IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I I^IM 12.5 liO il m 2.2 1.8 m ||l-25 1.4 1 1.6 < 6" ► %'^- Hf °w ^ ^. /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. M5S0 (716) 873-4503 ^^ i\ <^4 [V O^ "il) CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICIVIH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques Technical and Bibliographic Notaa/Notea tachniquea at bibliographiquaa Tha Inatituta haa attamptad to obtain tha beat original copy availabia for filming. Faaturaa of thia copy which may ba bibliographically uniqua, which may altar any of tha imagaa in tha raproduct^on. or which may aignificantly changa tha usual mathod of filming, are checked below. D D D n D n Coloured covers/ Couverture de couleur I I Covers damaged/ Couverture endommagie Covers restored and/or laminated/ Couverture restaurie et/ou peiliculAe I I Cover title missing/ Le titre de couverture manque I I Coloured maps/ Cartes g6ographlques en couleur Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/ Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) I I Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur Bound with other material/ Reli6 avec d'autres documents Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion along interior margin/ La reliure serrde peut causer de I'ombre ou de la distortion le long de la marge int6rieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the text. Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajoutias lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte, mais, lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont pas 6t6 filmies. Additional comments:/ Commentaires suppl6mentaires: L'Institut a microfilm* le meilleur exemplaire qu'il lui a At* poaaible de se procurer. Les details da cat exemplaire qui aont paut-Atre uniques du point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une modificstion dana la mithoda normala de filmage sont indiquAs ci-dessous. D D D D D Coloured pages/ Pages de couleur Pages damaged/ Pages endommag6es Pages restored and/or laminated/ Pages restaur^es et/ou peliiculiea Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ Pages d6color6es, tachet6es ou piqu6es Pages detached/ Pages d6tach6es Thee to thi ["71 Showthrough/ Transparence Quality of print variea/ Quality inigaia da I'lmprassion Includes supplementary material/ Comprend du materiel supplAmentaire Only edition available/ Seule Edition disponible Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to ensure the best possible image/ Les pages totalement ou partiellement obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure, etc., ont it4 filmies A nouveau de fa^on A obtenir la meilleure image possible. Thei possi of th filmii Origi begir theli sion, othei first I sion, or ill) The I shall TINU whic Mapt diffei entiri begir right requi meth This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est filmi au taux de reduction indiquA ci-dessous 10X 14X 18X 22X 26X aox 1 1 1 v/ 12X 16X 20X 24X 28X 32X 1 1 i The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks to the generosity of: Library of the Pubiic Archives of Canada L'exempiaire fiimi f ut reproduit grAce A la g4n6rosit4 de: La bibliothdque des Archives publiques du Canada The images appearing here are the best quality possible considerinr; the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract specifications. Les images suivantes ont €t6 reproduces avec le plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition at de la nettetA de rexemplaire film6. et en conformity avec les conditions du contrat de filmage. Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprim6e sont filmte en commenpant par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la dernlAre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration. soit par !e second plat, salon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmte en commengant par la . premiere page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la derniire page qui comporte une telle empreinte. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol -^ (meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol y (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Un des symboles suivants apparaftra sur la derniAre image de cheque microfiche, seion le cas: le symbols «► signifie "A SUIVRE ", Ic. symbols V aignifie "FIN". Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hend corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmte d des taux de rMuction diff6rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul cliche, 11 est film6 A partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n^cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 6 6 yi U,' PRAIRIE POT-POURRI /^^^" IS GRATEFUI,LY INSCRIBED To the early days and the weary ways Enshrined in the sunset land ; To a kindly voice that bade grief rejoice^ And the clasp of a friendly hand. ''MARY MARKWELL, " Regina, A.W.T, fuly 6th, 189s. THt STOVEL CO.. PMINTCRS. WINNIPCO, MAN V* Ai \» ' I ;1 (J 7 //-J^ /??/■> ■4 ^2^:2 60 A IUncii oi Pkaikii. I'"i.(i\vkks. m North-Wcst Territories. (Suggested by " The Seven Provinces," by Hon. C. W. Ross.) Youngest of all I come — Across my brow the modest blush of youth And from my lisping tongue but words of truth. Yon little Island by Atlantic's shore Boasts royal lineage, I claim more. Evangeline's grand poet sonl bursts forth in song Acadian sweet — I speak the strong, The sturdy kingly hearts of pioneers Who wait the harvest watered by their tears. New Brunswick boasts her rivers, pines, her bowers, Her maples fragrance breathnig, these too ours ; While dark bright-eyed Quebec boasts battle grounds — Alas ! we too weep o'er some lonely mounds. Ontario calls aloud, chants of her isles, Niagara, like strong-limbed swain, our love beguiles ; Magic those isHnds upon St. Lawrence breast, Wooing the weary wanderer to ecstatic rest. And Manitoba, half-sister of my own, Sings her rolling plains, with wheat and flower o'ergrown Her magic city where two rivers meet. And bear my harvest far-famed to her feet. Across my breast golden Columbia calls, Beckon her groves, her gorges, her majestic falls ; The tented miner, see his pick-eye gleam And flash the golden promise of his morning dream ! And now of all the wealth my sisters' songs proclaim, What do I ing ? Behold my fields of grain ! Boundless and broad, bonded not, all free, •s' 6 North-West Territories. Outreaching arms to all. Come to the West and be A king crowned with the jewels twain Of peace and plenty — unknown here twin-demons greed and gain. Others may sing of greatness. Freedom, Peace and Rest I sing. And Oh ! tired heart, Home's Kingdom is the best ! The bd'dc'dah from Isondon. The La-de-dah from London was taking in everything with an amused eye, a supercilious smile upon his aristocratic features which blended with the classical outlines of an ancestry dating back to the Norman Conqueror — as he had with special emphasis proved to Dick Workman, his traveling companion on the monotonous journey from Montreal to Winnipeg — before Manitoba the Mecca of the emigrant in 1879, was reached. They were seated at the breakfast table that first morning at the ' Queens ' and as I have said, watching — the La-de-dah with an amused eye— the keleidescopic panorama of loaded trays poised above the heads of deft maids, while fat people, thin people, tall people, short people, old people and young people feasted and formed the endless processioa .''oing in and out. "It's awfully jolly don't you know " this scion of a noble ancestry was saying, "and weally aftaw all I don't hawlf think me Awnt Toe's idea was so awfully bad. You see she wanted me to lawn the difficulties that adinawry people have to — well you know, have to contend with — thaw was that fel'r we pawted with at Powt Awtha,' positively he brushed his own clothes, and wealy, I don't suppose he knew whethew he had a gwandfathaw ! Kinajins aw so — rich — er — er I mean unsophisticated you know." "Oh, we're all right," said Dick, longing to haul off and knock some of the aristocratic nonsen.se out of D. G. Periwinkle-Brown, who had for the last four days made the journey a long and painful recital of his own importance. " You have'nt seen us where we come out strong at all yet ; come out to the Saskatchewan with me— I'll show you stuff in flesh and blood that may not have had exactly a speaking acquaintance with their great-great-grandfather but " — Dick was silent out of pure fullness and he paused too, to let the be-frizzled-pated maid swing off glibly : ' '^hitefishbeefsteaksausagesbrownbreadtoastmuffinsteaancoffee ?' ' v1 8 The La-dk-dah from London. "There was a delicious mingling of appetite and bewilderment in the helpless glance of the La-de-dah, and Dick relieved the pressure by saying to the lady (everybody was a lady in those days) : " Yes, bring me some of both." The La-de-dah repeated Dick's cautious words and sank back helplessly. D. G. Periwinkle-Brown (with the hyphen if you please) had in his own words ** been sent out to Canawda be me Awnt Toe with a view to seeiu' the raw soide of loife don't ye know, and me Awnt Toe wanted me to cawtch some inspiwation from the peculiahly wild scenewy ; to foind subjects for me next picthaw — two were alweady hangin'inthe Gallery don't ye know ; and we were both rathaw nervous over a peculiah pain heah." (point of pain demonstrated by a vague movement of slender fingers in the vicinity of the lower vest button) "Awnt Toe awgued that I should come out to Mon-treal and Ottawa whaw good shootin' and huntin' might be had — but don't you know it was disap- pointingly civilized — I had lettaws to Dibbles — of course you don't know Dibbles though, he's Speakaw of the Commons — the Kinajin Commons you know, and Dibbles advoised me to take a twip to the faw North ; but don't you know I've found gentlemen — actually, gentlemen even heah!" D. G. Periwinkle-Brown's surprise exhibited with this statement was cut vsliort by the return of the pretty maid whom he ogled determi- nedly and tipped in a way that made him a victim of her attentions during the remainder of his stay at the Queens. Dick had been back to his Ontario home on a holiday trip after a four years' term of farming in Saskatchewan, and he now agreed to wait over in Winnipeg for his new acquaintance to " rest" before attempting the overland trip across the plains — for in those days the C. P. R. was reaching only baby-fingers, and creeping, creeping slowly west. Dick, a big awkward looking fellow, had failed in passing his medical examination four years before, and had tried his relatives beyond endur- ance by declaring he " did'nt want to go in for the profesh " at all ; so it was that he became a pioneer in the Great Lone Land, where he took up farming in no half-hearted way, and was already on the road to suc- cess. Pretty Sally Loftus had been the main cause of Dick's home trip this time, and some private arrangement with that little maiden sent him back to the Saskatchewan prepared to roll up his sleeves to win. D. G. Periwinkle-Brown amused him mightily. His airs and his an- cestry, his condescension and his patronizing manner made Dick long Thk La-dk-dah from London. 9 wilderment in he pressure by : " Yes, briiij^ ous words and ase) had in his with a view to nt Toe wanted d scenewy ; to tigin'inthe lervous over a gue movement •n) "Awnt Toe Aa whaw good )W it was disap- ^•ou don't know lajin Commons .he faw North ; cntlcmcn even 1 this statement ogled determi- her attentions lay trip after a agreed to wait ore attempting le C. P. R. was west. ing his medical beyond eudur- |h " at all ; so it where he took le road to suc- ck's home trip laiden sent him ;o win. airs and his an- lade Dick long I to take him out on the plains where lis "stuff" would get a good trial ; and out on the western prairies 1). G. Periwinkle- Hrown decivled to go. He first sent a cable message to his ' Awnt Toe,' announcing such in- tention, requesting all letters to be forwarded to Prince Albert, and noti- fying that relative, with a coolness that aina/.ed Dick, that he had drawn upon her for six hundred pounds that day. Having despatchetl this, he pet out to purchase supplies. Dick had made out a list of necessaries in which dried apples, tea, sugar, flour, beans, pork and lard formed the .bulk, but the La-de-dah learning it was not easy to obtain "relishes" out west, added to the original list — for his own benefit — a splendid as- sortment of Crosse and Hlackwell's choicest wares, giving to the amazed clerk in the H. H. Co. store carte blauclu\ writing out a cheque so inimitably large that a messenger was forthwith despatched to the bank to learn whether it was o. k. It was found all right, and we may be sure that order was filled with an attention to detail unusual. Four days were spent in preparation for the trip. The mud was aw- ful ; it was .\pril, and Main street, with its unpretentious stores, was just beginning to take on airs ; the roads were ankle deep with a pasty com- position wherein horses were swamped, wagons were mired, ponies stuck fast and whinnied helplessly while being lifted bodily up, and urged along by boards used as props in bad places — the old Red-river-cart, the only thing that went calmly creaking on its way regardless of the depth or deni'ity of the native soil. It was opera tini*' — the McDowell troupe played in the Opera House (?), an unpretentious barn-like structure, used below as meat mar- ket and up-stairs — when not in use for theatricals — was gravely and becom- ingly conducted as a church. D. G. Periwinkle-Brown had provided tickets for the evening and Invited Dick, who, the night being damp, enveloped himself in a big fain-coat. He waited in the hall for the La-de-dah who presently ippeared in a natty silk mackintosh ; gaiters above his galoches, a gold- lipped umbrella handle depending from finely gloved fing'^rs, and about Ilis whole appearance so much perfection poor Dick I>ej,,an to feel his own liomely comfort uncomfortably homely. They pa^^^ed out into the light drizzle that was falling ; it was like a London fog the La-de-dah |aid, and insisted on calling a cab. Dick was going to remoxistrate :|^gainst this extravagance, but noting the elegant attire he thought it might tI^ economy after all, even if it was but a block to the theatre. The cab ■I ^' 10 The La-de-pah prom London. arrived, sending out a meteoric shower of mud as it rounded up to the curbstone ; almost before they were well seated they were at the door of the building, and Dick did remonstrate when the La-de-dah haughtily gave orders for the " cawwaige to wait." They followed the usher through crowded aisles — the hall was packed — to the first row in the centre section, and Dick turned after drawing oflF his top-coat, to observe with horror that his companion was attired in faultless evening dress ; an immaculate front shining and expansive, his hair arranged with an eye to effect, his patent-leather uppers reflecting the bare rafters of the unfinished room ; his jewelled bosom, his moon- colored gloves, his diamond ring the only glory about him in eclipse ; a gorgeous gold-mounted opera-glass which he turned full focus on the rear seats whence came derisive howls and humourous squibs at this unlocked for spectacle. When the La-de-dah thus turned he brought into full view a fragrant flower, and the broad smile over the house broke into a roar that shook the foundations, while Dick's cheeks burned with vivid mortification. He felt responsible for all this, and in his heart grew the intense hope that never again in this world would he meet with the descendant of conquering kings — rather that he would perish with the conquered. Dick turned indignant eyes upon the gods, now behaving with wild- west freedom ; his own suit of plain Halifax tweed contrasted boldly and badly, but with intensifying sensibleness against D. G. Periwinkle- Brown's costume, and out of sheer shame Dick said : "They're laughing at some fun back there, I guess." "Don't you know" said La-de-dah, leveling his glasses at the grinning rows behind him " I — I think — er — 1~ think Workman it's-your dress they're lawghing at ! You Vviovi gentlemen always dress for the theataw." " T.et'em laugh,' says Dick "there goes the curtain," as the tinkle- inkle of the stage bell sounded. At that moment two stylishly dressed ladies brushed by and were shown to adjoining seats. They proved to be the pretty waitress and the chambermaid, drossed in extreme style and fashion. D. G. Periwinkle- Brown had that day tippod both handsomly, and to the horror of this descendant of a line of conquering kings, the pretty waitress in passing, reached over a crimson gloved hand and whispered audibly : * ' Mister Pigwinkle-Brown, wait fer us when it's out, won't ye?" The La-db-dah prom London. 11 ided up to the at the door of dah haughtily lall was packed [ after drawing ou was attired ind expansive, jpers reflecting )m, his moon- lim in eclipse ; il focus on the squibs at this new a fragrant oar that shook mortification, e intense hope descendant of mquered. ing with wild- ed boldly and . Periwinkle- ey're laughing aid La-de-dah, hink — er — I-— lowgenileinen as the tinkle- i by and were aitress and the Periwinkle- horror of this ess in passing, )ly : •* Mister The cheer that greeted the dainty little stage beauty, Fanny Reeves, who at that moment danced on to the boards, was mistaken by the of- fended La-de-dah for public recognition of the waitress' confidential call ; he rose confusedly, and began to put on his coat, "sit Down!" " tramp on th' dood ! " '* squash th' fashi'n plate ! " were hurled with commingling howls as Dick, by persuasive jerks, forced his enraged companion into the seat ; the La-de-dah took up his glass, scornfully and defiantly sweeping the hall with it, then, having annihilated the gods in this crushing way, turned its full beams on the charming little soubrette, who was singing — then in the full tide of its popularity — '* Does your Mother Know you're out ? " The daringlittle beauty at each final query, turning to the super-elegant young man gazing through the glass, while the house, taking in the allusion, came down in roars. Dick Workman was in agony. To his relief the La-de-dah at the end of the first act insisted on leaving ; this Dick knew was forced on by the red-cheeked chambermaid persisting in winking at the Londoner at cute passages of the dialogue, or poking his ribs jocosely at superior sallies ; so it was with some relief and considerable satisfaction they found themselves outside. " Did you evah ? " was the greeting of tht La-de-dah as they walked away in a downpour, the cab having apparently disobeyed orders, being nowhere in view. " Didn't you think it was pretty good — for Canadians ? " said Dick, his resentment breaking out in spite of his better feelings. " Why did'nt you tell me it was'nt a place for — gentlemen ? " said the La-de-dah. " What do you mean ? " asked Dick, feeling greater and stronger than ever the desire to punch this elegant young man, "Why — er — of course — I — I mean — it was only the — artisan clawss were thaw — er — and common people." " The Mayor of the city sat just behind you, " said Dick with asper- ity, " and there were men there to-night sir, that could buj' and sell both you and me out and out, and then write a cheque for twice our value in — common sense." " Ya — s — yas — I" ve no doubt of it," answered the composed young man, hoisting his umbrella, "I say," he went on, "I wish you had gone dressed, don't you know -They were — lawghing at you— but you din'nt seem to mind it, did 3'ou ? " ^^ J 12 The La-de-dah from London. "No," said Dick grimly, " I did' lit mind it at all." Two days latter the La-de-dah, who had been duly cabled his six- hundred pounds, announced that he was ready for the trip. This being Dick's third overland journey, he understood the necessity of making a proper and judicious disposal of supplies and baggage. There was so much more of the latter than he had bargained for, owing to the pur- chases of the Englishman, that a second wagon seemed almost a necessity. The Londoner solved the difficulty by going off and in an incredibly short space of time returning with two extra horses, (splendid specimens they were), attached to a brand new democrat, he had bought them with as little remark (or knowledge) as a pair of mummies might show in the purchase of a tomb. Too, at the last moment great packages began to arrive, duly ad- dressed : " D. G. Perwinkle-Brown, Esq., late of Loudon, Eng.," until out of sheer fear that another conveyance would be a necessity, Dick declared with decision, that positively no more could be taken. Indeed, the wagons presented an imposing sight. Four huge trunks, all exhib- iting the imposing address as given above, between those, like bastions, bristled guns, canes, fishing rods, and an easel that refused to fold itself but stuck out magnificently. Every available bit of space was filled, such minor things as groceries and necessaries of Dick's choosing, were stowed away unpretentiously but safely, under a tarpaulin in the wagon. Dick started off ahead walking beside his conveyance, coarse over- alls tucked into vStout shoes, a blouse of brown denim, a slouch hat that was proof against the weather, a red handkerchief knotted about his throat and holding the reins in his bare hands. Perched upon the new wagon, reins drawn taut upon high-stepping steeds, sat the La-de-dah ; he was like some gallant knight going forth to conquer ; he had dressed himself very carefully in a new and becom- ing traveling suit, a complete shooting attire — white corduroy breeches, verj' tight as to the legs, and very baggy in the upper parts ; long ribbed hose, and riding boots of the best English manufacture. The start out caused a prodigious sensation. D. G. Perwinkle- Brown in the expectation of falling in with savages, prepared to receive them in a manner befitting the descendant of conquerors ; He fairly bristled with articles of war — pistols from his belted side, a keen edged knife blue in its anxiety to carve some one or something, (and satisfying its unholy thirst later on — in inoffensive porkrinds) his field glass slung )icl fall ^al pne oi lare im s Thk La-dk-dah from London. 18 cabled his six- rip. This being ity of making a . There was so ving to the pur- Imost a necessity, in an incredibly lendid specimens ought them with light show in the arrive, duly ad- on, Eng.," until necessity, Dick i taken. Indeed, runks, all exhib- se, like bastions, sed to fold itself space was filled, i choosing, were liu in the wagon, ice, coarse over- slouch hat that aotted about hi.s on high-stepping ight going forth new and becom- rduroy breeches, arts ; long ribbed I. G. Perwinkle- pared to receive rors ; He fairly e, a keen edged r, (and satisfying field glass slung |)icturesquely over one shoulder and a cataract of pink mosquito netting falling from a broad brimmed hat, driving guautlets of an expensive inake. From the high balcony the chambermaid waved professional Mnens in happy adieux. D, G. Periwinkle-Brown drove away in state — l|appy in the knowledge that he was the centre of observation — what ihore to be desired by an Englishman ? " I The long, far-reaching stretch of prairie dotted with bluffs of low {rush, the trail meandering by the river sluggishly flowing on, the mea- ow-lark sweeping and wheeling overhead, small shanties dotting the (lain that seemed to reach out and away to eternity, and over all a broad use of freedom, of power. It was Dick's intention to camp out some fteen miles on the prairie that night and be ready for an early start on e morrow. He had had considerable start of his companion, but not ishing to make any great speed was always in full view of the La-de- lah. By and bye, being accustomed to the Pall-Mali style of chariot- jpiip, and regarding etiquette as to prairie trails unnecessary, the London- f rattled up at a great pace and with a magnificent cracking of whip, A? four-in-hand, passed Dick in pomp. This was done as a sort of a Sighway joke, but came near being a highway catastrophe, the wheels arely escaping colliding. * " What d'ye mean ? " roared Dick, drawing rein. ^ "I say," retorts the Londoner beaming from his perch, *' It's no end |f jolly fun, eh ? " "You' 11 have to be careful," said Dick, showingsome little annoyance, mediately changing his tone to one of inquiry : — " Where's the tent ? " Previous to starting, the tent had been made into a neat bundle and lowed at the back of Periwinkle-Brown's wagon — it was gone! This icessitated an immediate stop ; and although the La-de-dah declared 'd " buy anothaw of the bloomin' things rawthaw than retrace one gle step of the delightful jawuey," Dick, after hobbling the horses, arted back afoot, and in no very good humor. He found the nt lying by the trail where it had fallen, and making a loulder pack of it, trudged back good-naturedly. The tent was Itched and safely pegged to the ground to the amazement of the Lon- ner, who looked on with great interest while Dick balanced the centre •le and performed wonders with the canvas. A fire was built in a hole oped out of the ground, and pretty soon a splendid supper was laid ^' 14 The La-de-dah from London. re< az Id ish ado gra U e a ithei the out ; D. G. Periwinkle-Brown busied himself in selecting jellies and ] ] other relishes, and he declared the condensed milk "quite amaizin'. ' it trr Beyond the first meal it was exceedingly annoying however, as it spilled ipd s over everything, blending perishable luxuries and being voted a of wl "beastly nuisance " thereafter. The first night camping out upon the prairies gives one a new anc vague sensation. You feel as our first parents must have felt in the gar den of Eden — alone — The space about you is so illimitable, the silence i< so sublime, the world about you is so vague, so far-reaching — You feel a pigmy. Dick spread his blankets and threw himself down for a night'i rest ; D. G. Periwinkle- Brown having set his camp bed, and donned hi; pa-jamas, over which he belted his pistols tremblingly awaiting the whooj of the wild Indian and the flourish of the scalping knife. Some time during the night Dick was awakened by a curious grop ing or pawing sound ; he did not want to wake his companion, and calXjy j, culating the exact spot where he supposed the horses had come too closi to the tent, he shied a boot with great precision. A howl of pain madu^j.^^ Dick jump and roar out : — ' ' Is that you Brown ? ' ' Xj "Y-a-ss-I-I " t^l " What the dev — dickens are you doing over there ? " asked Diet f , hunting for a match. ■ •'I — I— I'm look — ing faw the — window" chattered the English ; man. -rpnly " Looking for what ? " roars Dick, lighting up the gloom enough tl|F*t see his friend, the most awful sight to behold, clad in his pa-jama^ crawling on all fours, his pistols dangling ferociously, a tasseled white sil night-cap above a gash whence a crimson stream trickled. He ha| rolled out of hia bed and was groping helplessly about. The next day's march was more satisfactory. They made an early start, everything was ship-shape ; this time ih'i tent reposed safely in Dick's wagon, and away they went under the woplp*'*S« drous burst of a prairie sunrise, which must be seen to be half understooc Settlers' houses now began to drift further apart. The travellers some times stopped and went in ; the wife — always an Ontario woman seemed — with homely grace, bustled about ; chubby children peepe from concealed corners, while the travellers drank the foaming milk an gratefully munched home-made bread and freshly churned butter. The La-de-dah from London. 15 cting jellies and '■] D. G. Periwinkle-Brown was enchanted with everything he saw. It quite amaizin'. '!• true, the advance was somewhat retarded by his keen desire to stop ever as it spilled ipd sketch everything he saw ; a stone fence, a hay-mow, a slough, all being voted a of which he termed "jolly odd you know," and enthusiastically de- red his wish that ** Awnt Toe could see the peculiah deloights of this i one a new ancvazin' plaice ! " Dick gained considerable ground while the sketches ve felt in the gar- 011 decorously made and set up upon the easel quite properly) were ble the silence i<0iished, and he was waiting patiently for his fellow traveller as the night aching You feewadows fell ; the horses, unharnessed, were feeding about the lawn, rich lown for a night'* grasses, now taking on the green of proemial summer. i, and donned hi; 1 up drove the La-de-dah, enthusiastic over his latest sketch. Dick waiting the whoo|j||se and began to take out the horses. He preferred doing it unaided e. cither than suffer bewilderment of brain trying to put the harness to- y a curious grop Ather after everything unhookable had been unhooked and irremedi- apanion, and calXjy mixed. lad come too clos(| «. there's the tent pole ? " asked Dick, unrolling the canvass, pre- lowl of pain madi^ratory to pitching tent. " Don't you think a little yacht on the wattaw before that cute little tie villa would be an impwovement ? " The La-de-dah held up to view og shanty glorified by the imagination. ** Where did you get that? " asked Dick, beginning to smile. " Oh! it's that rathaw pwetty little plaice we lunched at, you know -rjonly," the artist hesitated, "only I — touched it up a little you see; ' gloom enough tw*^ d® V^^ think about a — a yacht. Workman?. It would impwove it, in his pa-jama^ • tasseled white si! J " I think myself that a pump would be more appropriate," laughed tickled. He haQlck, adding in an anxious way, " Where's the tent pole? let's get this g up — I want some supper." The search for the tent-pole was ine£fectua]. Dick had himself ne • this time th^^^ ^^ to his companion's wagon and he felt that it ought to be there, nt under the yfoM^^^^ further search revealed nothing. 136 half understooc | " The tent-pole," repeated Dick, coming over to where his com- he travellers sonieNP^**'* ^*® ^^^ great earnestness and wonderful nautical skill, placing )ntario woman ^*^cht upon a potato patch, * ' that long pole, you know— tae stick the . children peepelt balances on " foaming milk aiJ| " Do you mean that little boa'd you fawstened to my — wagon, the rned butter. W^ ^^^ ^^P^ gettin' among my wheels all day ? " e?" asked Dicl; :ered the Englisl: .^ 1 • IS ! I> I i! 16 The La-de-dah from London. " Y — es," answered Dick, his heart beginning to sink, "I — I sup- pose so. ' ' " Why, the bloomin' thing got to be such a — a — nuisance, I — I threw it away, oh ! evah so faw back ; does it weally mattaw ? ' ' Dick sat down and groaned. The dark clouds gathering in the north, he knew meant rain, and without the tent the discomfoits of that night were assured. "I say," said the La-de-dah folding up his easel and putting his sketches carefully away when he became coiascious of his error, ''there's none to be bought anywhere about, is there ? " " No," said Dick shortly, " the only thing money won't buy in the Nor'-West '*s common sense." Then he wafe sorry for his churlishness, and he got up a supper of bacon fried the color of crape, and set about making bannocks, rolling them out on the tail-board of his wagon, the La-de-dah looking on, and declaring he would " give no end of dollahs if Awnt Toe saw him eatin' such awful stuff! " and Dick pitied him from his soul. That night they slept beneath one of the wagons ; the tent thrown over the conveyance made a sort of shelter, but not completely comfort- able, as the wind rose, and the flapping of the wet canvass made dismal dreariness of the sleepless hours. It was useless to think of traveling ; useless to attempt building a fire in that downpour ; the morning was spent under the wagon lying ' upon the wet grass, and watching for any faint sign of fine weather ; but the clouds frowned with heavy brows, and as the day advanced the thunder increased. Breakfast was a dismal failure notwithstanding the relishes. The impos^bility of getting at the boxes for books, which D. G. Periwinkle-Brown had thoughtfully provided, but having forgotten which of the four trunks he had put them in, it was deemed rash to institute a search under the circumstances — added to the dreariness ; the sketching enthusiasm too went out, and the silence, save for the champ- ing of the horses hobbled close by, was intense. "We shall have lots of mosquitoes tomorrow " said Dick without looking up. "Aw they very vicious?" asked his companion, his mind bent on carnage upon the slightest provocation. " I should say so," answered Dick laughing in a quarrelsome way, badl: great was i ' truly [Blacl loyal 1 breal^ Cous' ingh the 1 amm by tb The La-de-dah from London. 17 nk, '• I — I sup- nce, I — I threw ig in the north, of that night nd putting his ;rror, ''there's n't buy in the ip a supper of nnocks, rolling oking on, and saw him eatin' le tent thrown (letely comfort- s made dismal empt building le wagon lying e weather ; but advanced the thstanding the ooks, which D. ving forgotten eemed rash to dreariness ; the for the champ- Dick without \ his mind bent arrelsome way "They've bills as long as a tailor, and they bleed you just as badly as that rascal." Whereupon the La-de-dah was roused into interest and he became greatly depressed to learn that the only clothing available out west was ready-made, and his hopes went down with a thud. I They dined off bannocks and slough water that day, and Dick felt * truly sorry when he saw his companion turn away ; not even Crosse and Blackwell's choicest could tempt him; "Purveyors to H. M." had no loyal effect upon his appetite. The La-de-dah could not eat. Next morning the rain had ceased and a breeze rose up. iVfter a hot breakfast of coffee — which they both heartily enjoyed — they were off. Considerable delay whs occasioned by the La-de-dah insisting on secur- ing his ' galoshes,' which, in anticipation of fine weather were packed at the bottom of the wagon, and the bacon, flour, dried-apples, guns, ammunition, etcetera were removed, they found the goloshes ambushed by the mackintosh. Both were taken out and everything replaced. Forward they rode, D. G. Periwinkle- Brown silent and contempla- tive, enveloped in the folds of his rain-coat, his gleaming spurs sacrificed to the ' galoshes, ' his hat drawn low, his head drooping, although subdued in outward demeanor, and inwardly cogitating on how to approach Dick, riding ahead and whistling cheerily, and explain to him that he had decided to give up the trip. New difficulties were presented with every thought. ' Awnt Toe ' had been advised to communicate with him at Prince Albert. He had ordered his mail forwarded to that point — the road back — f/iere was 7W road ! What if this stranger in whom he had trusted proved to be a robber ? What if he led him to the den of Cacus ? Visions rose before the mind's eye of this alarmed youth that caused his soul to shiver ; he swam in sorrowful reflections out of which he was rudely jerked by a wheel striking a gopher hole larger and deeper in proportion than other holes ; they were upon the treeless, trackless plain now, and what if Dick proved to be a robber and plundered him out here on the vast prairie ? However Dick behaved well and was seemingly so void of any blood- thirsty intentions that the Londoner felt returning confidence. The sunshine was pleasant, and too, the niusquitoes helped to take his attention off minor matters, and (after a determined fight against it) ■\ .•^ 18 Thb IvA'DE-dah krom London. it- he at last consented to have his face smeared with tar to keep off those aggravating pests. Dick had presented such a sight that the La-de-dah declared he would stand the flies rather than disfigure himself so, but sleepless nights and added days of torture, together with the conviction that they would meet no one, gave Dick the satisfaction of applying the remedy, that was the only occasion on which the La-de-dah failed to observe he'd "give any amount of doUahs" to have "Awnt Toe" on hand. And Dick roared silent roars of laughter as he drove on. To D. G. Periwinkle-Brown each succeeding day grew more mono- tonous. Dick was cheerful, his song and whistle rang out musical and clear as ever, but to the delicate London patrician, sleeping on the hard ground and moving steadily on, was monotonous in the extreme At times the wagons were mired in the sloughs, and it necessitated taking the two teams, attaching them in torn to each wagon and by dint of halloing, a vigorous application of the whip lash, and splashing through muddy water up to the armpits at times, they manage to advance. To the healthy young (!^anadian suitably clad, it meant discomfort merely^ to the languishing London-nurtured young gentleman in fine shoes and finer vestments it meant misery doubled. They were now obliged ta carry both fuel and fresh water, having reached the Great Salt Plains, an unhealthy barren stretch of white-encrusted earth whereon no spear of grass thrived. Betimes it showered and the ground became putty ; anon blazing sunshine blistered the flesh, sometimes a flurry of snow surprised them, and the despondent declaration of the stranger was that it was "an awfully peculiah climate ! " Dick averred we were supremely blest in not having to go abroad to seek a change of clime, it conveniently coming to us in all degrees. But the last stroke fell when the matches— a supply in charge of Dick himself-^fell holus bolus into one of the sloughs in one of the e^^traordi- narily bad crossings, a wheel striking a bolder so disastrously as to fling Dick and the contents of the wagon into the slimy slough. Dick shook himself dry, and picked up the damaged goods and effects, but this accident left him without means of making a fire, and the supper that night would have been a cold one, had it not been that a stray Indian struck the camp, furnishing them with a supply of this commodity, and astonished the Londoner by making no effort to scalp anybody. He rather patronized them. keep off those the La-de-dah bimself so, but the conviction >f applying the e-dah failed to Awnt Toe" on ive on. iw more mono- ut musical and leeping on the the extreme it necessitated jon and by dint and splashing lage to advance. :omfort merely ,^ 1 fine shoes and tiow obliged to eat Salt Plains, eon no spear of ue putty ; anon snow surprised that it was "an emely blest in conveniently charge of Dick ' the extraordi- astrously as to ough. ;ed goods and ing a fire, and not been that supply of this effort to scalp The La-de-dah from IvOndon. nijjht upon the Salt Plain. D. G 19 was tne lasi nignt, upon me aait nam. D. G. Periwinkle-Brown sat propped against a wagon wheel, Dick opposite to him and supported by a like background. It was after a long silence the La-de-dah, with- out looking at Dick, announced his determination to go back. He ad- mitted having had enough of prairie life ; he would go back to Winni- peg. " You see, Workman, it is this way," he said, heaving a prodigious sigh, "I had no idea — it was — well! like — this; why, I've not had a -a bawth for — for ever so long ! and Awnt Toe, oh ! shenevah diceameti should suffah like this ! " And Dick distinctly observed two London- )red tears roll ff and, of course, fell a-dreaming of pretty Sally Loftus. Out of the mystery of night came a rumble and roar ; the La-de-dah it up, his heart banging against his ribs in the belief that a horde of ivages were coming down to scalp the just and the unjust alike. Near- er and louder it grew, suddenly coming to a halt with a tremendous I* Wh — o-o — a — ," sending a reverberating 'o — a — over the sea-like rreen. : I t! i -i 20 Thij La-dk-dah from London. •'Wha — t — d — o you think it — is?" queried D. G. Periwinkle, his hand on a i)istol, promptly prepared to sell his scalp dearly. "vSettlers ! " announced Dick peering under the tent flap, " freight- ers I guess, let's go to sleep again." And then he heard a moan of pain and he remembered. ** Take off your boots man, and have a sleep," urged Dick. '• I — I'm afraid I — cawn't get them — on again — if I do," owned this scion of the nobility, " Give us a leg," said Dick curtly, and getting into the position of an animated boot-jack, he tugged stoutly until b}' repeated efforts the boots came off with such a sudden willingness that it sent him .sprawling. Dick could have cried then when he saw the state of the poor fellow's feet. The flesh was inflamed and ridges of purple showed that he had indeed suffered ; blisters as big as a penny embroidered the palms of his feet, evidence of endurance as Dick thought to himself, which showed he was all right at bottom. "Why in — putney," exclaimed the Canadian, "didn't you tell me before ? ' ' " I — I," stammered the simple fellow, " I thought everybody had to be — un-comfortable, and — " here he almost broke down, "I wasn't going to — to — show the white fethaw while you stood it ! " Dick inwardly admired the sentiment, though he only said : "Pooh I my shoes fit me all right, yours don't, nine into seven won't go — out west." Then they both turned in and slept soundly. Sunrise on the western prairie emerges from night's mantle with no lingering soft melting glow ; great shafts of bronze roll back the dark curtains ; the eyelids of dawn lift swiftly and with a mighty gush Day is born. < While Dick was stretching himself and giving a terrific 'yawp,' his companion's eyes opened with a startled expression. "Time we were off," W^orkman said, "there's no bread you knou and we can't go on without making some ; we will draw lots to see which ' of us will be cook." The Londoner made an effort to follow Dick's move in rolling out, but he collapsed with a groan. " What's wrong?" and Dick gave the canvas a flop, throwing opei. one side of the improvised shelter and exposing to view an expanse rad- ^1 Thk La-dk-dah from Lonoon. 21 Periwiukle, his ■ly. t flap, "freight- l a moan of pain Dick, lo," owned this he position of an efforts the boots him sprawling, le poor fellow's "^ ved that he had the palms of his f, which showed ' Lin't you tell me verybody had tc own, "I wasn't I " ly said : "Pooh ! 1 won't go — out mantle with no | 1 back the dark | nighty gush Daj rific 'yawp,' his jread you know lots to see which ; in rolling out, | I, throwing open an expanse rad- iant as far as eye couM see, upon blade and leaf dew-gems sparkled and seemed to sing, so brightly they shimmered under the dazzling snu. Wild birds signalled across the lawn and over the broad bosom of nature came perfumed breaths from budding stems. Dick had crawled into the outer air, and a discordant snort, half fear, half annoyance, made Aunt Toe's heir peep out where a pair of legs showed the owner to be standing. He was sweeping the far-reaching distance, his fi^ls twisted into a telescope, and breathing awful words that dare not be here chronicled. "Horses are gone !" he said stooping to peer under the wagon, there's nothing for us now but to get after them as fast as we can ; they have gone against the wind, I dare say," aiul Dick put u}) a hand, de- tecting in this way a faint indication that their search would be south. " Vou must go due .south," said Dick, eyeing that quarter critically, I'll make a detour and come across you I dare say, but if you find them, just fire off a " A pitiful sigh was wafted out from beneath the wagon, followed by the weak announcement : " I — I cawn't get — my — boots on ! " " Whew !" whistled Dick, .smiling in spite of himself, "of course you can't walk, I forgot ; well then, I'll go after the horses," .slipping a hal- ter over each shoulder and adding, "I know you can't get about very lively, but perhaps you can build us up a bannock for breakfast — I'll bring the flour and stuff to you, and .see here Brown ! " taking a memo- randum from an inner pocket, "here's a receipt for making them; a dashed nice little girl in Barrie gave me this ; listen sharp now, here's what you've got to do : put all the stuff mentioned here in this pan, mix 'em up jolly well, and when they're ship-shape, smooth it all out on the wagon board, d'ye understand ? " " I — I guess so, " said the La-de-dah, glancing at the paper, " there is flowah, and buttah — I say W^orkman, its an awfully pretty hand don't you know, I say now, was it a certain little laidy that gave you this ? " "You'd better bind up your feet, " said Dick moving away, the halter lines trailing the grass, and his eyes inquiringly fixed on a white tent pitched some distance away, from it's apex curling smoke wreathing a cloud halo. " Wonder who it is ? " he thought, passing on. Meantime the La- de-dah, after much travail had secured from a satchel a fine linen shirt and several handsome silk handkerchiefs ; the shirt he bound around l! 22 The IvA-dk-dah from London. one foot, and the other he masked in the silken squares ; thus ambushed the blisters found relief, and this young man in this remarkable guise set about his new duty, referring many times to the memorandum, which, for convenience, he pinned to one knee, repeating over and over: "Two qua'ts of sifted flowah." Was this sifted flowah, or simply flowah only ? "Two eggs, well beaten," blank dismay; the eggs which he had ordered were in that unlucky slough far far back ! No eggs being avail- able he doubled the allowance of flour registered, thereby filling the omission. " A little salt," in went a chunk the size of an egg. "Two heaping teaspoons of H. powder," well, he had the powdah if he hadn't the eggs — so he prudently measured the quantity from his silver powder horn with great exactness ; this he dumped into the flour, and on consulting the paper again, found he had forgotten the butter. When the butter was added new preplexities arose ; the lumps refused to join friendly relations with the flour ; the powder behaved badly, and looked worse, and while the distressed young man struggled with the mess, sitting squat upon the ground, the pan upon his knees, every evolution of the big iron spoon making a new tear in Dick's cher- ished reminder of the " dashed nice little girl," while, I say, the decision of this distracted young man poised between facing starvation and Dick, beaten, or persevering in this herculean task, a rippling laugh just over his shoulder caused the spoon to send a shower of the ingredients right into the face of the Da-de-dah, the pan clutched in both hands, his hor- rified eyes transfixed by a pair of blue orbs, and above him appeared a vision, hovering in pink clouds it seemed, and smiling down upon him. He was perfectly conscious of the fact that he was an awful sight. He knew his feet were objects of irrisistable humor, he was aware his face was disguised by the tar, but until he made a shivering effort to take off his hat to this pink divinity, never did he discover that his night cap was still upon his head. "I've been watching you for ever so long! " she said, seating her- self upon the grass and peering into the pan in the most friendly manner imaginable. Seeing that the lady's attention might by this means be drawn from his swaddled extremities, the unhappy young man began to stir the con- tents of the pan vigorously. Thk La-dr-dah from London. 23 thus ambushed tnarkable guise memorandum, ; over and over: wah, or simply i which he had gj^s being avail- reby filling the 1 egg- ad the povvdah I quantity from nnped into the I forgotten the ose ; the lumps towder behaved man struggled pon his knees, in Dick's cher- ay, the decision ition and Dick, augh just over gredients right lands, his hor- lim appeared a )wn upon him. yful sight. He aware his face iffort to take off is night cap was id, seating her- riendly manner be drawn from to stir the con- " What are you domg?" inquired the prairie nymph, "and what are those queer little black specks ? " " I'm making — er — I — er — I really forget the name," he stammered apologetically, "but you eat them— when you're aivfully hitUi^ry. " Here a small pink finger rashly ventured into the briskly revolving stuff, and picking out a black speck looked at it critically. "Oh ! that's the powdah, " explained this embryo chcj\ glad to be able to say something familiar on the subject. "Oh ! I thought it was spice," said the young lady, casting a doubtful glance at the compounder, who, fearing her attention might be withdrawn and become directed to other and more horrible things, with professional gravity eyed the mixture and said : "I think I'll — add a little — more powdah ! " The pink apparition shriekt*! with dismay, seeing the powder horn brought into play in this way, and promptly from the tent beyond, came the startling and lusty demand : — " Arrah, Mollie gurrl, fwat are 'ou scramin' fer?" and over the grass waddled a buxom matronly body, her full round face brimful of good nature, two powerful arms akimbo, and deep inquiry in her honest eyes. " O. mamma!" exclaimed the pink divinity, "come here! Just think, this gentleman is putting powder — gun powder you know, into his bannocks ! " " Glory be t' God ! " ejaculated the stout lady coming to a horrified stand and eyeing the ' gentleman, ' who at that moment had received a terrible shock — discovering the prairie nymph in all her dainty sweet- ness to be the daughter of this " extremely vulgah looking pehson," as he was thinking. " Poor bye ! " says that lady, eyeing D. G. Periwinkle-Brown sever- ly but kindly, " wisha me poor sowl, but what's the matther wid yer toes ? " The Iva-de-hah had scrambled to his feet having, with delight, observed Dick in the distance, and at an exclamation from the pretty daughter, who had disappeared and was now returning with a huge loaf of bread, the elder lady said : — "Shure here's O'Toole comin' now; an' faix if he ain't — it is too be me sowl ! Mollie, me gur'rl, here comes yer father an' Dick Work- man along wid him ! " ^' 24 The La-de-dah from London. A fine stout military looking man was approaching with Dick, both leading horses. "Hello! hello! Mrs. Major!" shouted Dick, dropping the bridle to extend both hands ; "and so this is little Mollie, eh? Well, well! who'd ever expect to run across you out here ? " " Och, shure 'twas lost entirely we was, Misther Dick, shure me moind wasn't aisy at all, at all, an' Mollie away ; so wan day afcher you wiut yersilf, Misther Dick, the Major tackled up, an' sez he : It's after Mollie I'm goin' says he. Shure larnin's all right an' well enough Misther Dick, but I got on widout anny myself; so across the plains says I, me gurrl won't come alone, says I, so shure enough 'twas afther Mollie we wint." "Well, well ! " said Dick, placing an audacious arm about Mollie's pink waist in the most brotherly way, "Why Mollie ! you're so grown up and so pretty I'd never know you ! " " Och ! shure but it's a dale she has larned in thim four years Misther Dick, didn't she O'Toole ? " turning to the Major, who it would appear only spoke when appealed to ; " Shure 'tis the mclotherum she kin make music out av' wid her two hands to wanst ! AndFrinch ! an' dhrawin' on paper wid a pin ! O ! faix 'tis wondherful I " " Let me introduce to you my friend, Mr. Periwinkle- Brown, a new settler for the Flat," breaks in Dick. " This is my nearest neighbor, Major O'Toole, Mrs. O'Toole, and Miss Mollie O'Toole, Brown." says Dick. " I believe I saved your life Mr. Dick," laughed Mollie shyly, cast- ing an arch glance at the Londoner, who was talking to the Major on one side, and with much laughter the story of the bannocks came out ; and it was decided they should all breakfast together, Mrs. Major wad- dling off to prepare the same. The rest of the journey would be traveled in company with the Major, and there was no further hint of returning from the La-de-dah. It proved as we have seen that Major O'Toole, and Mrs. Major — as she was called by her friends — were, when at home, Dick's own neigh- bours. The Major who still held a commission in H. M. service, had came out from Ireland and having found his way out west where he was now his own landlord and owned a fine stretch of ground that covered as much space as Cpnemara itself. The La-de-dah from London. 25 th Dick, both Brown." says '. Mollie was the only child and when the Major, in the new land he now called his home, saw no opportunity of giving his daughter a com- plete education, it was decided to take her back to Winnipeg which boasted educational advantages equal to eastern and much older cities. At St. Mary's Academy it was that little Mollie, then a slip of a girl in short frocks was taken, her tongue still clinging to the sweet accent of her native isle. How she improved the four years under the care and training of the amiable sisters of St. Mary's was now shown in her easy manner, her bright smile and polished conversation. And what a pleas- ant meeting it was ! Indeed it was to Mrs. Major's kind ministrations and good nursing Dick owed his life, for the Red River fever that lurks among the prairie hollows and picks out for its victims pilgrims and strangers, caught him in the early days and he never forgot the motherly body, who, fretting for Mollie, in the heart-hunger gave to Dick some of that wasting affection. It was quite evident that Major O'Toole was, mentally speaking, the superior of his wife and it was equally observable from start to finish that Mrs. ]Major was the man of the house. It was Mrs. Major who gave the order to 'move on' while her motherly eye — full of sympathy for " the poor bye" as she called the Londoner limping painfully about — thought deeply of some means of relief to his sufferings. '"Tis O'Toole's shoes I'll be afther gettin' him" she said to Dick and regardless of his objections tiie La-de-dah forthwith was standing in a pair of the Major's stout shoes, which to his surprise acted like a charm — inetno : they were big enough. " Thim harses wint aff in the night and O'Toole wint afther thim be the first sthreak av' day thinkin' he could ketch a hoult av' thim widout anny thrubble at all ; faix if he had, 'tis aff we'd have been ; shnre 'tis a bad wind blows no wan good, an' no mistake ! The gosoon there naded O'Tooles' shoes, an' faix he's welkim t' thim same." Dick heard no more about ' Awnt Toe ' or indeed about turning back ; MoUie's blue-grey Irish eyes lit up the whole world now, and, let us not be ungrateful — the Major's shoes were an excellent fit. D. G. Periwinkle-Brown had become quite a pioneer, he had over- come his repugnance to dining off a tin plate, and had achieved some dexterity in the use of a three-pronged fork ; he had lately omitted to offer "any amount of dollahs " for a " glawss of beah," and if he wish- 26 The; La-de-dah from London. < ^ ed for " Awnt Toe " to be one of the party on " this beastly twip you know" he never so stated. Mrs. Major in a buxom way that was all her own and not at all offen- sive made herself the central figure, thereby robbing the La-de-dah of any opportunity for self-consideration. " Luk at thim two craythers now," she would say winking at the Major and casting a pleased glance at Mollie perched upon the high wagon seat beside the La-de-dah sorting early wild flowers, unconscious that the dumb language was creeping creeping into the hearts of both and weaving life's wondrous story ; " musha 'tis tachin' the poor bye she he's, shure 'tis thankful t' God we shud be t' know annything at all at all, not like thim poor craythurs." The Major trudged along contentedly, allowing Mrs. Major to boss matters. The Major might have made a mesalliance according to social ideas, but whatever the Major's wife lacked in elegance of diction she more than compensated for in wifely devotion. " Shure 'tis the divil a wan I'd be foUeyin' across the say frum God's own green Isle, on'y O'Toole himself!" she would say to Dick, adding with a sigh : " but a sojer's wife have no right t' be complainen' — God knows 'tis not complainen' I am, but plaze the saints 'tis back t' the owld sod we'll begoin' this day twel' month." The trip was now a delightful holiday. At Batoche where they made a crossing it was Gabriel Dumont who feiried them over, the same bronzed and shaggy-maned old-timer who afterwards caused the countr)' considerable troul)le, and poor Mrs. O'Toole much but why introduce sad memories here ? They creep in soon enough, alas ! Let us stand upon the bank of the great Saskatchewan, thundering down over rocks that jut out and madly try to stay the mad tide ; be- tween the trees that line the opposite bank snow wreaths still cling to shady places; 1)eyond, where the sun shines, purple crocuses dot the bil- lowy green, and here and there May blossoms, cheated by the sunshine into believing the ' merry month' had come, shyly lifted their heads, and save for the roar of the rushing river, above all the silence that 'prisons thought. Before the last day of the joruuey, D. G. Periwinkle-Brown had announced his intention of "taking up a jolly fawm you know, " it would be "so iolly odd you know, to watch the cunnin' little seeds of The lyA-DE-DAH FROM LONDON. 27 >eastly twip you i not at all oflFen- La-de-dah of any winking at the upon the high ;rs, unconscious e hearts of both the poor bye she lything at all at rs. Major to boss :cording to social ce of diction she e say frum God's to Dick, adding iplainen' — God tis back t' the vhere they made over, the same used the country but why ^h, alas ! wan, thundering mad tide ; be- hs still cling to uses dot the bil- 3y the sunshine their heads, and ce that 'prisons ikle-Brown had you know," it i' little seeds of grain growin' ! " He asked a great many questions and listened delight- edly to the stories of thirty bushels to the acre and learning from the Major's wife that butter sold at 60 cents per pound enthusiastically declared he would go in exclusively to the "raising of buttah ! " He I made a note of every article considered necessary to start farming, and at Goshen, while Dick and the Major were engaged in unpacking and pitching their tents, the Londoner wandered off and became the pos- sessor of an outfit that included a gross of spades and a threshing machine — the latter a bargain — at eleven hundred dollars ! The Major and Dick tried to caution this young man after the manner of men who had been caught in some of those same transactions ; they neglected their own spring work and drove out in many directions spying out land for the stranger ; a selection was made of a choice bit of land, well wooded, and lying just along the bank of the river, "admirably suited," the La-de-dah admitted "for sketchin* ; " he accordingly decided upon this selection, drove his stake, tying a silk handkerchief to it for future identifcation and the entry was duly made at the land office, where, learning with incredulity that he was free to take three hundred and twenty acres for the " rank " sum of twenty dol- lars ! thereupon he declared the land must be no good ! it was too cheap ! He wanted something "bettah " ! Then he made new explorations and losing the guidance and good sense of his friend's advice — they being busied in seeding operations — he fell in with the Philistines : One Brooky who had an eye to the main chance, and sometimes gave newcomers the benefit of his advice, (which was costly on occasions) Brooky undertook to prove to the La-de-dah that an improved farm was the thing ; Brooky had just such a one as would suit ; upon this farm there were " evidences f coal " ; the water below the stables " luas oily'''' ! Brooky looked over ach shoulder with great caution, and confidentially pointed to a bit of hining rock that glistened in the sunlight ; there was tremendous mean- ng in Brooky 's eye ; the wink that followed expressed a mine of inforraa- ion. D. G. Periwinkle-Brown became the possessor of Brooky's farm ; he late owner himself being engaged as manager, and the whole estate as the proud owner now called it — was put under crop forthwith. A mall army of help was secured and improvements commenced at once, arks were fenced in, lawns were laid out, boulevi'irdes were built, and ature's plan so remodeled that one day when the Major and Dick rode ver they paused in astonishment. The Major was aghast at this extra 28 The IvA-de-dah from London. # vagant beginning ; but there was no use remonstrating with this would- be gentleman farmer, who rode round his estate attired in fine linen and fashionable attire. He imported fruit trees and had the same set out under the direction of a landscape gardener. In front of the house a deep hollow was scooped out at immense labour, and an apparatus set up whereby water from the river was pumped up and a lake induced there, but the water was doggedly determined on finding its own level and the apparatus proved a failure after repeated trials, and the La-de-dah had to content himself with making sketches of the arrangement and sending them to ' Awnt Toe ' with glowing accounts of his successes. Dick looked on and shook his head, but when a young gentleman with prospects has nothing to do but cable across the water for two hun- dred pounds, six hundred pounds, ten hundred pounds, and it is duly dropped in his palm, que voulez vous / All this time of magnificent undertaking and successful squandering the La-de-dah was a shining light in the social world of Goshen. His Lordship, in his carriage and pair, stopped at the great gat^ (which was attended by no less than a buna-fide gatekeeper) and the echo of Episco- pal wheels for the first time was heard upon Lower Flat trails, and as one fly always brings another, all the way from Lawrence Hall, at Carleton, came cards for social functions. These demands took a great deal of the time it will be understood, but Brooky managed so well that all that seemed necessary at all for the owner of the estate to do was to sign cer- tain scraps of paper, that may have meant much, but was certainly very little trouble. Archdeacon Goode secured the Londoner's interest in mullioned win- dows for the new church ; the windows were forthwith ordered, and a fine organ besides — "the gift of a Christian brother," — as was stated modestly from the pulpit — a canonical eye seeking out that "Christian brother," who occupied a good pew upholstered in good silk, and rest- ing there with appreciable benignity. Need it be related how the La-de-dah became the prey of pecking crows in human shape ? and how through all the effervescing adulation he remained the same to his first-made friends, refusing dinners to which the Major and Dick were not invited ; sending his "regrets" to social functions unless Dick and Dick's neighbors were accepted guests ; and as the Londoner, always faultlessly dressed, was necessary to the suc- cess of such affairs, it came about that cards were received in general in Thk La-de-dah from London. 29 with this would- in fine linen and the same set out ; of the house a apparatus set up ; induced there, wn level and the La-de-dah had to ent and sending 2sses. ^ouug gentleman iter for two hun- 4, and it is duly ;sful squandering of Goshen. His gat^ (which was e echo of Episco- 1 trails, and as one lall, at Carleton, . great deal of the well that all that o was to sign cer- as certainly very in mullioned win- ordered, and a -as was stated t that " Christian ood silk, and rest- prey of pecking vescing adulation dinners to which egrets" to social pted guests ; and ;ssary to the sue- ved in general in ower Flat for ».fcte at His Lordship's the Bishop ; and MoUie, trembling with excitement and looking like a little flower under the shadow of a lilac bush in full bloom — for INIrs. Major was there in her wedding dress i^i lilac-colored Irish poplin made twenty odd years before — and the ilajor, albeit his wedding suit was made for a more slender figure, looked ery inch the oflicer and gentleman on that never-to-be-forgotten night. Naturally, the invitations included the dignitaries of His Lordship's Id ; the wool of the secular world still clung to many of the sheep herein numbered ; the reverend Sibley fell under the influence of that 'which stiugeth like an adder when looked upon in the red." Mrs. libley, who was the direct descendant of a Piegan chief, wore a clean irhite apron — it being a dress occasion, and Deacon Downer, a full- ilooded Cree, and a zealous missionary for over twenty years, brought in Dw his good wife, whose only ornamentation (beyond a necktie of green osquito netting) was a row of wolf's teeth about her shoulders, this, Ithough her appearance was drooping in the extreme, made her seem hat the Lah-de-dah styled, "a most .vage old pawty. " Among the Huests came a chief factor from some remote post of the Hudson's Bay ompany's preserves, and upon his arm his good wife, gorgeous in a lurple silk gown, its glory being somewhat eclipsed by several rows of d worsted braid trimming the skirt, '.vhile the bodice vN'as more gor- ously ornamented with muskrat tails, which in the Red River jig, gave e good soul the appearance of a feminine version of The Pied Piper she dos-u-do'd across the set. The only thing that marred the pro- edings happened when the guests were being announced, and Dobbs, ho acted as footman on the occasion, announcing a portly trader from e far north, as " Mr. Dewiggle Diggs." " Dewiggle Diggs," shouted Dobbs, his face as immovable as a beef- ter. "Well, what d'ye want?" demanded that gentleman, turning from is Lordship's outstretched hand to bend on Dobbs a look of irate inquiry. But this little pleasantry did not detract from the delights of that ening. His Lordship dispensed hospitality like the thorough gentleman the old school which he undoubtedly was ; using great tact in keep- g the native ladies from squatting upon the flc > • after the fashion of eir training, by actively moving about, offering here an arm, there a air and altogether adding to his popularity by his innate good l)reed- and courtesy. 30 The La-de-da h from London. ^ w% Mollie behaved so prettily that D. G. Periwinkle-Brown was hope- lessly enchained forever. During the evening, and af 2r she had sung " Killarney " sweetly but timidly, playing a piano accompaniment while Mrs. Major beat time with both feet quite correctly, and the Major, blow- ing his nose violently to cover the tears that crept from somewhere moved away because the notes bird-like and heart touching stirred the Irish soul of him. " Angels fold their wings and rest In that Island of the west " — sang sweet Mollie. It was no use, Mrs. Major cried then and there and she wasn't ashamed of it either and she said so, and Mollie blushing at her owr, daring in attempting to sing before so many people was borne off froii: the crowd upon the arm of a super-elegant young man, who, on the ver anda, among other foolish declarations, at one word announced that hi; estate heretofore known to the whole country as " Brittania Manor, should henceforth be called — Killarney ! So you see that although Troy was lost through a woman, *' Brit^ lania Manor " was captured by another. The La-de-dah made a fine settler. He had already spent six thou sand pounds and he was promisingly in debt. His first crop had been failure, but that was an accident. He was late in seeding, and the hari vest was delayed, and several things combined to make things unsuccess ful. There was smut in the seed he bought, and ' mustard ' was thicke: than the grain, and a market was out of the queslion ; however AuiiT Toe answered the demands magnificently, and she had moreover seni him out some boxes. The freight charges on them was heavy it is truet| but the contents were well worth the expenditure. There were curtains of finest lace, tapestry hangings for portieres term somewhat puzzling to Lower Flat) ; paintings of family greatness! chiefly appearing in High Chancellor robes or three cornered hats of tb^ Lord Mayor pattern ; these Mrs. Major took to be " play acthors," anij Dick had to use great caution in explaining aloud each lionorable officia to avoid outspoken mistakes. Axminster rugs and cushions of rare silke: stuffs ; a candelabra of silver, and bits of rare china for the dining roomg Mrs. Major saw and kept silent, but going home she observed witij astute reasoning backed by an unassailable belief "I'll go bail 'tisi pawnshop the owld Ant he's kapin' ; musha, how ilse cud she get thi: quare foldherols?" The La-de-dah from London. 31 Brown was hope- ^ All this grandeur at " Killarney " was the cause of pleasant tiuie- i 2r she had sung j|>sing by the owner. He gave evening parties, borrowing the Major's onipaniment while ^j^^ ^|,q acted as chaperon to the young people, and jolly were the im- id the Major, blow- ||fomptu dances in the large rooms with their modern art decorations ; d there too were caps set for a certain well-to-do gentleman who was lite to all, but devoted to one only. Sometimes during the winter enings they gathered around the big square stove in the Major's big g shanty, and occasionally diinced to the music of Bob McHeath's fid- e ; and Mrs. Major was the merriest one there, for the crop had paid 11, and in the market her own butter always brought five cents a und above all other butter, and the trip back to the ' owld sod ' seemed blessed reality and almost in view. The spring came round again and with it the work and anxieties be- nging to farm life. The La-de-dah was not satisfied with having three ndred acres cropped ; he rented the adjoining place, and put extra nds on, and what a prospect it was ! Five hundred acres of yellow aiu nodding tipsily in the August sun, drunk in its own wine ! The ospect was great. The Major had fields that smiled with promise ; Dick saw Sally ftus flitting about among the rich wheat, and his calculations for an eding, and the har JJdition to his shanty took solid form now ; nevertheless, like the Major, ke things unsucces&l* watched the weather. The reapers w^ere being brought out from last year's shelter ; great kings went on at the various farm Louses, the grain was ripe, almost dy for the knife, and the big arms of the reaper would soon be beat- the air to the driver's tune, while the luscious sheaves, coin in them- ves, would cumber the fields with riches. The Major was standing by the gate watching the cows pass in one one to where Mollie, a bright pail in each hand, stood, waiting for ckled Beauty and Blinky, her own especial care ; Mrs. Major, her ut arms akimbo and bearing a couple of milking pails, was coming m the direction of the dairy. " I belave " said the Major, shutting the gate slowly and looking rhead with misgiving glance "there's frost threatenin' wife !" " 'Tis that same thing was in me own mind O ' Toole " answered t lady in a troubled tone, adding, as her eye swept the sea of standing in," ye'll sind the poor bye worred — shure if he lose his crap again ill be ruination ; I hear Pindher sayin' wan day thatbarrin' the crap t from somewhere uching stirred the it Mollie. re and she wasn't lushing at her own /as borne off froii; n, who, on the ver announced that hi^ 'Brittania Manor, h a woman, " Britj jady spent six thou rst crop had been i] ustard ' was thick e: ion ; however Auu had moreover seiii ^'as heavy it is truefe wgs ior portieres ^g 3f family greatness! ornered hats of tb( play acthors," an« h honorable officia shions of rare silk e: or the dining rooiuj she observed witi? 'I'll go bail 'tisi ie cud she get Ihil 1 ' 32 The La-de-dah from London. the gosoon have nawthin' at all, at all. He's a dacent bye, on'y a bit spiled be his aucesthers. " '• ri go over and warm him aunyway " said the good man slippin).' his pipe into a pocket, and stepping out in the direction of *' Killarney.' "Frost!" The La-de-dah laughed heartily; "frost in August !" Who evah hea'd of such a preposterous absurdity ? Why, the day had been so warm Brooky wasqjiite indisposed ; but if the Majaw, who really was awfully kind, advised, why, to morrow — if Brooky was bettah and approved " — why he would proceed to "cut forthwith. That night the frost fell, swiftly, silently. The morning sun rose oi: four hundred acres of blighted grain ; black, dwarfed — ruined. Brook, swore and swore roundly that he never knew of an early frost in all hi: experience before. But words were of no avail. The crop was a teetota. i loss and I). G. Periwinkle-Brown was a beggar. . Face to face with this overwhelming difficulty the Lah-de-dah froiij London paused by his blighted acres, paused and thought. His entin crop gone ; the "improvements" in bills and costs weighing like le«i on his trou1)led mind ; his bank account badly on the wrong side, and but one hope now left : another call on Aunt Toe. To his credit be it understood, he did not lift up his voice and ens the countr}- ; nor did he denounce that convenient scapegoat for di^ appointed speculators, the government ! He did not blame the latitud nor rail at Providence ; none of these things did the Lah-de-dah — In simply stood by his blighted and blackened acres and thought. The Major had saved his crop by laboring all night, keeping up smud| ges, ably assisted by his good wife, who, as she said, scorned the idea c " slaping comfortably in me feather bed whin O'Toole was thrubbled ; that good woman stirred up the smoky turf, bearing tufts of sod to ad to the smothered fires laid along the fence line, the thick canopy c smoke acting as a shield over the grain, keeping off that fell enemy t prairie fields, early frost. Dick had secured his material wealth by pu: ting on extra hands, and working himself like a serf, providing the stanr ing grain with the same protection as the good Major ; and here was ox. friend, the Lah-de-dah, otherwise D. G. Periwinkle-Brown, late of Lor don, England, and gentleman-farmer, surveying his ruined propects an beginning to feel that his ideas, together with his hopes, were bankruf with his credit ; acknowledging, with some inward stabs — self-inflicted The La-de-da h krom London. 83 nt bye, on'y a bit /that by taking the Major's advice he could have avoided this last and crowning disaster. { All at oua he became conscious of some undefinable breath of content- ^lent, something like balm stole over his senses, and he turned to find a air of blue-grey Irish eyes looking up at him, and misty with the heart's evv, tears. " Why, Mollie! " he exclaimed, taking off his cap and smiling down n her, "I'm contemplating my failyahs you see ; trying to figuah my- elf out of this hole ; " he swept one nrm in the direction of the lackened acres. " Ma sent me over, INIr. Periwinkle-Brown, to af.k you to come o supper ; Mr. lUnning brought all our mail up too, and there are ome letters Mr. Dick says" — pretty Mollie's voice began to aver, she could keep the tears back no longer — "I'm so sor 1 rood man slipping n of "Killarney.' frost in August !" Why, the day ha('; Majaw, who really ay was bettah au'l orning sun rose or —ruined. Brook, arly frost in all hi- crop was a teetota e Tvah-de-dah fron lought. His eutiii weighing like le«i le wrong side, and his voice and rii.^ scapegoat for di" blame the latitud le Lah-de-dah — iid ;hought. keeping up smud corned the idea c was thrubbled ; ufts of sod to ad : thick canopy c that fell enemy t rial wealth by pu: )roviding the stanc and here was ou Brown, late of Lor uined propects at Des, were bankrir abs~self-inflicted nean we are all so sorry." Then little Mollie began to cry, like the ten- ler-hearted soul she was, and right there, out upon the open plain in full view of the trail and above his blighted possessions, the La-de-dali took VIollie into his arms and told her that he loved her. INIen are such oddly ;onstructed beings, that, finding themselves in one difficulty flounder- ing, they blindly plunge into a greater. Now, Mollie O' Toole was a properly trained young woman. vShe im- lediately wriggled herself out of the awkward position of being caged |n the arms of a handsome young man — in broad day. She moreover, Luew that D. G. Periwinkle-Brown was a gentleman. She understood the relative positions of the descendant of conquering kings and the heir p Aunt Toe's millions, and the daughter of a plain settler out west ; so hat, when La-da-dah, surrounded by his losses, borne down by his grosses, and contemplating nothing but disaster (why should he not lake the final plunge and drag somebody down with him ? misery, es- becially male misery, likes company) proposed to pretty Mollie and was \efused ! It knocked D. G. Periwinkle-Brown, descendant of couquer- ig kings and "busted " genilenian-farnier, out. The vulgar frost light be blind to his value as a " gentleman settler ; " fate might treat iim as it would any ordinary person, but to be refused by a bread-and- butter-Miss out on the prairies of the unenlightened Territories, it knocked D. G. Periwinkle-Brown out ! He stared at Mollie, gasped once or twice, then asked " whethaw '' le " undahstood " that he " weally meant that he would marry her ? " pT" 84 The La-de-dah from London. and MoUie, blushing and crying at once, shook her pretty head while she dug wells in the sod with an agitated toe, and said she '* never, never, never, could think of such a thing ; " and then, for fear she must cry out that she loved him, loved him the more because of his losses, she turned like a mad thing and ran down the» trail, leaving the L/a-de-dah standing there as if thunderstruck. '* It is not often a well-to-do young man with prospects, sees a pretty girl, especially a poor one, runiimg/^otn him, and the La-dedah lost none of the peculiar effect. Pretty Mollie, her black hair floating out, her vsmall feet seeming scarcely to touch the earth as she ran, her pink gown waving about her like rose leaves, passed from sight, and then it was that La-de-dah heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. "Gad!" was his ejaculation, " whatevah would I have done if she had said — yas ? Kawncy the little Kinajin refiisin' me ! Of course she knew I nevah meant it ; — I — I believe I — rathaw did though ; 'pon my wa'd its' a jolly shame ! Of co'rse she — she nevah dreamed I- meant it ! She rc/nsed, eh? Oh, well, I'll go back to Awnt Toe ! This fawmin' is a bloomin' humbug any w " "Farming is all right," broke in Dick, suddenly appearing and bringing a strong hand down upon the La-de-dah's shoulder, " it's tryin^i to farm iLnthoul farininp; that is the trouble !" " Now, I say, Workman !" stammered the young man, "haven't I — I spent evah so much ? Haven't I done " "You've spent a deal too much and done nothing," said Dick deter- minedly. "Look at all that flummery," pointing to the pumping ap- paratus which loomed up a monument to folly ; look at that lawn ! use] less! look at that artificial lake! (there was nothing but the hollow) — " useless ; look at the gravelled walks and arbours ! useless ! I tell you what it is Brown " (Dick always dropped the hyphen when he was iir earnest) " if you want to succeed out West you've got to roll up your' leeves and go at farming like a man !" " Now, Workman, I — say ; that's all right and I da' say quite cor- rect, but you undahstawnd I am not — oh, well ; you know me Awnt' Toe" ' "Oh!" said Dick suddenly remembering something and plunging^ both hands into pockets, " I'v* got a letter for you, here it is ; Binning' brought it up, and yes, the Major — I mean Mrs. Major wants you to come down to supper." ^ le Id at ul 3 e ( lac Thk La-dk-dah from London. 85 etty head while ■ D. G. Periwinkle-Brown was making a slit in the large envelope with lid she " never, d handsome pearl-handled pen-knife as he said : — " See heah Workman, or fear she must ^m goin' to cut the whole bloomin' thing ; fawmin' may be all right of his losses, she g the La-de-dah cts, sees a pretty 2 La-de-dah lost lair floating out, lie ran, her pink ight, and then it have done if she / Of course she id though; 'pon rah dreamed I- ^wnt Toe ! This ly appearing and dder, " it's trying man, "haven't I said Dick deter- ' the pumping ap- that lawn ! use- but the hollow) iseless 1 I tell you when he was in J \t to roll up your Ida' say quite cor- know me Awnt lug and plunging| lere it is ; Binning' rants you to come )u know, I don't say it isn't, you know, but I fawncy it requiahs ^ell, it requiahs a special sawt of er of education, you know ; I've scided to cut the whole thing ; I'll cable Awnt Toe for funds to squayah this affayah, and I'll go" "What's wrong?" shouted Dick. The Londoner suddenly ceased )eaking, his eyes widened, his jaw dropped, his hands clenched the ige of a letter with trembling grasp. He grew pale, turned ashen in )lor, then with a gasp of terror tumbled against the fence like one tricken. " God bless me, man !" said Dick, bending over, *' have you got bad »ws?" It was a helpless pitiful glance that turned to Dick ; the La-de- ih laid trembling hands upon the top rail of the supporting fence, beads sweat came out upon his forehead, his cheeks seemed to hollow with le pallor there, his eyes were fixed oii Dick's as if craving sympathy, id he moaned : ^' H/e Awn I Toe is is .^oiff.i{ ^<^ ^^' larmv//" Dick burst out laughing so sudden was the revulsion of feeling. He iid imagined for one awful moment that Aunt Toe had gone the way of |e Conqueror as well as all ordinary flesh ; " Married !" shouted Dick, lacking his leg and roaring out a hearty guffaw that seemed to jar his )ebegone companion painfully indeed — "Married!" Dick rocked nself upon heel and toe in the most reckless fashion out of sheer ex- 5s of humor. "Then Brown," he shouted, " your cake is dough old |v ! fiozu you'll succeed in spite of yourself !" Dick went back to the Major's without the La-de-dah, who remained iging over the fence, bathed in mental mourning, bemoaning his Rubles, by this crowning grief intensified. Dick told all the wonderful rs, making MoUie gasp a little and turn dizzy ; but she suddenly re- |mbered that the chickens wanted feeding and she went away hastily. Major said nothing, but smoked thoughtfully, relying on his good [e to express the family opinion, which she did after cautiously look- around the apartment, by solemnly saying. " thim poor craythers av' jlishers, shure they has no sinse at all at all." After this, the La-de-dah did not appear at the Major's attired in irt riding breeches, as was his wont. He rode by sometimes, when jH" 36 Thk I^a-de-dah from London. Mollie and her mother were milking but he would merely touch his cap! with his gold-tipped riding whip, and it always so happened that Speckle Beauty would switch her tail (scornfully maybe) in Mollie'sface, causing the tears to gather, and Mrs. O'Toole would whisper across : " The poor bye, 'tis thrubbled he he's look in', I wondher if he have plinty t' ate ? " And Speckle-Beauty would behave as I have said, onl} worse than ever. One evening Dick came strolling along, and sat down to have smoke with the Major, outside the door ; near by sat Mollie mending stout pair of woollen socks, and with the help of her active ears becatiit aware that Jewery, who accomodated people with loans at 28 per cent and who had been particularly agreeable in this sense to the La-de-dal. had attached all the lands, machinery, cattle, horses and chattels, iucludiii, the lawns and artificial lakes upon which so much had been squanden. that I). G. Periwinkle-Brown had that very day been served with all sort of obnoxious papers by the ungodly, but determined sheriff ; tlia Brooky was pressing certain claims for back pay as manager of the e^ tate, in short, the uncomfortable fact remained thdt D. G. Periwiuklt Brown was, in Nor'-West parlance, "in the soup ! " The Major was deeply sorry for this very foolish young man, an Mollie stayed close by and held her breath while he said so, but wlie Mrs. Major took up the unpleasant argument, saying, " Shure how cul the gossoon thrive at all at all, whin a man slapes in his comfortable bei OLtil tin o'clock in the day, an' be the same token depindin' on a cha acL ler like wan Brooky fer t' be doin' his juties, shure how cud U thrive? Faix dhressin' up in foine clo's an' ridin' about the countli; wasn't far-rmin' in anny sinse av' the wor-rd ; an' whin' a gossoon \s( foine cloth instead av' sinsible overalls an' a flannin' shurt, goin' bi ryin' av' a jew at 28 per cint, shure how cud ", but little Mollie w off up to her small room under the log eaves, her face close pressed ii a pillow, sobbing and shivering ; then she crept into bed, saying ov and over again : " Oh ! why — (sob) why — did (sob) n't — (sob) I — say \ (sob)— y— es?" Our friend, the L/a-de-dah, being now "served" out of house afl home, took up his residence with Dick. He did not answer his Aii Toe's letter ; he felt that he could not ofiFer congratulations on what considered a family affliction. His last hope was shattered. The La-dk-dah from London. 87 rely touch his cap ^ The winter opened early and went on stormy and angry in temper ; 'ned that Spcckk- the pleasant evenings at the Major's hospitable hearth were interrupted llie'sface, causing iiow, as Dick would not go and leave his companion alone, the Lah-de- ah refusing all social enjoyments ; his evenings were given to sitting fore the blaze of a comforting chimney yawning warmth and home ttractions, but therein the La-de-dah saw misery and broken longings nly. He now began to sec small errors in Mrs. Major's grammar which nder sunnier aspects he had overlooked. MoUie was ever the same iweet flower-like thing, but her mother overcame much of that sweetness y what Dick insisted on calling her "naturalness " ! One day there was a hauling-bee at the Major's, in which the cHeaths, the Reeds, the McPaddens and other neighbours were taking eighbourly part — the hauling-bee being an industry in which pleasure nd profit combine — Mrs. Major had set an excellent table, and there was ray Nelson fingering the slender neck of his fiddle, twanging the most oaxing chords one could imagine, and the girls who had come in laugh g and stamping off the snow, were in full readiness for the first call of honors all " ! Dick himself led MoUie out and Mrs. Major was drum- ing the more bashful lads out of corners, " Come, Tom McPadden ! do er juty now, there's Jocky behind ye waitin' fer ye t' take Christy ere ; don't be hindherin' the bye ; faix, if I was young and good-lookin' eself 'tis not at aise me feet 'ud be ! " D, G. Periwinkle-Brown sat in a corner moodily watching the merry his comfortable ^^^^ancers, seeing pretty Mollie like a bird flitting here and there in the gay epindin' on a cha ^q\ and almost wishing he had not come at all. Then he began to shure how cud ^Wsh other things ; quite a contrary line of thought surged through his about the counthmQ^^le^j mind, and was beginning to think he would ask Mollie for the hin' a gossoon w<^'^ext dance when his ears at that moment caught Bob McHeath's shurt, goin' ^^^^ords : (Bob admired Mollie quite openly.) " Well, Mrs. O'Toole, if I didn't know better I'd most believe Mollie d a beet-leaf in her pocket ; look at that for a bit of pink-an'-white mplexion ! I never see the like !" Dick wanted to knock his inof- sive neighbor down then and there, and was on the point of calling m outside to inflict summary punishment of this nature when Mrs. ajor's innocent rejoinder broke on his ear as she cast a look of pro- ud admiration at Mollie : "Pink an' whoite is it? Faix byes av' ye her sthripped !" Dick went away more determined than ever to cut whole thing. cross : rondherifhe have i I have said, onl} .t down to have ; MoUie mending active ears becani msaf28 per cent e to the La-de-dal: ^ d chattels, includin ladbeeu squanden served with all sort nined sheriff; tba manager of the e; ^t D. G. Periwinklt sh young man, an said so, but wbt! " Shure how cu| m' but little Mollie [ace close pressed ii ito bed, saying ov| n't— (sob) I— say y " out of house afl lot answer his A^^ Itulations on what mattered. 38 The La-de-dah from London. With the long hard winter, things had come to a hopeless end for the La-de-dah. Jewery's claim had been satisfied according to Lower Flat law, and Brooky by way of satisfaction for his demands was possessor of ** Killarney" once more. The oil fields had not come to anything ; " evi- dences of coal " were still vague and the shiny rock still glistened inno- cently ; and now Brooky turned his attention to other newcomers in search of improved farms. D. G. Periwinkle-Brown had come to his last dollar, not only that, but Black Beauty, that bore him gorgeous in white corduroys, so proudly over the hummocky prairie, his shining spurs and gold-tipped riding whip the envy of envious swains — Black Beauty too fell under the hammer of the remorseless Law ; and one evening little Mollie seated by her small window saw returning from town afoot, the La-de-dah, his head drooping, his smart riding whip trailing the ground, "footsore and weary," as a romantic and sympathetic little heart thought — coming back without Black Beauty ! The young man did not keep the trail which led by the Major's door, but made a dftour going the old road, avoiding her, Mollie tliought, while a big sob crushed gasping breaths, and a deal of sighing and a sad commotion was smoth- ered up in the folds of Mollie's handkerchief and at that moment the Major leading " Star-e5'es," Mollie's own horse, passed the window and took the turn towards the slough. With a bound she was down the crazy stairs, a sunbonnet drawn on in rakish but charming fashion and down the slope to where Star-eyes was luxuriously drinking. Mollie's lips were up to the Major's ear, where, without preliminary prayer a gasping, gurgling con- fession was poured therein, and the astonished old gentleman by way of benediction handed the bridle to his little girl, saying : — '* God bless ye, my gurl, yes, yes !" In a second she was on Star-eyes' back flying over the grass — oddly enough by the round-a-bout path too — and the curious stars began to peer with inquisitive blinks, when a lone figure upon the trail hearing a hurrying rider galloping down the road, stepped aside to let the trav- eler go by ; but the pony stopped precisely at the spot where the lone figure was standing, and into that lone figure's eyes two Irish orbs lov- ingly, silently looked, while within his hands was pressed the rein- of Star-eyes' bridle and pretty Moilie, having slipped to the ground, was sobbing : — "I — wan — t — you — to — to — ha — ve — him — He's mine — I mean he's — yours — yours ; oh, don't — don't say — n — no,— don't say — no — oo!" The La-de-dah from London. 39 Si ilessendforthe ; to Lower Flat /vas possessor of ny thing ; "evi- glistened inno- r newcomers in had come to his lim gorgeous in lis shining spurs s— Black Beauty ,ue evening little town afoot, the lip trailing the nnpathetic little The young man nt made a dltonr a big sob crushed ation was smoth- loment the Major (low and took the .he crazy stairs, a down the slope to DS were up to the ng, gurgling con- lenian by way of l_"God bless ye, the grass — oddly Lis stars began to [he trail hearing a to let the trav- [)t where the lone 170 Irish orbs lov- Iressed the rein- of j the ground, was line— I mean he's Isay — no — oo I" •'You remember MoUie — darling, you said — wf? " somebody said very softly, and sadly ; and just then, Star-eyes moved so perilously near that the La-de-dah had to place his arm — to guard Mollie of course — be- tween that pink gown and Star-eyes' fuzzy coat, and by some chance Mol- lie got tangled up in the arm, or the reins, or both, and out of respect for a young man already in great tribulatiou and, as is usual, dangerously near to greater — the big blushing moon, who is feminine in feeling, I suppose — drew over her astonished face a cloud, and the gaping stars, ever inquisitive, were balked that time at least. It wasn't ten minutes later when a very jaunty you ig man went back upon the same grass-grown way, a bridle flung over one arm, and the other but never mind ; his head was up, and such ringing laughter as went out over the billow)^ green ! And a young lady, lately silent and subdued, was now chattering like a magpie, as they approached the gate where the Major, smoking an evening pipe comfortably, looked up to say : " I'm glad ye tuk her me boy, she's a bit liar-r-d in the bit at times, but a little coaxin' an' patience '11 keep her frum thricks, an' me boy " (taking the La-de-dah's hand in a friendly grasp) "she's yours an' [welkim !" "Yes — Major, I thank you from my heart but I don't think —we'll have any trouble that way shall we, Mollie ?" " God bless my soul !" ejaculated the Major, drawing himself up in Ian attitude that said "Present arms," " I I meant the baste." 1" And I meant Mollie, sir !" was the answer. That night the La de-dah rode back to Dick's shanty poorer in ,ealth and richer in joy than I could tell ; Dick was there, with an inxious face — Brooky had failed him in the promise of to- morrow's rail- lauling ; to his astonishment D. G. Periwinkle-Brown immediately vol- inteered to take "the job." "You," says Dick with a laugh," I [bought you were going to cut the whole thing ?" " I was " — avers the La-de-dah stoutly, " but I've decided to put gentleman fawmin." And sure enough on the morrow the La-de-dah donned a pair of )veralls, and went into work "with both hands," as Dick afterwards [onfided to the Major. Perhaps he didn't come out too strong on rail- lauling at first ; and for some time he looked at his hands with rueful ^ J i fl t mi "p i' 40 The LA-DE-DAH from lyONDON. glances, while Dick looked the other way, and coughed a terribly alarm- ing cough ; and occasionally — but not often — overslept himself on busy days, but Dick forgave much. He learned to guide the plough and swear in a wonderfully short time ; he managed the oxen old Buck and Bright so well that when he hollered "haw" when he meant "gee," and they obeyed instantly, and he said "I beg your pawdon," the dumfoundered brutes stopped promptly ; they were'nt used to it you see. Sometimes they took into their stupid heads that D. G. Periwinkle- Brown was tired following the furrow, and they would dash into the slough carrying the plow and the La-de-dah with them, but Dick was always ready to go to his assistance and haul him out again. He learned the cunning of the churn witL its ceaseless dash-splash-dash, out oi* sheer gallantly, by offering to relieve Mrs. Major one day, and in return that ladj'^ said ** MoUie must larn the goosoon t' milk the cows like a dacint bye ;" and the I/a-de-dah die thereupon receive his first lesson seated close beside pretty Mollie, while the white stream made its milky way into the bright pails. The La-de-dah seated upon the milking stool made brave efforts tc overcome his repugnance to such things and only asked Mollie once, ir hearing of her mother *• I say, — how shawl I know when to stawp ?" aiic Mrs. Major with a twinkle assured him '• shure ye tur-rn aflf a tap in he hor-rr-ns ;" but the La-de-dah notwithstanding these little pleasantrie found out how to milk, and when to stop too. Some of the fatalities at tending his first eflforts in the wheat field, when binding the sheave ended disastrously, and he shocked the workmen instead of the grain when he tumbled off the hay mow and very nearly impalec' himself o: the pitching fork ; when bis first effort in laundry work — after the mar ner of batching companions, was tried, by tying his clothes to the lini of a tree, and s'^flfering the tide to act as purifier — the tide behaved strongl on such occasions and bore away the whole array, and the Lah-de-da was reduced to accepting a share of Dick's once disdained wardrobe. These things are told at Lower Flat yet, and more may not be st down here because — Aunt Toe changed her mind after all, but this w not known until Mollie had ventured all her happiness in a small wo: of three letters that spell a whole lifetime of weal or woe, and the La-di dah from London having become a bona fide settler, lost, it is true, t'r^ patronage of the Hon. and Lawrence Hall, but he gained tl| respect and confidence of the Flat. By the sweat of his brow he floats The La-dr-oah from I^ondon. 41 i a terribly alarm - >t himself en busy wonderfully short ^ell that when he obeyed instantly, ■ed brutes stopped mes they took into tired following the the plow and the JO to his assistance the churn with its r offering to relieve oUie must larn the , ;he La-de-dah die pretty MoUie, while pails. ade brave efforts t( iked MoUie once, ir hen tostawp?" aui ir-rn aff a tap in he ; little pleasantrie : of the fatalities at inding the sheave nstead of the grain impalec* himself o: rork— after the mar clothes to the \m ide behaved strongl ind the Lah-de-da1 ained wardrobe, nore may not be s* ifter all, but this w lesp in a small wo: woe, and the La-dt j lost, it is true, tl I, but he gained t ,f his brow he float t of all his financial difficulties, becoming after all not only the heir to tAunt Toe's millions, but through the influence of Mrs. Major, which Iproved to be as convincing as her grammar, was asked to contest the onstituency against the son of the Hon. Tiptop, and not only won the lection from his opponent, but won from Mrs. Major the tribute, " The oor bye, 'tis no mistake he was a bit saft .a the brane, an' was the etther av a bit coolin' but shure undher all his thrubbles he behaved ike a dacint bye ; an' faix I belave 'twas Mollie sayin' no, med a man «av' him." !f J 12 RlRIv. Ricl. A wandering Wild-bird from its prairie nest Roamed amid clouds beneath an alien sky ; The poise of eagle in that haughty crest, And one wild dream : Higher and still more high And o'er this lovely prairie land there fell The blight of a proud heart's unrest : Riel ! Slumbered the camp. The fields were fair to see ; Wigwam and shack grouped 'neath a peaceful sky, And over this young land the bonds of harmony Were rudely broken by a fierce war-cry — And on swift wings of Hate from Passion's hell Rose hand 'gainst brother's hand : Riel ! Above the din of battle, hollow sounds Of drum, sad dying moans we hear. Empty saddles, broken ranks, new-made mounds Upon the prairie's bleeding breast. Then a British cheer That ends in a wild wail ! from wigwam hear the swell In that deep cry of anguish and reproach : Riel ! Oh, Wild-bird ! had'st thou raised thy voice — Not in a note of discord — but in song That would have made this prairie laud rejoice To call thee son ! But thou did'st quicken wrong. And left to Time saddest of words to tell : — Writ in his brother'' s blood the rebel name : Riel ! An Kpisode at Ci^arke's Crossing. 43 n Episode at Clarke's Crossing high see ; :ul sky, ly 11 nds British cheer the swell el! wrong, liel ! ;iv >]d Old Peter Larue was indisputably the caliphate of the plains ; an auth- rity on any subject that might be introduced in any of the four languages ; nglish (broken), French, Sioux and Cree (which he would seldom use). Daddy Pete, as he was called, had but one grandchild, the only aughter of his son Modoste, and the old man doted on his human flower ith a love and devotion almost beyond belief. Daddy Pete was the sole link between the early days, when no foot- all save that of the moccasined hunter trod the prairie, and the buflFalo wept across the plains in droves, like black clouds, and fast encroaching ilization with its noisy railways, its awkward river ferries, its improve- ents that came creeping on like an incoming tide, wiping away all the landmarks, sweeping away old-time associations, and making a new ra in the West. With the innovations Daddy Pete (being an aristocrat y nature) would have nothing to do. When the half-picturesque half- iqualid splendour of life began to be lost, when *' the Company " began o cater to new settlers, then Daddy Pete drew his blanket about him and cornfully moved further West. He would go to the Company's no more, arter in peltries and other native riches were solemnly conducted by odeste, and for company's sake he sometimes took his black-eyed aughter along, the gay-striped blankets and colored beads filling Tan- is' young mind with longings new to the prairie maid. Daddy Pete's proud boast was that he '* never see no railway," and e threatened many times to move camp when the advent of some Mis- ionary gave signs of encroaching influence. To such Modoste gave a arm welcome, for the black-eyed daughter had with her savage ways in- rested His Ivordship greatly, when in those annual trips he saw her. is Lordship pitied her ignorance, and admired her beauty, and calling odrste aside explained to him his great responsibility, the magnificent opportunity, with the help of this child, for doing something towards the rand work of salvation. He should educate her, prepare her, not for the Ft 44 An Episode at Ci^arks's Crossing, wandering life of the camp, but for home and motherhood. All this sounded vague to Modt^ste but he understood it to mean that ' his gal ' was different to other women of the camp, and the Bishop's fair daughter had taken Tannis kindly by the hand and led her to the drawing-room filled with beautiful things, sowing in this way the first seeds of Chris- tianity — and discontent — in the Indian girl's mind. To Clarke's Crossing then came Mr. Penrhyn, his boyish face full of youthful enthusiasm, came to do his Master's work — the work of salva- tion. He went out on the chase with Modeste, and after one particular day the latter announced to Daddy Pete that Tannis was to be sent away to the white man's school. To Daddy Pete this came as a death blow. Who would help him prepare the bait for the traps ? Who would seek out the rabbit lairs ? Who would make the snares and tan the skins, and who | would sight the game — for Daddy Pete's eyes were growing dim like long-^ urned candles. To all those questions Modeste answered nothing. He squatted by the camp fire with his pipe the while the old man argued, then after a long silence he spoke : — " Newitcha will come to the camp. Newitcha is strong ; Newitcha will trap the beaver, snare the rabbit, pre- pare the bait, Newitcha is strong. " Daddy Pete stood up, his blanket trailing about him, and his words were full of anger : " Bring a Cree woman to camp ? A Cree woman take the place of his lit'le gal ! No ! ten times no ! Had he not stalked the game and hunted buflFalo for sixty-nine years ? Had he not followed in the chase and trapped the silver-fox T Had he not worked, saved, starved for his lit'le gal — and now bring Newitcha, a Cree woman to fill her place ? No ! Ten times no ! That night the old man sat by the river many long hours smoking.' his pipe of kinnikinic, thoughtful, sad, fearing much ; and when the next evening came, Newitcha, brass ringed, her face daubed with yellov paint, followed Modeste into camp trudging under the burden of skins— her marriage portion — as befitted the wife of the bravest trapper aloug : the banks of the Saskatchewan, Daddy Pete sighed. Between the old man and the Cree wife there was unspoken enmity. Newitcha was strong ; she was up before dawn laboring and carrying alK day ; she tanned the pelts and gathered the campa- berry to make pemnii can; she built the strong willow stands whereon hung the bear meat dry ing in the sun . Truly she was strong, but she hated Tannis and shel hated the old man. An Episodb at Clarke's Crossing. 46 rhood. All this n that 'his gal' op's fair daughter tie drawing-room it seeds of Chris- loyish face full of he work of salva- er one particular IS to be sent away as a death blow, ^ho would seek out the skins, and who growing dim like answered nothing, he old man argued, :ome to the camp lare the rabbit, pre- bd up, his blanket ike the place of his ed the game and owed in the chase ;d, starved for his fill her place ? No ng hours smoking :h ; and when the iaubed with yellow burden of skins- vest trapper aloug \ unspoken enmity ng and carrying aV j rry to make pemnii the bear meat dry :ed Tannis and shd It was summer then and Daddy Pete with his " lit' legal " could roam )ver the plain all day long. At night the air was soft, the grass was Lind and the sky watched over them as they sometimes slept under the Eottouwood trees. With delight the old man would snare a prairie phicken, and by the river he and his chattering grand-child would build fire in a little hollow scooped out of the ground, line it with hot coals >lacing therein the fowl in all its feathers, heaping the savoury bit with |ed coals, until the tender flesh was done ; then upon a table of nature's nvn laying they would feast in innocent happiness and delight, whisper- ing to each other loving words, and look guardedly over 3#«*nshoulders ,'hen they breathed Newitcha's name. C%( Then came i day when word from the Bishop, good man, who lad arranged with Madam at Montreal, to take the prairie laid and educate her — that Tannis was to go. Daddy Pete, after a )ng day's fasting alone among the cottonwoods, fought out the battle nth his own heart, and won just because his only desire was to do what- ;^er was best for "lit'le gal ;" but Daddy Pete must himself see her off on le first stage of the long, long journey, he would go as far as the Com- my's with his " lit'le gal." The Red River carts were got ready for the overland trip which lust be made a paying one. Modeste would bring back freight for the Company, and away from the Crossing one June day went the creaking irts one after the other along the trail leading to the Company's Post. [here final preparations were completed for the trip to Winnipeg ; there )od-by's were said, speechless ones on the part of Daddy Pete, joyous the part of the dusky maid perched on the rear of the last cart rattling [ong the grass-grown trail, swinging her stout legs encased in newly- saded leggings, her tawny tresses a lovely tangle about her bright face, ;r bare and sun-burned arms waving good-bye while she shouted : |Goo' by e Daddy ; dun fergit t' feed mi' whi' rabbit, an' min' dun' Newi'cha smash d' palin's behin' de ol' shad, fer de fox'll git -y — y, goo' by Dad— d- 1" A bend in the road and she was lost to view. Then over the dust- Irred trail, and above the rattle of the crasy wheels came to Daddy ^e's ears the cry of the wild plover — this being the well-known signal tween them ever since she began to follow him about on the chase, leu she made the discovery of a new rabbit burrow, or another nest of kck eggs along the sloughs in the deep grass fringing the water. 46 An Episode at Ci.arke'vS Crossing. i -lii i III Daddy Pete tried to answer that cry with the old familiar call, to ■answer as he had done all the long happy years, but something like a pine knot forged itself into his throat, he threw up his arms, raised his eyes to the Great Spirit and then the tears fell, the first tears since he wept over his darling, a motherless babe thirteen years befot e. He turn ed around to pick up his staff to go back, but the Rev. Mr. Peurhyn was standing there too. Daddy Pete could have struck him down where he stood, but Daddy Pete must be excused a great deal ; he was a heathen ish old man who had been so long upon the plains that he had outgrow whatever goodness he had known, and he was unwilling that civilizatior should overtake him. •' Ah !" the clergyman said, walking by the side of the old man, ' . am too late, I see; I would have liked to have seen Tannis, to havt spoken with her, impressing upon her mind the evry^r^a/ advantage His Ivordship has secured for her. " You see, Peter," went on tli young divine, *' She will eventually be of great use to to us in on work ; of great use to have a native woman whose sympathies wi. be in touch with — the Indian mind Mr. Penrhyn stopped. Th face of the old man turned now towards him, was distorted by passion some inner emotion forced itself to the surface of his thought ; he opei: ed his shrunken lips to say something, but the words were left unsaic' his head, whitened by the many hard winters, and crowned by this ne grief bowed itself, and moving voiceless lips he trudged on. 11 There was little opportunity for Mr. Penrhyn to exercise his sacred office here ; the old man was bevond all human influences ; there w but one thing the clergyman could do — he did that fervently, devoutly he prayed that the dull old niaii might see in this the over-guiding Hau All this bad happened eight years before. Daddie Pete was eigii years older, and eight times eight years lonlier and sadder; and in a' the long weary months no word from Tannis, save through the occasio: al visits of Mr. Penrhyn, when on his mission he came to the Crossing At such times Daddy Pete alwa)'s went off on the hunt ; it seemed as' the minister's coming was the signal for the old man to go away to 1;^ wild haunts and away to the traps and snares he would go. All this }>9 Penrhyn saw and grieved for ; grieved that no good seed would take re; in this old man's hardened heart ; for surely it was very offensive aij wrong in an old man tottering upon the verge of the grave, not to gij heed to Christ's message. !!■ An Episode at CIvArke's Crossing. 47 Mr. Penrhyn had been fully ordained a minister ; he was an enthus- stic worker in the Vineyard, and he excited the admiration of the lisho'p, whose eyes began to look upon him as one worthy to take up le divine work, when he, now an old man, should be called ; and sonie- les — outside of prayer time — the Bishop looked at his lovely daughter, 1(1 thought Over study and hardships attendant on f%^ missionary life had im- lired IMr. Penrhyn's health. His Lordship thought a sea voyage might beneficial, but soaiething in the thought of going back to London [ade the clergyman tremble; an apprehensive glance, half timid, half ispairiug, he gave His Lordship, who, perhaps, suddenly remembering imething, moved restlessly across the room, and, placing a hand kindly )on the young man's head, murmured : — " He that cometli to Me shall never hiuifi^er, and he that believeth on ]e shall never thirst. ' ' [The temptations beyond the sea must not be risked ; the witchery of )ndon life contrasted with the deprivations of missionary labor might what mi^ht it not do? fust at this time of doubt, the mail, which came by slow and circuitous ite, reached His Lordship, and with it came the announcement of idam that Tannis Larue had completed her studies. Madam, jherown words, was sending her back "accomplished in person, amiable I mind," and Madam "hoped the care and attention lavished upon this \\0 child of the plains would repay His Lordship." (Madam might ;e more truthfully said "Daddy Pete," for the wealth of peltries that |nt to balance the expenses were provided by many a long day's chase) the cost of her education." You see, the phraseology was more deli- [e, but, after all, that was what was really meant. So, word having to be sent to Modeste, it was decided that Mr. Penr- I's holidays should be spent at the Crossing. A summer there would [Id up his strength ; the dangers of the city must be avoided, "/w season we shall reap if we faint not^^^ said the good Bishop. And ;arry word to Modeste went the young clergyman. Once more were the shaky old carts strung out upoi- the trail, so jed by travel and traffic that the grass had lost its habit of creeping lly over the roadway, and now shrank timidly back. Upon the front Cfime the young minister with Modeste, and behind them Daddy I '^ ^ 48 An Episode at Ci^arke's Crossing. Pete, his withered old face shining with a joy that seemed brighter than earth. He had come thus far, to where, eight years ago, he had said good-by to his "lit'le gal," " Hoh, boy ! " said the old man, turning to the minister and forget- ting his eight years' enmity, as Modiiste drove away along the trail, "niy Modes he cum plenty soon — two, five, twenty, 'leven days, hoh ! " Mr. Penrhyn was glad to find Daddy Pete in a friendly frame o: mind once more, and he walked back along the way, patiently listening to the garrulous old heathen, who was expressing his delight in exultau; chuckles, rubbing his claw-like yellow fingers together and repeating over and over again : " My lit'le gal cum some more plenty soon ; plent} rabbit, plenty duck, plenty berry, hoh ! " At the Company's, whither Daddy Pete carried his load of peltries the clergyman waited, while an exchange was made for powder and she in generous quantities, tea and tobacco in considerable supply, and, lii dim old eyes illumined bv genuine love-light, he demanded: "Hoh fixln's f'r gals?" This being out of the usual line of demands at the Company's, th puzzled attendant began a voluble jargon of Sioux, but Mr. Penrhyi; divining the old man's thoughts, explained that Modoste's daughter wa coming home from the East, and, doubtless, it was some gew-gaws Dadd Pete wanted. A gorgeous array of green, yellow and red blankets was produced, selection made by the old man, whose skinny fingers fumbled critical! over tex+ure and size. Then bright print stuffs, gilt pins, brass bell; rings, and bright beads in goodly supply were taken, against whic tawdry lot many a valuable pelt was piled by the Company ; and tl: minister looked on, noted, with pain, the simple delight of the silly ol man, and he sadly thought how all the years devoted to teaching tl; beautiful story of the Gospel were barren of results, and it grieved hii to think that this old man, over whom the shadow of death hung, shou, place his mind on things that perish, and the minister sighed. That evening beside the camp fire Daddy Pete, mumbling and sm: ing, spread out the purchases that were to be his offerings, his gifts — gif that would make glad the heart of his "little gal" ! This crimson riS bon to weave in her black hair ; these glittering beads to close about h^ throat ; these shining bands her bared arms to clasp. He mumbled ar* An Episode at Ci^arke's Crossing. 4e aughed as he had not done for years — Newitcha was not there with her iharp tongue to reprove him for his silliness, and in one — two days, his Jf' lit'le gal " would come ! The clergyman spoke solemnly to old Pele, earnestly remonstrating ith him on the sin of setting Lis failing mind upon the vanity of earthly ys ; reminding him of eternal glories that fade not — that were to be ad without money and without price ! The old man listened, and shook his head with many a scornful * hoh !" intimating broadly that what " the Company " had was " plenty ood for ol' Pete," and that his "lit'le gal " would have •' the best the ompany kept !" Each evening Mr. Penrhyn passed some hours by the camp fire with addy Pete, speaking words of divine promise to the old man who metimes listened, sometimes slept, and ever and always kept busy ngers among the trumpery gifts, his eyes blinking with childish delight, is shrunken lips whispering *' my lit'le gal !" Each day he added to his gifts, and after spreading them out, and umbling over them with childish delight, he would trudge over the rairie to the bend in the trail and there with worn shaking hands shad- g his sight, peer across the waste of gr?en for signs of the carts. At last the long line, like motes, appeared in the distance, nnected, and then became a snake that crept slowly on, slowly nearer ; e serpentine coil-like thing breaking again into fragments, and just as e sun, big-eyed and wondering, cast a last look over the prairie trail, me the carts around the bend, the peculiar music of the wheels ke shrieks of tortured souls suflFering purgatorial pains. And where was daddy's " lit'le gal ?" Daddy Pete wiped the mist om his sight and stared. He winked hard and stared again ; some- iug like a fluttering bird rose from his heart and like that same ing, wounded, beat helplessly a broken wing. "How do you do, grandpa? Oh, it is Mr. Penrhyn ! how good of u both to meet me here !" A small muifled hand sought Daddy te's palsied palm, and something, he though*^ like a closely woven ings his gifts — gif^^^^» barred the meeting of their lips. Mr. Penrhyn stared at this vision This crimson fi wO, stared with unbelieving eyes — eyes that spoke their amazement, s to close about ht|»here was the little wild child of the plains ? Where was Daddy's " lit'le He mumbled atl aed brighter than ago, he had said lister and forget mg the trail, "my ays, hoh ! " friendly frame of patiently listening ielight in exultau; her and repeatins; .enty soon ; plent} is load of peltries )r powder and slio • 3le supply, and, hi lemanded: "Hob he Company's, th but Mr. Penrhyi. :'Ste's daughter wa e gew-gaws Dadd 5ts was produced, fumbled criticall it pins, brass belli :en, against whit ICompany ; and tl ight of the silly o! ed to teaching tli land it grieved hir death hung, shoul sr sighed, lumbling and smi ll?" ' I 50 An Episode at Ci^arke's Crossing. '.'''. if These the questions that rose in the minds of the two men standing there in silent wonder; the confusion of the moment was broken by awful roars of "haw ! " "gee ! " from Modrste as the stolid oxen, foam- ing at the mouth, and panting after the heavy march, switching their stumpy tails at the horde of sand flies following the carts, passed along the trail, the shouts sounding like profanity amid the serene stillness. They walked on down the trail, the cleigyman and the young girl side by side, the old man, dull of eye and trembling in limb, following after, in the fashion of his race. Was that his little gal — that tall crea- ture arrayed as was His Lordship's daughter, the same grace of manner, the same sweet voice, that walk — his little gal ? Tears of disappoint- ment welled up in the eyes of the old man ; welled up and overflowed their banks, and in his mind but one wish : to see her turn round once, to hear her call him "Daddy," in the old-time tender way; lioh ! he'd give the best season's lot of silver-fox pelts to hear her call him " Daddy Pete " once again ; to hear the cry of the wild plover as she gave it that day she called out " Goo'-bye, Daddy ! " Ah ! that was so long ago, so long ago, and he had come between them since then. "You see," Mr. Penrhyn was saying, "what we need is schools; now you can understand that we — that Eastern people are not — cannot be in sympathy with the — well, with the Indian mind ; now my idea — in fact His Ivordship's idea — when we asked your father — to — to send you to be — educated," he hesitated, " — was to — to — to secure that which your people — the Indians, you know, lack — sympathy." " I understand," she answered, " I am to " "To teach," said Mr. Penrhyn, "there is a great work — a noble work, Miss " " Oh ! call me Taunis, Mr. Penrhyn," she said, turning to him and smiling. " Do you believe, " breaking into a little laugh, "that I did not know my own family name until I went to Madam 's. It was exactly like being a princess of the blood, not hearing one's real name, wasn't it ? " and a laugh of real merriment rang out from her lips. " Hoh ! " The shout made them turn suddenly ; there was the old man rubbing his hands and gasping with delight, tears of joy rolling down his shrivelled cheeks ; that laugh took him back eight years, but the next moment it was gone. " How grandpa has altered !" she said. An Episodk at Clarke's Crossing. 61 " He is (|uite childish," replied Mr. Penrhyn. And while the two walked ou, talking and smiling, Daddy Tete, leaning more heavily upon his staff, followed, his heart sinking lower and lower until in one great sob it swamped with his hope, leaving nothing but a dumb despair. /v'^T'^^ They went to the new brick hotel. It wasfthere Daddy Pete was stopping, but he knew now that the smoke-grimed tent would never do. At the brick hotel a room for " Modeste's gal " was ordered, and having settled her comfortably there, away went the old man, back to where the tent was pitched against the Company's. He went sadly back upon the old trail, the fag-end of his happiness hanging by the slenderest thread to his sore heart ; he would get out the " fixin's ; " ah, yes, he had made a mistake in going to meet her without them ; "hoh ! the bright things would bring him nearer to his lit'le gal ! " He remembered well one trip made in the long ago when he brought home to her a string of blue beads — remembered the shout of joy and how she clung about his neck ; how he fastened them on her baby throat ; he would go to her now with brighter, better ones ; a double row, and larger than those of long .igo. He gathered up his offerings with eager hands that shook until the gew-gaws rattled again and again, and he laughed aloud, anticipating her delight. Then he started out acknowledging for the first time in his life that " things mou't a bin dif- f 'rent bim bye " if he had " ever see a railway," He was taken to the room where Modeste's gal was, but she said she was " dressing for dinner," which really meant she was changing the dusty travelling gown for a fresher one, but some way the message, given through a narrow opening in the door, gave to her a more embar- rassing splendour ; the old man hugging his offerings, felt a chill rise up in his heart, but still he hung about, unwilling to believe it was not the same "lit'le gal" he had loved and tended with so much devotion and care. By and bye she came out looking lovelier and fresher than before ; the dainty grey frock with its crimson velvet bodice showing the outlines of a lithe form, her step, i natural grace of movement blending with the English training in something captivating and complete. Mr. Penrhyn was standing by the window and if qnestioned could doubtless truthfully declare that this descendant of a Sioux mother was to him, nothing more than "that most promising person." Daddy Pete was waiting too lU. 52 An Episode \t Ci^arkk'.s Crossing. squatted upon the floor, and at her feet like some devout worshipper he laid with trembling hands his offerings. He saw the hot tide of shame rise from throat to chin and from chin to forehead, and the last slender thread of his hope snapped within, when, raising her hands with a motion of horror she said : — "For me? oh, grandpa! I could never wear such things now I " The old man looked at his " lit'le gal '' just one little moment, then without a word gathered up the gifts again and trudged back to the tent where he found the oxen and carts forming a barricade. Modeste was there, unusually silent, smoking his pipe of kinnikinic and watching the red blaze, over which the iron pot hung on a tripod of poplar. * "I dun'no, boy," Daddy Pete was saying one evening returning from the chase, " I b'leve lit'le gal's sicV " His son's answer was to d aw 'eeper puffs of hiskinnikinnic. " 01' Pete got -plenty — hob, boy — bj''m-bye die putty soon, — plenty beaver, plenty silver fox — all for lit'le gal — better go back school «ome more plenty — hoh boy ! " In truth the prairie maid grew weary and wan because the long happy holiday was over ; the young minister must go back to Emanuel College ; he would go back and tell his lordship that he would wed the Sioux maid ; he would ask to be sent to some remote northern station, where, among the wilds, together with his wild prairie flower, he might bear the glad tidings. When Daddy Pete learned of this arrangement he gave such a shout of joy that a .startled covey of ducks were sent a-wing. "Hoh!" he shouted in his cracked voice, "OP Pete got plenty buffalo, plenty fox, plenty beaver I " He laughed so long and so often that Newitcha scowled more darkly each day. He smoothed down his lit'le gal's dark locks tenderly and said " hoh ! " with such explosive earnestness that Newitcha muttered in her Cree tongue savagely and often, with many shakings of the head. Then the day came when Mr. Penrhyn said good-bye to his friends of the camp ; he would come back in two months. At Clarke's Cross- ing Modeste would meet him ; he would come to be with his prairie flower, never more to part, their hearts were young and strong and hope- ful and he went his way alone. An Episode at Clarke's Crossing. 53 lout he fox, lied icks Icha hg» Inds loss- lirie jpe- Soon the poplar trees sent their shivering leaves hither and thither ; the evenings grew chill and longer and drearier ; the summer was gone and the winter set in early. It would be a long hard winter. Daddy Pete said so, and hadn't he learned it from the beavers and the gophers, who know such things ? He had not come, there was no vSuch thing as mail delivery beyond the Company's in those days, but surely he would come. Had he not said so ? One day an old Indian, passing along the trail towards Fort-A-la- , Come, stopped at Pete's camp. He hung about the lodge all day, and after supping he loosened his belt, and from inner rags that covere 1 his wretched body, stolidly and soberly produced a letter ; he explained that he had been asked to give it to the " moouias squaw." It proved to be for Tannis, and it was from Luke Penrhyn, dated months before, asking her i-D come down with her father to see him before he left for England. The Bishop having suddenly decided on sending over to London one of the clergy to secure funds for opening new missions in the far North, — would she go to him to say good-bye? The letter was written in October, and it was April now ; the Indian had got it when he was at the Company's last ; he had been on the hunt and was now going back to his band. Tannis did not leave the little poplar bluff all the next day ; she sat then- white of face, reading over and over again his words, and suffering as no tongue can tell. She told Daddy Pete the contents of the letter in her own words, and the old man smiled contentedly at thought of ha''dng his darling his own, longer. May came and with it another letter, this time from across the sea and through the agency of the Compau}- ; it was written but a few weeks before, and with it came hope thrice renewed. It said that he would leave for Canada in six weeks ; the work had been almost com- pleted ; great interest had been taken in the new land and he had secured funds for missions in the far North ; there he "would make his home with his sweet prairie flower." And she believed ! Once more she sang in the old happy way. Once more she set snares with Daddy Pete, hunted for wild duck eggs along the thatch- grown lakelets, and scurried across the hillocky grass for wild-birds' nests. i 54 An Episode at Ci,arke's Crossing. '^f Daddy Pete grew feeble ; he did not go on the hunt always now ; New- itcha watched under her black brows, and many little brown faces hunted among the grass for the kammass root all day, and at sundown gathered with noisy arrogance about the knee of Modeste, claiming full share of his attention, and the half-sister, with the strange dress, crept in silent sorrowing supplication to Daddy Pete's side, where she found refuge and sympathy as when a child. June came with flower and bursting bud and Modeste was.going to the Company's. The lark, was not so early nor so blithe of song as Tannis, now. All day long she played with the smaller witch-like brown broth- ers and sisters, sang and watched the trail. Four days passed and then Modeste came back — alone. Tannis sang no more. The snares were n'^glected ; Daddy Pete dozed nearly all day now, and the son had double work to perform, and another moss-bag hung upon the poplar tree beside the tepee ; Newitcha followed Modeste on the chase and to Tannis was left the care and the work of the camp. One day Daddy Pete came suddenly upon her below the camp where the poplars trembled and shivered, and where awe-whisperings of the winds were heard. She was lying prostrate upon the ground, beating the grass, her fingers reached out, moaning the hurt that had so long been held in bounds within her breaking heart. One moment the old man stood transfixed ; he knew nothing of emotion, but his dull mind could understand one thing ; his *' lit'le gal " was suffering .He caught the straggling white hairs that hung down about his bewildered head and cried out ; he gathered her up in his trembling arms as he had done many a time in her childish griefs, and crooned over her in his Sioux tongue : *0 / O ! Nicante pi kin magaqu iyecaca ateyapi pa kin akau, hinphaya qa luicakican !'''' This was harder to bear than cruel words ; she had hated the camp ; had despised her tribe ; had longed to leave the one kind creature whose only thought had ever been her comfort, her enjoyment, and now she was without all. " O ! Daddy ! Daddy ! !" That cry at last ! she was clinging to him, and folded to his heart in the old, old way ! At last Daddy Pete had found his lit'le gal ! He *"0 ! O ! I,et the heart's rnin fall upon the head of thy father, he will weep tor thee !" *J»w<- An Episode at Clarke's Crossing. 65 g >g ht id w, jep understood it all now ; understood it as if he had been learned and clever, and not the silly old heathen he was. " Hoh ! don't cry plenty much ; boy come back ! Ol' Pete make walk Company ; ol' Pete fin' boy ! hoh ! Lit'le gal make plenty laugh some more; hoh!" And the next morning, before dawn, afoot and feeble, away went Daddy Pete, his knife sheathed and hanging from his belt, uppn his bent shoulders the pack of furs, his heart full of a great sorrow, his troubled mind strong in one determination — his " lit'le gal's " happiness to find. When Tannis awoke the next morning. Daddy Pete was many miles on his journey. At first she thought he had gone to look at the snares or lingered along the sloughs, but as the day grew and then died out, and he did not come, she knew that he had gone. Daddy would bring he would bring word ; he might bring a letter, a letter that would explain everything — or, oh, joy of joys ! would he bring her lover? The third day after this she was sitting by the tent door drying roots. She saw coming up the trail a figure. It was a white man, and she knew the dress to be that of a missionary. She was unable to rise, for a faint- ness and trembling of the limbs overcame her, but, when the blur had passed from her sight and he came nearer, she saw it was a stranger. He spoke to her in Cree. She explained that her father was absent, and, learning that the stranger had. lost his way, she offered him the hospitality of the camp, making supper and attending to the brown babies that peeped from curi- ous corners at the newcomer. Tannis now wore the ordinary dress of the Indian women ; her hair, neatly braided, hung down her back, and nothing, save her language when she spoke in the English tongue, would betray her better training. She spoke to the children in the Cree tongue, as the stranger had, in that language, first addressed her. During the preparation for the meal the stranger told Tannis that he was on his way to a new mission field. His Lordship, the Bishop, had received large funds from England ; the work of carrying the Gospel to the far north was opening and he was now on his way to take the post destined for Mr. Penrhyn. The clergyman did not observe the wild look fixed upon him ; he did not note the clenching of the fingers, nor did he see the blood drip from the palms of those shaking hands. 56 i And Mr. An Episode at Ci^arke's Crossing. Penrhyn ? " " Ah, you knew him then ? Yes, I believe his route was along this way. Oh, ^Penrhyn? poor fellow!" The speaker shook his head sol- emnly, and then gave his attention to the venison before him. "Is he dead?" She gasped this with so much eagerness that the stranger looked up, but the face, though white and tired looking, was void of expression. " It's rather a sad story," the gentleman said, "but, as you knew him . You see," he went on, suddenly, " His Lordship thought a good deal of Penrhyn — rather favored him we used to think, but out here somewhere he met an Indian gijl ; she had some sort of education I believe, and — well, I guess he fell in love with her — compromised him- self by some sort of promise I believe, and of course. His Lordship was obliged to send him away." " Ah ! " then it was the Bishop — sent him — away ? " " Yes, 3'ou see Penrhyn was the second son of Lord Gathness. He was a gentleman, and he couldn't — oh, well, you understand ." " And this Mr. Pen ?" her voice failed, but her face betrayed nothing. "Penrhyn," said the visitor, as if he suddenly recollected the sub- ject — "well, you see, after His Lordship got him out of the way, and over in London, it appears Penrhyn 's father died quite suddenly, just as he was about to sail, in fact, and the elder brother, who at the time was in the south of Prance, coming home in haste, his yacht was lost in a gale crossing the Channel, and my friend Penrhyn, came in for the whole thing, estate and title." Tannis neither moved nor spoke. She felt a wave of somthing like fear coming over her ; something sharp like a little stab seemed to enter her heart — it was his letter, the last letter, which she kept close to her flesh — that last sweet false message to " his prairie flower ! " "It was a great disappointment — a great blow to His Lordship " — " A blow to His Lordship? it was His Lordship sent him away, was it not?" " Ah, yes — but you see before Penrhyn — who was, you understand, a younger son — left England the lady Agatha Clyde, to whom he was engaged, threw him over for his brother Audrey — what shocked His Lordship, who knew the story — was that Penrhyn should throw up his An Episode at Clarke's Crossing. 67 id. [is Ihis missionary work, for you know his brother's death left him heir to every- thing, and lie married Lady Agatha when " — The speaker saw the girl sway, but she seemed to recover herself, and put up her hand in a bewildered way, pressing the other above her breast, as though something hindered her breathing. "You are Peter Larue's grand-daughter?" said the stranger, and he held out pitying hands. But the girl-woman tottered by him, passed from the tent, and was seen no more. Daddy Pete came back from his trip more feeble than ever. He did not seem to realize the absence of his grand-daughter. Sometimes he would ask pettishly * had she come in yet ?' and Modrste who grieved in silence, would look at Newitcha, and that black-eyed wife awed into silence would whisper " zc^w^Z/Vo " ! and gather her brown brood about her knee. Sometimes the old man would rouse up and say he must go and find her ; he would gather his pack of furs and then sitting down to rest, would doze off, and waking, forget the intention. One evening Modeste whispered to the old man : " She was at the Crossing yesterday ; she ar/iced them to put her across — the ferryman went up to his shack, and when he came back she was gone." Daddy Pete cried out on hearing this. He would go now ; this very night ; he would be there when she came again ; his lit'le , gal, he had the beads all ready for her. He took the gew-gaw things from his bosom where he hid them the day she refused them so scornfully ; he drew them through his fingers, and the sparkle was reflected in his dim old eyes. He looked at them and laughed, thinking of her joy when he would place them on her throat, and he said *'hoh !" a great many times and wiped his eyes. They went away to the Crossing, not telling Newitcha where they were going. Modt'ste carried the pack, and waited patiently while Daddy Pete sat by the wayside and rested while he slept. Thus they reached the crossing. It was moonlight, bright opaline moonlight, and across the river fell a broad shaft of light that sparkled and shone and broadened until it seemed to the foolish old man to be a road leading somewhere. That must be the road the Sinsapa talked about ; the road leading to that beautiful hunting grounds ; he said it sparkled with jewels ; gates of pearl ? hoh ! he could see them ; could see the jewels glistening and 58 An Episode at Ci.arke's Crossing. li sparkling over there ; it led right over the river ; he had said it was a river. If he went that road, then Daddy's lit'le gal would follow after ! Hoh ! it was but a step. Daddy Pete tottered to the very edge of the river and looked across. Something was over there. Was it Daddy's little gal waiting ? Upon the river a shadow fell, swift rose a winged form, and the dead stillness was broken by that plaintive far-reaching call, the cry of the wild plover. A cry of joy — one instant a bent figure was outlined against the sky, its arms outreached ; then the answering note rang out, waking Modeste from a fatigued sleep ; a loud splash that broke the jewel-like surface of the silver bar upon the water, and then silence. Along the bank of the river ran the trapper Modeste. The lustrous flood of light across the river fascinated his eyes. He called ; he went up and down peering, watching ; but no sign of the old man. K- .-ly slept somewhere in the long grass. He was old and weary. At dawn some half-breeds came to the ferry with their traps and tents ; they found a distracted man there, old Peter Larue's son, stone deaf to words and wringing his hands. By-and-by the ferryman came down, and they began the toilsome pull across. Part way over ModOste, who had been staring into the water with wild eyes, gave a shout and pointed down. There was great commotion then. One dived into deep water and came up holding some dark thing. Outstretched hands took up Daddy Pete's still form dripping with jewel drops of water. He had passed through the pearly gates ! Ah, yes, Daddy Pete had surely found his " lit'le gal " at last. Within his shrivelled old hands, tightly clasped, the double row of shining beads, his face calm, smiling, child-like ; the deep sleep of death had blotted out all the lonely sorrow-fed thoughts ; Daddy Pete had gone to his *' lit'le gal," gone at her call, and, simple old man he, taken his offerings, his gifts. ■H- * * * * -Jfr * At the same hour the doors of a fashionable club in fashionable Lon- don opened ; gay laughter and badinage passed from lip to lip of the throng of noble lords just leaving the fascinations of the card table. ' ' I say, Gathness ! before we go tell us about that tawny beauty of yours out West ?" drawled one. A handsome man of the deau monde flushes to the temples, as he laughs carelessly and says: "Oh! you mean that little episode at Clarke's Crossing?" Prairie Verses. 59 Prairi^ Verses. The smile of summer fainter grows and colder ; The wild flower cowers close to drooping stem ; The wind grown keen and wild, now waxes bolder, Chills the soft dew, and makes each drop a gem. From latticed clouds a burst of sunlit glory Wakes the dull fields mounded with yellow grain. Rivalling the wild-bird comes the herd-boy's story, In joyous notes re-echoing across the rolling plain. This storied land with all its dawning splendour Touches the heart with a joy that breaks in pain, Awakening regret for days that are no more, and tender Memories of happiness that long hath silent lain. The prairie grasses twine green fingers close. The wild flowers bud and bloom, then with a sigh Join in the west wind's frolic, first a dance Then a wild rush onward, and the sky Frowns darkling down ; Summer eyes askance Then timidly glides by. Lon- ^f the ity of las he le at Swift with blinding gloss The snow comes like some fairy, , Mounting the stacks and covering the way ; Sheltering the weakly roots that swaj' and curve and toss Before the north wind coming down with sleet in battle fray, And in a sheen of brightest light 'Tis winter on the prairie. m 60 How THE End Camk. How th^ End Cam(f. '• Where's Dan'l ?" Without ceasing her moulding operations upon the bannocks she was making, Dan'l's wife made a side motion with her head that carried the questioner's glance from the rough box that served as a table, to something lying helplessly upon the floor of the shack, and snoring sonorously in a drunken sleep. " So he's drunk, too." said the man turning with inquiring glance that was full of pity ; but the expressionless face was turned somewhat away from his view ; she made no sign of having heard, going on with her work as though not noting the presence of the rough looking fellow standing by the door. He was neglected in appearance, bits of broken straws threaded themselves upon his worn jacket ; his boots were big and shapeless ; and the hand that went up to his head in a motion that spoke a troubled mind, was knotted and seamed by hard labour. It was December — the day before Christmas. The threshers had hoped to finish the stacks that day, but Biggs had come in with some freight Miat morning, and Biggs had secured a "permit," and its effects were evident in the spasmodic humming of the threshing machine, now a low hum, now silent, and in maudlin shouts from the shadow of the empty bags piled carelessly and. uselessly upon the snow. " Ther'U be hell t' pay among th' men if /le don't keep sober — fer a spell anyway — ttfe men have left the stacks ; Peggit's eternally paral — yzed, an' ther's a storm comin' up — kin ye get Dan'l t' come out an' " *' I know," interrupted the woman stopping to look up and sighing heavily. " I told him — but" — her ejes fell upon her bared arm ; there was a purple mark there, a purple bruise that told its own story of brut- ality and rage and her eyes so dull a moment ago, took in their depths a savage gleam ; the Indian blood rose to her dark-skinned face ; her eyes sought again that deep bruise — wandered to the white face upon the floor, then she turned a look of half hungry shame to the man shuffling How THK End Came. 61 g uneasily by the door, and she saw him dash away tears that came, dash them away more in anger than shame. " Don't mind, Dave," she said, " it can't last always — some day th' end'll come — th' end'U come." " See here, Liz ; jest you never min' doin' them there bannocks ; it ain't grub they'll be astin'; the'r primed t' the nozzle 'ith Biggs' rot-gut, and," glancing through the rag- wadded window, "the machine's stop- ped — the'r got therselves primed ter th' night — an if lie gets into the kag — ther's no more work a-goin' on t'day ; " another nod sideways, "ye can't Stan' it — much longer Liz — ye can't " " It'll end sometini'L — somehow," she said, beginning to mould again the thick dough. "See here Liz," the man said, coming nearer, " this ain't no place fer a woman — er won't be b' night," he added, as fragmentary oatlis, calls, shouts and ribald song came ^»-om where the early sunset shadows lingered among the straw-stacks beyond the shanty. " I kin' of b'leeve I — will go," she said, pausing and folding her arms thoughtfully ; " I could be back in time t' get ther breakfast -d'ye think he'd mind Dave if I was t' go?" "This ai'nt no place fer no woman," repeated the big fellow, "get on yer shawl — I got th' juniper at th' door — if ye want t' come back in th' mornin' — why I'll fetch ye— but " " I kin walk over in plenty time t' get th^r breakfast," she said drawing a woollen hood over her b^ack hair; then as the whooos and curses grew louder, and staggering forms came towards the shanty, with a frightened motion she moved nearer to Dave Glance, and the crooning winds tossing the fluffy snow whirled it madly in her face as the door opened and Biggs lurched in unsteadily. Out west the winter evening shades fall swiftly, suddenly down. Dawn breaks over the prairie early, so early that it seems but a breath from frown of mMnight to blush of day. The wind had grown wilder — it howled with furious blast ; seated in the low jumper, the woman felt its sting, and must have suffered, but within her breast beat a wilder storm yet. Ten long weary, hard, bitter years — ten years had she endured neglect, misery, hunger — and now blows. Ah, it might have been different had she known — it might have been different had her baby lived. It only came to bring one little smile and then return to the God who gave, and who — was it in pity ? — called it back again. F 62 How THE End Came. She shivered. She felt something like a warm band tighten 'round her heart — her sore heart : she knew it was a friendly sheltering arm that reached about her ragged shawl, that would ever shield her from the cold and the cruelty- -// she ivould. For one awful moment came the intense desire to Me back against that sheltering arm — to lie .there, to rest there, to die there— Oh, God ! would death ever come ? " Are you cold, Liz ?" "Take me back — back — take me back !" Her bare hands clenched the rein above his strong hold of the lines ; her hood had fallen back, strands of black tawny waves streamed about her wild face — she leaned away from him panting like some mad thing that having been rudely caught, and injured had broken away. "Uz!" The man's astonished eyes looked into her distorted face, as with a strong pull she drew upon one rein, and the pony, making a sudden and dangerous swerve, went swiftly back along the trail. " I'll take you back — my girl — I'll take you back, but my God ! Liz, I don't want to leave you there — with him — won't you come now, Liz ; — come with me now ? He'll kill you some day — the cruel white blood is not like ours Liz ! — Will you come ?" "Take me back to— my — husband! Back— back " vShe was leaning forward ; an unearthly look of fear within her eyes ; some sud- den madness lurked therein he thought, and the breath that came from her parted lips found vent in moans such awful fear surged within. The pony dashed along faster, faster, and no word was again spoken. As they approached the shanty they heard loud sounds of carousal and revelry ; the thresher was silent, the stacks deserted, the half empty bags of grain thronged tipsily together ; among the deserted wheat fell flurries of snow ; all work had ceased and the surrounding silence seemed to enchain all with warning hush above the wild din within the shack. A little dog shivered upon the doorstep ; he barked gladly as the woman, leaving the low jumper approached the door. She let the little shivering brute pass into the warmth before her — why should it suffer too ? Within, all was confusion, bedlam ; the big broad mud chimney yawned its yellow-red flame that shot up in roars with the sudden draught from the opened door ; great chunks of resinouspine were burn- ing. In various parts of the apartment huddled the threshers, — drunk, How THE End Came. 68 11 g ■y deliriously drunk ; Bij^gs himself, the last to succumb, helplessly stretched beneath the window, and upon his matted hair the drifting snows filtering in. " Come Dan'l, com* home !" Roused by the touch and awakened more fully by the roar of maud- lin voices, he sat up, blinking in a da/ed way about him ; rolled over with an inarticulate oath, and slept again. " Dan'l !" This time there was some note in the call that made him lift his head and look at her, first in drunken amazement, then with ferocious frown. " Dan'l, come home with me — come home with me — I'm — af — raid — come home. " She was clinging to him now, clinging and sobbing, bending over to whisper, '* I'm afraid, oh, Dan'l — I'm afraid" " wha' z'r f'ra'd 'f— '11 sta' th b' yswha' z— rr— fra'd" " For God's sake, Dan'l come — come home with me — it's me, Liz — come — come home — God knoivs whaVll happen if you don't ! ! " Her answer a stinging blow — his arm in its full strength fell across her breast, where many .another mark was recorded, both within and without. She knew he was standing there ; she knew he saw the brutal blow ; it had staggered her a little, and she turned away white of face and dumb with the anguish that is too deep for tears. She put her hand upon Dave Glance's arm — the arm that shook with the rage he curbed (for her sake) and she said : " Dave, take me home— home." Wild eyed and blanched of face tliey looked within each other's eyes for one awful moment — he with questioning entreaty, she dumbly submissive to that unspoken word. They turned and left the shanty ; his face fixed, determined— hers, with the shadow of decth, the death of hope. ' She felt that some one was tucking the rough hide robe about her with kindly hands ; the wind, now wildly furious was beating in her face and cutting through her thin clothing. She felt nothing but the touch of loving hands, and a v/arm wave seemed to rise in hjr heart, to over- flow long-clogged .channels and carry in it's tide all the long years' heaped-up insults and sufiering. She knew now all the sorrows, all the degradation, all the suffering — for her — were over. She knew the end had come. f 04 How THR End Came, Through snow billows the pony plunj^ed ; the blinding blast with its scurrying flakes whirled in her face like sea foam ; the wind gathered in new fury, and down from the poplar bluffs came a whistling sound that ended in a wail, and on the wings of the impetuous storm went the woman's thought. Ten years of heart-hunger, ten years of work and want, ten years of cruelty, of insult, of nt-glect ; and in all she had made no moan ; and now, thii» one blow of the many had proved too much ; fie had seen — she could bear no more ! What WIS the madness that overcame her that time so long ago ? Before he came with his white false face — had not one who loved her then, and loved her still, been true? Her Indian blood tided in hot shame, remembering his look, when he came back from the log-drive to find her the wife of a white man, and from her lips broke a low moan. "Liz!" vShe felt that strong arm about her once again, and the same words, "will you come now? " Would she go? When her babe lay in its tiny coffin, and a bout of maudlin intemperance found her protector — oh ! the irony of the word — absent from her side, who was it fashioned the little bed where, so still, so beautiful, flesh of her flesh was laid ? Who was it placed within na- ture's kindly bosom the small form, and covered so softly, so warmly froui the cruel world without, her own ? Who was it held her empty hands, and led her back to her bereaved and poverty touched home, and sat in silence through all that lonely day ? And now he had said again : " Would she go ? " She was tired — so tired. Wearied out by the long day's work ; up at dawn cooking, wash- ing, carrying empty bags and tying full ones — sworn at, cursed, struck, by the hand that should have sheltered. There was something supporting her — something human and kind. She saw with horror that they had reached the very spot where she had called to him to ' take her back. ' There was the mark upon the snow where the sled had turned about ; she closed her eyes lest the fear should come upon her again. She would go back no more ! They drove past the place in silence. The cold was intense ; the stars came out coldly bright, like eyes dilated with fear ; her tired head had fallen back and pressed against his shoulder and some new band closed about her, a broad ening chain infrangible, dense, and something seemed to weld her life to his, at last. They were before her shanty door, and he was saying as he Mow THK Knd Came. 66 helped her out : — " There's some papers I must get to take with me — I'll go right on to the shack, it'll only be a run of six hours there and back. Get your things packed my girl — I'll fftch fresh horses ; we'll make Cameron's by noon, then Li/ — so help me (iod, girl, I'll do my duty by ye. ' ' She raised one arm as if to keep him from coming nearer ; it fell heavily across her bosom, just where that other blow fell, and as the remembrance came, her face altered with an awful defiance, " I will be ready ' ' she said. She turned and went into the cold hovel she called home ; the chill struck her anew and as it had not done before ; mechanically she arrang- ed a fire and as the blaze crept through the sticks and sent out a red glow, it seemed like some demon eye watching her as she paced up and down the shabby room like some criminal awaiting dawn and the sum- mons to a shameful death. Two hours went by. To and fro, to and fro. Three hours ticked off by the little round-faced clock dimly showing through the gloom. And this was the end ? She looked at the mudded walls and in the night shadows the huge logs were like giant arms that held her prisoned there ; the white-faced clock was ticking madly : she stopped before it, watching the hands telling the seconds, and shout- ing, it seemed : — six-hours-there-and-back-there-and-back-and-back- back-back." In one hour he would be back ! What should she take with her ? She laughed aloud — broken shoes upon her poor tired feet, the ragged frock she wore — these 1 er possessions ; then she began to cry softly at first, then, as she stooped to take from a covered box some white thing neatly folded, her voice found vent. "Willie! Willie! My baby !" Surely that cry reached the bars of Paradise. Her face lay within the folds of the little garment in which so many happy-sad tears had been woven with the stitches ; she knelt there while the dawn shadows crept in stealthily and hovered over her bowed head. The fire died out ; the wind grew hushed as if in holy awe at the wild grief within, and white-faced dawn, as if paled by so much human suffer- ing, fell quietly upon that lone shanty on the lonely prairie. " I call God to witness" she cried raising two trembling hands " call Him to witness I — can — bear'— no more !" I I i ^ 66 How THB End Came. She rose, folded the little garment to her breast that heaved, but no tears fell — grief had parched that fountain. Out into that fair Christmas morn she passed, leaving the door ajar behind her ; the purple streaks of dawn were sliding into the grey-red bars ; what was that crimson blur against the sky ? Sunrise already ? Should she ever see the sun rise again without shame ? As she looked the crimson spot broadened, deepened, and spread, until, to her bewil- dered sight, it seemed God's wrath bursting in a visible sign upon her guilty intention. Quickly stooping to shut out the sight, she tore away with her bare hands the ice-bound snow, making a little hollow just above her babe's quiet bed, placing within it the robe, white, like unto the pure snow itself. "I will not bring the black shadow over this — no, no ! It will be with you, my babe, pure and white — while I — O God ! O God ! while I ." Her heart gave one wild bound ; upon the white robe were crimson marks ! was it God's anger come down ? How uervous and foolish she was— it was caused by her bleeding fingers. Far to the south, the way he mast come, and beneath that dull red cloud she saw a dark sp^ck moving ; it grew and grew ; it must be his horses galloping on like that. "Six hours there and back." He was coming; coming to take her away from her misery, from abuse, from neglect, from the blows yes, from everything — from her babe's grave — her only hope ! What awful struggle went on within that distraught mind in that awful moment ? The agony of despair ; the bitter remembrance ; the blows, the curses ; and against the bottomless depths of it all, nothing to weigh but a little smile that had died out in that first breath and been lost in eternity so long, oh, so long ago ! The horses were quite near now ; they hgd entered the lower field gate — they were coming up the lane. She saw him — saw Dave Glance — saw him urging on the gallop- ing horses ,with furious haste, while from their nostrils came clouds of steam, every nerve strained, and, almost before he drew rein, she heard him call : " Come— COME !— Quick, for God's sake— COME ! " "NO, I WILL NOT GO!" He had leaped from the sleigh and was panting so hard he could scarcely gasp : " Come — for Christ's sake ! " Mow tHK ENi3 CAME. 67 to the lat the to een ear '* I will not go — / will wail until the end comes f' she said, and look- ing in his blanched face she saw an awful horror there. Without an- other word she leaped into the sleigh and turned her wild eyes to where the dull red blur hung, now a thick grey mass. The horses raced back along the trail ; past the poplar bluffs now transparent with yellow sun- shine ; the branches crystalized and iridescent in the sunshine ; past the low fence-line fringed with frost ; back over the road she had a few hours ago gone with desolation in her heart. Urged by whip and call, th*^ horses bounded along and suddenly she was borne in view of — WHAT? A smouldering heap ; stacks, shack, thresher, grain, all levelled to the ground and smoking. Here and there across the defiled snow, yel- low red embers like writhing serpents creeping, creeping. They led her to where something covered up lay — something that did not move. She was calm — unnaturally calm. It was her hand that lifted back the coarse cloth, and there beneath it she saw her husband DEAD. Slowly — silently they went back over the prairie trail on that Christ- mas day, between them in death as in life, the white man's face. They placed him upon the poor couch and left her beside him there, alone — her head bowed above the arm, powerless now the arm that had struck her the last blow she would ever feel again. The day wore quietly away. She was tired — very tired — she heard the small clock hoarsely saying: " There-and-back-there-and-back " — and with that sound droning drowsily she slept. By-and-by Biggs' wife came down, and with officious neighbourly kindness bustling about, called to a man sitting upon the log sioop without — " Come, Dave, we must wake her — come ben man." But when they called, it was to ears that heard not ; Liz was dead. The end b.*d com e." she uld 08 A BvTtnR^hV. A 5utl?rn\?. ^ V This bonny wee thing I spied one morn When the North wind played with the prairie clover, It lightly sped from flower to flower And fluttered by each, such a scornful rover ; And I said "I'll 'prison you, thoughtless thing, You remind me of one — my heartless lover." The fluttering, frail and delicate web — Ljikejthing so touched my sorrow. That upon a light and fragile wing It went, to sip new sweets to-morrow ; But the prairie floss and the bloom-robbed flower Bowed low, some human pity to borrow. Away to the West shone a glittering thing That bent and waved in that perfumed fci ay, Pearl bright and radiant on it went. And I sighed ' 'Tis a page of that old, old story !' (The rose grew pale and the floss sad bowed) " vSonie touch of pain must tinge all glory !" 1*HK Light ok Other Davs. G9 m Th' I 'm't think I want any. Lass," he said, bending over to lift the sleeping child, still clinging to his deposed sovereignty as " mother's baby." " Put him in Jerry's bed " whispered the mother with a tired failing of the voice," Miss Gracie's come ben, and took him away ; eh, man, she's none of the Haddam blood, she's a Bloomsbury in the heart." " Mith Drathie fethed mammy dyam, an' wine !" 'isped a wee urchin curling it's bare limbs about the bed-post and smacking its lips greedily in delightful remembrance. Dame Tucker's voice was now heard above the creaking wooden rocker: "What's ten on em? I knowed a family at Campbellford as 'dopted six on 'em, one a-top of another ; his wife bein' a poor coot as never fetched him none, an" the 'hul on 'em up an' dies, jest along of contrairiness. ' ' Little Marty had placed her father's supper on the table ; the her- ring steamed from a crater of hot potatoes, but instead of sitting down with Rory on his knee — it being Rorie's high office to ' pick out the bons's for father' — Denovy went outside, and tipping his hat back, sat down beside the door, and sighing heavily, let his glance drift town wards. The night dew was falling. From the river a cloud-like mist crept shorewards, above it the high chimney of the mill rose a dark shadow that seemed to weight and darken everything. Denovy's thoughts were heavy. Man and boy he had worked there, ever since he could remember, among the slabs and sawdust. The only fresh thing down there was the yellow-brown dulce that floated in patches among the ^ogs. The logs were slimy. The Light ok Other Days. 75 iy iS The lights from the town shone tremblingly through the mist. The man's eyes roamed across to where the " big house " stood. There a big blaze of light shone out. There was a shindy" at Co/ydean. Marks' wife had been called in to do chores, ?n Marks had that day told the mill hands of the " goings on " : — "That ther' swell chap as nigh drownded was cum from out West — old' man's brother keeped a ranche out yander ; swell chap was was- a^visitin' ol' man; hed bin over sea — an' if ol' man couldn't hev high jinks, who could*? Them as has money t' pay the piper kin dance." Then Russ, a surly fellow who had lost an arm feeding the saws, and who, in consequence of a cut in the wages on that account, and " had it in " for " somebody," said : — " The heart's ^lov of us boys makes fine fat for them sort ! " Denovy had iant, . ,'d boisterously then, and now the memory of Russ's words C'.re i^ck, and he laughed, laughed while he wiped away the tears. '* Come br wn ! " Was it something in the call, or was it the chill from the heavy dew that made the man shiver? A wail, commingled with the cry of chil- dren ! To the ears of the bewildered man the sound seemed like tlii* scr — rr — r c f the saws, the champing of the logs in the lift. He found himself within the house, and before he stood by the poor couch where Mary Denovy lay, he knew that his wife was dead. Granny Tucker was weeping, wildly declaiming : — " Niver no signs of death ! On'y apinchin' up of the white face ; an' me, knowin' as how a drop do be fer rousin' a body, I turns to get Miss Grace's wine, an' when I comes to lass wi' a drop, es I tasted be yon door, I ketches her eye on me speakin' like ; she med a bit shiver like she was cold, an' went out like an' ower-pinched can'le ! " Denovy made no sign. He sat alone all night by his dead, and did not seem to heed even the early morning mill bell that filled the small house with its querulous jangle. About noon Miss Gracie, leading Jerry, who had by some occult means become a "genUenian" appeared, Jerry in a neat black suit, his sleeve having a crape band for the dead wuman, who had been niolher to him always. In Miss Gracie's hands was a bunch of flowers, flowers as white as the pallid brow of the dead woman ; flowers that gave to I* U 7(i This Lioht ok 6tiikr Days. It'- the shabby room a new shame, and breathed a fragrance that touched the heart of the mourner there. Denovy wept. The next day, Russ, one-armed but sympathetic, and aided by Marks, turned the screws in poor Mary Deu.jvy's coffin ; and as many of the mill "hands" as were willing to lose half a day's pay, came to walk with their stricken mate down the hill to the only resting place poor M »ry had ever known. The small procession formed silently, and Denovy, with Jerry and Jim following the coffin out into the sunshine, saw young Iladdam, his master's son, seated in his naUy carriage, driv- ing into position to join the ranks afoot. Mad with his own grief and pain, Denovy leaped to the carriage side, shaking his knotted hands, and with curses that awed all, ordered him away, lest he should kill him, *' kill, as he and his had done !" — " yelling," as Dame Tucker con- fided to her next case, " like any hyeuuer !" From the small-paned window, Gracie saw the man's mad rush, saw her cousin drive away, and, clasping together distressed small hands, she whispered to Granny Tucker (who was at once trying to comfort the twins, threatening Tim and Rory who were wailing in concert, and sol- emnly telling Marty she "mus' be mother now ") :— " Oh, Granny ! it was I made Townley come ! I coaxed him to come, and now Denovy has driven him away ! " " Aye ! " grumbles the old nurse, "some bodies be that blin' they swaps the'r porridge fer a spit.'' Of Denovy it was soon said he was 'a bit wautin'." He said he could not get the sound of the mill wheels out of his brain ; so. to drown the same, poor Denovy began to stop at Mority's grog shop on his way home from the mill ; then he began to find his way there at noon, and the dinner pail often came home untouched, until one morning, on the anniversary of poor Mary's death, when bitter memories mingled and poisoned the sweet, the poor fellow, who had lingered longer than us- ual, at his stopping place, sullen and silently picked up his slab, con- scious that Haddam's hard eye was on his unsteady step. " Discharge that man Denovy," John Haddam said to his foreman, turning away with frowning brow. Denovy heard the order and his face darkened. The day had begun badly; it went on worse; the shoot would clog; the band would slip off the big wheel, and Jowks swore loudly that "unless Chap minded his eggs, e'ed find hisself short a-marketiu' 'em ! " The Light ok Othkr Days. 77 Denovy, dizzy with the drink, a spare breakfast, the bij; wheel thundering ; h thousand spokes whirling ; the band revolving about the wheels a blinding blur ; the crunch of the lift bearing the dank logs on, like giant arms reaching towards him ; the swiftly whirling teeth cutting into the timber bit at him ; they snarled ; the scr — rr of the saws in his ears ; the belt slips again— Jowks looks up with a scowl. Den- ovy leaps forward to replace it ; a bit of frayed sleeve (which, had Mary lived had been neatly mended) catches in the whirling wheel. Christ have mercy ! Marks turned angrily to see who it was had struck him ? He met Jowk's hell-lit eyes, and something in the awful glance caught his own and carried it up, up, until it is fixed on something that goes round and round and round with the wheel, then falls with awful thud between the two men. The thousand noises cease. They gather about the broken form in terrible silence ; they touch his neglected and matted hair ; they turn their men's faces away and cry women's tears ; they stripped themselves to cover his bruised and naked body, and while they looked they sobbed aloud. Denovy had indeed got his discharge ! Upon the sawdust lay poor Denovy, dead ! Over his mangled form the shrunken faces of Jem and Jerry hung — tearless. There was no child's grief there ; their hearts were old — old with the count of care. te td in trf 78 Thk Iac.ht ok Othkr Daxs. CHAPTER II. The drawing-room at Hazlecopse was lighted by a haiidsoiiie chan- delier, which threw a tinted glow over a group of female figures gathered in serious consultation. Mrs. Bloomsbury, seated in an easy chair, which was gorgeously upholstered with bright yellow plush, appeared like a great luminous body, while the flaxen heads of her daughters (known to friends as the Bloomsbury girls) shone at her knee. However, on the face of the elder lady there was a cloud, a nebulous tinge, showing some disturbing action at work within, and which appeared to affect the cor- ona as well, for, as they knelt there, they frequently sighed. •' And, after all," Mrs. Bloomsbury was saying, " after all your papa has done for them ; building up and sustaining the business ; managing the mill ; slaving to keep things going, taking upon himself all the anxiety and care ; and now, fioza, when the worst comes, your uncle seems quite disposed to to . " Here the inner disturbing action found vent in the discharge of two big tears that gathered, hung for a moment, then as it were, with a splash broke upon the lace flounces of her handsome gown. At the sight of the tears two flaxen heads immediately rose, and four blue eyes were fixed on the rubicund visage of the tearful Mrs. Blooms- bury. " It can't hurt papa, can it?" asked Carrie, who added, in alower tone, without altering her anxious gaze : ** And mamma lear, your nose is getting red ! " '* Hurt your papa ?" repeated Mrs. Bloomsbury, " it will riiin him '" At this, a sudden plunge into cambric folds caused a partial eclipse, whereby the corona maintained but a diffracted glow — "The mill, the stores, the bank, everything is liable to execution. But thank heaven ! " sobbed Mrs. Bloomsbury, piously, "thank heaven ! your papa has always been said by me; we may," she gurgled, "lose our business />;rj/4'r, and some property left unprotected, but we shan't lose our social standing. Hazlccopse is secured to me / " Thk Lic.ur ov OrirKR Da vs. 79 A satisfied si^h from the Misses Rloonishury was cut short l)y the eiurance of one, easily recognized as the sister of the two girls at the feet of their mother. It was a face full of happy youth; she had buoy- anc)- of step which seemed in strong contrast to the languor observable in her sisters, who asked: ''Why, Grace! where have you been all evening?" " I have been up at Denovy's," she answered, seating herself beside her mamma. " Do you know those babies grow skinnier every day. They'll die, mamma ; I'm sure they'll die unless ." "Shocking!" exclaimed the two sisters in concert. "Grace Hloomsbury ! " broke in the elder lady, throwing herself back with a gesture of horror and severity, "Where (/o you get your low tastes ? Why will you persist in visiting the mill hands? One thing I have done. I've put a stop to that ragged child, Jerry, coming about the place, and I uovi forbid you making any more visits to those low places." '.'Dear me! I hope it is not fever they've got!" said Kleganlia shuddering prettily, and moving across the room. " No," said Oracle, a tremor in her voice, " its only hunger, neglect and" — she paused, as a distant sound of the door bell, violently rung, was heard, "I washed them both — I've done it lots of times, mamma," as Mrs. Bloomsbury, horror in her glance, raised Ixjth hands and ejacu- lated : — "You are just like your Aunt Cicily ; poking about in all sorts of places. ' ' " Poor Aunt Cissy," sighed Gracie, folding her arms and leaning, thoughtfully over, " I was down at Cozydean to-day mamma, and they all seemed so sad. Uncle Haddam had gone to Cam pell ford, mamma, and Aunt Cissy feels sure that it is some new trouble." " Cicily is void of feeling," snapped Mrs. Bloomsbury, standing up and shaking out a shower of lace flounces that rose and fell in a sort of indignant flutter. "I remember well," went on the lady, "the time I bought my maroon curtains ; she said they were expensive, .she thought. Expensive ! It was sheer jealousy ! i>he wasted twice that sum in dress- ing up that waif Jerry , rnd I'm sure Tom Windsor was just nagged in- to taking him, though, ('ear knows, ue'll never learn much law from Tom " I' 80 The Light of Other Oays. The sentence was never finished, for the drawing-room door opened suddenly and unsteadily, andTownley Haddani, very much tiushfid, ard, for that Uvsually exquisite young man, disordered in general appearance, walked, or more truthfully, rolled in. "Townley ! " This was ejaculated in four different keys. Mrs. Bloomsbury a bass note in which anger and rage were apparent ; Carrie gasped it in a con- vulsive staccato ; Klegantia with cold disdain ; while Gracie, cowering there upon her low seat, her eyes big with agonized fear, lacing her small fingers nervously, parted her lips and called his name in a blending of love and sorrow. Townley was swaying unsteadily, gazing about him in a vague sort of way, as if wondering whether there might be somebody else to blink at ? lie stood there without speaking, neither had he removed his hat, which in defiance of all laws of politeness or gravity perilously poised just above one ear. He sank into a seat with a smile that was extremely silly but generously included the whole room. " Wha 'r y' all dancin' 'bout f'r?" he demanded gloomily frowning, " kee' still ! Can' coun' ye' — wha' r' y' dancin' f'r?" Now Mrs. Bloomsbury considered she had already born a good deal that dav. It will be conceded that this untimely appearance of any member of the offending family was exasperating and under such cir- cumstances doubly offensive. •• Oh — hh !" Mrs. Rloomsbury gasped, surveying her nephew, whose whole appeurai.ce betokened unregenerate dissipation; maudlin senti- ment and rank admiration in the wabbly eye now fixed on Oracie, who was twisting her fingers together helplessly and sending a pleading glance from her mamma to Townley, and from Townley back to her mamma. That astute lady, interposing her ample form between the eye of her nephew and its trembling object, now burst forth : — "I am a.stonished i astonished Mr. Haddam, that you should have the audacity to — to appear in — in my presence in this state of — of — of " — Townley, waved his arms with a zig-z^g motion as if wafting his aunt altogether out of view, and taking suddenly a new and dangerous angle in order to regain a view of Grace, hiccoughed : "Ol' girl g' ow 'way — Ion' wan t'see an'ybo'y bu' Gracie." Poor Gracie herself tearful anftly out pey, sobered by the coflFee, unevenly but blandly extended a hand to his aunt and was assuring her with flattering, but untimely assertion, "Grace's a reg'lar brick ! on'y one cares f 'r a f 'la ? " remarking with terrible earnest- ness, "would got' dev'l al'ger'er if 't wa'n't f'r Gra'ie," and caught Miss Gracie within his aims then and there, before the horror-wide eyes of his aunt, and savagely " dar'd an' one — an' one t' sep'rat' " them. Mrs. Rloomsbury, by an adroit movement, placed herself between the cousins, sternly ordering her daughter to her own room and putting her nephew to rout ; this she did in a double charge explosive and deter- mined, the while she followed him to the street door, and as he passed beyond the entrance to Hazelcopse and disappeared in the gloom, Mrs. Rloomsbury, with a laugh that had no mirth in it at all, shrilly observed: " There he goes to resume his bacchanalian revels! Like father, like sou ! To be seen going from my house in that beastly state!" Here Mrs. Bloomsbury became sepulchral : "Never again shall Townley Iladdam enter my door ! Never ! " Perritt Bloomsbury's mind was occupied by matters moie serious than those disturbing his wife's thoughts. That evening he returnetl absent-miuded " yes, yes's " to all that lady confided during the process of disrobing. Tortured by the knowledge that John Haddam, his trusted partner, had Great God ! was the man he called brother ^ the man he had trusted a Mrs. Bloomsbury, the while her husband struggled with serious, puzzling, mental complications, in a frilled night-cap and seated on the edge of the high posted bedstead, was giving in tiresome detail the story of Townley's offence, as related ; vshe had reached the culminating point in her recitative, where, having discovered the coffee-cup, she learned the full extent of Gracie's crime. " There it was," said Mrs. Bloomsbury dramatically, "there it was, under his chair, whtre she had wickedly shoved it out of sight with her toe ! " " He never did it," murmured Mr. Bloomsbury, looking past his wife in a dazed sort of way. " Why of ^ourse he did'nt do it " cried Mrs. B. shrilly, standing up in ghostly garments, and surveying her husband " .?A^ did it herself; pushed it out of sight with her toe !" and suiting the won^ by alike motion of her own pedal, nearly lost her balance, only .saving herself by 84 The Light oi^ Othkr Days. ^ j^rabbing the high poster, thereby jarring her husband into recognition of her presence. He laughed good naturedly enough, as with a tremendous " pw oh" the lamp was extinguished, "oh! you women, you women, with your fiddle-faddle squabbles !" "Squabbles!" mimicked Mrs. B. au octave higher than her usual recitative, as with one fat leg poised, she hesitated in the act of stepping into bed. The frills on her night-cap quivered, her eyes, big and round staring through the gloom to where her husband lay. "Squabbles! when your own child's future — her absolute honour is at stake I Do you know Mr. lUoonisbury" quoth she plunging into feathers " that, that scamp and — and your daughter are engaged ?" This with a flourish of the arm that was oratory and comfort combined, for Mrs. Bloomsbury felt indignation rising even as she felt the night's chill settling, and she drew the warm comforter of wool about her shoulders. " Who — what are you talking about ?" demanded Mr. Bloomsbury, a little ai.noyed at having his thoughts di»turbed. "Who — am — I — talking — about?" repeated his wife, so parrot-like, .so tauntingly, so belligerently, it roused all the irritibility latent in him. With a movement characteristic of the male mind determined not to be (lraggeonr own flesh and blood, there's no reason at all for you to agitate your fatherly mind ; none at all !" Thr Lioht of Othkr r)AYS. 86 Id's that ie*s Late This was eflfectual. Mr. Bloonisbury let down his drawbridge, or in other words turned his face to his wife, prepared to learn full particulars whereby his daughter's happiness was jeopardized, and said : '• Now my dear, what have the young people done ; what about this coffee business and how is Townley mixed up in it at all ?" Mr. Bloomsbury listened for a reply and gaining none, he went on : " I say, my dear," (this in a conciliatory key) *' I am much bothered by business worries just now, and '• " And have no time" snapped his wife "to look after your family !" immediately lapsing into silence, out of which, regardless of repeated ap- peals, she utterly refused to be brought into further conversation. She had succeeded in rousing him out of his lethargic reverie ; she had brought him to a point of excited curiosity ; she had conquered : and now Mrs. Bloomsbury could sleep ! The brain of Mrs. Blor>uisbury's husband was now so confused, so tingling with congested thought, disordered thought, that sleep was out of the question. He lay wakeful and disturbed, while that lady calmly reposed, her satisfied mind a serene blank, the day's anxieties gouv? ; the sorrows of her perturbed soul swept away on the sea of oblivion, sh( slept the sleep of a fully satisfied feminine mind. She had broken into that of her husband. The events of the past two days roiif* up in a haphazard violent way in Perritt Bloomsbury's mind ; a confused commingling of hank notes, and a blur of faces before his hot eye-balls. The face of his partner an»l friend, John Hadflam, white, drawn, agonized ; To ^'nley, his face a va- cant stare — whi^ flood of shame nvs^ pt over that boyish face where early dissipation lad traced hard lines. Then the package lying upon the desk in tlu mer office, ivhetc vo one save John Haddaui and his son had access. W ore was it ? Then with a suddenness that almOvSt made him laugh alo d, so grotesque it seemed, a coffee cup would dance lie- fore his disto .ed vision, while his wife's warning words about Graci.''5; honjr added lo his troubled soul new woe. In his weariness he gave a deep sigh ; Peiritt Bloomsbury had always thought that Townley would prove eciual to taking over the vast and in- creasing business of " ITaddam Bloomsbury and Co." Here the man's mind wcri' off on a canter : Townley and To\^ *iicy'« disappointing ways grew with fearful and persistent reality. Townley //ar/ disappointed 1^ 86 Thr Light op Other t)AY^. I III \fii- 11 them all. He was wild. vSomeway since the Honorable Dilraven Toft appeared he had become more reckless. The Honorable Dilraven Toft had certainly not done Townley any iia.ui ; a most proper young gen- tleman and hfir to an earldom. He was really troubled about Townley's ways but could that be out of any selfish idea ? Was beautiful Barbara Haddam in the honorable gentleman's mind ? Why linger at Daltonby ? He had been rescued at Daltonby, where the Anneta went down — his life had been saved there — and gratitude made Daltonby dear to him. He had his ranches and his landed interests out West — why linger at Daltonby unless then the troubled thought arose, would the crash of the firm of Haddam, Bloomsbury and Co. affect any serious intention of the titled gentleman. Would the fact that his prospective father-in-law was a t/iir/^^ Perritt Bloomsbury groaned aloud. " If he would only tell me — Duly tell me," he murmured, *' that he spent it on those damned elections, he kfioius I'd say " " Knoivs you'd say what^ Perritt f' '• Dear me ! dear me !" ejaculated that startled gentleman, "did I speak my dear?" " You've been s^-vaking the entire night," averred Mns. Bloomsbury, rcgardlCvSs of veracity, " and now," she added, flopping over so as to face her husband, " I must hear all about this Haddam business, for I knoiv John Haddam, with his chase after political honors is at the bottom of the trouble." Perritt Bloomsbury gravely considered a moment — then with a seri- ousness which rather alarmed, than satisfied his wife, he began : " You '^ee, my dear, it has been going on a very long time " " What's been going on ?" demanded Mrs. B., beginning to feel re- sentment at being kept in ignorance of important matters. " Why the — the" — stammered her husband coming to a full stop, and debating within himself, whether, after all he ought to allow his partner to appear in so ill a light as the facts of the case showed him. " Do you expect me to see into your mind and understand what is buried there ?" demanded Mrs. B. " Can I discover what you are think- ing about ?" •' Ciod bless me !" burst out her husband, '• Do you want me to tell vou, or do you not ?" I'' The Light ok Othkr Days. 87 This gave Mrs. Bloomsbury a hint that by cautiou more was to be gained, so she held her offeuded diguity well in hand, and with a mighty sigh cocked both ears for the story. "You see," said Perritt Bloomsbury, "it began about the time of the last election. Haddam lost interest in the business, or, at least, he began to let things slide. Then he put Townley at the desk, and as you know my dear, Townley is a little — wild. Mrs. Bloomsbury inwardly determined to send Gracie to Aunt liilge at Frederickton, and, lost in the calculation of what wardrobe alterations would be necessary by this move, missed some of her husband's monologue. However, her ear caught the name of "The Honorable Dilraveii Toft," and she interpolated: "As sure as yoi live, Perritt, Barbara will throw over Tom Windsor and marry Toft." "Well, my dear, I've been thinking things were shaping that way. Roger writes that he is very well liked out West, and likely lo 'jt. nd for the Commons," — adding, " unless this mystery of the " " What ? " interrupted his wife. Then the story came out : — Ten uiys before, and on the very day John Haddam was so pressed for mon«._y to meet his election expenses, the bills of Faraday, Faraday & Co. fell due, and a package of $20,000 had been made up by the part- ners themselves, and Townlej' was entrusted with the carrying of this package, securely sealed, on board the boat Rothesay Castle. Townley admitted seeing the package upon the desk. He went out, leaving the two partners together in the office ; spent the night at Inch Arran, and went down early in the following day to execute his trust. While in the office his father came in and began to upbraid him for his habits ; they became involved in a heated conversation, and Townley went out — with the package, his father said, b?it Townley had no recollection of having taken it. He admits having drunk heavily the night before, and, in fact, went back to get a soda to pull himself together. He knoWvS nothing further about the money. He thought his father ." "Of course, he stole it," summed up Mrs. Bloomsbury, with judi- cial promptitude, " and he ought to be hanged!" " He never said aye or nay," said Perritt Bloomsbury sadly ; that's what hurts me. If he would only own that his political expenses cor nered him. Why, dash it ! " said the excited man, " what's twice twenty thousand dollars between friends ? '' 88 Thk Light of Othkr Days. "Twenty thous ?" Mrs. Bloonisbury raised herself until her night-capped head balanced upon an elbow. Then she uttered " Nah !" in a sound between a gasp and a groan, and, with a look of malignity, sank back upon her pillow. "Then, Perritt," she said with solemn distinctness, "it is your duty, as a father, to see that that scamp is " " What duty are you talking about ? and what scamp do you mean, my dear ? " asked Perritt Bloomsbury tartly; " You don't suppose I'm going to have my sister's husband tried as a common thief, do you ? " "Well," retorted the lady, "you may set no store by your money, or your business, but I hope you do consider you daughter's happiness, and that you will at once bring this farce of an engagement to an end." " But, my dear, how will Gracie " " Must do better thau marry a pauper ! " broke in Mrs. Bloomsbury, hotly. " I must confess," said the bothered man, "that Townley has rather disappointed me ; still " His kindly heart was racked by the thought that his child might suffer by an attempt at breaking off v !iat had ever been considered an amicable family compact. He knew Ciracie loved her cousin, and he had hoped her influence would in time bring the boy, clever but wild, to a sense of his position. He should succeed to the business . This with a shock, for by some intuitive instinct an avalanche of words struck the exact tone of his troubled mind. "Business!" urged the lady ; "and now that you see there is no depend- ence to be placed on father or son, it is your f/«/j/ Perritt, your duty to put a stop to this nonsense." Mr. Bloomsbury made faint resistance, holding out that some con- sideration should be shown in what so nearly concerned the happiness of the two young people, urging as a slightly severe reminder, that Mrs. Bloomsbury herself had rather encouraged Townley, and was over ruled by arguments, and such arguments pinned by ugly but convincing terms in which "robber" "thief" made weighty considerations, leaving him •lothing but complete submission to a superior will. So it was that Gracie's fate was sealed while she slept a happy sleep, lightly dream-touched, and kindly unconsciousness made such dreams a joy. The Light of Othkr Days. 81) CHAPTER in. John Haddam wasa stricken man. After forty years, being looked upon as Daltonby's leading citizen ; twenty years as representative of the people he had looked down upon, rather than at, in the daily walk ; he had been generous h\ providing work for the many, but he had exacted much ; he had ground down the poor. And McTaggart a new comer, '* a whip-snapper" as Granny Tucker indigrantly observed, having heard with appalled ears that "ol' man Haddam" had lost the Daltonby seat, and McTaggart was going to rep- resent the old Riding. Granny Tucker was attending a case at Bar well's and Barwell after his day in the mill, over a bowl of soup was giving fragments of McTaggart's speech. " Ay," he knows uf. he do ! It's bone and siney is workin' into sawdust he say's. Fourteen hours a day, say's he, Haddam gin's ye, say's he, cheatin' ye out o' two hours the A'mity gin' ye, say's he! The Lord A'mity' say's he, "gi's twel' hours o' wark an' twel' a' repose, say's he, but Hadciatn takes two more on ^em say's he — steals * em / say's he " "Aye" interrupts Granny, flirting a flannel gown of minute dimensions from a line conveniently above her head. "Them as don't hire alius pay big wage, belike it's the same A'mity as said t' McTiggert an' his sort : " Take the moths out o' yer own eye afore ye' sees the beans in ithers eye !" This effectually closed Harwell's argument, and the newest arrival at Harwell's taking the dame's attention in the administration of catnip, Jem, shaking his head gravely, breathed rather than spoke the prediction that, " As sure as eggs is eggs ol' man's day in Daltonby's done !" To his wife — once fair Cicely Bloouisbury — John Haddam had been a splendid investment. She drove her carriage and commanded her ser- vants and had her children educated as befitted their station in life, but aside from a splendid investment she had nothing. Husband and wife grew apart. The son took after his mother, warm of heart, light, genial in nature, but the Daltonby world shook its head and said : " He'll spend what his father made." In his growing days Townley might have been saved from drifting into shoals ol dissipation, by his mother's guiding 00 Tun Li(iHT oi- OTiiKR Days. I'- u love and watchful tenderness, but John IIader^para lysis. The maid was bustling about with a cheery contented face that struck Barbara with contrasting pang. " I suppose that young scamp has been getting himself into some scrape, what was that he said about Gracie?" Doctor Dinnie blinked wickedly, gathering his brows in a heavy frown. *' God bless me !" he ejaculated in answer to Barbara's almost soundless words, " God bless me ! Gracie his wifc\ What will Bloomsbury say?" What Bloomsbury would say was of little consequence just then but what Mrs. Bloomsbury did say, there was no mistake. Her shadow The Light op Other Days. 93 Ime he less len low plump aud portly filled the door ; bristling and fierce she entered, break- ing into a torrent of words in which 'Grace,' 'disgrace,' 'thieves,' 'Townley,' 'deceit,' came in conglomerate and lumultuous discharge. There was no stopping the angry lady, her broken sentences were lashed on in infuriate wrath. Doctor Dinnie, gathering the full import of her words, succeeded by adroit manoevering, in getting her out of the hall and into the dining room, where, in the pauses of an excited march up and down she ex- plained between tearful gasps how she had been 'tricked,' 'blinded,' until Barbara faintly asked, with folded hands imploringly raised ? " Aunt Bloomsbury, what is wrong?" Aunt T'loomsbury repeated the words in savage fury : " What's wtong f' Do you ask me what's wrong? Then I'll tell you what's wrong : It was scarcely dawn when that scoundrel Townley, burst in at Hazlecopse, calling for my Gracie ! And when I got down — gracious hea- ven !" gurgled Mrs. Bloomsbury, throwing herself upon a seat and shut- ting both eyes' tight, as if to shutout the remembrance, ** theie was Grace Bloomsbury bellowing in hib arms," squeaked the agitated lady, immedi- ately adding in a hollow tone, "and then it came out that they were already — married !" At this the lady fell a-weeping, and Barbara shook her head sadly ; Doctor Dinnie, his hands crossed under his coat tails, his feet very wide apart, his lips tightly closed, uttered a sound that might mean a dozen different sentiments, but Mrs. Bloomsbury had recovered herself and was saying: " They were married last summer ; you remember Barbara, the time we went up to that Indian mission — at St, Annes — Oh ! " she sob- bed, " Periitt must go up and see that horrid little French priest, and see whether it can't be all undone — I dare say," she gurgled, " it was done in Latin or some way that the law can set aside — I've sent for Tom Wind- sor. If Tom Windsor would only attend to his profession and let his scribbling at vsilly novels alone — I'm sure he could find some way of un- doing it all ; oh, dear ! oh, dear ! to think of my Gracie being the wife of a a common thie " "Aunt," said Barbara, sternly, "if Grace is Townley's wife, say no more. My brother may have been wild, he may have been weak, but he is no thief." " That's right ! quite right, my dear," chirped in Doctor Dinnie, i 94 The Lioht op Othkr Days. "even if he — er — has been — foolish, I like your pluck ; drat the young rascal ! a wife, eh ? My ! my ! what will Bloomsbury — say ? " Then Mrs. Bloomsbury, having emptied her guns, now opened her trenches, and amid copious tears mingled with sobs, which came like dull thrusts and harmless, as from retreating forces, capitulated altogether ; falling on Barbara's neck, and, as Doctor Dinnie afterwards said, "took conniptions," which may be a new disorder, and not yet classified in medical works. Townley had gone. Of course, suspicion, that had been suspended, now pointed clearly that he had stolen the money package. His con- vivual habits had led to dissipation ; dissipation had brought with it doubtful companions ; doubtful company enticed him to the gaming table, and then the leaven had done its work. Gracie, with the full strength of her love, had tried to save him from such ways. He said if she were always by to save him, he would never be led (for Townley never imagined there was volition on his part) into such dangers. So, It happened one gala day, when at St. Anne's, where the simple folk, in great pomp and splendour, celebrated their saints' feast — the whole ser- vice being to those, not of the faith, a spectacular drama — Townley, with his cousin, having tired of wandering among the moss-grown tombstones with their quaint ornamentations, went into the quiet church for a talk. There they were met by a young ecclesiastic, who led them into the vestry. While the clergyman donned surplice and vestments Townley, who saw there was a mistake, whispered a few hurried words in Grade's ear, who, until that moment, thought they were merely being shown through the church. With a fluttering heart it was that Gracie w^ent forward, and in a few words, thoughtlessly, but for all time and eternity, they step- ped into that new life. They received Father Damien's blessing upon their knees, like good children of the Church, just as arrived the real couple, with their friends, whom the little Father was expecting. This was a terrible mistake. The little priest became frantic with terror. What had he done ? The good Bishop would be angry. Dieu ? it was terrible ! Townley assured the good father that it was all right, but greatly distressed. Father Damien wrung his hands, examined the register again, and, finding the couple impatient in the church outside, asking forgive- ness from above, and with much awe thinking what Monseigneur would say, he bade the young couple begone, aud begged them ever to remem- ber his sin was not of the heart. i*HE Light of Ot«rr Days. 95 And this was the end of all that happy dream ? A little wife de- serted, and the future unfathomably long, before her. lUit she stood up bravely for her banished scamp husband. A battle royal between her- self and her mother ended in a draw, it might be said, and though the little heart sank so low sometimes, until it seemed to leave her altogether, still she defended his good name, and bore his silence and absence, like the little heroine she was. The Honorable Dilraven Toft was the only one who had spoken to Townley before his flight. He refused to disclose that which was dis- cussed. He admitted having given him the means to leave Daltonby, admitted it with reluctance, and, in a genuine burst of goodness (that carried with it much admiration for his sterling qualities as a friend) de- clared the boy had not deliberately stolen the money. To the hints of the card table, and that being the probable cause of the disappearance of the money, Mr. Toft only shook his head, saying : — '* I asked Windsor to speak to Townley, but he wouldn't." And Barbara felt a new feeling rise up against Tom, and she thought how much she owed this good friend of her reckless brother. ;atly iT U(i ThK lylOHT OK OTHKR DAYS. CHAPTER IV. The Iladdams has come down in the world ! To one mind in Dal- lonby came the soothing thought — the Haddams had come down in the v/orld ! Tom Windsor is seated at an office desk, and he has before him many pages of close-written paper. Tom is wandering in clou Hand, indeed he is at this moment enveloped in a haze-blown atmosphere, and while he wanders in pythegorean lanes and dreams, suddenly with p. contemptu- ous exclamation he rises, and we become aware, with a shock that the opalescent air is caused by an ordinary clay pipe, which he now takes from his lips and throws it with a soit of angry force within the open grate near by. Tom seats himself, after taking a turn across the office floor, and shutting his eyes, he leans very far back, but his thoughts are not pleasant. He is thinking with some bitterness, of the time John Haddam, in the arrogance of his successes forbade him to speak on a sub- ject dear to Tom's heart. He would not give his daughter to a beggar ! \V" that was what he called him — a beggar ! Tom was a beggar — that was quite true, his was a beggarly profession out of which little came. Marriage and home and children were out of the question for him — nothing but work, work, work. And for what? What might not be 7i07a, but for that scoundrel, the high-born repro- bate with his insolent swagger ; the silkiness of his soft speech ; the feline face. Tom shook with the wave of disordered thought that surged and seemed to beat out in audible heart throbs that filled the small room ; then he took the pen up again and without ceasing wrote madly. The night passed in this way. The pen goes on swiftly. It is whispering hope now. A double thought seemed to be borne along in Tom's mind. The Haddams had come down in the world. Yesterday hopelessnCvSS for Tom— to-day all is altered — the glow of this renewed hope is chilled by the door opening suddenly and the wind comes careering in with a swirl, catching up the loose pages upon the desk and scattering them a confused heap upon the bare floor, and Tom looks up to see standing The LiortT or 0th kr Da vs. 97 with em a ding there in the grey dawn the man he hates. The intruder stands watching the bits of paper frolicking about, then bursts into a laugli and says : — "Hullo, Windsor, been burning the midnight, eh? Have I inter- rupted the banns of the Lady Edora and the adorable Sir Pooh, or have I come in at the death — which or how many of these things have I done — and how shall I undo them ? " "Ah, Toft! I rtw working a little later than usual — all nonsense I suppose, but when the ink-fever is on me perhaps it is as well to bleed the brain with the pen — aren't you a trifle early yourself though ? " asks Tom rising to gather up the stray fallen leaves. " Dashed if I knew what the late — or early light meant," said Mr. Toft seating himself comfortably. " I've just come from Inch-Arran ; I've played pretty deep to-night— I mean last night — and by the way Windsor, that young friend of yours — well, he's going a pace too fa.st for his — years I think. I left him sleeping it off in my room.s— don't you think you ought to — interfere?" Tom's brows folded darkly, "Yes," he said, "I fear Townley is doing rather badly — lately ; but a man hesitates about giving a ' vA/iy any claim to a title ?" ' Y*^*, my dear, quite, I believe so," answered mamma, vaguely coUiUiniug the two questions ; "that is if his father dies — I don't care for too much fulness when the lace is good — but you know they say the old gentleman is quite healthy — it shows the pattern so much better." " I can't understand Barbara marrying anyone but Tom," said Car- rie thoughtfully ; " just think, after all the years and years he waited ! It must be an awful blow to him." "Tut, tut," said Mrs. Bloomsbury reproachfully, looking up and /"» - ^ The Light of Other Days. lOr) frowning, '* Mrs. Bunibleton was telling nie his great book came back again ; Barbara is a sensible girl to do the best she can for herself." " But it's an awful jump from a poet to a rancher, isn't it?" And drop- ping her needle Carrie rested a dimpled chin in two doubled hsts and looked into space as if expecting no answer. •* Well," said her mamma wisely, nodding, *' there may be more pro- fit in pigs than poetry, and sonnets won't sell like cheese !" " O Mamma !" gasped Elegantia, " I do hope Mauleverer won't hear anything about cheese ! Do you know he thought at one time of going out there to the prairies for our honeymoon, wouldn't it be awful if he did decide to go after all ?" " Mauleverer will go wherever your pa and I decide he should," said Mrs. Bloomsbury tartly, and Elegantia blushed, remembering that in- deed papa might cause untold disasters, so she branched off saying: — *' Well, if Mr. Toft is heir to an earldom he can aflFord to be eccentric." '*It must be a wonderful country out there," said Carrie with a far- away look ; there are hundreds of miles of level plain without a tree at all, and Aunt Cissy says that Townley is on" There was a sudden stop ; at the silence both ladies looked up, to see standing in the door- way, Gracie, her usually wan face lit up with some tinge of color, and an open letter in her hand. She smiled a sad little smile that was like tht- ghost of a laugh that had wandered and wandered and spent itself out, dying for lack of nourishment. •' Oh ! " chirps Carrie, in acheerful way, " Here's Gracie now ; we've just been planning something for you to wear. The dad's dead broke, and everything else stingy and dreadful. Let us hear your choice, girlie — say crimson. It would brighten up that solemn, round face of yours, and — we'll be in white, you know — so you must be a foil." Elegantia gave a warning glance in the direction of the speaker, then passed it on to the elder lady, who was making mental calculations upon the embroidered work in her hands. Gracie sat down close to the foam of tulle, where she looked like a bit of dulce floating seaward, and threading her small fingers nervously, she began, with a sort of gasp. — '* I— shan't be here — to — to wear — anything, dear," lowering the golden head until the yellow strands looked like truant sunbeams stray ing, " I'm going to my husband ! " " What 1?" This a concerted shriek from the three ladies. m I? lot; This Light ok Othkr Days. " I'm goiu^ out to Towuley — out West, with Ma Haddam." Out of Carrie's wail, as she cast herself iuto Oracle's arms across the tulle ocean, regardless of its perishable nature, came Mrs. Bloomsbury's howl of dismay, for there is no other word that could express the souud to which that dismayed lady gave utterance. "I'm going — going to — Towuley ! " sobbed Oracle, now a very limp little body, breaking down a wreck in words, but becoming a marvel of strength in purpose, " I'm going with Ma Haddam," she sobbed from Carrie's supporting arms, who cried in sympathy — a tutelary goddess of the tulle waves. ^ "Do go, Oracle, do ,ifo / Mamma, don't you see she is fading away, dying? " Here the goddess suddenly became aware of the antag- onism existing betwixt tulle and tears, and in the important task of res- cuing her damaged finery, she forgot to complete her sentence, but Hle- gantia was already saying : — " Let her go, mamma ! It would be better for her to go. She gives me the dismals, always crying." But Mrs. Bloomsbury was storming valiantly, and harkeuing to no one. " The very idea ! Such madness! Going out to that dreadful place, where there are no people but savages ! IVild savages and Tommy-Hawks !" (I think Mrs. Bloomsbury imagined the latter a species of Indian chief). "This was Cicily's work; no doubt she ad- vised this rash move, no doubt ! Ooing out West to a — a common police- man — not even a soldier ; a policemen, living on fifty cents a day ; going out there to be scalped ! To be trampled down by buffaloes ; to be burnt up by prairie fires ; miles and miles of prairie fires ! To be devoured by cUJlves — was it wolves or mosquitoes? Anyway, hy dreadful creatures that roamed about and compelled travellers to build nres to keep them off at night, or did they shoot them ? She forgot, but she believed they shot them ! There was a man went out there once — was his name Antic- knap or Dobbs? She was sure it wasn't Dobbs, but he went out there and he died f'' The lady's bieath, if not vocabulary, being exhausted, she recuperated her strength by a comfortable cry, declaring, in plaintiff gurgles, that her "children were all leaving her," and she was only a "lonely old woman, anyhow," becoming rational when the thought occurred to her that Von Krissman, with two brother officers, were com- ing to diue that day, so, under cover of excessive grief, she disappeared, The Light ok Other Days. 107 Itic- f.ed, itifr (ya jm- ed. forgetting the matter altogether in the nice preparation of an orange jelly for Von Krissman's palate. Elegantia began to fear that Gracie's trip might mean some reduc- tion in her allowance, and she followed her mamma in much anxiety to discuss the probable chances, and if necessary defend her rights. Carrie and Gracie being left alone there followed a long and tearful confab, in which confidential whisperings there was much kissing and many •*oh's," a sworn promise on Carrie's part ^* never never \.o ioW,'^ and amid renewed embraces, surreptitious clippings of embroidery lengths, looting among laces (this spoliation being conducted by Carrie alone), and a chunk ofif the (damaged) tulle ; for Carrie was practical as well as good hearted, Gracie was coaxed into smiles. It became apparent to Mrs. Bloo:nsbury that Grace Bloomsbury and Grace Haddam were two entirely different persons. She had to accustom her mind to the fact that Grace was a child to be bidden no longer, and she sobbed this to sympathising friends who were much shocked to learn ** the child was set on going to a mere mounted policeman whose pay was but fifty cents a day, whose occupation was killing Indians by gov ernment contract, that, and being on guards// ni^ht long — which meant he was obliged to keep walking up and down with a loaded gun all ready to fire off at anybody who ventured near Ihe place ; walking there all night long without a wink of sleep for hours and hours and hours ! Wasn't it awful ?" At the same time Mr. Townley, in a smart suit of regimentals, his spurs clanking (he had already accomplished the feat of walking without tripping himself up disastrously), stripes on his arm, for indeed Townley had been that very very day made a corporal, and under a cap — the exact dimensions of a silver dollar which perched miracul- ously — was his giddy head. Uncle Roger had come. Big of build, ruddy of beard, brown of face; his voice a tremendous bellow, his laugh the heartiest and honestest ever heard. He kissed both Came and Ivlegaiitia in the very faces of the noble officers, who only overlooked this familarity upon viewing the size and weight of a watch-chain " made " — he informed them in a voice capable of accommodating a hall suited to ten thousand people — "of Saskatchewan gold and taken from a bend in that river, running through his own ranching grounds." There was something of power about Uncle Roger ; he spoke of his nineteen-huudred acres of laud with less exlravagauce or bragadocia i 108 The Light of Other Days. than de Hebert did of the poop of his ship, which he trod upon by leave only. He referred, with no pomp whatever, to his twenty-hundred head of stock, and to the exceeding great relief of Mrs. IJloonisbury never once mentioned cheese. Of the gay officers he expressed open con- tempt, designating de Hebert as "a gopher laying in his supply ! " While his highest (expressed) opinion of Von Krissman — notwithstanding the latter often referre> if he iched in sat :lf:— Igery The •eads. »rable hag- lively Lying »roke lent. pan- acea ! With Work the Furies may be defied, and by Work the wonst of Pandora's gifts be neutralized. The famous case of the X. Y. Z. versus the Intercolonial Ry., and the legal fight to a finish by two quite unknown practitioners against an imposing array of grey-headed learning brought from the City of St. John, is still talked of on both sides of the Shallows. Marlinford work- ed faithfully, and Tom, poor heart-aching, hope-wrecked Tom, tried to forget by throwing himself with all his heart and mind and energy into the fight. He said to himself, that for him all ambition, all future, was over. He had no future now, he wanted none ; so he worked with no object in view but ope — he wanted to forget. And Tom found he had able minds to cope with. He discovered an adroit skill which must be com- batted. He believed in fads, while the St. John talent relied upon oratory. To bamboozle a jury is a high art in legal circles, and can be wrought out to a degree of perfection by a brilliant pleader ; but to Tom's mind, facts were the thing to be most relied on, and he considered facts should be respected, if rights were to be recognized at all ; and while dreaming Tom shook off the sorrow by force of will, and threw himself into the case, sparing neither strength nor anything else, the honorable Dilraven Toft carried away to the golden West the one woman out of all the world of women whom Tom could ever, or would ever love. She had sent a tearful short letter once since that evening he last saw and spoke to her — a few-lined letter pleading * to be forgotten,' she did not ' want to be a hindrance, a drag to him.' Tom twisted the weak little appeal up in a fierce looking corscrew-shaped thing, then threw it with the manuscript of his book into the blaze of the office stove, and the roar that went up the chimney with the Lady Edora and vSir Pooh was really alarming ; but Tom drowned it by trolling out bravely and in his best notes, "If she be not fair to me what care " but the rest was lost in a moan that broke from the man's strong heart ; the lock of the tide of tears gave way, and Tom, great fellow that he was, sat there crying blessed boyish tears that washed away a good deal of the woe and bitterness, and carried on its tide some new glint of peace. By some odd coincidence the great case was fixed for the very day on which Barbara became Mrs. Toft. At the very hour indeed. And while Tom was cracking the arguments of his learned opponents by a statement of facts, so clear, so convincing, in argument so conclusive, and appeal so mild, yet impassioned, with findings so unassailably staunch, that 12« Till', LiciHT OK Othkr Days. the jury — who had every one of them known Tom as a small boy, and being hardy, honest yoemen themselves, weren't going to allow their sympathies to be overbalanced by "them there Big-wigs from over yander, as come to talk honest folk against our own boys!" Indeed, the " big- wigs" began to whisper together among themselves during this unknown young pleader's astute reasoning; nodding unconscious approval at odd points directed with telling effect against themselves and the X. Y. Z. cause. In short, with no thought of it, with no wish for it, no de'^ire for it — Tom Windsor found himself famous. The case was closed. The jury proved themselves loyal to reason and home talent. The Intercolonial was victorious, and showed its appreciation of Tom's efforts by the pay- ment of a cheque so big and so unexpected, that Tom gasped when he looked at it and then upon his lip trembled one word only, that word was — " Barbara ! " Not only this, but Tom was made solicitor for that great corporation the Intercolonial. Tailings, who was a Q.C. and bore other alphabetical honors, and who had led the forlorn hope of the X. Y. and Z. cause, promptly offered this '* clever young fellow " a partnership in his firm — a leading one it was too. Friends gathered about him, congratulations poured in, the tide of luck .seemed to almost submerge Tom, who, less than a week ago hadn't a hop**. Then a Q.C. parchment appeared in a neat frame upon the oilfice wall, and it seemed as if his good luck had brought all the rest of the Daltonby world to war, so vast was the business that poured in, not only that, but briefs from far-away places came to Dalton- by's shore, and Mrs. Windsor looked out upon the smiling Shallows where her husband had gone down in that cruel crawling foam-wave, and sighed " Ah I if his poor father had lived to see this great day ! " Terrible tidings from the West came. Accounts of mad violence of the rebels led by the irresponsible Reil. Among the first who, enrolled their names and went out to defend their country's rights, was Tom Windsor, who led "The Shamrock Leaf." The boys of the " Shamrock Leaf" started out one morning just as the mill bell called the men from the hill -side to go to work among the slabs. With the " Shamrock Leaf" went Jerry — marching in the shadow of his captain, Tom Windsor — a big drum slung before him, and his eyes wide with the determination to distinguish himself in the Great Lone Land. War was over the land — homes were made desolate — women were impris- oned and forced along with cruel captors — priests were murdered — chur- Tin.; MoHT oi- Otiiiir Davs. 739 olirthol'l""," ^''°'."r""""«^-«'"ofago„i»,l wives, an.lTo,,.. witi, An/helLHofthl i '"■\"'r""" °"' "^ «" "■- worl,l, calle.l ho,„e. sorrow from the homes which son.e of then, would neveni'aj^.i:; 130 Thk Light ok OriiKk Days. CIIAPTJ'IR VIII. Tlie express rushing into Rej^ina, the prairie capital, was shrieking resentment it niij^ht be, at being eight hours late. The hours after leaving Qu'Appelle station had been joyous-sad hours to Ciracie. Was she not within — almost within reach of her husband's arms, and had not the last link between her and the old happy life at D<onby been broken ? She began to think she had not seemed sorry when saying good bye to Ma Haddani, who wept over her in that last embrace, and said " (iod bless you my daughter." Too, she reflected upon having angered kind I'ncle Roger, by insisting on going on to Townley at once, strong in that determination, although Uncle Roger advised her remaining at Qu- Appelle until her husband came for her, Oracle's argument against this suggestion being : " Was her husband not a soldier; was not a soldier's first duty his country, and was not the duty of a soldier, his wife's duty ? So, while the authoritative old gentleman fussed about, swearing against the rebellion and vowing that Oracle would not leave his protection until he saw her safely In Townley's care, although his property at Battleford was in imminent danger ; but such losses the dear old gentleman counted nothing as against the brave little wife's safety. He had to content himself by Insisting on her acceptance of a fat roll of bills, and while he kept the wires between Qu'Appelle and the Mounted Police headquarters, ticking frantic calls on constable Haddam constable Haddam's wife stf:pped on board the train and waved last good byes. Uncle Roger and the honorable Dllraven Toft separated at Qu'- Appelle, the latter with his wife going straight on to the Saskatchewan, while Mrs. Haddam In her brother-in-law's care, prepared for the journey to Battleford. With a crunching of wheels, shrieking of whistles and ringing of bells, the train drew Into the neat station. Uncle Roger had wired Townley to meet his wife, and through the glad mist of tears, two eager eyes watched for the young soldier husband. Passengers were leaving the cars and exchanging ciuerles, but out of the subdued bustle no familiar face appeared, The porter gathered up shawl-strap and valise Thk Kk.iit «)!• ormcR Days. VM fney and gently hurried Oracie into the open air. Hurrying men, lounging youths — everywhere decided niovenu'iits— except one little woman standing looking in a bewildered way about her. With a shriek the cars were off again, laying before (iracie's view a (jueer huddled-up little town where it seemed that the houses were dodging each other in a game of architectural hide-and seek. They were built on streets that sidled along in a zig-zag fashion and crossed each other in a way suggestive of geometrical propositions. Hampered by her many parcels, the little woman decided to follow in the wake of a portly old gentleman making his way familiarly to a much added-to structure with the sign " Palmer House " upon it. A smudgy lad blockaded the entrance with an enorm- ous valise, and in answer to Gracie's timid knock, pau.sed in his efforts to shoulder the same to say : " This way 'm," and beginning the ascent of a narrow stairway. Smudgy pointed the way to an open door at the ex- treme end of a very long and very narrow corridor, where she sat down, and a moment later was interrogated by her guide as to " w'ether ye niout be wantin' a room— co's ther' wasn't none —they was chock-up- full 'n runnin' over; folks a cumin' frum the Front, sleepin' four deep, so they was," plaintively averring without a blush he " hedn't bed his own blessed clo's off ft;r mor'n eight weeks" — which statement though alarming, from every evidence of the senses seemed probable. The little woman requested to see the land-lady, upon which Smudgy witli a broad grin said : "he wa'n't up yet," but hinted at "hevin' him inter his boots in three shakes ov a lam's tail ! " It .seemed to the tired little woman, waiting in the small room, (and not quite decided whether to laugh or cry) that a great many lambs might have gone through the recommended calisthenic exercise of wag- ging their tails, over and over again, before an elderly gentleman, with a tremendous length of beard, but with a kind face and manner, came in. He looked interested when he learned that the lady's husband expect- ed her ; became somewhat grave when he heard the name, and grew silent and anxious-eyed when she asked to be furnished a conveyance to be taken to barracks. " I will be back in a moment, madam," he said, and again she was left alone. The minutes went by draggingly slow, and the tired, little woman almost broke down. Why did not her husband come ? Had he received her letters ? Where was Ma Haddam now ? How glad she was she had not let Uncle Roger's advice prevail. Where ! oh where was 132 Thr Lioht of Othkr Days. her husband ? He must surely conie soon. Someone 7aas coming ! Down the long hallway came a double footstep. Her heart was beating like a prisoned bird ; the clank of a spur ! A firm, light step, a blur of red jacket that hesitated at the door. Blinded by joy, she made a step forward reaching out trembling hands . The arms fell — the glad eager light of the eyes went out suddenly, yet she held her breath wait- ing to hear that he was coming. The roaring sound in her ears lessened, the mild-faced man was looking at her pityingly, he was offering her a chair — what did it all mean. What was the boyish lad in the regimentals saying ? " B. division was ordered out a week ago, and went into the fight at Fish Creek yesterday." ''Gone/" she did not cry out nor faint^ though both men sprang forward to catch her as she reeled. She walked with uncertain step up to the red-jacketed lad, and looked in his face so pathetically, with so dumbly discon.solate an expression^ that he flinched in hi;, g'^ze. He was a brave Quebec boy, and would not quail though facinr death and the cannon fire, but the mute anguish of the girl- wonii'i'.'', woe touched the quick of his soldier heart. No need to tell of the anguished after hours of that sad day, of the after days that fol- lowed, the weary, weary waiting for news ; the morning walks to the post oifice, when, one day her heart gave a convulsive bound as a white square was handed to her, and then hope seemed to die out altogether, to find it was ofi/y from home. Almost without interest she opened it. It was from her mother, the beginning an extravagant blare about the double wedding. "Such an ado! She hoped never again to pass through so distressing an ordeal ! The trousseau, the breakfast, the wed- ding gown, the wedding cake, the trip, a trip to Geneva ; where was Geneva ? Heaven only knew where Geneva was, but it was there Count Yollop had his castle on the Rhine — it must be there, for, of course, they had nothing but castles on the Rhine. To think of one of her chil- dren being mistress of a castle at Geneva, while one was a common sol- dier's wife — but thank Heaven, if Towuley did make a slip, he made it like a gentleman! ' In other words, Mrs. Bloomsbury was glad it was no petty bit of stealii;g, but a genteel robbery of thousands. Gracie put down the letter with some feeling like shame, but when the dusk fell and eerie shadows began to form queer shapes in the corners of the little bedroom, she took out the foolish, rambling letter and kissed it. It was the only link that held now between her and her happy girlhood days. Thk Lioht^ok Other Days. 1.S3 lite her, id it. the was ouut uise, chil- sol- deit ; was put m fell little was s. Morning always brought with it hope renewed ; blessed sunlight that robs grief of its pain and sorrow of its sting. ' Another week gone, ' thought Ciracie, seated one morning in the dining-room and some little thrill of alarm was awakened as she remembered that only Uncle Roger's gift, now stood between her and absolute want. " I must begin to look out for quieter quarters and " — hot tears fell, but she determined under no circumstances to be weak, and she resolutely gave her attention to a shaggy, bronzed man seated at the same table, enjoying with voracious appetite, a breakfast, while he gave to a bearded companion in language unknown to the polite gods, news from the north : — *' Yes, siree !" he was saying, " met 'em at Touchwood goin' like blaz's — bosses most con- nipshuned frum goin' night an' day — Quinn shot in his tracks, an' the whole blank horde of %m riz, lootin' like blank an' scalpin' 'n burnin'. By blank," the burly ftUow said, thumping the table until the dishes chimed — " By bliak, si . I b'leeve they'll wipe out th' p'leece !" A wail from the vhite-faced Mlae woman, drew the burly fellow's at- tention. He leaned over saying in a thundering voice: — "No 'fFence, 'm, but might you hev' some one up north ? I ain't no melancholy gib- cat, but I purdicts onless guv'ment deals 'th them red divils like they'd deal 'th snakes, ther's goin' t' be scalps enufFtook in this here country t' fence the hul' peraries !" " I would like — to know about — the — the police," a trembling little voice said. "Poleece? -11 !" Well 'm the blanked truth ov it is, ther' givin' the boys Without noting the distress his words were causing, the huge fellow went on to say he " he'd cum from Batochea-cartin' supplies fer the boys, but blank his eyes, ef he was Middleton, he'd cart up bullets a 'stead of beef, an' " — Mr. Bottle's intention was swallowed before he had time to express it, and a small hand was reaching out to ask with a little gasp : — " B division — did he know about B division ?" " B division? A' course ! Why, B division went info the fight two days ago — didn't she see the speshul ?" Mr. Bottle's war upon the vic- tuals ceased. He was producing a paper from a deep pocket when the dining-room door swung open. There was a buzz from the bar-room be- yond, whence came the odor of beer and bad language — the cracking of billiard balls sounded to her intensified hearing like shots firing ; but the 134 Thk IvIGht ok Other Days. burly Mr. Bottles claimed her atteutiou to the printed page by a very black thumb. He was reading : "Six killed over forty wownded. Those killed were de Manolly, W. "Cook, Private A. W. Ferguson, J. Hutchins, G. Wheeler and W. En- nis. Wownded" — Mr. Bottle's eye was fixed on the page and following his thumb with so much earnestness that he did not see the frail girl-woman creeping up to him, her breath coming in thick gasps, her small fingers interlocked and outreaching, her hand touched his arm and the blue eyes, wide with fear were fixed on his face as he rolled out the names. But she im- ploringly sighed, "icU me, is Constable — Haddam?" — Mr. Bottle's thumb took a jump and fixed itself at a spot lower down while he turned to survey the face upturned and expectant. He laughed as he repeated "Cunstible Haddam? /'course his name's here, but sissy, ye'll never see Cunstablc Haddam no more, he " " By (i I've killed her !" yelled the son of the plains, stooping over the little woman who had fallen at his feet like a bit of sod, " Here you are Bottles ! Off with you ! Hosses prancin' for to be off", and chewin' the'r bits to l)e goin' come, look lively, no time to lose." The next moment Ben Bottles, seated astride a front barrel and going along the trail was vowing vengeance on himself "fer a gol-durn-son-of- a " vSomething awful to hear, shaking his shaggy head and confiding to himself " it must a' bin the blanked gal's sweetheart, blank his eyes if it mustn't a' bin !" and Mr. Bottles followed up this reflection by the declaration: "If it was'nt fer the little gal up yander he would'nt go a- near the blanked country agin, no more he would'nt." They were very kind to Oracle. She was placed in a chair, and faces full of respectful sympathy bent over her as her eyes opened to conscious- ness. But she wanted to be alone, wanted to cry out the trouble of her widowed heart, so she .staggered out of the room and up to her little chamber where vshe put on hat and cloak and then went out into the morning air. There was a wide waste of whitened prairie beyond the huddled houses. " She turned south and passed from the town, out far out over the hillocky sweep, with no thought of destination or purpose, only to go on, on, on. Why was her lot so hard ? Dead . The cruel savages ; oh, why did not the troops ride on them and trample them down ? The remorseless savages ah, they too had wives and mothers and un- born babes ! Oh, cruel, cruel war ; defacing this young and beautiful TiiK I.KiHT oi' Othkr Days. 136 lie In- lul land with bloody hand — ihe beautiful land ! The town was now unr Tar behind. A narrow thread-like stream of frozen water barred the way, and she sat down by its sloping bank and looked at the frescoed waves icebound below. 3he was so alone — her husband was dead. He had fallen a soldier, and as a soldier's wife, she niu.st stand firm in the battle of life now before her. She had no where to go— no home — but the God of the widow and fatherless was there. Her mist-dininied eyes looked upwards and she saw that the dull splendour of the sun was now fast passing to the West. vShe looked back along the way she had come, and it seemed as if the rays of the departing glory of day hovered over one particular bright spot — caught ai\d held with glittering glow the sunset glory. Ciracie watched the scintillous object and she moved for- ward as one fascinated. As she neared the glittering thing .she observed beneath it a fo/ni outlined. Upon the white-draped figure amber-tinted lights were reflected and nearing it she saw it was a woman, and holding in her arms a Child. vSomething like the seed of a new hope took root in the heart of this lone little woman, and as she looked, tears, grateful tears rained down her face. There too stood a mother. She had wan- dered homeless, not knowing where to lay her head, and in a lowly stable at Bethlehem the Son of Man was born ! And this calm-faced Mother was looking tlown, surely with pitying eyes. The Child resting there within the arms, reaching fingers that surely beckoned. Gracie looked again, but the flood of loneliness burst from her in a sad and overwheming tide, and seeing an open doorway beneath the figures standing there all lonely like herself, she crep. therein, and saw within, a dim light sus- pended before a white table rich in blossoms and bright in a golden sheen. She sat down, bending her head upon trembling hands and wept quietly. A low murmuring sound roused her and she looked up. Witli- in a low railing a kneeling figure was repeating in low whispering tone.s. ''Saint Marie nurc dc Dicu.''' The half articulate words wafted down the empty aisles and some vague remembrance caused Grade's troubled mind to leap back to that day at St. Anne's in the little old quaint church when — " Saint Marie nr-re de />/V//"— overwhelmed by this happy-sad flood-tide of thought, and v»earied by the long tramp over the uneven prairie, the little sad heart weakened, and with a weak cry she fell forward heavily. 136 Thu Light ov OTHtiR Days. f ill CHAPTKR IX. April was beginning to show signs of wane when the "S/iaffirock LeaJ\'' alert and determined struck the trail for the long march north- wards from Swift Current. The boyish eyes that looked their last upon the dear old vShallows, filled with some new and undefined anxiety, " Little Poplar" with his lodges had that day, it was learned, joined Big Bear, and fugitive settlers carrying their young children and what port- able possessions they had time to lay hold of, "'?re met at the various distances on the march, and all reported the greatest danger to those in the north. The Indians were plundering and raiding settlers' homes, and Tom pressed on almost continuously. Jerry, with his big eyes look- ing into the future had one thought only : He must prove himself a sol- dier and worthy of his noble captain, Tom. The level plain seemed to be the Valley of Peace where never a discordant sound might be heard ; but, alas ! the roar of cannon filled the air with horror and the fierce war-cry dimmed the new land with unavailing tears. The second day out they came upon mounted Indians who had their families and their tents, going to seek shelter from the white man — the friend he had betrayed. It was just dawn when the line was formed for marching. The sun, like some grand Magi unfolding rich draperies in a dazzling splendour burst through the firmly mist-like Dawn, and lo ! it was prairie Day. An- other day, and about noon a dark line moving due north, under a care- ful sweep of Captain Tom's glass was reported to be a detachment of mounted soldiery and fast coming up. In less than an hour the dark line took recognizable shape. A signal was given and answered. A bright red thread extending along the line proclaimed them mounted police, and as they dashed up Tom was struck dumb by hearing : " Hullo, Windsor!" while a familiar pair of brown eyes met his own dismayed sight, and a regimental arm crossed by two bright stripes reached out and he was face to face with Corporal Townley Haddam ! The while Tom stared in dumb and startled recognition, a certain young recruit regard- less of army rules kept up such a tapping of the big drum, all the while real home sick tears (glad indeed of an outlet) surged through eyelashes , Thk Light ok Other Days. 187 and thumped himself into notice, fairly hugging "Master Townley's " striped legs that looked so grand, tipped as they were with big spurs that out-shone all minor glory. A general handshaking, and a hurried leave- taking took place, for Townley's division was to make a certain point by night-fall. Townley had asked Tom with such a tightening of the breath : " At home, Tom— you left all well?" And Tom was so upset by the question, remembering he had omitted the courtesy of asking after Townley's young wife, blurted out in a blundering way : " Oh, yes — yes, quite well, but do you think Gracie — your wife, will take to military life?" Corporal Haddam was staring at Captain Tom as the order to ' march ' was given, but lingered to say : — "Was she — of course, I mean my wife, Windsor — was she anxious when she heard of the trouble out here ?" Roused to a sense of some misunderstanding and knowingsome mis- apprehension existed Tom said : "Your wife ! Why, Haddam, your wife left Daltonby for Regina, let's see ! Oh, yes, of course — she left the day Toft and his wife, with Roger Haddam, started for the Saskatchewan." 'Good God !" Townley's face was covered with beaded sweat, as his wild eyes appealed io Tom, " I have been on duty since the 5th," said Townley. " I have not had any word — any letters " The poor boy was silent, and Tom saw the great tears gather in the boyish eyes as, his glance following the fast departing line ahead and a fond look back over the road he had come, passed with some sud- den thought : — "Tom ! In God's name, what will I do ?" " Do your duty !" said Tom, pointing ahead. Wounds of the human heart do not show, they bleed silently, deeply. Only the kind physician. Time, may look therein with healing glance. Flying scouts, refugees in the distance, and now and then a horseman like a meteor passing, told of the unrest that hung over the western land. Two scouts, bearing dispatches, camped that night for a couple of hours, and told of ravages in Battleford. The Hudson's Bay stores there were raided, and the houses of the quaint little town were despoiled ; and from Eagle Hills word of murder and plunder. The story of broken homes, flying settlers, burning houses, the grief of widows and orphans fired the blood of the Shamrock Leaf boys. They pressed on, their faces set, determined. 13S '1'HK lylGHT OK OTHKR DaYS. A small speck rose against the far-off rim of horizon. It seemed to curve as the swallow does, describing a half arc against the blue. They watched, thinking it might be a renegade Indian, when, suddenly, other specks came into view, and all the yellow light was dotted by the same moving objects. The first seen was surely leading, coming straight on, the vSpecks following after, closing in a dark line and ever nearing, " I think this may mean mischief, lads," said Tom, giving the order to prepare arms. Captain Tom's order was promptly answered, and, at a word, they formed into line and stepped out. The rider came on steadily. It was evident that it was pursued and pursuing. A single rider speeding for life and a dozen savages behind ! A cherry-red spot came in Captitin Tom's face. The hour for duty had come. The Shamrock Leaf boys dashed forward, the lines parting as the flying rider dashed between the sundered ranks, which closed immediately to meet thj pur- suing Indians with a volley from their Winchesters. The Indians, with a wild yell, discharged some random shots, with deadly effect, and three of the Shamrock Leaf hoys fell, one wounded to death. The savages, well mounted, were soon beyond the reach of shot, and kind hands were at- tending to the breathless rider, a mere lad, who gasped out the word that he had for two days been close followed. The wounded were attended to, and one poor fellow, Harry Payne, only lived to murmur " mother " once, and then close his eyes in the sleep that knows no waking. The boy rider lay upon a blanket, looking about him in a shy, sad way ; slender browned fingers interlaced closely above his breast, but no sound of pain from his white lips came. The poor little pony drooped its head and moved about nibbling the new grass with a grateful whinny. " Poor Brandyboy !" sighed the lad, looking npat the rough-coated friend. " You brought me here — to die !" "What's that?" asked Captain Tom, leaning down with tender glance, " you said you were not wounded. Can you come on with us do you think— when you rre rested ?" " Let me lie here," ti^e lad said, and the sharpening glance of death seemed to lose its power, th« features softened with a new and childish expression that touched Tom 3 heart. Jerry, always shadowing his cap- tain, began to whimper t-ov. He crept to the side of the lad, and took up one hand timidly and kissed the fingers, fast stiffening by the touch of death. He held the small hand, because in no other way could he The Light of Other Days. 139 »> express his sorrow for another's grief. Tears oozed from the dyiug lad's eyes. " Let me stay with him, Mister Tom," pleaded Jerry— and stay Jerry did, with ten stout companions, well-armed, to care for the wounded, while the rest went on to seek help or to lend it. It was a lonely night for the watchers on that lonely prairie. A new-made grave for Harry Payne, and beside it, wounded men muttering in fitful fevered sleep that haply barred remembrance. At dawn, Jerry was found sleep- ing soundly the happy sleep of tired youth, and lying upon his brown curls was the hand of the dead lad, as if in loving goo*^ bye. The two face? strangely similar in shape, the brown curls and the brown locks .so alike, that as they slept, the one in eternity's last long rest, the other in smiling unconsciousness. Those who looked on wondered. 'I'hey lifted Jerry up and covered that other .still form, and observed a wet little pool upon the snowy grass. It was blood. The lad was wounded then, and when one placed his hand within the lad's bovsom whence the blood came, he shouted : " Boys ! lis a womayi .^" ler Ido th Ish 140 Thic Li(;ht oi- OriiKR Days. CHAPTKR X. " Saintc Marie i/irrt? de Dicu.^' The monotone fell on Gracie's ears and seemed to waken into new life — throbbing pulsating life, memory. She looked up. Where was the high dim light which she last looked upon ? '' Saintc Marie iture de Dieu^^ — again it floated up, and witli. the low crdence came little waves of thought that rolled and surged and swept on, carrying in its tide bits of bracken memory that seemed to catch for a moment on the understanding, then drift away, away. She wondered why it was she was lying there. She tried to disentangle the baffling past fvom the bewildering present. Then curiosity melted into passive indifference and she closed her eyes. " Sain/c Marie mire de Dieu .'" Again thought like a small disc of light ii: the mind's gloom, grew and strengthened. It broadened, deep- ened, then gushed into full sensibility, and on pinions of pain memory returned. A])ove her bent a black-robed figure, two enfolding arms wherein nestled Thk Chii^d ! Was it that same divine figure beckoning her on ? A sense of suffocation overcame her ; a sound as of whirling winds ; huge waves of engulfing waters overwhelmed, and out of the sinking of the mind came a cry, a weak small cry that called back her soul, and caused the blood to leap in a mad tide along the current of her life — the life fast ebbing out to the unknown. " Ma petite ! ah chcre, elle vit ! elle vit ! Oh, Jesu !" The slight black- draped form bent closer, another pair of eyes peered down upon her — such kindly eyes — while a volley of hushed words were exchanged and she saw another black-robed form standing there. It was like the shadow of itself, but taller and more bent. The uncertain light suddenly b- ightened, lighting up the room, and distinct!} tracc-d upon the face above her, a look that was not strange. Through the parted curtaihs a shaft of yellow sunlight came slanting down, en\ eloping the twin shadows standing there, reminding Gracie of a painting she had once seen of two angels, sheathed in the "glory that TiiK LKiHT i)V Othkr Days. HI in s; of He :k- ch nd je. of lat is not of earth." Were they, too, angels, and was she ? But the one was crooning in a low hnm-ni-m swaying back and forth, and that other graver face anxiously bent on her, raised two locked hands breathing " Oh, bon Dieu ! elle vit ! elle vit !" Then the faces, strangely alike, turned each to the other, the one bearing the bal)e went away, seemed to float away, and taking up one of the listless hands with a tender reverential touch, she heard a voice say : " Le bon Dieu ! II donne la vie ! ma petite ! you are agaius of de world! Dieu remercie !" "Where am 1?" " Ah, bon Dieu ! eh ? ma petite ! vous rtes entre les mains du bon D'eu ! moi, I'humble instrument." The small head bent reverentially. The arms in the loose black sleeves crossed over the bosom, and the soft voice went on : — " I am de priest of de Holy Marie de la neige. Ma tante — she haf la petite dame — dead — wit the door off d'e'glise ! Jesu ! 1 haf peur !" The movement, the voice, the upraised hands rose up in Oracle's mind — rose like some lost thread, vhich might, if caught, bind together the broken fragments of bewildered thought. Dreamily, mistily, away went memory on new-born wings over long-lost paths — where ? The voice, with small ejaculations interspersed, flowed on : — " Eh, bien ! Ma tante she haf made de resolve — I haf call Monsieur le docteur — mais, ma tante" Away went the struggling thought again ; this time on no uncertain wavering wing, but on — straight on : The Shallows under a bright June sun, gay flags, a white-sanded beach, wide grass-grown country roads — a tall spire with its shining cross from whence chimes rang out, notes that fell like dew from Joy. A rough grey quarried wall — an arching open door. The solemn chant within — " Kyrie-e-e-leison !" — dim lights, like stars at dawn " Holy Church, open de arms pour I'etrangc're "— " Father Da)nien ! .'" The words burst from Gracie's lips, and two small fever-worn hands reached pitifully out. The little priest with dilated eyes was staring in questioning fear. La petite had said many strange wild things in the delirium, but did his ears hear aright ? Did this stranger call his name ? " Ah, Pere Damien ? — Do — you re — mem — ber — i^aint— Anne's?',' Two crimson buds burst new-born into bloom upon the pallid hol- low cheeks. She was smiling now and looking up at him ; smiling through tears that rose from the heart's fountain filled with joy -grief. W'd Tui": I.ic.nT oi- othi-.k Days. The little priest wns breathing hard ; gradually bending over until he slipped to his knees, while one l\and half extended — wherein a rose-leaf palm lay — shook as with palsy. " Sainte Anne's !" he gasped, " est re que c'est une miracle !" His head fell forward. A slanting bar of yellow sunlight touched the- shaven crown, and hovered about the bowed hea«l like a benediction. So they remained in silent ])rayer. The one bowed with a deep thankful- ness, the other prostrate with grateful praise ; both hearts lifted to the All-Merciful in connningied prayer. INIa tante now glided in, bearing a small squirming bunch which she allowed to nestle close into (inicie's own heart, bringing with its pres- ence new throbbings of thankfulnesss. She had to be told over and over again that the morsel of mitehood was her very own, and already several days on the long journey of life. "Miere was nothing else to think about now. This bit of pink helplessness fdled every void. It brought in its clinging curling fnif^ers seeds of new hope. The round wonder-wide eyes blinked wisely and seemed to say : — "I assume all the responsibili- ties, cares and anxieties of life — I have come into the world for that grave purpose — believe in me." And Gracie did believe. Ma tante wore her davs out in many and oft repeated trips to ' ma petite,' and was voluble in her ejaculations when she learned that ma petite was ' the same mon neveu did in the grande mistake, make de mari- age dans I'e'glise de vSainte Anne !' Oh ! grand Dieu ! Monseigneur did not forgif dat ! Monsiegneur did not forgif dat da nnstakQ— jamais / ' It wass de grande penrtence pour mon neveu, I'ouvrage, it wass har-de. lie mu.st, to-morrow, to make ihe journey to the Wood Mountain, It wass many cold miles, vrai ; mais, les pauvres sauvages, nms' haf de consolation du Sainte vSacrement ; ah, Dieu ! La prairie she wass not belle, like charmante Sainte Anne !" While ma tante talked, nodding her small head, and while she talk- ed, waving the thin old hands, Gracie was crying softly. It was then her thoughtless yet trusting marriage on that happy day at St. Anne's, so long ago, that caused Perr Damieu to be sent under ecclesiastical frown into exile ? vShe was so happy that June day, and now ? Nothing but woe had come of it. He was dead ; her soldier husband was dead — and she was alone. Ma tante was chattering on : — Thk Lk'.ht oi' Othkr Days. 14:5 " Ah, it wass le bon Dieii (^ue dirgi'-.i les pirds errants ; vSaiute Marie ! she did say would beckon ? Dieii ! les arondelles ne peuvent pastoniber ! And to think, c'etait lanu'tne enfant avic laquelle nion nevene did make le sacrenient de ninriage ? Monseigiieur did not for^if, it wass pour inon neveu fait la peuiteuce humilliante ! dix-(juator/ ans dans la belle vSainle Aune — et niaintenant devant nous la prairir reniplisdc danger ; et le jolr garf;on e'tait niort ? (Quelle malheur ! Sil n'etait pas mort dans le sein de notre bonne mere la saint e'glisr !" Ma tante discoursed uninterruptedly and earnestly : — " La chrre petite enfant ! Hatons nous de la baptiser. Jvh, bien imme-diatement. It wass une ainr— une petite Ainr that did come to the door de la maison de Dieu et demande la protection ! liien ! il faut le baptiser imniediate- ment !" And away bustled ma tante to find ' luofi furcu ' who was pacing the small room below, breviary in hand, his fingers locked beneath the book, his eyes closed ; his soul in grateful pean raised to Ilini who , " moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform." Ma tante passed into the outer department without speaking — she nodded briskly, many times glancing in, always retiring without saying any of the many things \ that vSurged within her purturbed mind. The next morning Pere Damien, his prairie schooner well .stocked with provisions, his tent bed snugly .strapped on behind, his small tent- stove with its smaller pipe, finding its outlet through a cunning hole in the canvas roof ; went out alone across the prairies on the long journey to Wood Mountain. Ma tante had prepared everything with trembling hands, sighing a great deal, and dropping the preparations to make fre- quent visits to the little church, where, under the dim light that burned before the high altar, .she knelt and prayed. Then away to add to the store of cakes and loaves; then to look over the frayed .soutanne lest some small worn spot should escape her watchful eyes ; then a trip up- stairs to ;;/a /»^/e/(? to express her fears and j.rief, sighing a great many times and saying in a half undertone, " Ah, it wass not so at belle vSainte Anne's!" In the white dawn good Father Damien went away to the .south. The little town slept, but nia tante watched th^ prairie ship go out over the snowy trail, watched and while she wept, prayed. Ah, Pere Damien !. Those who knew you best, loved you most ; gentle, kind, humble little saint, this pen trembles and these eyes grow dim writing the sad solemn words — good-bye. The good-bye.:, we said, knowing not it would be for- 144 TfiK LuiHT oi- Othkr Days. ever. vSleep faithful heart, sleep well. Above your prairie bed our tears will often fall fall for a j^ood fa'Jier and a faithful friend. And (iracie, rjuietly sadly dreaming her own waking dreams, listened to the sobs of ma tante in the solemn watches of the night, and wondered why sorrow should tver come to human hearts — wonder and weep until sleep, the blotter-out of all sad things, fell, bringing reposeful strength that grew with the days, nerving her stout little lonely heart, that had almost grown faint at the call — the first call to arm for the battle for bread. Ten (lays had gone by and on Saturday morning the little town was covered by snow ; snow that came with a biting north wind, that thick- ened ami beat down with a fury and grandeur seen only on the plains. Snow everywhere. The wind went down about six o'clock, or as the na- tives say " with the sun," and when the Sabbath day dawned and the frown of the storm had passed away, the sun resplendant shone down, making ;i dazzling picture. As far as eye could reach to the south, white sheen in a lustrous, brightness ; flooding the world in a humid scintilla- ting glow thai blinded while it enchanted the eye. Ma tante, shading her sight under the canopy of a withered hand, stood at the window and watched the line of prairie trail anxiously. The sun was making a gem-casket of that waste of white. Gracie, rested in ii big cliint/.-covered chair after a cozy breakfast, while L,izette was singing down stairs in a piercing key, some sacred refrain. The baby, in an im- provised cradle, swung easily and slept. Suddenly an exclamation " mon neveu !" from Ma tante, woke Gracie, and the cradle stirred uneasily. Ma tante's seamed tace was lighted with a great joy as she turned from the window : — " Vieut d'arriver, je vais sonner la cloche a' fin que les gens vien- nent a' la sainte messe ! Her hands clasped and unclasped nervously, " Je puis discerner la voiture couverte ! Le bon Dieu est bon ! II vient !" Gracie's heart filled with a great longing as she saw Ma tante pass swiftly down the stairs ; ah, Ma tante might cry, "he comes?" but baby mine, baby n 'ne, no one will ever come to us — will ever come to us again ! l^r arc alone .'" And the young mother bending over the sleeping child sobbed, and in the desolation of her young life she cried aloud, "God is unjust ! We are alone ! !" Just then the church bell in the steeple above .S7. Mary of the Snoivs rang out. It was Ma tante's withered hands ringing out the message. Over the expanse of white moved some- Thk I.k.iit oi- OTHKR Days. 145 thiiij; slowly. The white-hoodctl sleigh coining; alonj; the trail, nearer, nearer ; ki-ling-i-ling-i-linj^-a-lanf^ ! the bells called, and above all in songful gusts ro.se Li/ette's note : — *' Le crrpe dc- la nuit sur I'univers se pose, La nature se tait : tout dort se repose, Hors Dieu dans son inimensit*'." " IliUez vous, lyizette ! hate/ vous ! faite le feu; apportez les bas chands ! niais nouriture pas encore; Le sainte messe d'abord !" ^L1 tante's voice in joyful charge at the moment that the rebellious cry from Oracle's own heart went out. The next instant hoarse weeping filled the house ; despairing shrieks ; Lizette's shrill cry ; heavy steps and .slow, and there as Gracie looked down the stairway, through the open door came men bearing a burden — a still form, its trailing robe, a worn .soutane catching beneath their feet, as they walked ; the arms hang- ing, and the face — the dear kiud face .set with the seal of death. Dear good father Damien dead. God was surely unjust ! The little missionary who went out ten .short days before at the Mas- ter's bidding, "Go ye into all nations." lie went. He would never come again. The long journey — a frame unfitted for mis.sionary life. He had started before dawn that vSabbath morning, to be in time for the morning mass — fasting. The snow-fall covered the trail ; blinded by the glare, bewildered in that trackless waste of white he guided his little pony ; round and round he went, walking in a circle. Almost in sight of home he fell, by the trail. He had fallen like the soldier he wa.s — fal- len in the service of his Captain. They found him lying there, vStill warm, within .sight of home, within sound of the church bells ; and perchance the la.st sound that broke on his ear in earth, was Ma taute s call. Surely the echo joined in joyful exultation as the bells of heaven broke on his sinless soul. le- 146 Thp: Light of Othkr Days. O h \V] CHAPTER XI. Leaving Shaganappy Ranche in agitated haste, the honorable Dil- raven Toft, his dark face clouded by some look of terror or Late, lashed his pony with whip-stock and urged* the steady -going little animal by jabbing spur. The night fell dark and gloomy ; the dull sky was lit up by momentary flash signals of fire, a telegraphic code from camp to camp indicating some added horror. To the south, a lurid shaft of red light shot upwards, beyond that, other vengeful flames appeared. To the west a broad glare showing the devilish work was going on. Dark bare- branched timbers standing out against the lurid light were like arms upreached, as if in mute appeal to the Almighty to stay that onsweeping tide of desolation. Settlers' homes burning all around, still he did not hesitate uoi cast one backward glance, bnt on, on, on. Twelve miles o*" the distance was paSvSed. There was the big coulee to the left. Hiw thoughts took life and he was speaking in excited under-breaths : Why had he ever returned to the accursed country ? Had he but remained another day in London — had he but lingered on a little longer at Dalton- by — he would have known. To rush back into the danger ! What was the danger ? Did it shadow him now ? Was it lurking there in the hollows or waiting for him on the hill beyond ? He would sift this now ; then he would go back to Loudon. All doors would open to him now. Armed with this magnificent creature his wife, he would ride upon the top wave of ambition's sea — What would silence Iha^ other onef The bend in the river at last ! Eighteen miles of the way done, and now in the distance Horrock's shack shows dimly. Dawn like some shy maiden aglow with happiness and joy, from sylphid draperies peeps out across the undulating waste of whited green. With a last brave effort the native pony dashes up to the door of the prairie shack ; the rider swung him- self off, loosening girth and bridle, then he hurriedly entered the rough- board door and passed within. He rapped with the stock of his whip along the wall and floor, calling aloud, first in a commanding way, then in angry shouts. But the broken echoes were his answer. The ashes in the grate were yet v,'arm. Some one had lately been there — he would Th., Light of Othp:r Days. 147 wait. Ke threw himself upon a bunk which stood against the wall, and congested thought overcame his heated brain. He slept. He awoke with a shock to find the sun high in the heavens. He shivered but he was not cold. Knowing the ways of his friends' house, he built a fire and made some coflfee. The pony wandered about at some distance and was nibbling the parched grass. Mr. Toft drank the hot coffee, and from the open door scanned the prairie with anxious eyes. He waited for some hours longer, restlessly going out and in, alternately watching the trail and sitting thoughtfully with bent head by the small deal table on which his fingers nervously beat a devil's tattoo. A two- fold trouble filled his mind. " Horrocks, d him ! why did he not say where . The precious pair ! What if it came to Barbara's ears ? As for that — there was always one ivay out of it — he was master !" The sun had begun to dip now, and it shone round, red and radiant through the small-paned window. Still he waited. Evening was com- ing down in darkling waves, shrouding the trails and shadowing the little hillocks spreading and extending from view. With a piece of burnt ember he scrawled upon the table this message : — ** Have been here since last night. Let me know immediately where the danger lies.'* This he did not sign, then throwing down the buiiit coal with an oath, left the shanty, mounted his horse and began the long ride back to Shaganappy Ranche. All the miles dashing along he did not look up once, never halted, never lessened speed, and before he was aware of it he was entering the lane leading to his home, his attention being called to this by waves of thick heavy sickening smok? that hung in billows beyond and was borne above the poplar grove between. The pony was picking up his ears with instinctive alarm, then he snorted and trembled, tossing his head with fear. The thick smoke now choked man and beast and clogged the air. He urged his horse on. Great God ! what devilish transformation was this ? Ruin ! ruin everywhere ! Shaganappy Ranche gone ! No movement, no life save a little fluttering bird that hopped about among the warm ashes, the only thing amid that maze of destruction and confusion that breathed of life before his maddened sight. Dilraven Toft fell, rather than dismounted from his horse, and the little animal freed from his burden trotted to where, yesterday, a well- filled corn-crib stood. He whinnied his disappointment and with a toss 148 The Light of Other Days. II V of the mane turned again to his master, as if craving sympathy, rubbing his nose against that master's arm. He struck the dumb creature across the face, and the poor little brute blinded by the blow, cantered back to the spot where its shelter had been, surveying with almost human sad- ness the marks of ruin. Dilraven Toft standing upon the ashes of the threshold of his home, hate darting from his wild eyes, maledictions upon his tongue, and fear, torturing fear within his trembling soul, shouted as a maniac might : " She has done this ! Curse her, she has done this /'* Blinded by smoke and rage and the night shadows he stepped on, and stumbled over a human form lying there. He trembled and dare not look. When the first fear had passed, he stooped and saw it was the face, the dead face of his friend Captain Olds. With half-averted look he moved about, continuing the search for what he feared to see ; still no trace, stay ! — Here a half burnt slipper and a torn bit of plaid-lined mantle— "O God! O God, be merciful to me!" he cried "Ami left alone — alone to remembet /" Amid the wreckage of that mockery of home, crouching and mutter- ing like one demented, sat the honorable Dilraven Toft ; at a little distance, looking on and shivering was the pony ; both desolate, the one distraught. It seemed to be some horrid dream he had awakened from, to find eager friendly faces about him, and was it liis disordered fancy conjured up that face — her accusing face — was that the face of his wife, before him ? Out of the chaos of thought the familiar eyes, stern and unrelenting changed while he looked — a helmeted head that moved nearer and said, with a shout it seemed : — " Scoundrel ! Where is my sister?" " Gone, gone !" was all he could utter, and look up in bewildered appeal to that stern countenance. Reverential hands lifted up the charred form of the gallant old sol- dier. Upon the prairie they made a couch of tender willow branches, parched thatch his pillow, and about his form a red serge, an offering from a Canadian boy and fit shroud for a soldier. No martial music sadly intoned ; no rank and file in funeral parade ; no solemn requiem. A little hollow scooped from the prairie's low bed ; bowed heads bared in reverential prayer ; a tender reaching out of brother-soldier hands ; dull throbbingsof the heavy clay, a single volley fired, then " Forward !' ' <»w^ Thk Light ok Other Days, 140 i» That lonely burial scene by Saskatchewan's banks, with the starry eyes of heaven upon it, had more of grandeur in its sublime simplicity, than any pageantry that ever marched witli martial honors beneath the royal dome of Westminster Abbey. The flight of the Indians showed plainly upon the ground, and the trail leading east was closely followed. Townley Haddam had spoken but once to the wretched man, who had been placed upon a saddle, and now had to be assisted along. At the moment of starting he leaned over to whisper : — "Toft, it is mercy between us noyi^ usticc afterivards /" They rode four abreast, the two 3couts ahead, who kept a keen eye upon the trail, watching the broad sweep of level prairie for smoke wreaths. After some hours hard riding they came upon a heap of ashes, cold — but, to the cunning Riders of the Plains, lately burned. There the mark of a small shoe showed plainly, a woman's shoe. They were on the right track now. Towards night the tell-tale camp smoke rose up ahead — a hurried consultation was held ; calculating eyes measured the distance, then orders were given : — "Ride forward, and when within view of the camp separate, quietly advance, surround them, and, without firing a shot, make prisoners of all — a lady and a young man are prisoners — their safety at all hazards." They rode on silent, watchful. All at once a v/hispered word was given as the advancing scouts suddenly drew rein and dropped from their horses. A short parley was held, and then the men separated. Be- fore the surprised savages — glutted by feasting and befogged by the liquor — plunder fatal to their cruel cause — could reach blood-stained hands for blood-hungry weapons, a ringing shout goes up, ' * Surrender P ' And above the savage yells of rage, above the din, a woman's shriek rings out : ** Townley, fny brother /" Confronting each other, eye to eye, husband and wife stood for one awful moment. " Barbara, my wife !" The woman's hands went up in mute denial, then her outreaching arms to the brother, were clasped in the despair- ing strength of her disconsolate and broken life, and in that protection she knew she was safe. •* Don't come near my s'ster !" said Townley, " until this is ex- plained. Toft. Barbara, how conies it that you were taken prisoner, and alone ?" ^»mi^ 150 The Light of Other Days. II. '• O, God ! I am a lost woman !" she moaned. ** Brother, I am not his wife — his true wife is already in his — home." . *' A lie ! A damned lie !" shouted Toft, regarding not the wonder- ing looks from the men, now free to make observations, as the ground was cleared, and the swarthy prisoners were tamely awaiting the next move. " This is some infernal plot to injure me ! A paltry miserable plot" "You are a thief, I already know," broke in Townley, "and a liar, I suppose, as well. Explain what you mean, Barbara. Speak with- out fear, I am here to protect you." At a whispered word from Townley to his commanding officer, the men were ordered to march with their prisoners some little distance away. Then, with hysterical sobs and tears, Barbara moaned out the story of her home-going ; of Toft's hurried departure. Townley clenched his hands, as if ready to strike down the creature standing there quaking in liiiib, baleful light shooting from his inflamed eyes, and only when she told of the mysterious letter left on the table, did he answer : — " A lie !" A paltry infernal lie !" " It speaks its own story," said Barbara, taking from her bosom a folded paper. Townley stooped, and, by the light from the camp fire, read : — " Scoundrel ! — You have dishonored dishonor. You bring a woman here, while I, your wronged wife, dare not speak. Thirteen years have I been daily in sight of your treacherous face — with you while you waked — standing over you while you slept, often with my fingers almost closing upon your white throat, v;anting nothing but the will to crush your false life out. The God that follows human scorpions as you are — tht avenging God — stayed my hand. He will punish ! Upon the Shallows you deserted me — denied your child. Horrocks, your guilty partner, can prove this. I abandoned your child, as you abandoned me, — I leave this cursed roof to-night to find my child. My life has been a long Gethsemane.— ISOBKiv." Townley looked up to see Dilraven Toft calmly, amusedly smiling. "So, so," he said, with a sardonic laugh, " vShe did it well, very well. She was aiways clever, always ; clever little Nance !" and his smile was unhealthy. " Can you explain this, you scoundrel ?" asked Townley determin- edly. " Explain ? Oh, yes, quite easily ; Mrs. Toft," — turning to Barbara who looked as if she must fall but for her brother's supporting arm — The Light of Other Days. 151 " will pardon me, if, in doing so, I shock her puritan ears by relating a few unwholesome — facts." The word came with a savage snap. "Sit down, Barbara," he said seating himself easily. "It's a rather long story," he went on with an insolent gaze in the faces of the two, still standing before him. " When I was younger than I am now— and I'll allow, not so sedate in my habits, I had a few of the fads, follies if you will, common to gentlemen in my position. There was a silly little dancer in a concert hall — Isobel Trent — Isobel liked flattery — and pearls ; I some- times humored those fancies — by and by the Trent got rather frequent in her demands. My people — not exactly in the dancing line, you under- stand — objected to the whole aflfair. We arbitrated the matter — my peo" pie gave me sufficient inducement to come to Canada, for my health you understand — aancing didn't agree with the familv !" Again the mocking smile. "57^^ wouldn't arbitrate, so to satisfy her scruples I allowed a friend of my own, a clever fellow, to pose as — clergyman — and, well, part of the performance was that we both promised all sorts of things — I left L/ondon and left a letter for the dancer saying it was all a lark. By gad, sir ! the first day out she was face to face with me on the ship ! The face changed as he went on, " You know the rest. The wreck upon the Shallows ! By some damnable fatality we were both saved — why should I embarass myself with a dying woman — a woman who was nothing to me ? I thought, of course, she'd do the proper thing — die — she didn't it seems." The speaker's eyes shut in a dangerous slit-fashioned way. He laughed aloud as if amused by some inner thought and repeated, •« Clever little Nance !" " And I ?" gasped Barbara, with hands pressed above her throbbing heart, leaning forward, her eyes wild, her lips drawn, the whole attitude one of despairing fear that the man sitting there and smiling with so devilish a smile, still was her owner, her master. "You are Lady Toft !" rising to his feet and bowing profoundly, " I should perhaps have told you, that among the letters handed me that evening was one written twenty-four hours after I left London, informing me of my father's death, which, as you are aware, makes you my lady Toft." In spite of his effort to withhold the satisfaction he felt, by that velvet-like smile, the repellant blandness did not cover his inward de- light at what he considered a coup dc grace, and Barbara shrank back seeing that smile. She looked up at Townley with an appealing glance. " You are his wife — God help you !" Townley said. 152 Thk Light ok Othkk Days. w m " Do not leave me !" she pleaded, clinging to his arm, and fixing on her husband, who was advancing, a look of mingled contempt and fear. ' Well, madam ! as you are my wife it is quite probable he wii/ leave you — Come, Lady Toft, your place is here," extending an arm with in- solent mock courtesy ; " here is your proper protection." " No !" she said, looking straight into his eyes, " I will never accept your protection — I wil^ never live with you." — "You are a thief!" said Townley moving a step, .so as to come between the two. " You robbed me at Inch Arran that morning, when I, fool that I was, tried to copy your excesses and trusttd in your snake smile The law, Dilraven Toft, gives you the brutal right to force this woman to your side, but there is a higher law you yet must be judged by — look to it that you give to my sister that faith which is now her due — no, I'll not take your hand, you cur of a race of curs !" "Oh, come now! no use in relations getting crusty — that little matter of the money packet " — Mr. Toft laughed quite a musical laugh, but his teeth showed — " that was merely a cuntre-temps : you see, my people were getting a little crusty — found it rather expensive to furnisli a fatted calf annually — I was regular in ' going unto my father ' you know," — again the teeth showed white, but there was no laugh. " When you borrowed my coat 1 hadn't thought of charging you for the accommo- dation, I assure you — \i\x\. you forgot to empty the pockets and " "But the woman the woman who wrote that letter?" said Barbara doubtingly. " Oh, don't let that disturb you at all Lady Toft " he said in an assur- ing way. " I told her coming over — in the ship you know — that Hor- rocks was only masquerading as a reverend — I wonder she did'nt knife him ?" he said in a reflective tone. " Gad ! to think little Nance was clever Nance ! handy-fingered Nance ! God ! how I've been fooled !" "Don't touch me!" his wife's arms barred his approach and her look terrified him. "I hate you," she said, "and I'll never live with you !" The sound of approaching voices ; a measured tread — they turned half in alarm — up rode a body of mounted men, a sea of familiar faces led by one whose eyes met Barbara's eyes and sent the crimson torrent from the rapids of her wounded heart, and dyed her pale cheeks with shame. She must not let him see her shame ! A step and she was by her husband's side, her hand reaching out blindly, despairingly, as she said : "Take me home." Thk Light of Other Days. 153 Tom, blundering out his delight at this lucky meeting, hearing the details of the imprisonment, and seeing the Indians bound, and captive in turn, stupidly mistook the expression on the tragedy-haunted faces, and in honest sympathy extended his hand to the man who had robbed him, choking the tears back as he held the hand of his old-time love, and tried to speak but could not do so, while the Earl of Steppes smiled a meaning smile. Hurried preparations for the move on were made. Barbara, like some ill-starred queen going to death, rode silent, sad, submissive. Town- ley, his heart a molten mass of remorse, understanding his sister's sud- den change ; Tom trying to be natural, and failing terribly while he tried 1 and the new earl — a hero in his own eyes, master of the situation — one fear only in hie \d — Nancy ! Tom telling of the fugitive lad, struck the key note to that fear. ** Let us go to the lad " said the noble earl, '* I think I know him — well." Barbara had not spoken to her brother since that last appeal, but he understood the old pride that bore her icsolution up — it was the presence of the man she had wronged — and for what ? Alas ! for a splendour already tarnished by bitter but uujivailing tears. Towards them a young lad was advancing over the prairie. He saluted Captain Tom as he canii up, and Barbara noted the start, and the chalky-pallor on one face there. There was a familiar something in the turn of Jerry's head with it's brown shock of curls, and something seemed to give way in Barbara's brain with a clap that deafened sound. Jerry was the deserted waif that poor Denovy sheltered in his own hard poverty — and Jerry was his child /ii<\ child ! In a dazed way she felt herself moving on with the party, in a dazed way she found they had stopped, and noted with returning conscious pain, that upon the prairie grass some dark thing, and motionless, lay there. She dismounted and followed to where some one had drawn down the coarse blanket covering a still form outlined there, and Barbara saw a brown boyish face crowned with clustering curls, and she heard sr;me one say : — '* No, sir ! never let on he was hurt at all— just lay there quiet, hold- ing Jerry's hands and he went to sleep just so, and in the morning we found him her" corrected the speaker, "dead." The Earl of Toft turned away with something in his heart that was not exultation as he exp-icted it should be. He looked at Jerry, now \rA Thic Light ok Othkr Days. gouging his eyes out, and stifling the tears that would come, and then the honorable Mr. Toft turned away. People can turn away from everything in the world but their own thoughts, can part with everything but memory. Barbara stooped down and tenderly put back the brown curls, crossed the slight arms in restful repose, and drawing from her finger a broad bright baud, she drew it upon a still, slender brown finger, and turning to Jerry, who was now crying, she said in a sacred way : " Come here Jerry. Let us — you and nie — kiss the poor dead one for those who cannot." Today — ten years after — you may not find even a trace of that lonely grave upon the western prairies, but a woman's tears must have hallowed that spot, and the all-merciful Hye surely grew misty with a divine pity, at that humble tribute. Thk hioiir OF Othbk Days. 155 he vn ed ad to ry- ly ed •y. CHAPTHR XII. " Great heavens !* This pious wail came from Mrs. Hloomsbury, who was seated at the breakfast table, her staring eyes fixed upon the open page of a letter held in one hand, while the fat fingers of the other held midway be- twixt the table and her lipi, her coffee cup, its contents cooling rapidly, while her dilated eyes seemed to grow rounder and bigger as she read. At last she let the page fall, still within her grasp, but lying- upon a trembling limb. She gave a tremendous sigh, looking straight at her husband who, surely felt that gaze, for he suddenly looked up from the newspaper he held before him, saying : — " I see the X, Y and Z company are determined to have another try for the right-of-way — eh? My dear. What is the matter?" This anxi- ously, and pausing in the natural movement of biting into an appetizing muffin. Mrs. Bloomsbury had put down her cup which she now moved some little distance further away, and she put back her cap strings as if they interfered with her breathing. The terrible expression of her eyes had melted into a horrified /acant gaze, and raising the written page to the level of the table, she placed a finger thereon in solemn silence. •* It's like this, you see," began her husband, hastily swallowing the liquid contents of his cup, " If the X, Y and Z should agree " — " Do you know, Perritt, what this says?" Mrs. Bloomsbury 's voice gasped the words, making a motion of the head towards 'he gentleman opposite, and again lifting the letter as she repeated "what this letter says ?' ' " Letter?" repeated Mr. Bloomsbury, " Dear me ! I quit'j forgot, " dropping paper and muffin, and fumbling among his m^ny pockets in a disturbed way, "why, yes, I've a letter from Townley here some- where — ah ! here it is — yes ma — now, what does Gracie say ?" Mr. Bloomsbury, after buttering a muffin with great deliberation, and taking a generous scallop out of the same^ inserted his paper knife beneath the flap of the envelope he had brought to view, and proceeded i 15() The Light ok Othkr Days. ' I. ' m ,1-4 to give his attention equally to both. His wife had become engrossed in further pages, and a tightening of the lips boded some new emotion bursting into unexpressed thought and eddying rapidly upon the surface of her mind. " Il'm, hum !" her husband muttered with something like a frown ; '* money? I suppose the young dog expects me to — m — m — m " The old gentleman laid the letter upon the table, blinked once or twice thought- fully, as if weighing some decision ; then made an attack upon the heap of browned cakes, and became suddenly conscious that his wife was winking back some imagi;iary tears, dabbing her nose in her pocket handkerchief, and giving e\ud'it;r:e of serious mental disquiet in tearless sobs. "Oh!" she gurgled, dabbing linen folds into each dry eye; "just think of it I all alone — the prairies — nobody there — fighting and — great heavens ! they've called him Da — aa — mian !" Mrs. Bloomsbury almost shrieked the last word, as her exciced eye, still upon the page and round the corner of her crumpled cambric, took in the full horror of the writ- ten lines. She fell back in her chair, gasped twice — the letter fell to the carpet, and down went Mrs. Bloomsbury's head in its lace cap, upon two plump arms across the breakfast table. Mr. Bloomsbury took the shortest way towards determining the rea- son for this new outbreak. He leaned over, reached down, and picked up the letter his wife had let fall. " Dear me ! dear me !'* he said, taking in the meaning with the first lines thereon penned. "God bless me! all alone too! — in the fight — thought he was— dead ! God bless me ! I St. Anne's ! IVhatf Eh?" This seemed to rouse Mrs. Bloomsbury, who at once sat up very straight and very rigid ; her countenance expressing great resignation, if not fierce resolve. "Yes, Perritt ; all alone ! It was a — a judgment — a judgment on her for her slyness and — deceit. To be there two years after — a beggar, almost a beggar at his door — It was a judgment on him too. Catch him not knowmg they were a runaway pair !" The lady, bending over while she spoke, reached dexterously across the damask and rescued the letter from her husbands limp haj.ds. "And now, now," she said with mingled bitterness and wrath, "to call a christian child by that awful name! Da- aa — mi — an!" TiiK I,i(UiT nif Othicr Days. 157 " (lod bless my soul !" blurted out her husb.in 1, ))l.)wiiij.( his nose violently to cover the unexpected arrival of two determined tears in his anxious eyes, "What the dev — ickens does it matter what they call the child so \ouff as she is well ! Dear me ! dear me ! she's a trump, that's what she is ; and I'll " The old j^entleman rose from his seat, he bej^ indefinite, who bore a character of unintelligible guilt ; who was Hablc to criminal conviction, while enchained in a hazy sort of way in family jewels ? Moreover, having a wife, could he be accused of the crime of not speaking to her, when, according to natural law she should not as yet speak at all ? While these bewildered thoughts haunted Mr. Hloomsbury's mind, he observed with some satisfaction that his wife's face was once more wreathed in smiles. She had arrived at the post- script, and it was the same important addenda penned some pleasant argument— ^she sank back once more, saying : — "So, Mr. lUoomsbury^ my lady Toft is married to a ////V/'/" I Ic stole the express package — lie hurried Townley away by saying he was liable to be arrested— /A''.v come in for his father's title — and money, and ///\ oiun wife icon't sf>eak to him /" Out of this fragmentary vociferation of feminine feeling, Perritt Bloomsbury gained this idea : that if he wished to disentangle the facts, somehow involved in his family affairs, he had better read his own letter, which being from Townley himself, would undoubtedly make matters clear. The letter rau : — " REGINA, N.W.T., June , 1885. *' My dear Sir, — As my dear Gracieis writing to her mother by this mail, and will give all the interesting family news, I will confine my- self to a matter which has already cost both you and myself much trouble of mind. I refer to the missing money package. Herewith is enclosed a check for the full amount, sii^ficd by the person ivho appro- priated the money. The loss of the package was, indirectly, my fault, but, thank God, only so far as guilty companionship, and the follies at- tendant, go. " When I left Daltonby, I was under the impression that I was in- deed, a thief ! — I could not prove my innocence — I could not understand my guilt — my dear wife believed in me — I determined to begin anew, to repay the money, to win back your confidence, and, upon the broken foundation of the early mis-spent years, re-build and begin a new life. ** When I reached the Northwest, the rebellion had brokeu out. I voluntered my services and joined the Mounted Police, and went to the front. I believed my wife to be safe at home with you. In the first action, when we were .surprised by a band of black scoundrels, and amid Thk Lk'.ht ok Othkr Days. IV.) a shower of bullets, with almost certain death on all sides, my one thought was, ' Am I branded to die as a thief? ' And in that hour the fevered panorama of my past life rose up, as it is said to do to the dying, and / rctncmht'nd : The nijjjht you instructed me to forward the package to l'*araday, Faraday M: Co. I spent at Inch Arran with Toft and the fellows. At dawn I left the rooms, befogged in brain, and the morning being raw, I went to Toft's room and bonowed a coat from him. I went up to the office with the full intention of sending the package. While there my father came. I slipped the money in a pocket. Some words passed between us relative to my late hours. Heated by the wine I had taken, and, fearing further (juestioniug as to whether I had carried out the or- ders given the day before, I hurried out. I went back direct to Toft's room, where I lay down and fell asleep ; when I awoke I forgot about the packet. I left the coat in Toft's room, returned to the office, and from the hour in which I first took the money package, addressed to l''ar- aday, Faraday & Co., until that day in the fight at Fish Creek, when, in what I thought was my last hour, I never could tell what I did with the money. Then, I remembered ! Need I tell you, sir, that I fought then for more than life — for honor. "Toft is the Karl of vSteppes now. lie does not deny having taken the money, but gives his reasons for having made what he calls * the ap- propriation," withallhis infernal impudence and aplomb. Idaresayno more. He is my sister's hUvsbaud. Barbara, poor girl, has passed through a terrible experience. A prisoner in Big Wolf's camp, the shock of see- ing a companion shot down, and her home burned before her eyes has had a terrible effect on her — poor girl— J fear what lies ahead of her is worse. "Gracie tells her mother of the providential meeting with good Fatlier Damien, the priest who married us at dear old vSt. Anne's. He was .so good to my dear one. " The enclosed cheque closes the last of that unhappy memory. Need I say to you, dear sir, that the le.sson which has cost me so much is not lost? Gracie, my good angel, says I need not. She also desires me to say that our boy looks like grandpa, but to my dull eyes the resemblance does not seem too striking ! Toft and his wife left for Fnglaud yester- day and thej' will " But Mrs. Bloomsbury waited to hear no more ; she was away in a flutter of flounces, and a moment later was heard shrilly ordering Katey 160 The Light of Other Days. if' w the maid to " prepare the pink room at ona\ put on the silk pillow vShams and fill the vases with roses ; my dear neice. the Lady Dilraven Toft will be here ! " But the Karl of Steppe;, did not stop at Daltonby. He went his aristocratic way, his mind pondering many things. His wife, Lady Toft, continued to be cold, calm, indifferent ; silent, save when necessity made her give a monosyllabic answer, rousing her for the mo- ment from the depth of an Apparent despair. These two went their di- vided lives together, bound by an indissoluble tie, yet wider apart than the boundless ocean that was bearing them to the land where awaited her the splendour and the wealth for which she had bartered all. Tom Windsor brought back to Daltonby, above the Shallows, the *' Shamrock Leaf " boys. Two had fallen on the western plains; their names? Recorded in a greater book than any made by hands, they stand, none braver therein written. Jerry, too, was missing, but not as one who gives his life for his country. Jerry had, by the most myster- ious means imaginable, become sole owner of one of the biggest ranches in the Territories. The honorable Dilraven Toft, tired of 'roughing it,' and having come in for tremendous estates, and withal a title to frame all this, disposed of his Lone Land interests. Jerry, all his life accus- tomed o obt'dience, and taking upon his small bent shoulders the grave responsit)ilities of life, in the same grave way accepted this good luck ; being assured by Captain Tom (who drew up the papers indeed, and saw them duly signed in the presence of Barbara), that ' his brothers and sis- ters,' as he called them, would follow him to the beautiful prairie land. So Jen y said good-bye to Captain Tom, and through tears, watched the brave boys marching away. He turned to a little mound, fresh made, and without knowing why, wept out upon it the lonliness and weariness of his own heart. They were both alone in the Sunset Land — two strangers, oddly met and left there, lonely. Mrs. Bloomsbury was now intensely interested in the North-West. " My son, Captain Haddam !*' being a favorite topic. Barrack-life on the great Plains filled every crevice in conversation in all her social visits, and she assured her hearers " the life of an officer's lady was really fatiguing;" fearing at times, almost with tears that "my dear Gracie would succumb to the social strain !" But Mrs. Bloomsbury 's imagina- tion found other fields to explore. Von Krissman and his bride on the banks of the Rhine, sent out appeals for funds even from Count Yollop's tower amid "castled crags." It was in this case however, pa Bloomsbury fft The Light of Other Days. 161 who " frowned o'er the wide and winding Rhine ;" Carrie at last declared that unless papa gave her an allowance, she would be reduced to the awful necessity of doing something ! This was vague and alarming, but Mrs, Bloomsbury advanced the suggestion that Count Yollop should contri- bute to the necessities of the case, with sundry unpleasant written re- marks, causing consternation in "castled crags". The appeals ceased suddenly, with the letters — Had Count Yollop materialized handsomely, or — awful thought, was Carrie doing something ? One satisfaction : Madame de Hebert sailed once a year into Dalton- by harbour. Elegantia with her pretty foreign looking babes was rowed ashore, a dark skinned bonne lending a touch of grandeur to tht arrival, and Mrs. Bloomsbury had an opportunity of airing her knowledge of French, by screaming in shrill falsetto :— " Bong Djew ! 'ow she haf grow ! Mong pateet, bong Djew !" Tom Windsor plodded along in his profession. He sometimes dreamed still, but never let the dreams come out of the twilight of thought. He had become the possessor of Cozydean, and therewith his mother, Tom lived quietly. Sometimes the shadows in the corners took queer shapes, and as the years went on ther« .vas a little stoop noticeable in Tom's broad shoulders, but that was quite becoming in a middle aged man whose shoulders wore the Judge's ermine. London is ever in sight of some eye, and is it any wonder that in far off Daltonby the movements of great men in that great centre should be watched with interest ? The Earl of Steppes sits in the House of Lords now, but Lady Toft — one of the few reigning beauties (whose por- trait does not hang in art windows) is seldom heard of. She could be the rage in London life if she chose ; but it is whispered her only child is a pronounced invalid and Lady Toft is devoted to him. Too, her health has failed, and eminent specialists have been consulted about some malady — of the eye it is thought — but the restlcvss London world goes on, and the Earl of Steppes is the central figure. On him all eyes are turned. A bill dealing with the colonies is before the House of Lords. The Earl of Steppes has been in the Colonies. He understands the question thoroughly. The Earl of Steppes is to attack the important points of the bill — all Canada — all England listens ! The great London dailies come out next morning. The cable flashes the news across — Canada reads — Daltonby shudders : — 102 The Light of Othp:r Days. ' The Earl of .Steppes, who was to have spoken on the great Colonial bill last iii^ht in the House of Lords, suicided about an hour before the opening of tlie Chamber. Temporary insanity, thought to be induced by family afllictions, the cause — his only son being a hopeless cripple and his young wife blind." "Mother ! said Judge Windsor, looking up from the paper th.it shook in his hand, " I leave for London to-night. Will you go with me — to Barbara ?" "My dear," said the gentle voiced but faded little lady, looking up, " whenever you wish." An apartment of sumptuous magnificence, splendour in rich tapestry hangings, costly furniture in old and rare designs, a surfeit of beauty in general, and, amid this cloying ostentation of wealth, a lonely figure, bowed and helpless, sits. ** May I get down and walk to-day, mamma?" The dim light of sunset fell in roseate hues through the stained glass windows upon the puny form of a child seai-ed in a small wheel-chair. Small hands, that show no healthy growth, are reaching out, and the misshapen little body rocks and sways in a rage terrible to see, trying to break away the silken bonds. " My wants to get down and run about, mamma. IV/iy may my not run like u//er little boys ?" Querulous cries and angry beating of small stunted limbs, until, in answer to a summons, a servant in livery enters. " Your Ladyship rang ?" •* Ah, is it you, Baldwin ? Yes, take your master out in the grounds. " My won't go ! my 7aonH go ! my hates a grounds ! my hates Bald- win ! my wants to walk like uzzer little boys !" — and the poor deformed child throws its shrunken little body against the velvet cushions of its prison chair, weeping and swaying, pityfully. " Don't, don't, my darling ! don't Haddam ! Mamma will come, too, and we shall see the pretty trees." " My is the Earl of Steppes, mamma, and my can't walk !" A bowed head fell over the shrunken limbs, and a white face pressed con- vulsively against the little body. While vShe knelt thus, a maid entered, bearing a salver, and, approaching, laid two cards within Lady Toft's hands, saying, respectfully : — " Mr. Windsor and Mrs. Windsor, of Daltonby, my lady." The Light of Other Days. 163 Baldwin was wheeling his young master across the room, and tlie maid passed out with them. In the middle .of the apartment stood Bar- bara, Lady Toft, waiting. Over her face some emotion played, flickered and went out. He had come at last ! What did they say ? The fingers touched the cards, as the fingers of the blind do — " Mr. and Mrs. Windsor — ah, yes, of course, Tom was a Judge now, and he was in Lon- don — with his wife !" The fingers shook until the bits of pasteboard fluttered out of her grasp. Some one was coming — would she fall when she met him ? Could she live if their hands met as strangers ? She put out a groping hand to feel for a chair. It was taken in a warm grasp that would never let go, she thought, and she heard one word only — " Barbara !" *' Is- , your wife — in the room ?" Her eyes looked out, but as the eyes of one who sees not. Tom did not answer — he was crying, though she could not see the tears, and, as if answering her own ques- tion, she repeated softly, *' She has not come." *' Itis my mother who is with me," said Tom, and, full to the heart of the anguish of seeing his old love, with that sad face crowned by snow- touched hair, he sobbed his anguish out, as a child might. Beside her chair Tom knelt, and on the tide of the old-time love came the old, sweet story and he told her that he loved her still. She shook her head sadly, barred him by thin hands, locked together and sighed. *• Too late ! — too late !" she said. •' You have all your youth — you are young yet, Tom, and I" — she paused a moment, and turned the beautiful sightless eyes upon him, while the delicately curved lip trem- bled — "darkness my portion, but, Tom," the hands went up with something like a prayerful appeal, ** I shall always have with me, the light of other days ! " red, )ft'S 164 Rough Ben. tt'-ii I^ough ^zn. AN INCIDENT OF THE NORTH-WEST REBELLION. (Reproduced from " Songs of the Great Dominion," by kind permission of Mr. W D. Ughthall.) It! J ^ " Starved t' death ! Sounds kinder hard, eh ? But it's true as gospil ; as good a wife As was ever dumped in a prairie grave Was jest starved V deaths sir, 'pon me life ! Ye won'er how in a laud ov plenty Where even Injins wallop 'round 'Ith ther' belts a-loosened ov overfeedin' Fer a poor white settler grub ain't found ? Well, y* see there's starvin' deeper'n eatin' An' the woman I'm tellin' ye 'bout t'day, Ain't died ov lack ov bannock an' bacon No ! but a darn'd sight crueller way. I'll jest drop the lines acrost th' furrow, Fer I ain't a-goin' t' plough - -sow, See them there oxen, g'lon'^, ere ye' beggars ; (Th' flies is eatin' ther' hea Is »fl"), who-o-a !" Well, as I was sayin', years ago, r' no matter When this here place wasn't much to see Me an' Bill Martin — that's his shack yander — Cum an' squatted jest wher' we be, Bimebye down -east folks a-hearin' Land in the great Nor' West was free Cum pourin' in like spring-tide water, An' sir ! from over the big salt sea An' English chap that came tomfoolin' Rough Ben. 165 A feller as never had no right T' 'speriment with a Nor' West winter — Th* fool fetched his si&ter an' took up a site. They pitched ther' tent — 'twas a wagon cover — An' ther' they lived all summer thro', An' Bill an' me sometimes of an' evenin' Helped t' knock up a shack fer them there two. They wasn't like settler folk 'n gen'rl ; They kep' t' the'rselves, an' uster have books ; So along October th' lad gotailin,' Worrit an' fretted an' pinched in his looks. His cough got bad, an' I see his cattle — (Two durn fine head ov steer he'd bro't) I see th' gal a tryin' t' lead 'em. So I up an' oflFers t' mind the lot. She jest looked at me, never sayin' nothin' An' one little hand she laid in my own, Like a grasshopper's wing on a' acre ov fallow. An' her eyes ! My God ! they'd melt a stone. Chap pinched an' coughed an' nigher an' nigher What she cryin' called "De'th's Angil " come, An' off he went like a snuff ov' candle An' took up a Homestead beyond the sun ! Us fellers ploughed him in nex' mrrnin' 'Thout much prayin' 'cept Bill, an' hit Gev out an' cried like a gol durn baby A-hearin' the gal cry " cum back t' me !" Be Chris'mus the cattle died, blest if they didti't Contra'ry like, an' his land jest lay A-coaxin' ov weeds, an' the gal a-wiltin' "Th* Injuns is riz !" come the word one day. I found her sittin' an' kinder sobbin' Be the hill jest wher' we hed rolled him in, Ivookin' peaked an' white, an' jest like ajjperit A' ready its 'way t' th' angils t' win. All at onct I seed her trubble : 'Twas want ov wimmin' t' cuddle her in ! An' th' on'y petticoat here, wasperadin' 1:1 166 Rough Ben. i m A sort of proniis'cus an' lived />' sin. An' sooner'n thet — I'd, well, I'd offer The best, an' all I hed sir ; m*^ life ! An' thet meant shelter, so th' Injuns coniin' Jest frightened her inter a-bein' my wife. That makes ye stare ! well, I ain't t' say han'sura, But afore high God she was dear t' me ! An' down th' trail she come t' my shanty Wher' I w'rshipped the groun' she walked. And she She tried t' smile, an' she called me Benny ! An' the boys uste' laugh at ol' rough Ben ; But I cared fer her like she was a luck-penny An' the Injuns? Oh, guv'ment soon settled 'em. Troops from below cum a-marchin' in Aperl ; An' Bill stood g'ard be night, me be day ; An' we stood off the divils 'ith shot an' powder Till the Mounted P'lece come in sight ; the gay Red coats took the Injuns' topknots An' peppered them divils 'ith shot an' fjup'rise An' we opened the gates of the wood-pile Barracks An' what does I see 'ith me own two eyes — But thet little gal as I took under cover Grow red an' white, then fall like a star ; An' before I cud wink a eyelash, a sojer Shot like a arrow t' wher' she wer' " Uncle," says I, *"r cousin mebbe, Thet went t' school wher' she le'rned them books," But when he kissed my gal, I tumbled ! An' shook like the leaves as shadder the brooks. An' then an' ther' come out the story — His folks parted 'em an' she come West ; An' the papers had sed she died ! D'ye follow. Or need I go on, sir, to' tell ye th' rest ? He follered t' Canady ; in Winnipeg waitin' He read the papers sayin' she hed died, So he jined th' P'leece t' furgit his trubbles, An' acrost the plains t' the front he'd ride Hopin' t' fall in a perarie holla' Rough Bkn. 1«7 An' rest wher' her spirit wandered near ; An' as I tell ye, when her eyes seed him, She dropped in her tracks Jest out of fear. Thet evenin' I went ofl" wanderin', hopin' Some Injin' 'ud fill me hide 'ith lead An' make her free, I know'd her heart 's breakin' " I'll give them a chance t' skip !" then I sed. But they diiVnt. I found her mendin' An' darnin' an' bakin' th' usual way ; But a look in her eyes ther' was, like unto A-threatenin rain on a summer day. He'd gone. He'd left her t' me, as took her Jest t' give her shelter 'n care ; (I know'd 'f th' brother'd lived, she'd never No more looked at me 'n them oxen ther'). I watched her, an' see she was wiltin' She gev up singin' an' moved 'roun' so still ; An' a look ov hunger a-eatin' her heart out, TheVs the kind of slurvin'' is sure V kill ! I fetched the best ov eatiu' an' drinkin' As was t' be bought in them times out here ; But the summer went slidin' Inte' winter, An* mister, with snow- fly her empty ch'er ; She slid away from me sort ov' quiet 'Ith never a moan, on'y " Benny, good night ; " 'Twas the gloom in her heart shut out th' sunshine, Fer the mornin' was yalla' with wondrous light. An' the sojer lover thet left her starvin*, I'd like t' put a ball through his hide ! What ? Honor ! Another's ! ! You loved her ! ! ! My God ! YouWe the chap fer who she died! Gimme y'r hand. Ther's somethin' chokin' Me heart, 'r the blood hes lost its way ! Ever since she went I'd been a-thinkin' As how she'd call me t' go some day. But now I know a'tho' it so happened She was mine down here by a parson's swe'r. It won't hold good in that land up yander, , 1-^' 168 Rough Ben. Little gal don't need uo shelter ther'. Me an' me oxen's movin' westward, There's mountains as goes up an' up, an' lies Somewher' near heaven, I'll squat ther', hopin' Fer jest one more look in her starrj' eyes As she gev' me th' day I watered them cattle Long ago, an' thet smile went in Straight t' me heart, an' med me better — An' we both kin love her, an' tain't nr sin ; Fer mistakes in he best of matin's rist , Gee, haw, thv°r' oxen ! gol-durn them tiUs ■" --^ I Si,UMBERi«AND Shadows. 1K9 Slumb^rland Shadows. A CHRISTMAS DRAMA TOR WEE ONES. (All rights reserved.) DOI.IJK-DIMPI.K I ^^^^^ Children. BiCSSIE-BEK ' Teddy 1 jj^other and Sister of the above. BEi.r.E ' The Sandman— Who governs Slumberland Town. Puck — A mischief maker. Queen ok the Fairies. Fairies— Dot, Dash, Chatter, Flash, Speckle, Sweet. Costumes : Fairy Queen : Dressed all in white ; covered with flowers, carries a wand. Fairies : Dressed all in white ; covered with colored paper stars. Sandman : Page's costume of drab velvet, pink hose, three-cornered hat. Puck : Tights of pale yellow, blue hose ; cap with feathers. Doi,iviE and Bessie: Large aprons over dresses of white with silver and gilt trimmings. Tbddy and BEU.E : Ordinary school dress. curtain rises showing a forest. (This effect is produced by having tree-branches fitted into wooden blocks, which may be moved about in order to alter the scene. Chinese lanterns kept swinging during songs.) Semi-circle of fairies. Queen in the centre. Fairies (singing) : Dreaming, dreaming. Lights athwart elf-land are gleaming, Bringing the beautiful, singing the l:>eautiful, Ringing the beautiful Slumberland dreams. 170 SLUMiiKRiAND Shadows. {Softly) : Dre'Mtiing, dr?aniing, , jtar-tye i above ur are beaming ; They ring us the beautiful, bring us the beautiful Songs that fall softly in Sluniberland dreams. (Knter the Sandman with two sandbags. All the Fairies bow three times. ) Sandinan (swiiiging his sandbags) : '* Ho ! Little Klves, take care of yourselves, I'ootsteps are echoing by ; Our haunt is invaded : Klf-flowers look faded, The breath of earth blights us, L,o ' footsteps are nigh !" (Fairies cower as if afraid.) " To guard our retreat from earth clogging feet, This saud which brings magical sleep Will I throw ; " (Shakes sand about.) " Away little Elves ! Quick, hide yourselves ! If you would the mysteries of earth mortals know." (Sandman hangs a bag on each side of stage, upon trees. Fairies hide at each side of stage. Queen stands behind a tree in centre. Exit S?udman.) (Enter Dolly-Dimple and Bessie-Bee, their arms filled with books. ) Dolly (crossly) : '• Oh ! how I am wearied by lessons And puzzled by bothering bums ; My head is quite addled and muddled." Bessie: " Hark, Dolly ! I think some one comes !" (Fairies all laugh.) Bessie : " I heard such a queer little chuckle ! It gave me a terrible fright." (lyights grow dim.) Dollie : " Let's hurry away— it is almost As dark as the middle of night ! Now for a race o'er the prairie " — Sl <$• 186 At Barracks. At 5flrracl