they drove to
the home of Helen Brookes.
"I dread seeing her," said Larry, as they approached
the house.
"Well, you need not dread that," said Jane.
And after one look at Helen's face Larry knevv that
Jane was right. The bright colour in the face, the proud
carriage of the head, the saucy look in the eye, once so
characteristic of the "beauty queen" of the 'Varsity, were
all gone. But the face was no less beautiful, the head
carried no less proudly, the eye no less bright. There
was no shrinking in her conversation frorn the tragic fact
of her lover's death. She spoke quite freely of Scuddy's
work in the battalion, of his place with the men and of
how they loved him, and all with a fine, high pride in
him.
"The officers, from the Colonel down, have been so
good to me," she said. "They have told me so many
things about Harry. And the Sergeants and the Cor-
porals, every one in his company, have written me. They
are beautiful letters. They make me laugh and cry, but
I love them. Dear boys, how I love them, and how I
love to work for them !" She showed Larry a thick bun-
dle of letters. "And they all say he ,vas so jolly. I like
that, for you know, being a Y. M. C. A. man in college
and always keen about that sort of thing-l anI afraid
I did not help him much in that way-he was not so
fearfully jolly. But now I am glad he was that kind
of a man, a good man, I mean, in the best way, and that
he was always jolly. One boy says, 'He always bucked
me up to do my best,' and another, a Sergeant, says, 'He
put the fear of God into the slackers,' and the Colonel
IAJOR AND IVIA.JOR'S WIFE 375
says, 'He was a moral tonic in the mess,' and his chum
officer said, 'He kept us all jolly and clean.' I love that.
So you see I simply have to buck up and be jolly too."
"Helen, you are '\vonderf ul," said Larry, who was
open!y '\viping a'\vay his tears. "Scuddy was a big man,
a better n1an I never knew, and you are worthy of him."
They were passing out of the room when Helen pulled
Larry back again. "Larry," she said, her words coming
,vith breathless haste, "don't ,vait, oh, don't wait. Marry
Jane before you go. That is my great regret to-day.
Harry wanted to be married and I did too. But father
and mother did not think it ,vise. They did not know.
Ho\v could they? Oh, Larry," she suddenly wrung her
hands, "he wished it so. N ow I know it would have
been best. Don't make my mistake, don't, Larry. Don't
make my mistake. Thank you for coming to see me.
Good-bye, Larry, dear. You were his best friend. lIe
loved you so." She put her arms around his neck and
kissed him, hastily wiped her eyes, and passed out to
Jane with a smiling face.
They hurried away, for the hours in 'ìVinnipeg were
short and there was much to do and much to say.
"Let her go, Jane," said Larry. "I am in a deuce of
a hurry."
"\:Vhy, Larry, what is the rush about just now?" said
Jane in a slightly grieved voice.
"I have sOl11ething I must attend to at once," said
Larry. "So let her go." And Jane drove hard, for the
most part in silence, till they reached home.
Larry could hardly wait till she had given her car into
t
le chauffeur's charge. They found Dr. Brown and the
Colonel in the study smoking.
"Dr. Brown," said Larry, in a quick, almost peremp-
tory voice, "nlay I see you for a moment or two ill your
office ?"
"\Vhy, what's up? Not feeling well?" said Dr. Brown,
while the others looked anxiously at him.
376
THE l\IAJOR
"Oh, I am fit enough," said Larry impatientJy, I'but I
must see you."
"I am sure there is something wrong," said Jane, "he
has been acting so queer this evening. He is so abrupt.
Is that the military manner ?"
"Perhaps so," said the Colonel. "Nice chap, Larry-
hard worker-good soldier-awfully keen in his work---
making good too-best officer I've got. Tell you a secret,
Jane-expect promotion for him any time no\v."
Meantime Larry was facing Dr. Brown in his office.
"Doctor," he said, "I ,vant to marry Jane."
"Good heavens, ",.hen did this strike you?"
"This evening. I want to marry her right av.ray."
"Right away? When ?"
"Right away, before I go. To-night, to-morrov.r."
"Are you mad ? You cannot do things like that, you
know. Marry Jane! Do you knov. r what you are ask-
ing ?"
"Yes, Doctor, I knov. r . But I have just seen Helen
Brookes. She is perfectly amazing, perfectly fine in her
courage and all that, and she told me about Scuddy's
death without a tear. But, Doctor, there was a poiut at
which she broke an up. Do you knov v when? vVhen she
told me of her chief regret, and that was that she and
Scuddy had not been married. They both wanted to
be married, but her parents were unwilling. N O\V she re-
grets it and she will alwa.ys regret it. Doctor, I see it
very clearly. I believe it is better that we should be mar-
ried. Who knows what will come? So many of the
cbaps do not come back. You are going out too, I am
going out. Doctor, I feel that it is. best that we should
be married."
"And what does Jane think about it?" enquired the
Doctor, gazing at Larry in a bewildered manner.
"Jane! Good Lord! I don't know. I never asked
her !" Larry stood gaping at the Doctor.
"Well, upon my word, you are a cool one!"
"I never thought of it, Doctor," said Larry.
MAJOR AND MAJOR'S WIFE 377.
UN ever thought of it? Are you playing with me,
boy?''' said the Doctor sternly.
"I \vill go and see her," said Larry, and he dashed
from the room. But as he entered the study, dinner was
announced, and Larry's question perforce must wa.it.
N ever was a meal so long-drawn-out and so tedious.
The Colonel and Jane '\vere full of conversation. They
discussed the news from the West, the mine and its pros-
pects, the Lakeside Farm and its people, the Colonel's
ov.rn family, the boys who had enlisted and those v.rho
were left behind, the war spirit of Canada, its women
and their work and their heroism (here the Colonel
talked softly), the v.rar and its prospects. The Colonel
was a brilliant conversationalist when he exerted him-
self, and he told of the way of the war in England, of
the awakening of the British people, of the rush to the
recruiting offices, of the women's response. He had tales,
too, of the British Expeditionary Force which he had
received in private letters, of its glorious work in the
Great Retreat and afterwards. Jane had to tell of her
father's new Unit, now almost complete, of Mr. Mur-
ray's ne\v battalion, now in barracks, of the Patriotic
Fund and how splendidly it was mounting up into the
hundreds of thousands, and of the Women's \\Tar As-
sociation, of \vhich she ,vas Secretary, and of the Young
Women's \Var Organisation, of which she was President;
and all with such animation, with such radiant smiles,
v.rith such flashing eyes, such keen swift play of thought
and \vit that Larry could hardly believe his eyes and ears,
so immense was the change that had taken place in Jane
during these ten months. He could hardly believe, as
he glanced across the table at her vivid face, that this
brilliant, quick-\vitted, radiant girl was the quiet, demure
Jane of his college days, his good comrade, his chum,
whom he had been inclined to patronise. What was this
that had come to her? What had releCt sed those powers
of mind and soul which he could now recognise as being
her own, but which he had never seen in action. As in a
378
THE IVlA.JOR
flash it came to him that this mighty change was due to
the terribly energising touch of War. The development
which in normal times '\vould have required years to ac-
complish, under the quickening impulse of this mighty
force which in a day was brought to bear upon the life
of Canada, this development became a thing of weeks and
months only. \Var had poured its potent energies
through her soul and her soul had responded in a new
and marvellous efflorescence. Almost over night as it
were the flower of an exquisite womanhood, strong,
tender, sweet, beautiful, had burst into bloom. Her very
face was changed. T'he activities with which her days
and nlghts ,vere fined had quickened all her vital forces
so that the very texture and colour of her skin radiated
the bloom 0 f vigorous tnental and physical health. Yet
withal there remained the same quick, wise sympathy,
quicker, "riser than before '\var's poignant sorro\VS had
disciplined her heart; the sàme far-seeing vision that an-
ticipated problems and planned for their solution; -(oe
same proud sense of honour that scorned things mean
and gave quick approval to things high. As he listened
Larry felt himself small and poor in comparison with
her. rvlore than that he had the sense of being excluded
from her Ii fee The war and its activities, its stern claims,
its catastrophic events had taken possession of the girl's
whole soul. Was there a place for him in this new,
grand scheme of life? A new and terrible master had
come into the lordship of her heart. Had love yielded
its high place? To that question Larry was determined
to have an answer to-night. To-morrow he was off to
the Front. The growing fury of the war, its appalling
losses, made it increasingly doubtful that he should ever
see her face again. What her answer would be he
could not surely say. But to-night he would have it
from her. If "yes" there was time to-morrow to be
married; if "no" then the more gladly he would go to the
war.
After dinner the Doctor and the Colonel took their
MAJOR AND 1\IAJOR'S WIFE 379
way to the study to smoke and talk over matters con-
nected with military organisation, in regard to \vhich the
Doctor confessed himself to be v.roefully ignorant. Jane
led Larry into the library, where a bright fire was burn-
Ing.
"Awfully jolly, this fire. We'll do without the lights,"
said Larry, touching the switch and dra\ving their chairs
for\yard to the fire, wondering the while how he should
get himself to the point of courage necessary to his pur-
pose. Had it been a few months ago ho\\1' easy it \vould
have been. He could see himself with easy camaraderie
put his arm about Jane with never a quiver of voice or
shiver of soul, and say to her, "Jane, you dear, dear
thing, won't you marry me?" But at that time he had
neither desire nor purpose. N o\V by some damnable
perversity of things, when heart and soul were sick with
the longing for her, and his purpose set to have her, he
found himself nerveless and shaking like a silly girl. He
pushed his chair back so that, una\vare to her, his eyes
could rest upon her face, and planned his approach. He
would begin by speaking of 1-Ielen, of her courage, of
her great loss, then of her supreme regret, at which
point he would make his plea. But Jane would give
him no help at all. Silent she sat looking into the fire,
all the vivacity and brilliance of the past hour gone, and
in its place a gentle, pensive sadness. The firelight fell
on her face, so changed from what it had been in those
pre-war days, now so long ago, yet so famiHar and so
dear. To-morrow at this hour he would be far down
the line vvith his battalion, off for the war. What Jay
beyond that who could say? 1 f she should refuse-
"God help me then,'
he groaned aloud, unthinking.
"What is it, Larry?'" she said, turning her face quickly
toward him.
"1 ,vas just thinking, Jane, that to-morrow I-that
is-" He paused abruptly.
"Oh, Larry, I know, 1 know." Her hands went quick-
ly to her breast. In her eyes he saw a look 0 f pain
380
THE IVIAJ"OR
so acute, so pitiful, that he forgot all his plan of ap-
proach.
"J ane," he cried in a voice sharp with the intensity
of his feeling.
In an instant they were both on their feet and facing
each other.
"Jane, dear, dear Jane, I love you so, and I want you
so." He stretched out his arms to take her.
Startled, her face gone deadly pale, she put out her
hands against his breast, pushing him a\vay from her.
"Larry!" she said. "Larry, what are you saying?"
"Oh, Jane, I am saying I love you; with all my heart
and soul, I love you and I ,vant you, Jane. Don't you
love me a bit, even a little bit ?"
Slowly her arms dropped to her side. "You love Ine"
Larry?" she whispered. Her eyes began to glow like
stars in a pool of ,vater, deep and lustrous, her lips to
quiver. "You love me, Larry, and you want me to-
to--"
"Yes, Jane, I want you to be my wife."
"Your wi fe, Larry?''' she whispered, coming a little
closer to h
m. "Oh, Larry," she laid her hands upon
his breast, (.' i love you so, and I have loved you so long."
The lllstrous eyes were misty, but they looked steadily
into his.
"Dear heart, dear love," he said, drawing her close
to him and still gazing into her eyes.
She wound her anns about his neck and with lips
slightly parted lifted her face to his.
"J ane, Jane, you \vonderful girl," he said, and kissed
the parted lips, while about them heaven opened and
took them to its bosom.
When they had come back to earth Larry sudde!1ly re-
called his conversation with her father. "Jane," he said,
"\vhen shall we be married? I must tell your father."
"Married?''' said Jane in a voice of despair. "N ot till
you return, Larry." Then she clung to him trembling.
l\;IAJ"OR AND MAJOR'S WIFE 381
"Oh, why were you so slow, Larry? Why did you delay
so long ?"
"Slow?" cried Larry. "'\tVell, ,ve can make up for it
now." He looked at his watch. "It's nine o'clock, Jane.
We can be married to-night."
"Nonsense, you silly boy!"
"Then to-morrow \ve shall be married, I swear. We
won't make Helen's mistake." And he told her of Helen
Brookes's supreme regret. "We won't l11ake that mis-
take, Jane. To-morrow! To-morrow! To-morrow it
\vill be!"
"But, Larry, listen. Papa-"
{tYour father will agree."
'
And my clothes?"
"Clothes? You don't need any. What you bave on
will do."
"This old thing?"
"Perfect1y lovely, perfectly splendid. Never "rill you
"rear anything so lovely as this."
"And then, Larry, what should I do? Where would
I go ? You are going off."
"And you will come with me."
But Jane's \\
ise head was thinking swiftly. I'I might
come acros
with Papa," she said. "\Ve were think-
ing-"
"N 0," cried Larry. "You come with me. He will
follow and pick you up in London. Hurry, come along
and tell him."
"But, Larry, this is awfu1."
"Splendid, glorious, come along. vVe'Il settle all that
later. "
He dragged her, laughing, blushing, almost weeping,
to the study. "She says she will do it to-morrovv, sir,"
he announced as he pushed open the door.
"What do you say?" said the Doctor, gazing open-
mouthed at him.
"She says she will marry me to-morrow," he pro-
claimed as if announcing a stupendous victory.
382
THE MAJOR
"She does!" said the Doctor, still agnast.
"Good heavens I"
exclail11ed the Colonel. "To-nlor-
row? Weare off to-morrow!"
Larry swung upon him eagerly. "Before we go, sir.
There is lots of time. You see we do not pull out until
after three. \Ve have all the morning, if you could
spare me an hour or so. We could get married" and she
would just come along with us, sir."
Jane gasped. "With all those men ?"
"Good Lord 1" exclaimed the Colonel. "The boy is
mad. "
"We might perhaps take the later train," suggested
Jane demurely. "But, of course, Papa, I have never
agreed at all," she added quickly, turning to her father.
"That settles it, I believe," said Dr. Brown. "Colonel,
what do you say? Can it be done?"
"Done?" shouted the Colonel. "Of course, it can be
done. 11ilitary wedding, guard of honour, band, and all
that sort of thing. Proper style, first in the regiment,
eh, what ?"
"But nothing is ready," said Jane, appalled at the rush
of events. "Not a dress, not a bridesmaid, nothing."
"Y 011 have got a 'phone," cried Larry, gloriously ob-
livious of difficulties. "Tell everybody. Oh, sir," he
said, turning to Dr. Brown with hand outstretched, "I
hope you will let her come. I promise you I will be
good to her."
Dr. Bro\vn looked at the young man gravely, ahllost
sadly, then at his daughter. vVith a quick pang he noted
the ne\v look in her eyes. He put out his hanå to her
and drevJ her toward, him.
"Dear child," he said, and his voice sounded hoarse
and strained, "ho\v like you are to your mother to-night."
Her arms went quickly about his neck. He held her
close to him for a few nlo111ents; then loosing- her arms,
he pushed her gently to""rard I.Jarry, saying, HEay, I give
her to you. As you deal with her, so may God deal
. th "
_-\vI 1 you.
l\iAJOR AND MAJOR'S WIFE 383
"Amen," said Larry solemnly, taking- her hand in his.
Never was such a wedding in vVinnipeg! Nothing
was lacking to makç it perfectly, gloriously, triumphantly
complete. There was a wedding dress, and a bridal veil
with orange blossoms. There were ,vedding gi fts, for
somehow, no one ever kne\v how, the morning TÚnes
had got the news. There was a church cro\vè.ed with
friends to wish them well, and the regimental band with
a guard of honour, under whose arched s\vords the bride
and groom went forth. N ever had the Reverend An-
drew McPherson been so happy in his marriage service.
Never was such a wedding breakfast with toasts and
te]egrams from absent friends, from Chicago, and from
the Lakeside Fann in response to Larry's announcements
by wire. T;vo of these excited wild enthusiasm. One
read, "Happy days. Nora and I following your good ex-
ample. See you later in France. Signed, Dean." The
other, from the Minister of rVlilitia at Ottawa to Lieu-
tenant-Colonel V\' aring-Gaunt. "Your suggestion ap-
proved. Captain Gwynne gazetted to-morrow as Major.
Signed, Sam Hughes."
"Ladies and Gentlemen," cried the Colonel, beaming
upon the company, "allow me to propose long life and
many happy days for the M2
If and the Major's wife."
And as they drank with turn1 ..uous acclaim, Larry turned
and, looking upon the rad: ilt face at his side, whispered,
"J ane, did you hear ,. .lat he said?"
"Yes," whispered Ja!...e. "He said 'the Major.'"
"That's nothing," said Larry, "but he said 'th
fajor's
wife !' "
.A,nd so together they went to the war.
THE END
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