THE FOURTH WATCH H.A. CODY JOHN SKALLY TERRY MEMORIAL COLLECTION ESTABLISHED BY THE FAMILY IN HONOR OF JOHN S. TERRY CLASS OF 1918 THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY I *> UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 00022094840 o; >r n This BOOK may be kept out TWO WEEKS ONLY, and is subject to a fine of FIVE CENTS a day thereafter. It is DUE on the DAY indicated below: THE FOURTH WATCH H. A. CODY Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/fourthwatchOOcody THE FOURTH WATCH BY H. A. CODY AUTHOR OF THE FRONTIERSMAN, UNDER SEALED ORDERS, THE LONG PATROL, Etc. NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1911, By George H. Doran Company TO ALL Messengers, "Watchmen and Stewards of the Lord," "who have faithfully toiled through life's long night, and now ln their fourth and last watch behold the dawn of a new llfe breaking, this book is affectionately dedicated by one but yet ln the Second Watch )137 CONTENTS I. — The Awakening . , 9 II. — The Vision . 16 III. — Glendow Rectory. , 24 IV. — The Warder of the Nighi i 34 V. — The Breath of Slander , 42 VI. — The Auction . . . 51 VII. — The Farringtons . 60 VIII.— The Golden Key . 69 IX. — Beating the Devil . 81 X. — In Camp . . 91 XI. — Guarding the Flock . 99 XII. — Light and Shadow , 108 XIII. — For the Sake of a Child 119 XIV.— The Long Night . . 126 XV. — Deepening Shadows . 135 XVI. — For Sweet Love's Sake . 143 XVII. — Hitting Back. . 154 XVIIL— Wash-Tub Philosophy . . 164 XIX.— The Sting . 177 XX. — The Overseer . 187 XXI. — Decision. . 200 XXII. — In the Deep of the Heari . 210 CONTENTS CHAPTER XXIII.- —Where is Dan? . PAGE . 220 XXIV.- —The Rush of Doom . 233 XXV.- —Beneath the Ashes . 244 XXVI.- — A Rope op Sand . . , . 256 XXVII.- —In the Toils . 268 XXVIII.- —Waiting and Serving . , . 276 XXIX.- —Rifted Clouds . 286 XXX. —Beneath the Surface . . 293 XXXI.- —Light at Eventide . 304 THE FOURTH WATCH CHAPTER I THE AWAKENING THE boy plied his hoe in a listless manner, for his thoughts were elsewhere. Several hundred yards to the right stood the forest, glorious in its brilliant autumn hues. There among those trees the wary partridges were feeding or perching temptingly upon bough, fallen log or ragged stump. To the left the waters of the noble River St. John rippled and sparkled beneath the glowing sun. Over there amidst that long stretch of marshland, in many a cove and reedy creek, the wild ducks were securely hidden. What connection had a rugged, stirring lad with a brown sombre potato patch when the strong insistent voice of the wild was calling him to fields afar ? There was no inspiration here — among these straggling rows. Noth- ing to thrill a boy's heart, or to send the blood surging and tingling through his body. But there — ! He sighed as he leaned upon his hoe and looked yearningly around. Down on the shore, in a sheltered cove among the trees, the Scud, a small boat, was idly flapping her dirty patched sail. " Wonder what dad left it up for ? " thought the boy. 9 10 THE FOURTH WATCH " Maybe he's going after more ducks. Wish to good- ness he'd help with these potatoes so I could get off, too." Then his eyes roamed out over the water until they rested upon a white sail away in the distance, bearing steadily down-stream. He watched it carelessly for some time, but noticing the manner in which it drooped Tinder an occasional squall his interest became aroused. "There's too much canvas, that's sure!" he ejacu- lated. " Some idiot, I s'pose, who doesn't know 'bout these squalls. Guess he'll learn soon if he isn't careful. Now the Scud, she's all right. I'd risk her any time — My — ! " and he almost held his breath as the white sail, much nearer now, swooped to the water like the wing of a gigantic bird. The boat righted herself, how- ever, and sped gracefully forward. Again and again she dipped and careened under each successive squall, winning the lad's unstinted admiration. But even as he looked and wondered, a furious gust caught the white sail as it listed heavily, and drove it with one sweep to the water, overturning the boat as it did so. With a cry of fear the boy dropped his hoe, stared for an instant at the overturned craft, and then sped across the potato field sloping to the shore. He did not wait to go by the path, which led straight up to a little cabin in the valley, but, making a short cut to the left, leaped into a tangled thicket beyond. lie crashed his way through the branches and underbrush, not heeding the numerous scratches upon face and hands. He reached the Scud, tore, rather than untied the THE AWAKENING 113 painter from an old oak root, and sent the boat reeling backwards from its moorings. The sail flapped wildly in the breeze, which was now growing stronger, and the craft began to drift. Catching up the centre-board, lying near, the boy drove it down into its narrow groove with a resounding thud. Seizing the sheet-line with one hand, and squatting well astern he grasped the tiller with the other. Nobly the boat obeyed her little determined commander. The sail filled, she listed to the left and darted forward, bearing bravely up the wind. Straight ahead the boy could see the distressed boat sinking lower and lower in the water, with a man and a woman clinging desperately to the upturned side. The wind was now whistling around him, and at times threatening to rip away the patched sail. The water was rough, and the angry white-caps were dashing their cold spray over his clothes. But not for an instant did he swerve from his course until quite near the wreck. Then letting go the sheet-line he permitted the boat to fall away a little to the left. In this manner he was able to swing gradually in a half-circle, and by the time he was up again to the teeth of the wind the Scud was lying close to the overturned boat. So preoccupied had been the boy up to this moment that he had no time to observe closely the shipwrecked pair. Now, however, he cast a curious glance in their direction, as he let go the rudder and sheet-line, and threw out the painter to the man. Eagerly the latter seized the rope, and managed to hold the two boats together. 12 THE FOURTH WATCH " Give us yer hand," shouted the boy, " and let her come out first. Be careful now," he continued as the crafts bumped against each other. " There, that's good." With considerable difficulty the two strangers were rescued from their perilous position, and then the Scud dropped away from the wreck. " Where do you want to go ? " asked the boy, as once again he brought the boat to the wind. " Over there," responded the man, pointing to the opposite shore. " We can land on that point and get driven home." Almost mechanically the boy swung the Scud around, and headed her for the place indicated. From the mo- ment he had caught a glimpse of the woman clinging to the boat he had found it hard to turn away his eyes. Her hat was gone, and the wind was blowing her dark- brown hair about her face, which was white as death. But when she turned her large blue eyes filled with gratitude and fear upon her rescuer, a strange feeling of embarrassment swept suddenly over him. Women he had seen before, but none such as this. How quiet she was, too — not a cry or complaint did she make. Her clothes were wet; the water cold, and the wind raw. But she sat there in the boat watching him with those big eyes as he guided the Scud steadily forward. He looked at her dress, how neat and clean it was. Then he glanced at his own rough togs. How coarse, worn and dirty were they, while his shoes were heavy grey brogans. A flush mantled his sun-browned face. THE AWAKENING 13 He shifted uneasily, gripped the tiller more firmly, arid drove the Scud a point nearer to the wind. What must she think of him? he wondered. Was she com- paring him with the well-dressed man at her side, who was looking thoughtfully out over the blue water? A feeling of jealousy stole into his heart. He had never known such a thing before. He knew what it was to be angry — to stamp and shout in his rage. He had en- gaged in several pitched battles with the boys in the neighbourhood who had made fun of him. But his life — a life of freedom — had satisfied him. To hunt, to trap, to wander over hill, valley and forest was all that he asked for. He had never thought of anything higher, never dreamed of any life but the one his father led, hunting, and trapping in season and making a slight pretence of farming. Now, however, something was stirring within him. He longed to show this woman that though his clothes and shoes were rough, he was almost a man and could do great things. " What is your name, my boy ? " The words startled him, and he glanced quickly up. The woman was looking at him still, but now she was smiling. Was she laughing at him ? " My name's Dan," was the reply. " Dan, Dan what ? " " Oh, just old Jim's boy." " Old Jim, Old Jim ! " repeated the woman. " Do you mean Jim Flitter, the trapper ? " " Yep, that's him." 11 And do you live over there ? " 14 THE FOURTH WATCH u Yep. In that shanty up the valley, Dad and I live there alone." " Have you no mother, Dan \ " and the woman's voice was soft and low. " Xone now." She was about to question further, but noticing the look upon the boy's face she desisted. " Do you know you've saved our lives ? " she re- marked after a short silence. " I can never thank you enough for what you have done for us to-day. I don't think I could have clung to that boat much longer." " I ain't done nuthin'," Dan replied. " But next time you go out don't carry so much sail, specially when it's squally. I mayn't always be handy like I was to-day. But come, we're at the pint, so I'll land you here." Saying which, Dan let the sail go free, and ran the boat gently up the pebbly shore. " JSTow, my boy," asked the man, " how much do I owe you ? " Dan had stooped and was about to push the Scud from the beach. He looked up quickly at the question, but made no reply. " How much ? " demanded the man, somewhat im- patiently. " What do you mean ? " asked the boy. " What do I mean ? Simply this. You've done us a great service, saved us from death, and how much money do you want ? How much shall I pay you ? " " Xuthin'." Dan was standing erect now. His dark eyes fixed full upon the man's face, flashed with anger, while his THE AWAKENING 15 heart thumped tumultuously beneath his little checkered shirt. " What ! won't take any pay ! " " No ! " " And why not ? " " Cause I won't. You've no right to as"k me. It ain't fair ! " That was all Dan could utter. He could not express his feelings ; repugnance filled his heart at the thought of taking money for what he had done. He felt the woman's eyes fixed upon him. What would she think, of him, Dan Flitter, taking money for saving people's lives ? He gave one quick glance in her direction, turned, and pushing the boat from the shore, sprang in, leaving the man and the woman upon the beach gazing wonderingly after him. D son. CHAPTER n TnE vision: ANNY, what's the meaning of this ? " Mr. Flitter laid clown his paper, took his pipe from his mouth, and looked inquiringly at hia Dan was seated at the farther end of the table, clean- ing his beloved shot-gun. It had done good work that day and a fine string of partridges hung in an outer room, ready to go to the store early the next morning. A week had now passed since the rescue on the river, and during the whole of that time he had said nothing about it to his father. There was a reason for this. The latter had been much away from home during the dav, only coming in late at night when his son was m bed so they had little chance for conversation It was a busy season, and they must make the most of it. bo while the one scoured the forest for partridges the other searched the river for ducks and geese But Dan did not feel inclined to say anything to his father about what he had done. To him it was not worth mention- W That he had picked up two shipwrecked people, and set them ashore, in his eyes was a very simple thing It was made less so by the thought of that woman with the large eyes, beautiful face and sunny 16 THE VISION 1% smile. How could he describe to his father the new feel- ing which had come into his breast, the longing for something more than the life he was leading, and the desire to show that woman what he really could do ? His father's sudden question startled him. The mail was carried but once a week to this place, and by the time the paper arrived from the post office it was several days old. Mr. Flitter had come home earlier than usual, having had a fine day's shooting on the river, and was in excellent spirits. Game was in great demand, and he looked hopefully for good sales on the morrow. After their scanty meal he picked up the paper and began to read. Silence reigned in the little dingy shanty for some time, broken only by the short, sharp question. " Don't you know anything about it, Danny ? " in- sisted Mr. Flitter, noticing the startled and puzzled look upon his son's face. " What do you mean, dad ? " * Why, about that wreck on the river. This paper says that you saved two people from drowning right off here over a week ago." Dan's face flushed and his heart beat fast. What! was his name in the paper ? Would the people in the big city see it ? What would the boys in the neighbour- hood think ? Would they make fun of him any more ? He could show them now that he was somebody, for his name was in the paper ! These thoughts drove surgingly through his brain. He rose from his place and stood by his father's side. 18 THE FOURTH WATCH " Show me, dad," be whispered ; " let me see it." " There, Danny, look at the heading: — " ' A Boy's Brave Deed.' " " And is that long piece all about me, dad ? " " Yes, and it states what you did. Why didn't you tell me about it, son ? " " Where's my name, dad ? " asked Dan, unheeding his father's question. " There," and Mr. Flitter, pointing with his finger, spelled out the words, " Daniel Flitter." "Does it say, dad, who those people were that got swamped ? " " Ko, their names are not given. It only says that the young man lives in the city. But why didn't you tell me about it, Dan ? " " Thought it wasn't worth while," replied the boy. " But I don't see how they know about it down there to put it in the paper." " How did it happen, son. Let's have the whole story." Mr. Flitter pulled off his boots, lighted his pipe afresh, and leaned back to listen. " I wonder who that woman is," he remarked, when Dan had finished his brief account. " I know most people for miles around, and it's strange I don't know her from your description. However, I shall make inquiries and find out." During the days that followed, Dan lived in a new world. His feet trod the earth, and he trudged for miles the woodland ways. But his mind was in fairyland. It was an enchanted world through which he moved, THE VISION 19 and he was master of all. The trees on every side were crowds of admiring people, and the branches were so many outstretched hands pointing to him. Hi3 breast swelled with pride. He walked erect, his head held high, while his eyes flashed with a triumphant light. The birds sang his praises; the squirrels chat- tered one to another, and every brook babbled " Daniel Flitter, Daniel Flitter." His name had appeared in the paper! He was no longer an obscure person, but a hero — a wonder ! He kept the clipping carefully wrapped up in his pocket. Often he would sit down in some quiet forest spot, unfold his treasure and look long and proudly upon those two magic words. One day as he sat studying the paper a desire came into his heart to know all of those wonderful words before and after his name. He could not read, never having gone to school. In fact he never wanted to do so. His one aim was to be a mighty hunter and trapper like his father. But now, a longing had entered his soul ; a spark from the mysterious fire of life had found a lodg- ing which needed only a little fanning to produce a bright and fervent flame. " Dad," said he, that night, while eating his sup- per, " I wish I knew how to read. All the boys in this settlement can read and write. Ain't I old enough to begin ? " " You're old enough, lad, but we live a long way from the schoolhouse, and when you were little it was too far for you to walk. You might go this winter, when there's spare time, if you don't mind the distance." 20 THE FOURTH WATCH " I don't mind that, dad, but all the rest will know so much that they'll make fun of me. I only know a few of my letters, and mother taught me them before she died." f " She did, lad, she did, God bless her," and a huski- ness came into Mr. Flitter's voice as he spoke. " If she were alive now you would know as much as any boy of your age, for your mother was a smart one, and I guess you take after her, Dan. " I wish I had her now," and the boy gave a deep sigh. " She'd help me every night, and I wouldn't be stupid any more." Mr. Flitter made no reply to these words. He fin- ished his supper in silence, and while Dan washed the few dishes he sat thoughtfully smoking his old clay pipe. " Laddie," he remarked as they were preparing for bed, " I've been having deep thoughts to-night, and I've come to the conclusion that I haven't done right by you. I've neglected you too much." " In what way, dad ? " questioned the boy. " Oh, in many ways. I've fed and clothed you, though I guess you've earned it all. But I've not thought enough about your mind — your education, I mean. Besides, there are deeper and more serious things in life of which I've told you nothing. I do feel mighty guilty when I think about it all." " You've been good to me, though," and Dan looked inquiringly into his father's face. " Yes, in a way. But, then, haven't I been good to THE VISION 21 our old mare, Queen? I feed and blanket her. Eut what more have I done for you — and you are my own son ? Now look here," he added, after a pause, " I'm willing to teach you at nights how to read, and see if we can't make up for my past neglect." " Dad ! D' you mean it ? " " There now, that'll do. No more talking. Let's off to bed, and we'll have the first lesson to-morrow night." The days that followed were busy ones for Dan. The shooting season closed, but there was other work to do. The rabbits had to be snared and his regular rounds made to the traps set for the wiry mink, lumbering rac- coon, and the wily fox. Each night, the animals brought in during the day had to be skinned, and the pelts carefully stretched. Then when this had been accomplished to his satisfaction he would turn his attention to his studies. His father was cutting cord-wood for a neighbour, and was able to get home at night. Then the two pored over the mysterious letters and words in the little cabin, the elder doing his best to impart his scanty knowledge to the younger. They were happy times for Dan. He had something'to live for now, and throughout the day, as he wandered from trap to trap, the words he had studied the night before kept ringing in his ears. But, alas ! such scenes were to be dispelled all too soon. They were too good to last long. One evening Dan returned home to find an unusual commotion about the place. Men and women were there who had never before entered the building. And the doctor, whom he 22 THE FOUKTH WATCH had often met on the road, what was he doing there? What were they whispering about ? and why did they look at him in that way, when he entered the house ? Where was his father ? Who was that lying on the bed so very still ? Could it be dad % He had never seen him like that before. Then the thought flashed upon him: something was wrong! His father was hurt! and with a cry he rushed forward, and bent over the prostrate form. But no word of welcome, no sign of recognition did he receive. iSFothing but that vacant stare met his ardent gaze. Slowly, very slowly, he grasped the meaning of it all, as the sympathetic watchers told the brief story. His father had met with a serious accident. A large birch tree in falling had lodged against another, a sturdy maple. While cutting at the latter the birch had sud- denly turned over and swooping to the ground with a resounding crash had buried Mr. Flitter beneath the branches ere he had had time to escape. He had been carried home bruised, broken, and unconscious. The doctor had been hurriedly summoned, and had done all in his power for the injured man. But in vain, for in a short time he had breathed his last. Dan uttered not a word when the tale had been told. Tie asked no questions, neither did he make any outcry. He stood like one stricken dumb, dry-eyed and motion- less, gazing upon that quiet form lying upon the bed. Gently they led him away, and tried to speak to him. He did not heed them. A weight such as he had never known before pressed upon his heart. He wished to be THE VISION 23 alone, somewhere in the woods, out there where no one could gaze upon him. His father was dead ! For him there was no consolation from the words of the Man of Sorrows. The life beyond had no meaning for him. His mother had taught him to say the little prayer, " Now I lay me down to sleep," but that seemed so long ago, and he had not repeated it after her death. He had seen the birds and animals lying dead, but had thought nothing about it then. Now his father was just like them, would never look at him again, would never speak to him any more. He watched in a dazed manner what took place on the two following days. Neighbours came, spoke to him, stayed awhile and then departed. The day of the funeral arrived. He stood with the rest at the grave- side. It was cold, and the wind laden with snow whistled about him. He heard the grey-headed, white- bearded clergyman read the Burial Service. The words of hope had no meaning for him. An awful feeling of desolation filled his heart as he watched the earth thrown into the grave. A shiver passed through his body, caused not by the coldness alone. Several came to speak to him. He did not want to see them. He turned and fled down across the field over the fence to the haunble cabin in the valley. This he entered, now so quiet and desolate. He reached the bed — his father's bed — and throwing himself upon it gave vent to his grief. His pent-up feelings at last found an outlet and tears coursed down his tanned cheeks, moistening the pillow beneath his little curly head. CHAPTER III (GLENDOW RECTORY ARE you cold, lad ? " . " ]STo," was the brief reply. Parson John, Rector of Glendow, glanced down at the little muffled figure at his side. He reached over, tucked in the robes more closely about their feet, and spoke one word to Midnight. The horse, noble animal that she was, bounded forward. The ice, glassy and •firm, stretched out far ahead. It was a raw, midwinter day and the wind drifting in from the north-east pre- saged a storm. But the magnificent beast, black as a raven's wing, did not mind it. With head low, tail almost touching the dash-board, and eyes sparkling with animation, she clipped along with great strides. The parson gave a half-audible chuckle as he settled back in the seat and gripped the reins more firmly. " What will Nellie say," he thought, " when she sees the lad ? Won't she be surprised ! She's never tired of talking about that rescue on the river." Dan thoroughly enjoyed the drive as he nestled by the parson's side. It was very strange to be speeding along in such a luxurious manner, with a horse trav- 24 GLENDOW RECTOKY 25 elling like the wind, and a big jolly man holding the reins. He said nothing, but kept his eye fixed upon Midnight, his admiration steadily increasing. He would like to own a horse like that, and down in his heart he determined to have one some day — his very own. " What do you think of Midnight, lad ? " asked the parson, noticing Dan's admiring gaze. " Great ! " was the reply. " "Wish to have one like her, eh 1 " "Y'bet." " You will some day, boy ; you will. But get a good one or none at all, and here's a safe rule : Round-hoof d, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostrils ■wide, High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong. Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide. ISTow the man who said that, knew what he was talking about." " What's his name ? " asked Dan. " Does he live here ? " " Ho, ho ! " and the parson's hearty laugh rang out over the snow. " ' Does he live here ? ' I'm afraid not. Very few in Glendow know old Will Shakespeare, more's the pity." " I should like to meet him, though," remarked Dan. " He must know a lot about horses." " Ay, ay, lad, he knows a lot about most things, and you shall know him some day, Dan, when you get older. 26 THE FOURTH WATCH But here we are right at home. We've made great time." After Midnight had "been carefully stahled and fed, Parson John led his little charge into the Rectory. Scarcely had they crossed the threshold into a brightly- lighted room ere the sound of a sweet voice humming an old familiar tune fell gently upon their ears. Then a heavy tapestry curtain was drawn aside, and a slen- der girlish form stood before them. Beholding the lad, she gave a start of surprise, while her face, of more than ordinary beauty, flushed with pleasure. " Ha, ha, ISTellie," laughed her father, giving her an affectionate kiss, " I have captured your young hero at last, and I'm glad you recognize him. He's to live with us, to be your honourable bodyguard, your Fidus Achates, in fact." What a picture this venerable man presented as he stood there. Wrapped in a great-coat, with fur mittens in his hands ; a long grey beard sweeping his breast ; hair abundant and white, crowning a face of singular strength and refinement, he seemed the very embodiment of health and hearty cheer. Xo ascetic this, but a man in whose veins flowed the fire of youth, and whose eyes twinkled with quiet, honest laughter as they looked into his daughter's puzzled face. " I don't exactly understand," Xellie remarked, glancing first at her father and then at Dan. " ]STo, I know you don't, dear, but I'll tell you all about it later. It's enough now to know that I found him, and we are to give him a home here. So if you'll GLEXDOW EECTORY 27 let us have something to eat, we'll be very glad, won't we, laddie ? " Dan stood as if in a dream during this conversation. His eyes remained fixed upon Xellie's face. Could it be possible that this was the woman he had rescued, and who had spoken so kindly to him % It was the same, there could be no mistake, only now she seemed more beautiful than ever. He felt her soft hand pressing his rough, brown one, and heard her hearty welcome. Words would not come to his lips. He was like a dumb person. But his eyes noted much, especially the dining- room, with the table spread, the white cloth and wonder- ful dishes. He had never seen anything like them before. And good reason was there for Dan's wonder. Others too would have looked with admiration upon that scene had they been present. Everything in the room bespoke Nellie's gentle care, from the spotless table-linen to the well-polished, old-fashioned sideboard, a relic of the stirring Loyalist days. Several portraits of distinguished divines adorned the walls, while here and there nature scenes, done in water-colours, by whose hand it was easy to guess, were artistically arranged. Nellie's devotion to her father was beautiful to be- hold. Her eyes sparkled with delight as he related sev- eral amusing incidents of his visit to a sick parishioner in an outlying district. " And how did you find Mr. Stickles ? " she in- quired. 28 THE FOURTH WATCH " ' Simply joggin', parson, simply joggin,' n came the reply, at which the fair hostess laughed heartily. "And I suppose Mrs. Stickles is as jolly as ever?" " Oh, yes. She is just the same. Poor soul ! she has her hands full with her sick husband, and a houseful of little ones. Yet she keeps remarkably bright and cheer- ful. She was much concerned about my welfare, and while she sent Sammy to look after Midnight she bustled around to make me as comfortable as possible." " * Poor dear man,' she said, ' ye ain't as young as ye used to be, an' I often say to John that the work's tellin' on ye. Ye've got too large a circus, parson, too large a circus.' " " Dear soul," laughed Nellie. " There isn't a more real person in Glendow than Mrs. Stickles. She's a friend to everyone, and knows everybody's business for miles around." " Indeed, she does," replied her father. " It was she who told me about our young friend here, and I started off post-haste to capture him. So we have to thank Mrs. Stickles for it all." Supper ended, Parson John and Dan went into the study, while Nellie cleared away the dishes. A bright fire burned in the large fire-place, giving the room a most genial appearance. The parson brought down a long church-warden pipe, filled and lighted it. Next he drew up a comfortable chair and proceeded to read his mail which had arrived during his absence. Dan, in the meantime, had taken up his position in a cosy- corner nearby. A large picture-book had been given to GLENDOW RECTORY 29 him, and eagerly his eyes wandered over the wonderful things he found therein. After a while he closed the book and leaned back against the cushions. How com- fortable it was. What luxury! He had never ex- perienced anything like it in his life. It seemed like a dream. He watched Parson John for a time as he read his letters and papers. Then he looked about the room, admiring the many things he there beheld. Gradually his eyes closed. He forgot his surroundings, and was soon fast asleep, far away in dreamland. When Nellie had finished with the dishes, she camo into the study, and, seeing Dan, she paused to look upon him. Then she crossed to where her father was sitting, and touched him gently on the shoulder and pointed to the sleeping lad. Together they watched him and in their hearts there welled up a deep love for the orphan boy. " Poor little fellow," remarked Nellie, in a low voice, taking a seat by her father's side. " I am so glad he is with us to-night. He seemed to be tired out." " Yes, dear," her father replied, laying down the paper. " We are fortunate in getting him. I wanted a boy for some time. I understand he has a fine char- acter." " And you said that Mrs. Stickles told you about him?" " Yes. And what she said was quite true. I found Dan living with the Tragen family. Mr. Tragen has seven children of his own, and could not very well keep another for any length of time. He told me that the day 30 THE FOURTH WATCH of the funeral he went to the Flitter house, and found Dan all alone, lying on his father's bed, weeping as if his heart would break. With difficulty he had per- suaded him to leave and go with hira. That was over a week ago and Dan has been with him ever since. Mrs. Tragen, worthy woman that she is, took good care of him and treated him like one of her own. Truly the Lord will reward her. By the way, she told me an interesting thing about the boy." " What is it ? " questioned Nellie. " It seems he has never been at school, and cannot read or write. He is very anxious to learn, and his father, before his death, was giving him some lessons. We must see that he has every chance to learn whilo with us." " But, father, there's no school in the district this winter, a most unusual thing." " Why not teach him at home, dearie ? " and the par- son looked into his daughter's face. " Why not have a school here ? We can give him a start anyway, and he will not be too far behind the rest when next the public school opens." " Oh, that will be splendid ! " exclaimed Nellie, " and may I be the teacher ? I always wanted to do something in that line, and may we begin to-mor- row?" " Any time you like, dearie, and may God bless you, child, for your interest in the boy. You remind me more and more of your dear mother." " And why should I not take an interest in him, GLENDOW RECTORY 31 father ? He saved my life, and, though I can never repay him, I should like to feel that I am doing some- thing. Yon know I read to !N"ora whenever I can, hut this need not interfere with that. And, oh, father, Stephen was here this afternoon, and he's in great trouble." " What's wrong, dearie ? " questioned the parson, as Nellie paused and a deep flush suffused her face. " The Frenelle homestead is to he sold." " What ! do I understand you aright ? Peter Cre- nelle's farm, that fine property which he left free of debt when he died ? " " Yes, it's only too true. You know there has "been a heavy mortgage on it for several years, and as the in- terest has not been paid for some time the mortgage has been foreclosed, and the place is to he sold." " Dear me, dear me," and the parson leaned hack in his chair and closed his eyes, as he always did when in deep thought. " It's bad management, that's what it is. Stephen has had a splendid start, and through careless- ness he has let everything go to ruin." " Father, don't blame Stephen too much. He's only young, and had a great responsibility placed upon his shoulders after his father's death." " Blame him ! Blame him ! Why should I blame any- one ? " and the parson placed his hand to his forehead. " Stephen is as dear to me as my own son — and I love him. But, oh, it is hard to see my old friend's farm go to others. I have talked with Stephen time and time again. But he has not taken the right grip of life. 32 THE FOURTH WATCH Poor Mrs. Frenelle, her heart must be broken. And Nora, that dear invalid girl, how hard for her." Nellie made no reply to her father's words. She sat looking into the fire. Tears were in her eyes and her heart was heavy. Everything had seemed so bright but a short time before, and now this dark cloud had arisen. Oh, if Stephen would only bestir himself. They had known each other from childhood. He had always been her hero. As a child her day-dreams and fancies were -woven about him. And as years advanced their love for each other had increased. It was the natural blending of two souls which had gradually and silently grown together in the bright sunshine of happy youth. A knock upon the door at the side of the house startled her. At once she arose to ascertain its meaning, and shortly returned. " Father," she said, " Billy Fletcher is very sick, and ^wishes to see you." " Who brought word, my dear ? " " Hugh Peters. He called to see the old man as ho jvas coming down the road, and found him quite ill" The effect of this message was quite magical. No longer was Parson John the quiet fireside reader, but the true sympathetic pastor. He laid aside his pipe, and at once arose from his comfortable chair. An ex- pression of loving concern overspread Nellie's face as she assisted him on with his storm coat, and procured his cap, mittens and overshoes. But no word of re- monstrance came from her lips, no urging him to put off his visit until the morning. From a child she had been GLENDOW RECTORY 33 accustomed to these sudden calls to the side of departing parishioners, to read the Word of life and at times to administer the Holy Communion. Her father's step was slow as of one much wearied, though his voice was cheery and strong as he bade his daughter good-bye, seized the small lantern she had lighted for him, and stepped out into the cold ni&'ht on his mission of love. CHAPTER IV THE WARDER OF THE NIGHT AETER her father's departure, Nellie sat before L the fire engaged upon some needlework. Occa- sionally her hands rested in her lap, while she gazed thoughtfully into the bright blaze. The soft light from the shaded lamp fell athwart her wealth of dark- brown hair and fair face. Her long lashes drooped as she leaned back in an easy-chair, and let her mind wander to the days when she and Stephen played together as happy children. What bright dreams were theirs, and how many fairy palaces they erected in the far unknown future. A movement in the cosy-corner roused her from her reverie. She glanced quickly in that direction and saw Dan sitting bolt upright, gazing intently upon her. Nellie smiled as she saw his look of wonder mingled with embarrassment. " Have you had a nice sleep ? " she asked. " Guess so," came the slow reply. " I dreamed that you and my father were right by my side, but w T hen I woke he was gone and only you are with me." " I hope you will like it here," Nellie remarked, hardly knowing what to say. " We want to make you happy, and love you just like our own little boy." 34. THE WARDER OF THE NIGHT 35 " I'm almost a man now," and Dan straightened up his shoulders and proudly threw back his head. " I can huut and work. See how strong I am," and he placed his right hand upon the muscle of his doubled-up left arm. " Some day you will be as big as my father, won't you ? " replied Nellie, much amused at the sturdy lad. " "Was that your father who brought me here ? " " Yes." " And what's his name ? " " ]\Ir. Westrnore. But most people call him ' Parson John.' You'll call him that, too, won't you ? He likes it better." " Yes ; if you want me to, I will. But, say, what's your name ? " " Oh, mine's just Nellie, Nellie Westrnore. Not very pretty, is it \ " " I think it is. Do you know that was my mother's name — Nellie, I mean, not the other one." " And do you remember your mother, Dan ? " " Only a little. She was good and pretty, just like you." " Tell me about her, will you ? I should like to hear." And there in the quietness of that room Dan's tongue was unloosed, and in his own simple way he told about his mother, her death, and how he and his father had lived together in the little log shanty. Half an hour passed in this quiet talk, and when at length Dan ceased Nellie glanced at the clock. " Why, I didn't think it was so late ! It is time you 36 THE FOURTH WATCH were in bed. You must be tired. Come, I will show you where you are to sleep to-night, and to-morrow we will fix up a room for your very own." Going to the kitchen Nellie lighted a small lamp, and with this in her hand she and Dan went up the small winding stairway. " This is the place," and she opened a door leading to a room at the north of the house. " The pipe from the hall stove comes up there, so it's always quite warm. I do hope you will sleep well." She went to the window to draw down the blind and as she did so a light fell upon her eyes which gave her a distinct start. It was not from the moon, for the night was dark, but from a burning building, a short distance up the road. The flames were leaping and curling through the roof, sending up blazing cinders in every direction. Nellie's heart almost stopped beating as she gazed upon the scene. It was Billy Fletcher's house! and what of her father ? Was he amidst those flames, or had he escaped ? " Dan, Dan ! " she cried, turning to the lad, " Come, quick ! I'm afraid that something terrible has hap- pened ! Get on your coat and cap as quickly as possible and let's make haste ! " It did not take them long to throw on their wraps, and to hurry forth into the night. To Nellie the distance seemed never-ending. Would they ever reach the house ? How the road had length- ened! and her breath came hard and fast as she stag* THE WARDER OP THE NIGHT 37* gered forward, trying to keep pace with the more hardy lad. The light of the fire illumined the road for some distance around, and guided their steps. Drawing near they could discover no one about the place. What did it all mean ? Here Nellie paused and with wildly beating heart looked at the seething mass before her, and listened to the roar of the flames as they sent up their wild flamboyant tongues into the air. Had her father been entrapped in that terrible furnace ? She glanced towards a barn on her right and as she did so her eyes fell upon a sight never to be forgotten. Some- one was there, kneeling in the snow with bent head gazing intently upon some object before him. It was her father ! and with a cry of joy Nellie rushed for- ward. She found he was kneeling by Billy Fletcher's side, supporting his head, and carefully wrapping around him his own great-coat. He looked up and an expression of relief came into his face as he saw his daughter standing there. " I am so glad you have come," he exclaimed. " Poor Billy's in a bad way. We need help. He must be taken to some house. I wish you would hurry up the road for assistance. Dan will go with you. Get his nephew Tom as quickly as possible." Waiting to hear no more, Nellie, fatigued though she was, started at once for assistance, Dan following close behind. They had gone only a short distance, however, when they met Tom himself running along the road. " What's wrong ? " he gasped. 38 THE FOURTH WATCH "Don't you see?" Nellie replied. "The house is burning down." "And Uncle Billy; is he safe?" " Yes, he's safe, but almost dead." " And the box, what about it ? " "What box?" " The money box ; the iron one, where he keeps his papers and gold." " I know nothing about the box," replied Nellie, while a feeling of great repugnance welled up within her at the heartlessness of the man. lie cared little for his uncle, the feeble old body, but only for what he possessed. By this time they had reached the place where the sick man was lying. " Is he living ? " shouted his nephew. " Yes," replied the parson, " though I doubt if ho can last long. We must get him away to your house as soon as possible." " But the box, Parson ; did you save it ? " questioned Tom. " No, I never thought about it, and, besides, I did not know where it was." At this Billy opened his faded eyes, and fixed them upon his nephew's face. He tried to speak, but his voice was thick and his words were unintel- ligible. "Where's the box?" shouted Tom. Again the old man endeavoured to say something. THE WARDER OP THE NIGHT 39 Failing in this he made an effort to rise. The struggle was too much for him, and with a cry he sank back upon the snow, dead. By this time several neighbours had arrived, and stood near with a look of awe upon their rugged faces. Nellie drew her father aside, knowing full well that his care was needed no longer. " Come," she said, " we had better go home, These men will do the rest. You have done your part." He followed her along the little path leading to the main road. Reaching this she took him by the arm and supported his steps, which were now over-feeble. Slowly and feelingly, he told the story of the night. He had found the old man in a bad condition, and cold from the lack of a good fire. Filling the stove with a liberal supply of wood, and making Billy as comfort- able as the circumstances would permit, he had sat down to watch his charge. Ere long the sick man grew much worse. Then the chimney had caught fire. The bricks must have been loose somewhere, which allowed the flames to pour through into the dry woodwork over- head, which was soon converted into a blazing mass. Seeing that nothing could be done to save the building Hr. Westmore was forced to carry Billy, sick though he was, out of the house. He tried to reach the barn, but his strength failed, so he was forced to lay his burden upon the snow, and wrap his great-coat around the helpless man. " Poor Billy ! poor Billy ! " said the parson in con- 40 THE FOURTH WATCH elusion. " He was careless about higher things. I hope the good Lord will not judge him too harshly." " But he was not always like that, father," Nellie remarked. " No, no, thank God. He had a happy home when I first came to this parish, long before you were born. I have often told you about the sweet, God-fearing wife he had then. But after she was laid to rest a great change took place in Billy's life. He became very rebel- lious and never darkened the church door. He ac- quired a great passion for money, and grew to be most miserly. As the years passed his harshness increased. He waxed sullen and disagreeable. His neighbours shunned him and he looked upon them all with a sus- picious eye. His money he never placed in a bank, but kept it in his house in gold coin, in a strong, iron box, so I have been told, and would count it over and over again with feverish delight." " But, father," remonstrated Nellie, " there must have been something good in poor old Billy. You know how fond he was of Tony Stickles." " True, very true, dear. I have often wondered about the affection between the two. No one else could live with the old man, except Tony, and he served him like a faithful dog. It is generally believed that Billy confided many things to Tony. He is a peculiar lad, and people have tried in vain to find out what he knew. He will certainly feel badly when he comes out of the woods, where he is now working, and hears about Billy's death. But here we are at home. Oh dear, the jour- THE WARDER OP THE NIGHT 41 ney has greatly tired me," and the parson panted heavily as he entered the house. During the homeward walk Dan trudged along close by Nellie's side, busy with his own thoughts. He longed for something to happen that he might show her what a man he was. If a robber or a wolf, or some frightful monster, would spring out from the roadside, he would meet it single-handed, kill or drive it away. Then to behold the look of gratitude and ad- miration upon the woman's face as she looked at him, what bliss that would be ! Little did the father and daughter realize, as they slowly walked and conversed, what thoughts and feelings were thrilling the little lad by their side, feelings which in all ages have elec- trified clods of humanity into heroes, and illuminated life's dull commonplaces with the golden romance of chivalry. CHAPTER V THE BEEATH OF SLANDER WHEN a man dies lie kicks the dust." Thus pithily wrote Henry Thoreau, the quaint philosopher, in his little shack by the beauti- ful Walden pool. The truth of this saying was cer- tainly verified in old Billy Fletcher's death, and the people of Glendow were destined to see the dust stirred by his departure, rise in a dense cloud and centre around the venerable parson of Glendow. The day after the fire was clear and fine. Not a breath of wind stirred the crisp air, and the sun-kissed snow lying smooth and white over all the land sparkled like millions of diamonds. Near the window in her little cottage, not far from the Rectory, sat Mrs. Larkins, busily knitting. She was a woman of superior qualities and had seen better days. Her toil-worn hands and care-marked face could not disguise the gentle, refined spirit within, which ex- pressed itself in her every word and action. Two little graves in the Churchyard, lying side by side, and marked by a small cross of white marble, told how the silent messenger had entered that home. Often the hus- band and vdfe were seen standing by those little mounds, while tears coursed down their rugged, honest cheeks. 42 THE BREATH OF SLANDER 43 " 2STo father could have been kinder than Parson John," she had frequently remarked when speaking about their loss, and no sister more sympathetic than dear Nellie. They loved our little ones as if they were their very own. On that bright summer day when we laid our lambs to rest the parson's voice faltered as he read the Burial Service, and tears glistened in his eyes." Since then whatever happened of joy or sorrow at the Beetory was of the deepest interest to the lonely two over the way. So on this bright afternoon as Mrs. Larkins sat by the window her thoughts were busy with the events of the past night. A knock upon the door broke her reverie. Opening it, what was her surprise to find there a woman, with an old-fashioned shawl about her shoulders, and a bright, jolly face peering forth from a capacious grey hood. " Mrs. Stickles ! " she exclaimed. " Is it really you ? Why, I haven't seen you for such a long time ! Come in at once, and lay off your wraps, while I make you a cup of tea, for you must be chilled through and through." " Indeed, I am," Mrs. Stickles replied, bustling into the room, and untying her hood. " Sammy hed to bring the old mare to the blacksmith shop to git shod, an' John, my man, sez to me, ' Mother,' sez he, ' ye jist put on yer duds, an' go along, too. It'll do ye a world o' good.' I hated to leave John, poor soul, he's so poorly. But I couldn't resist the temptation, an' so I come. My, that's good tea!" she ejaculated, leaning 44 THE FOURTH WATCH back in a big, cosy chair. " Ain't that tumble about old Billy Fletcher, an' him sich a man ! " " You've heard about his death, then ? " Mrs. Larkins replied. " Should think I hed. We stopped fer a minute at the store. I wanted to git some calicer fer the girls, an' while I was thar I heerd Tom Flinders an' Pete Pobie talkin' about it. Why, it was awful ! An' to think the dear old parson was thar all alone! When Pete told me that I jist held up me hands in horror. ' Him thar with that dyin' man ! ' sez I. ' Jist think of it!' " ' I guess he didn't mind it,' sez Si Farrington, who was awaitm* upon me. ' lie likes jobs of that nater.' I don't know what in the world he meant. I s'pose ye've heerd all about it, Mrs. Larkins ? " " Yes," came the somewhat slow reply. " I've heard too much." " Ye don't say so now! " and !Mrs. Stickles laid down her cup, and brought forth the knitting which she had with her. " Anything serious ? " " Well, you can judge for yourself. John helped to carry Billy to his nephew's house, and then assisted the others in putting out the fire. But search as they might they could not find the box." " Ye don't say so ! Well, I declare." " iSTo, they searched every portion of the rubbish, ashes and all, but could find no trace of it. That's what's troubling me. I do hope they will find it for the parson's sake." THE BREATH OF SLANDER 45 " Indeed ! Ye surprise me," and Mrs. Stickles laid down her knitting. " Wot the parson has to do with that box is more'n I kin understand." " No, perhaps you don't. But you see after the men had made a thorough search and could not find the box, Tom Fletcher became much excited. He swore like a trooper, declared that there had been foul play, and hinted that the parson had something to do with it You know that the Fletchers hare been waiting a long time for Billy to die in order to get his gold, property aE d » " Yes, yes, I know Tom Fletcher," broke in Mrs. Stickles. " Don't I know 'im, an' wot a mean sneak he is. He's suspicious of everybody, an' is always look- in' fer trouble. An' as to meanness, why he hasn't a heart as big as the smallest chicken. Ye could take a thousand hearts sich as his'n an' stick 'em all to the wall with one tiny pin, an' then they wouldn't be half way up to the head. Mean ! Why didn't he once put a twenty-five cent piece inter the kerlection plate by mistake, an' come back the next day to git it, an' gave a cent in its place. If that ain't mean I'd like to know whar ye'd find it," and Mrs. Stickles sniffed contemptu- ously as her needles whirled and rattled between her nimble fingers. " Yes," Mrs. Larkins replied, " he carries his mean- ness into everything. If he even imagines that it was the parson's fault that the house burned down, and the will was destroyed, his anger will burn like fire. He's very revengeful, too, and has an old grudge to pay back. 46 TIIE FOURTH WATCH The parson, you know, was the means of making him close up his liquor business some years ago, and he ha3 been waiting ever since for a chance to hit back. I tell you this, Mrs. Stickles, that a man who tries to do his duty is bound to stir up opposition, and sometimes I wonder why such a good man should have to bear with vindictive enemies. I suppose it's for some pur- pose." " Indeed it is, Mrs. Larkins. Indeed it is," and Mrs. Stickles' needles clicked faster than ever." It was only last night I was talkin' to my man John about this very thing. ' John,' sez I, ' d'ye remember them two apple trees in the orchard down by the fence ? ' " < Well/ scz he. " ' An' ye recollect,' sez I, ' how one was loaded down with apples, while t'other had nuthin' but leaves ? ' " I remember," sez he. " ' Well, then,' sez I, ' One was pelted with sticks an' stones all summer, an' even hed some of its branches broken, while t'other was not teched. Why was that ? " ' Cause it hed plenty of good fruit on it,' sez he. " ' Jist so,' sez I. ' Cause it hed good fruit. An' that's why so often the Lord's good people cr pelted with vile words cause they're loaded clown with good deeds. If they never did nuthin' the devil 'ud leave 'em alone, but jist 'cause they bear good fruit is the reason they're pelted.' John reckoned I was right, an' he's got a purty level head, if I do say it." u I only hope most of the people in the parish will THE BREATH OF SLANDER 4? stand by the parson/' replied Mrs. Larkins. " I know some will, but there are others who are easily led, and Tom Fletcher's got a sharp tongue." " Why wouldn't they stan' by 'im, Mrs. Larkins ? [Wot hev they agin 'im ? Tell me that." Mrs. Larkins did not answer for a while, but sat gaz- ing out of the window as if she did not hear the remark. " I'm thinking of the parson's son, Philip," Mrs. Larkins at length replied. " You know about him, of course ? " " Sartin' I do. I've knowed Phillie sense he was a baby, an' held 'im in me arms, too. He was a sweet lamb, that's wot he was. I understan' he's a minin' ingineer out in British Columbia, an' doin' fine from the last account I heerd." " That was some time ago, Mrs. Stickles, was it not ? " " I believe it was last summer." " Well, it seems that Philip's in trouble." " Lan' sake, ye don't tell me ! " and Mrs. Stickles dropped her knitting and held up her hands in horror. " I was afeered of it, Mrs. Larkins. It's no place fer man or beast out thar. Hev the In j ins hurt 'im, or the bears clawed 'im ? I understan' they're thick as flies in summer." " Oh, no, not that," replied Mrs. Larkins. " You see over a year ago Philip invested in some mining property out there, and the prospects looked so bright that he induced his father to join him in the enter- prise. Though the parson's salary has always been 48 THE FOURTH WATCH small, with strict economy he had laid something by each year for his old age. The whole of this he gave to Philip to be invested. For a time things looked very bright and it seemed as if the mines would pro- duce handsome profits. Unfortunately several claimants for the property suddenly turned up, with the result that the whole affair is now in litigation. The case is to be decided in. a few months, and should it go against Philip he and his father will be ruined. Philip manages the matter, and the parson advances what money he can scrape together. Just lately the whole affair has leaked out, and some people, knowing how the parson needs money, may not be slow to impute to him things of which he is entirely ignorant." Mrs. Stickles was about to speak, when a jingle of bells sounded outside. " Well, I declare ! " she ex- claimed, " Sammy's back already ! " With that, she rose to her feet, and the conversation ended. The church was crowded the day old Billy was buried, for a funeral in Glendow was always an important event. Parson John was clad in his simple robes of office and read the Burial Service in a resonant, well- modulated voice. Beholding such nobleness, gentle- ness and dignity of his face and bearing, only the most suspicious could associate him with any underhanded dealing. What connection had such a man with the base things of life ? Mounting the pulpit, he gave a short, impressive address. There was no sentiment, or flowery language. He glossed nothing over, but in a few words sketched Billy Fletcher's life, and pointed THE BREATH OF SLANDER 49 him out as a warning to those who become careless and indifferent to higher things. " The parson talked mighty plain to-day," sal J one man in a low voice to another, as they wended their way to the graveyard. " He didn't put poor Billy in Heaven, that's certain, and perhaps he's right, I guess he hit the Fletchers pretty hard." " Oh, yes," the other replied. " The parson got his say from the pulpit, but the Fletchers will have theirs later." " Why, what have they to say ? " " Oh, you'll see." " About that box ? " " Yes." " Tut, tut, man. Why, they haven't a leg to stand on in that matter." " But they'll make legs. Surely you know Tom Fletcher by this time. He'll stop at nothing when once he gets started, and though he may not be able to do anything definitely, he'll do a lot of talking, and talk tells in Glendow, mark my word." And this proved only too true. Talk did begin to tell both in the homes and at the stores. One man, who had met the parson on a hurried trip to the city, de-: clared that he was driving like mad, and hardly spoke in passing. Another related that when Tom Fletcher asked Billy about the box, the dying man pointed to the parson, and tried to speak. Though some of the more sensible scoffed at such stories as ridiculous, it made little difference, for they passed from mouth to 50 THE FOURTH WATCH month, increasing in interest and importance according to the imagination of the narrator. Although this slander with malignant breath was spreading through the parish, it did not for a time reach the Rectory. All unconscious of impending trouble, father and daughter lived their quiet life happy in each other's company. CHAPTER VI THE AUCTION THE day of the auction of the Frenelle homestead dawned mild and clear. " Don't give Dan too many lessons," laughed Parson John, as he kissed his daughter good-bye and tucked in the robes about his feet. " Xo fear, father," was the laughing reply. " Per- haps he will turn the tables upon me. He knows so much about the woods, wild animals and birds that I like to learn from him." Midnight strode along the road, glad of the run in the fresh air. The sleigh bells sent forth their sweet music, echoing and re-echoing from the neighbouring hills and forest. Everything spoke of peace, and in Parson John's heart dwelt a deeper peace, as he guided Midnight through the gateway and reined her up before the Erenelle door. Though he was somewhat early, others were earlier still, and a group of men, hardy sons of toil, were stand- ing near the house engaged in earnest conversation. They had come a long distance, for an auction such as this was a most unusual occurrence in Glendow. The Frenelle homestead had belonged to the family from the early Loyalist days, descending from father to son 51 52 THE FOURTH WATCH for several generations. Each had contributed some- thing to the improvement of the land, hut it remained for Peter Frenelle, Stephen's father, to bring it under an excellent state of cultivation. A clear-headed, hard- working man, he had brought his scientific knowledge, acquired by careful study, to bear upon the soil, until Ips broad, rich acres, free from stone, became the envy and admiration of the parish. One quiet evening he was strolling around the farm with Parson John, his firm and faithful counsellor from childhood. Looking across the fields of waving grain, and down upon the long straight rows of corn, standing golden in the setting sun, he paused in his walk, and remained for some time in deep thought. " John," he at length remarked, placing his hand affectionately upon his companion's shoulder, " the Lord has been very good to me all of these years. He has blessed me in house and field ; He has given me health and strength, and now in my latter days peace and light at eventide." His companion was not surprised at these words, for often before had Mr. Frenelle talked in this manner. But early the next morning when he was summoned to his friend's bedside, to receive his final message, and to hold the hand outstretched to him till it was still and cold, the solemn utterance of the previous evening came forcibly to his mind. For several years after her husband's sudden death, Mrs. Frenelle managed the farm and exhibited re- markable skill in directing the various hired labourers. THE AUCTION 53 But as Stephen, her only son, advanced to manhood she relinquished the responsibility and devoted her time almost entirely to her household affairs. This change was so gradual as to be almost imperceptible. Stephen (disliked the drudgery of farm life and left the work to the hired men. So long as he could draw upon his father's careful savings to pay the wages and supply his own needs, he did not worry. The neighbours shook their heads and prophesied trouble as they saw the land producing less each year, and its acres, formerly rich with grain, covered with bushes. Parson John reasoned and remonstrated, though all in vain. Stephen always promised to do better, but in the end continued the same as before. At last the awakening cume, sudden and terrible. The bank account had been overdrawn to a considerable extent, and payment was demanded. The only thing to do was to mortgage the farm, and with a heavy heart Mrs. Frenelle signed the pledge of death to the dear homestead. For a time Stephen tried to settle down to steady work, but the old habit of care- lessness was too strong upon him, and ere long he drifted back to his former ways. The interest on the mortgage remained unpaid. Foreclosure was the in- evitable result, and the farm was accordingly adver- tised for sale. At last the day of doom had arrived. Parson John found Mrs. Frenelle in the cosy sitting- room with her invalid daughter, ISTora. The latter was endeavouring to comfort her mother. The girl's face, although worn with care and suffering, was sweet to 54 THE FOURTH WATCH look upon. She was not what one would call pretty, but it was impossible to be long in her presence without feeling the influence of her strong buoyant disposition. The angel of pain had purged away much of the dross of her nature, leaving the pure gold undimmed. She inherited, too, much of her fathers strength of char- acter which seemed to be lacking in her brother. " "What are we to do ? " sobbed poor Mrs. Frenelle, as the parson entered the room. " We will be driven from our dear old home, where we have spent so many happy years ! We will be penniless ! " " Hush, mother dear," remonstrated her daughter. " Don't get so discouraged. The place may bring more than will cover the mortgage. We will have that to start with again, and in a few years we may be able to pay everything off. Stephen may settle down to hard, steady work and all will be well." " Xora is right," replied the parson. " The pur- chaser, whoever he is, will no doubt let you remain here, and give you a fair chance to redeem the place. Our Glendow people, you know, have big hearts." " Oh, I wish I could see it in that light," and Mrs. Frenelle glanced at the clergyman through her tears. " It is Mr. Farrington I fear. His mind is set upon having this place. He has looked upon it with greedy eyes for a number of years. He has only a little land in connection with his store, and his wife is always complaining that they have not enough room. She has said on several occasions that they would own this farm some day. Then, you see, Farrington is a candidate THE AUCTION 55 for the next Councillor election. He has large ambi- tions, and hopes eventually to run for the Local House. He thinks a place such as this with its fine, olcl-f ashioned house will give him a certain standing which he now lacks. He wants to pose as a country gentleman, and his wife wishes to have the house in which to entertain her distinguished guests, who, as she imagines, will visit them. Oh, to think of Airs. Farrington living here ! " and the poor woman buried her face in her hands. " But perhaps someone else will outbid him," sug- gested Mr. TYestmore. " I would not lose heart yet." " There is no one in Glendow able to bid successfully against Air. Farrington," Xora replied. " "We have learned, however, that Air. Turpin, a real estate man, arrived from the city last night. He wishes to buy the place merely as a speculation, hoping to turn it over to- some rich people who wish to come to Canada to settle. But there is the bell ! " and she half-started from her invalid's chair, but sank back with a little cry at the pain caused by the sudden movement. As the clay was mild the auction took place in the open where the auctioneer, surrounded by some two dozen men, was mounted on a large box. At first the bidding was general and brisk. Gradually, however, it dwindled down to three or four, and finally to Far- rington and Turpin, the real estate man. The former was standing a little apart from the rest, with his eyes- intent upon the auctioneer, and unable to repress the eagerness which shone in his face. As the bidding 56 THE FOURTH WATCH advanced and drew near the three thousand dollar mark, Turpin showed signs of weakening, while his bids came slower and slower. Farrington, noticing this, could not control his pleasure, and when he at length offered the round sum of three thousand dollars Turpin gave up the struggle and, moving back a little, perched himself upon a barrel, and seemed to take no interest in the affair. A triumphant light gleamed in Farrington's eyes as he observed his vanquished opponent. He glanced towards the house, and, seeing Mrs. Frenelle standing in the doorway, his lips parted in a cruel smile. It w T as that smile more than anything else which revealed the real nature of the man. The breathless silence which for a time ensued at this crisis was broken by the harsh cry of the auc- tioneer : " Three thousand dollars ! " he called. " Going at three thousand dollars ! Any advance on three thou- sand dollars. Going at three thousand dollars. Once — twice — third — and — " " Three thousand one hundred," came suddenly from Parson John. An earthquake shock could hardly have startled the men more than this bid from such an unexpected quarter. Farrington's face reddened, and he moved a step nearer to be sure that he had not been mistaken. " Did I hear aright ? " he gasped. " Did the parson add one hundred to my bid ? " THE AUCTION 57 " Three thousand one hundred dollars from Parson Westmore," shouted the auctioneer. " Any advance on three thousand one hundred dollars ? " " Another hundred, then, damn it," and Farrington thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, while his eyes gleamed with an angry light. " Three thousand five hundred," came the quiet response. Silence followed this last bid, which plainly proved that Farrington, too, was weakening. He looked around as if uncertain what to do, and his eyes rested upon Mrs. Frenelle. In her eagerness she had moved from the door, and was standing near the group of men with her eyes fixed full upon the clergyman. The expres- sion upon her face was that of a drowning person, who, when all hope has been abandoned, sees a rescuer sud- denly at hand. It was this look more than the half- suppressed laugh that passed among the men, which caused him to fling another one hundred dollars at the auctioneer. " Four thousand," again came strong and clear from Parson John without the slightest hesitation. The auctioneer waited for Farrington to increase his bid. The men almost held their breath in the excitement of the moment, and ]\Irs. Frenelle moved a step nearer with her hands firmly clasped before her. " Four thousand dollars," the auctioneer spoke slowly and impressively now. " Any — advance — on four thousand dollars \ Going at four thousand dollars — 68 THE FOURTH WATCH Once — twice — third — and last call , and sold to Parson Westmore for four thousand dollars." As these words fell from the speaker's lips a deep sigh broke the tense feeling of the little company. They had been stirred more than was their wont by the scene that they had just witnessed. These men knew but little of the rise and fall of ancient kingdoms, the strife of modern nations, the deeds of statesmen, and the affairs of the financial world. And yet in the sale of this farm in an obscure country place the secret springs of life, even though on a small scale, were laid bare. The pathos of a happy home on the verge of destruction, with a loving mother and an invalid child in danger of being cast out upon the cold world, and to see this tragedy so narrowly averted through one staunch champion successfully beating back pride and greed as represented in the person of Silas Farrington ■ — truly it was a miniature of the world's history, which may be found in every town, village or home. " I trust you understand the conditions of the sale, sir," and the auctioneer looked curiously at the clergy- man, who was standing somewhat by himself. " One- third of the amount down, and the balance in half- yearly payments. I only mention this in case you may not know it." " I understand perfectly well," was the reply. " The whole amount shall be paid at once, and the matter settled without delay." " Guess the ministry must be a payin' job," sneered Farrington, " when a poor country parson kin fork THE AUCTION 59. out four thousand dollars at one slap. I see now why ye're alius dunnin' us fer money. Mebbe ye've got a hot sermon all ready on the subject fer us next Sun- day." ]\Ir. TVestmore looked intently at the man for an in- stant, and his lips parted as if to reply. Instead, how- ever, he turned without a word and moved slowly towards the house. He reached Nora's side, and took her outstretched hand in his. Tears of joy were in her eyes as she lifted them to her Rector's face, and endeavoured to find adequate words in which to express her gratitude. " I know we are safe now ! " she said. " But we never thought of you buying the place ! I cannot under- stand it at all. Four thousand dollars ! What a lot of money ! " " ]STo, my child, you cannot understand it now, but you will some day," and as ]\Ir. Westniore turned his face towards the window a tear might have been de- tected stealing slowly down his furrowed cheek. CHAPTER VII THE FARRIXGTONS SILAS FARRIXGTOX flung himself out of his sleigh ami handed the reins to a young man who had come forth from the store. " What are ye so slow about ? " he snarled. " Here I've been callin' fer the last five minutes. Why don't ye hustle when I call I " " I was running molasses," came the surly reply, " and how could I leave " " There now, no back talk ; I never allow it. Put up the horse, an' don't spend all day about it, either." With those words Farrington made his way to the house, leaving the young man inwardly cursing his un- just master. " Ye're late, Si," a voice exclaimed, as he opened the door and entered. " We've been waitin' fer ye a full hour or more." " I couldn't help it," Farrington replied. " I was delayed." " An' how much did ye pay fer the farm, Si ? " "Farm be — be — hanged! I'm sick of it." u But didn't ye git it, Si ? " his wife persisted. "Git it? No!" « What ! " "I said no!" 60 THE PAERINGTONS 61 * But who did, then ? " " The parson." "What! Parson John?" " Certainly. Who else would he fool enough to in- terfere with me ? " "Well, well!" ejaculated Mrs. Farrington. "Do tell us ahout it, Si ? " " No, not a word more ahout it," snapped her hus- band, " till we git down to dinner. I'm most starved. Is it ready \ " " Dear me, yes. I'd clean fergot ahout it," and Mrs. Farrington hustled off to the kitchen. Everything in the dining-room betokened care and industry, from the nicely-papered walls, adorned with pictures, to the large sideboard, with its display of old china and glassware. The table-linen was spotlessly clean, and the food served up was well cooked. But, notwithstanding this, something seemed wrong. An indefinable atmosphere pervaded the place which spoiled the effect of it all. It was not the corrupted English falling from the lips of these people which grated so harshly upon the senses. It was the spirit of pretence which overshadowed everything — the effort to be what they were not. Had old Titbottom been there with his " : magic spectacles, he would have beheld in Farrington ' little more than a roll of bills ; in his wife the very essence of pretence and ambition ; while the daughter Eudora and their son Dick would be labelled " exact samples " of the parents. Farrington told of the auction in no measured terms. 62 THE FOURTH WATCH He was annoyed at the unexpected outcome and did not try to conceal his anger. The inserted exclamations of the family told their own tale. They were much disappointed, especially Mrs. Farrington. " Only think ! " she cried, when her husband had ended, " that the parson above all men should interfere in this matter! Ilim that's alius talkin' about lovin' our neighbours as ourselves, standin' a-tween us an* our natral rights. I hev often told Eudora, heven't I, dear? that we need a better place than this. Now, that Frenclle homestead is jist what we want, an' it seemed as if the Lord intended Ave should hev it, too. It is so included from all pryin' eyes, an' away from them country people who are so uncongenial. Their manners are so rough an' they know so little about proper equity. The parson knows very well that we are city bred, an' that our descendants hev alius had good blood in their veins, an' that we try to follow their example by givin' a tone to the community ever sense we came from the city. He knows what we are a-tryin* to do, an' yit he'll serve us in this mean fashion." " I wonder where he got the spondulicks," broke in her son Eichard. "Richard, Richard! you must not use sech a word as that," and Mrs. Farrington cast a reproving glance at her son. " Ye must hev heerd it from Tom Jones ; ye know ye never hear it at home, fcr we are alius very pertickcler about our language." " Well, money, then, ma. I don't care what ye call it." THE FAERINGTONS 63 ** Oh, I guess that'll not be hard to account fer," replied Farrington with a knowing laugh. " Tom Fletcher may be able to throw some light upon the sub- ject. It seems to me that the parson has come to the end of his rope. We've borne with 'im fer years, an' it's about time he was makin' a move. He's too old fer the ministry. We need a young man, with fire an' vim. Anyway, the rest may do as they please, but as fer me not another cent do I pay as long as he is in charge." " Ye've alius paid well, Si," remarked his wife, " an' the parson is not one bit grateful." " Yes, I reckon I hev," and Farrington gulped down his tea. " I used to contribute heavily ; eight dollars a year, an' a bag of oats at Christmas. Now I give only four sense I've enlarged my bizness an' can't afford so much. Besides, the parson doesn't deal with me as much as he should. He gits too many of his supplies in the city. If he expects me to paternise 'im he must deal with me. I've told 'im so very plainly on several occasions." " Ye certainly did yer part, Si," Mrs. Farrington replied. " If all in the parish 'ud do as well there'd be no trouble. It is disgraceful that these country people do not pay more to support the Church. It throws sich a burden upon us. Only think of Mrs. Jimmy Brown buyin' a new Bristles carpet, when the old one was quite good enough. An' her last year's hat could hev been made over as well as not. But, no, it would not do. She had to hev another, which cost quite a penny, so I understand." 64 THE FOURTH WATCH " An' Vivien Nelson's fur-lined coat, ma," chimed in Eudora, " I know it didn't cost one cent less than seventy-five dollars!" " These country people are so extravagant, ye know," returned her mother. " They are alius tryin' to imitate their superiors. To think of Vivien Nelson, a farmer's daughter, hevin' a fur-lined coat which cost almost as much as Eudora's! It is really disgraceful! I'm sure her father could give more to the Church than he does, an' yit he'll let us bear the brunt of the burden." " Guess he'll hev to bear mor'n ever now," replied her husband as he rose from the table. " I'm done with the whole bizness, an' I'm mighty glad I heven't paid fcr the last year, an' don't intend to now." As Farrington passed out of the dining-room into the store his clerk, a young man new to the busi- ness, was serving a middle-aged woman at the counter. " I'm sorry, Mrs. Sturgis," the former was saying, 11 but we are entirely out of it just now. We can order it for you, though, and have it in a few days." Farrington turned angrily upon his heel as these words fell upon his ears. " What does she want ? " he demanded. " Number forty, white thread ; but we're out of it." " You stupid blockhead, we're not out of it ! We're never out ! If you'd use yer eyes half as much as yer tongue ye'd be all right." " But I can't find it. I've looked everywhere," and THE FARRINGTONS 65 the clerk's eyes flashed danger as he turned them upon his master. " Well, look again. Don't stand thar starin' like an ijut ! " The young man did as he was commanded. He searched and rummaged, hut all in vain. " Oh, come out of that, an' let me thar," and Far- rington shoved his way past the clerk, and fumbled excitedly in the box. " Ah — yes — no — fifty — sixty — Well, I declare ! Not thar ! Confound it ! Why didn't ye tell me we were out before ? Why did ye wait till the last spool was gone afore sayin' a word about it ? " " I've only been here a week," replied the clerk, and how could I know you were out. ISTo one has called for number forty thread since I've been here." Farrington was beaten, and was forced to swallow his anger as best he could. It was most aggravating to be thus humiliated in the presence of this woman. He strode across the room, and stood with his back to the stove, wondering how he could get even with his clerk. He would discharge him. ~No, that wouldn't do. It was hard to get a man to stay with him, and this was a good worker. Anyway, he must be taught his place, and not answer back. He would let him know that he owned the store. " Give me my mail, please." Farrington started, and turning, beheld a little lad standing by his side. " Mail ! whose mail ? " he demanded, glad of an 66 THE FOURTH WATCH excuse to give vent to his anger. " What's yer name? I don't know anything about my mail." " I want Tarson John's mail," persisted the boy. Don't you know him ? " " Know 'im ! Well, I guess ! I know 'im too d — n well. But who are you, and what do ye want with the parson's mail ? " " Oh, I live with him now. I'm Dan, old Jim's hoy. Didn't you know I was there ? " " Ha, ha, that's a good one ! To think that I should know every brat who comes to the place." "I'm not a brat! I'm almost a man," and Dan straightened himself up. "Give me my mail, please; Parson John's waiting for it." " Let 'im wait. I'm not supposed to give out mail to all the riff-raff who comes fer it. Why doesn't he come 'imself ? " " He's busy." " Busy ! busy ! Yes, I s'pose he is busy, plannin' mischief; wonderin' what to do with Billy Fletcher's gold. How mucb did he git ? I s'pose he gave you some to hold yer tongue." Farrington had no intention of uttering these last words, but his heart was so full of anger that he hardly knew what he was saying. Dan's eyes flashed, and his little hands suddenly doubled at his side. He did not comprehend the mean- ing of these words, but he felt that his friend, the white- headed old man, was being insulted. With him to thinx was to act, and many a boy larger than himself had THE FARKINGTONS 67 felt the lightning blows of those little tense knuckles. " What do ye mean ? " he demanded, looking up into Farrington's face. " What do I mean ? Well, if ye want to know, I mean that Parson John is a rogue, an' that you are nuthin' hut a young sucker, an impudent outcast, spongin' fer yer livin' upon others." Hardly had the words left Farrington's lips, when, with a cry as of a wild animal, Dan leaped full upon him, caught him by the hair with one hand, and with the other rained blow after blow upon his face. With a howl of mingled pain and rage, Farrington endeavoured to free himself from this human wild-cat. He struggled and fought, and at length succeeded in tearing away that writhing, battering form. With one hand he held him at arm's length and shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. Dan struggled, squirmed and bit, but all in vain ; he was held as in a vice. Not satisfied with shaking the lad, Farrington reached over and, seiz- ing a broken barrel stave from the wood-box, brought it down over the lad's shoulder and back with a re- sounding thud. A cry of pain, the first that he had uttered, fell from Dan's lips, and with a mighty effort he tried to escape. The stick was raised again. It was about to fall, when suddenly it flew into the air, the grip of the boy relaxed, and Farrington staggered back from a furious blow dealt him by the young clerk. Farrington tried to recover, but each time he was hurled to the floor by the stalwart athlete standing before him, his eyes blazing with anger. 68 THE FOURTH WATCH " Get up, you coward ! " he cried, when at length Farrington remained sprawling upon the floor. " Get up if you can, and dare ! " " Curse you ! " snarled tlie defeated man. " Ye'll pay fer this ! " '' We'll see about that later," calmly replied the clerk. " There's to be no more bullying while I'm here, and I won't be here long, for I'm done with you and your outfit." " Go, go at once, d — n you, or I'll kick ye out ! " shouted Farrington. " Kick me out, if you can," came the reply. " Get up and do it," and the young man laughed scornfully. " ISTo, you know you can't. Xow, look here ; just a word before we part. I've stood your insolent abuse for a week, without retaliating. But when you laid hands upon that boy it was a different matter." " But he flew at me like a wild-cat," Farrington growled. " Yes, and wouldn't anyone with a spark of life in him at all, after he had been insulted by such a thing as you. You like to get a chap such as that in your claws and torture him. You've done it before, I under- stand. But it's not been such fun this time. Xo, no, the worm has turned at last. I'm going now — so do what you like. I've no fear of such a thing as you." He turned, put on his heavy coat and left the build- ing. As he did so Dan slipped out ahead of him, and started up the road as fast as his little feet would carry him. CHAPTER VIII THE GOLDEN KEY WHY, Dan, what's the matter ? " Nellie was sitting before the open fire bus- ily engaged with her needle as the lad entered the room. He stared at her for an instant, and then a sheepish grin crossed his face. His clothes were torn, and his hair tossed in the wildest confusion, while marks of blood spotted his cheeks. " "What in the world have you been doing ? " Nellie insisted. " Nuthin' much," came the slow reply. " Well, you don't look like it. Have you been fight- ing 2 " " Y'bet ! " and Dan smacked his lips. " I swatted him good and hard, that's what I did." " "Did what?" " Swatted him — punched his face, and dug out some of his hair." " Punched his face and dug out his hair ! " Nellie exclaimed. " I don't understand. Sit down, and tell me about it." Perched upon a chair Dan gave a brief though vivid description of the scene in the store, to which Nellie listened with almost breathless interest. 69 70 THE FOURTH WATCH " Aid did he say that father took old Billy's gold ? " she asked. " Are you sure ? " " Sure's I'm livin'. lie said it, and he called him a rogue and me a — a — had name ! " Dan was about to tell what that name was, but the word stuck in his throat, and he found it impossible to bring it forth. " Sucker and sponger ! " how those words stung him. How contemptuously his father had always spoken of such people. They rankled in his heart as he sped up the road. A squirrel in an old fir-tree had shouted them at him, while a forlorn crow soaring overhead had looked down and given its hoarse croak of contempt. lie was a sucker — a sponger ! living upon others ! What was he doing to earn his living? [Nothing. What would his father think were he alive ? " Dan, I'm sorry you did that," and as ISTellie looked into those big brown eyes a deep love for this little lad welled up in her heart. " Why. I thought you'd be glad," came the astonished reply. " If anybody called my dad bad names when he was alive I'd been glad if someone swatted him." RTellie remained silent for a while, steadily working away at her sewing. " Dan," she said at length, " I want you to promise me something, will you ? " "Y'bet. What is it?" " I want you to promise that you will say nothing about this to my father." " Why ? Wouldn't he like to know how I punched that man ? " THE GOLDEN KEY 71 " No, no. And besides I don't want him to know what has been said about him. It's a cruel lie, and if father hears of it, it will worry him so much. Will you keep the secret with me ? " " Yes, if you want me to. I'll not say a word, but, oh, I think Parson John would like to know how I punched him," and Dan gave a deep sigh at the thought of losing such pleasure. " Thank you," Nellie replied. " I know I can trust you. Run away now, change your clothes, and wash your face; then get the wood in, before father comes home." Long and silently Nellie remained before the fire with her hands resting upon her lap. Her brain was in a tumult, and her heart ached. What else was being said about her father ? To whom should she go for information ? She thought of Mrs. Larkins, but then she was over at the Hall getting ready for a church sale to be given that very evening by the Ladies' Aid Society. Stephen was coming for her early, as she was to have charge of one of the fancy booths. Afterwards there was to be a quiet dance by the young people, and she had promised Stephen that she would stay for a while, and have her first dance with him. At length she aroused from her reverie and prepared her father's supper. How weary he looked, she thought, as she sat and watched him, and listened to his casual talk about his afternoon visit and the auction in the morning. A feeling of resentment filled her heart as she recalled what Farrington had said. To think that .72 THE FOURTH WATCH be should say such things about her father, who was always so patient and loving; who was ever trying to help others, no matter who they were. Tears came to her eyes at the thought. Suddenly she rose, and going to where her father was sitting put her arms around him, and gave him a loving kiss. " IIo, ho ! " came the delighted exclamation. " "What ails my little girl to-night \ What does she want now ? " " I want you, daddy," she replied. " I want to love you more, and be more help to you." " Help me more ! What could you do more than you do now ? There, run away and get ready. I hear bells ; Stephen must be coming, and I'm afraid you'll be late. Dan and I will look after the dishes." That evening in the church hall, when the sale had ended, the fiddler tuned up his instrument, and several made ready for the dance. It was truly a pleasant sight which met the eyes of a number of the older ones as they sat back near the wall. Grouped around tho large room the flower and strength of the neighbourhood chatted with one another, while waiting for the dance to begin. They seemed like one large family, these youths and maidens, who had known one another from childhood. Bright and happy were their faces, glowing with health, and the active exercise of daily life. Somewhat apart from the rest stood Xellie Westmore, engaged in earnest conversation with Vivien ^Nelson. Presently the former turned partly around and her eyes rested upon Mrs. Larkins sitting quietly in one THE GOLDEN KEY T3 corner of the room. A bright smile illumined her face as she crossed over and sat down by her side. " I am glad you stayed, Mrs. Larkins," she began. " I did not think you would care to remain." " I like to see the young people enjoying themselves," Mrs. Larkins replied, " and I hope you will have a pleasant time, Xellie." " I generally do," came the slow response ; " but to- night my conscience troubles me." " And in what way ? " " Oh, about my father." "Why, is he sick?" " Xo, not that. He is troubled somewhat in his mind, and I feel I should have stayed at home to cheer him up. I know he needs me to-night, and it was just his love which made him forget himself. He is always like that ; thinking about others all the time." " Don't worry, Xellie. Your father will have his books to occupy his mind." " Yes, I know that. But he is feeling rather down- cast to-night after that auction this morning. Some cruel things were said about him, and I always know when he is in trouble, though he seldom complains." Xellie paused, and gazed for a time upon the group in the centre of the room, as if intent on what was taking place there. Then her dark eyes, filled with a questioning look, turned full upon Mrs. Larkins' face. " I am glad to be with you for a few moments," she whispered, " for I wish to ask you something. I have 74 THE FOURTH WATCH only spoken of it to Vivien, for she is so true and noble. Have you heard these stories about my father, Mrs. Larkins ? " " In connection with Billy Fletcher's gold ? " was the reply. " Yes, yes, that is what I mean. Oh, it troubles mo so much.'' " Yes, I have heard some of them, Xellie. But do not give yourself unnecessary concern. Evil-minded people will talk. I said nothing to you, hoping the matter would soon die down. lias your father heard anything? " " No, not yet, and I trust no one will tell him. lie has enough worry now without these. He has that trouble with the mine in British Columbia; then, this morning's annoyance. Oh, he must not know what people are saying ! " " I have heard but little lately," Mrs. Larkins re- sponded in an effort to comfort her. " Let us trust that the talk will not amount to much." " But Vivien tells me that it is not so. Since the auction the stories have started up again stronger than ever. People cannot understand where father got so much money to pay for the farm. I don't even know myself, for father never told me. Tom Fletcher and others are saying all sorts of things. What shall we do?" Her bosom heaved as she uttered these words, which somewhat expressed the agitated state of her mind. Before Mrs. Larkins could further reply, the music THE GOLDEN KEY 75 struct up, and Stephen came for Nellie to claim her for the opening dance. " How worthy," thought Mrs. Larkins as her eyes fol- lowed Nellie as she went forward, " is she of a true man's love. What nobleness and strength of character are there. But what of Stephen ? If he would only get the right grip. Such a face as his is surely meant for higher things than a life of carelessness." She was aroused by Farrington, who had taken the seat by her side which Nellie had recently vacated. " They're hevin' a good time," he began, nodding towards the dancers. " Dick's in his element to-night." " Rhoda Gadsby makes him a good partner," replied Mrs. Larkins. " Only fair, Mrs. Larkins, only fair. She's not a bad girl, but no real pardner fer my son Dick. I'm sorry her father is my opponent at the comin' election. He'll never win, mark my word. Gadsby's too full of notions. He wants to set the world on fire, an' has all kinds of new-fangled idees. He will never do fer a Councillor — never. What Glendow wants is a real practical man, one who understands human nater." " But Mr. Gadsby is a superior man," replied Mrs. Larkins. " He reads much, and is trying to farm along scientific lines." " Tryin' to farm ! Yes, yer right thar, Mrs. Larkins. But that's about as fer as he's got. He has big idees, an' is alius talkin' about this parish bein' behint the times." " And in what way ? " 76 THE FOURTH WATCH " Oh, as regards the schools. They don't teach enough branches, sich as botany, drawin' an' sich like. What do the childern of Glendow want with botany stuck into their brains ? Let 'em learn to read, write an' cipher. Them things will pay. But as fer botany, who ever heerd of it helpin' a man to manage a farm, or a woman to sew, cook or make butter? Xow, look at me, Mrs. Larkins. I never studied botany, an' behold my bizness. I don't know a bit about botany, an' here I'm runnin' fer a Councillor, an' lookin' forred to the Local House. No, no, this botany bizness is all nonsense." " But," remonstrated Mrs. Larkins, " do you not enjoy the beautiful ? Life should be more than the mere grubbing through dust and heat, grinding out our little day, wearing out the body and cramping up tho soul in field, factory, office or behind the counter. Life is meant to be enjoyed, and whatever tends to enlarge our children's perspective, which will give them a love for the beautiful, will lessen the drudgery of life, and develop their characters. The Creator who made human beings in His own image, and endowed them with powers above the brute creation, surely intended that these divine faculties should be used and not allowed to lie dormant." Mrs. Larkins spoke more strongly than was her wont. She was naturally a quiet woman. But this man's nar- rowness and ignorance nettled her. Farrington, how- ever, was not in the least affected by such words ; in fact he rather pitied anyone who did not see eye to eye with him. THE GOLDEN KEY 77 " What ye say, Mrs. Larkins," he replied, " is very fine in theory. But the question is, ' Will it pay ? ' Per them as likes sich things they may study 'em to their hearts' content. But what do sich people amount to ? I seen the parson once stand fer a long time watchm' the settin' sun, an' when I axed 'im what he saw he looked at me sorter dazed like. ' Mr. Farring- ton,' sez he, ' I saw wonderful things to-night, past man's understandin'. I've heen very near to God, an' beheld the trailin' clouds of His glory ! ' ' Parson/ sez I, ' What will ye take fer yer knowledge ? How much is it worth ? While ye've been gazin' out thar at that sunset I've been gazin' at these letters, an' I find I'm better off by twenty-five dollars by gittin' my eggs an' butter to market day afore yesterday, 3 1st when the prices had viz. That's what comes of gazin' at facts sich as price lists an' knowin' how to buy an' sell at the right time. That's of more value than lookin' at all the flowers an' sunsets in the world ! ' The parson didn't say nuthin', but jist looked at me, while the men in the store haw-hawed right out an' told the joke all round. No, you may find music in ripplin' water, an' poetry in flowers, an' sunsets, as Phil Gadsby and the parson sez, but give me the poetry of a price list, an' the music of good solid coin upon my counter. Them's the things which tell, an' them's the things we want taught in our schools." Just as Farrington finished, cries of fright fell upon their ears. Turning quickly towards the dancers Mrs. Larkins noticed that most of them had fallen back in 78 TIIE FOURTH WATCH little groups, leaving Stephen Frenelle and Dick Far- rington alone in the middle of the room. The attitude of the two left no doubt as to the cause of the disturb- ance. "With clenched fists they faced each other as if about to engage in a fierce struggle. The former's eyes glowed with an intense light, while his strained, white face betokened the agitated state of his feelings. " Say that again ! " he hissed, looking straight at his opponent. " Say it if you dare ! " Dick stood irresolute with the look of fear blanching his face at sight of the angry form before him. While he hesitated and all held their breath, Xcllie TVestmore moved swiftly forward, and laid a timid hand upon Stephen's arm. " Stephen, Stephen ! " she pleaded. " Stop ! don't go any further! Be a man! Come, let us go home ! " Quickly he turned and looked into her eyes, and at that look the pallor fled his face, leaving it flushed and abashed. His clenched hands relaxed, and without a word he followed her to the door. As they donned their wraps and passed out into the night, sighs of relief at the termination of this startling incident were plainly heard. Dick gave a sarcastic laugh, and the dance con- tinued as if nothing unusual had happened. For a while neither Nellie nor Stephen spoke as they sped along the road, drawn by a magnificent chestnut mare. The night was clear, and the crescent moon rose high in the heavens. "Not a breath of wind stirred the trees, and the «nly sound which broke the silence waa THE GOLDEN KEY 79 the jingling bells keeping time to the horse's nimble feet. " He called me a fool and a pauper ! " Stephen at length exclaimed. " Did you hear him ? " " Certainly," came the reply. " How could any one help hearing him ? " " I'd have knocked him down if it hadn't been for yon, Nellie." " I'm glad you didn't, Stephen." il But I'll show him a thing or two. I'll get even with him yet. I'll teach him to call me a fool and a pauper ! " " Why not get more than even with him ? You can do it without any trouble." Nellie spoke very impressively, and Stephen looked at her in surprise. " I know I can do that, for he's nothing but a clown. But what else can I do ? " " I didn't mean that, Stephen. That is only getting even with your opponent in brute fashion. You will only be putting yourself on an equality with him. You want to get more than even, not by hitting back and returning abuse for abuse. No, not that way, but by rising above him in manhood." " How ? In what way, Nellie ? " " Settle down to steady work. Bedeem your home. Show Dick and the people of Glendow that you are not a fool or a pauper, but a man. Oh, Stephen, we want to be proud of you — and I do, too." ■" Do you, Nellie, really \ " 80 THE FOURTH WATCH " Indeed I do, Stephen." For an instant only their eye9 met. For an instant there was silence. But in that instant, that mere atom of time, there opened up to Stephen a new meaning of life. A virile energy rent the old husk of indifference, and a yearning, startling in its intensity, stabbed his heart, to " make good," to recover lost ground and to do something of which Xellie should be proud. It was love — the golden key which had at last opened to the young man the mystic door of life's great respon- sibility. CHAPTER IX BEATING THE DEVIL FATHER, I am becoming uneasy about Dan." Parson John and Nellie were walking slowly along the road from the neat little parish church. It was a Sunday morning. Not a breath of wind stirred the balmy and spring-like air. A recent thaw had re- moved much of the snow, leaving the fields quite bare, the roads slippery, and the ice on the river like one huge gleaming mirror. " Why, what do you mean ? " asked the parson. " What makes you uneasy about Dan ? " " He has been so restless of late." " Doesn't he mind you ? " " Oh, yes. He is always ready and anxious to do anything I ask him. But there is a far-away look in his eyes, and sometimes he gives such a start when I speak to him. His old life was so rough and stirring, that I fear he misses it, and longs to be back there again." " But he is interested in his studies, is he not ? " " Yes, to a certain extent. But not as much as for- merly. It is hard for him to settle down to steady work. He seems to be thinking and dreaming of some- 81 82 THE FOURTH WATCH thing else. I cannot understand him at all. I love the lad, and believe he is much attached to us." " What do you think we had better do ? " " I hardly know, father. But you might take him with you sometimes on your drives. lie is passionately fond of Midnight, and it would liven him up. Why not let him go with you to the funeral at Craig's Corner this afternoon ? lie would be company for you, too." " But I'm not coming home until to-morrow. I ex- pect to spend the night there, and in the morning go overland to see the Stickles and take those good things you have been making for the sick man. You will need Dan to stay with you." " Xo, I shall be all right. Vivien Nelson has asked me to go there to-night, so I shall get along nicely." " Very well, dear," her father replied. " You aro just like your mother, always planning for someone else, and planning so well, too." Dan's heart thrilled with pride and delight as he sat by Parson John's side and watched Midnight swinging along at her usual steady jog when there was no special hurry. So intent was the one upon watching the horse, and the other upon his sermon, that neither noticed a man driving a spirited horse dart out from behind a sharp point on the left, and cut straight across the river. It was old Tim Fraser, as big a rogue a3 existed anywhere in the land. He was very fond of horses, and that winter had purchased a new flier. He was an incessant boaster, and one day swore that he BEATING THE DEVIL 83 could out-travel anything on the river, Midnight in- cluded. He laid a wager to that effect, which was taken up by Dave Morehouse, who imagined the race would never come off, for Mr. Westmore would have nothing to do with such sport. Old Eraser, therefore, set about to meet Parson John, but for some time had failed to make connection. Hearing about the funeral, he was determined that the race should come off that very Sunday, and in the presence of the mourners and their friends at that. He accordingly hid behind Break-Neck Point, and with delight watched the parson drive up the river, and at the right moment he started forth for the fray. As Eraser swung into line and was about to pass, Midnight gave a great bound forward, and it was all that Parson John could do to hold her in check, for she danced and strained at the reins as her rival sped on ahead. At length Eraser slowed down, dropped behind, and, just when Midnight had steadied down, up he clattered again. This he did three times in quick succession, causing Midnight to quiver with excite- ment, and madly to champ the bit. At length the climax was reached, for the noble beast, hearing again the thucl of her opponent's hoofs, became completely unmanageable. With a snort of excitement she laid low her head, took the bit firmly between her teeth, and started up the river like a whirlwind. The more Parson John shouted and tugged at the reins the more determined she became. The ice fairly flew from be- neath her feet, and the trailing froth flecked her black hide like driving snow. Neck and neck the horses raced 84 THE FOURTH WxVTCH for some time, while Fraser grinned with delight at the success of his scheme. Before long the funeral procession came into view, making for the little church near the graveyard on the opposite shore. Parson John was feeling most keenly the position in which he was so unfortunately placed, lie could see only one way out of the difficulty, and that was to leave Fraser behind. Therefore, before the first sleigh of the funeral procession was reached he gave Midnight the reins, and thus no longer restrained she drew gradually away from her opponent. On she flew, past the staring, gaping people, and for a mile beyond the church. By this time Fraser was so far in the rear that he gave up the race. Beaten and crestfallen he turned to the left, made for the shore and disappeared. At length Parson John was able to bring Mid- night under control, when she trotted quietly down the river with a triumphant gleam in her handsome eyes. After the funeral had been conducted, a group at once surrounded the parson and questioned him concerning the strange occurrence on the river. Some were pleased with Fraser's ignominious defeat, and treated it as a huge joke. But others were sorely scandalized. What would the members of the other church in Glendow say when they heard of it ? To think that their clergyman should be racing on the river, and on a Sunday, too, while on his way to attend a funeral — the most solemn of all occasions ! " Well, you see," continued the parson, after he had BEATING THE DEVIL 85 explained the circumstance, " Fraser is a hard man to deal with, and in some ways I am really glad it hap- pened as it did." " Why, what do you mean ? " gasped several of the most rigid. " It's just this way," and a twinkle shone in the parson's eyes. " Five and thirty years have I served in the sacred ministry of our Church. During the whole of that time I have endeavoured to do my duty. I have faced the devil on many occasions, and trust that in the encounters I did no discredit to my calling. I have tried never to let him get ahead of me, and I am very thankful he didn't do it this afternoon with Tim Fraser's fast horse." Parson John had won the day, and the group dis- persed, chuckling with delight, and anxious to pass on the yarn to others. That same evening Mr. Westmore was seated com- fortably in Jim Eickhart's cosy sitting-room. The family gathered around in anticipation of a pleasant chat, for the rector was a good talker, and his visit was always an occasion of considerable interest. A few neighbours had dropped in to hear the news of the parish, and the latest tidings from the world at large. They had not been seated long ere a loud rap sounded upon the door, and when it was opened, a man encased in a heavy coat entered. " Is Parson John here ? " were his first words. " Yes," Mr. Eickhart replied. " He's in the sitting- 86 THE FOURTH WATCH room. Do you want to see him? Is it a wedding, Sam ? You look excited." " Should say not. It's more like a funeral. Old Tim Eraser's met with a bad accident." " What ! " " Yes. lie was drivin' home from the river this afternoon, when that new horse of his shied, and then bolted. The sleigh gave a nasty slew on the icy road, and upset. Tim was caught somehow, and dragged quite a piece. lie's badly broken up, and wants to see the parson." By this time Mr. "Westmore had crossed the room, and stood before the messenger. A startled look was in his eves, as he peered keenly into Sam's face. " Tell me, is it true what I hear," he questioned, " that Eraser has been hurt ? " " Yes, sir, and wants you at once." "Is he seriously injured?" " Can't tell. They're goin' fer the doctor, but it'll be some time before he can get there. It's a long way." " Poor Fraser ! Poor Fraser ! " murmured the parson. " He was a careless man. I was bitter at him this after- noon, and now he is lying there. Quick, Dan, get on your coat and hat ; we must be off at once." It did not take them long to make ready, and soon Midnight was speeding through the darkness. This time it was no leisurely jog, but the pace she well knew how to set when her master was forth on im- portant business. Across the river she sped, then over hill and valley, which echoed with the merry jingle of BEATING THE DEVIL 87 the bells. For some time Parson John did not speak, and seemed to be intent solely upon Midnight. " Dan," he remarked at length, as they wound slowly up a steep hill, " it's a mean thing, isn't it, to get many, many good things from someone, and never do anything in return, and not even to say ' Thank you ? ' " The lad started at these words, and but for the dark- ness a flush would have been seen upon his face. " "What does the parson mean ? " he thought. " That was about what Farrington said. To get, and give nothing in return ; to be a sucker and a sponger." But the parson needed no reply. He did not even notice Dan's silence. " Yes," he continued ; " it's a mean thing. But that's just what Tim Fraser's been doing all his life. The good Lord has given him so many blessings of health, home, fine wife and children, and notwithstanding all these blessings, he's been ever against Him. He curses and swears, laughs at religion, and you saw what he did this afternoon." " 'Tis mean, awful mean," Dan replied, as the parson paused, and flicked the snow with his whip. " But maybe he's sorry, now, that he's hurt," " Maybe he is, Dan. But it's a mean thing to give the best of life to Satan, and to give the dregs, the last few days, when the body is too weak to do anything, to the Lord. And yet I find that is so often done, and I'm afraid it's the case now." ."When they reached Fraser's house they found great 8S THE FOURTH WATCH excitement within. Men and women were moving about the kitchen and sitting-room trying to help, and yet always getting into one another's way. Midnight was taken to the barn, Dan was led into the kitchen to get warm, while the parson went at once to the room where Tim was lying. Dan shrank back in a corner, for he felt much abashed at the sight of so many strangers. He wanted to be alone — to think about what the parson had said coming along the road. And so Fraser was a sponger, and a sucker too, getting so many good things and giving nothing back. It was mean, and yet what was he himself but a sponger? What was he doing for Xellio and Parson John for what they were doing for hinl ? They gave him a comfortable home, fed, clothed, and taught him, and he was doing nothing to pay them back. ITow disgusted his father would be if he only knew about it. For the life of him Dan could not have expressed these feelings to anyone. lie only knew that they ran through his mind like lightning, making him feel very miserable. His checks flushed, and a slight sigh escaped his lips as he sat crouched there in the corner with one small hand supporting his chin. ISTo one heeded him, for all were too much excited over the accident to take any notice of a little boy. " I said that horse would be the death of him," ho heard a woman exclaim. " Tim's too old a man to drive such a beast as that." " Oh, the beast's all right," an old man slowly BEATING THE DEVIL 89 replied, " but it was put to a wrong use, that's whore the trouble came." " Why, what do you mean ? " " Don't you know ? Didn't you hear about what hap- pened on the river this afternoon ? Tim went there on purpose to meet the parson, and strike up a race. He's been boasting for some time that he would do it. The Lord has given that man much rope, and has suffered him long. But this was too much, and He's tripped him up at last." " Peter Brown," and the woman held up her hands in astonishment, " how can you say such a thing about your old neighbour, and in his house, too, with him lying there in that condition ? " " I'm only saying what the rest know and think," was the calm reply. " I've told Tim time and time again right to his face that the Lord would settle with him some day. ' Tim/ said I, and it was not later than last fall that I said it, ' Tim, the Lord has been good to you. He's blessed you in every way. You've health, strength, and a good home. And what have you done for Him? V\ T hat have you eiven in return? Nothing. You curse, revile and scorn Him on the slightest pretext. It's not only mean, Tim, but you'll get punished some day, and don't you forget it.' But he only swore at me, and told me to shut up and mind my own business and he would mind his. But my words have come true, and I guess Tim sees it at last." Dan was sitting bolt upright now, with his hands clenched and eyes staring hard at the speaker. The 90 THE FOURTH WATCH words had gone straight to his little heart, with terrihle, stinging intensity. This man was saying what Far- rington and the parson had said. It must be true. But the idea of the punishment was something new. He had never thought of that before. And even as he looked, a silence spread throughout the room, for Parson John was standing in the door- way. Upon his face an expression dwelt which awed more than many words, and all at once realized that tho venerable man had just stepped from the solemn cham- ber of Death. CHAPTER X m camp N r ESTLIKG snugly among large stately trees of pine and spruce, the little log-cabin presented a picturesque appearance. Its one room, lighted by a small window, served as kitchen, living and sleep- ing apartments combined. It was warm, for the rough logs were well chinked with moss, while the snow lay thick upon the roof and banked up around the sides. This cabin had been recently built, and stood there by the little brook as an outward and visible sign of an inward change in the heart and mind of one of Glen- dow's sturdy sons. The night Stephen Frenelle left Nellie at the Rec- tory after the drive home from the dance, he had fought one of those stern, fierce battles which must come to all at some time in life. As Jacob of old wrestled all night long for the mastery, so did Stephen in the silence of his own room. Sleep fled his eyes as he paced up and down, struggling with the contending thoughts which filled his heart. At times he clenched his hand3 and ground his teeth together as he pictured Dick Far- rington standing in the Hall, hurling forth his taunting remarks. Then he longed for daylight to come that he might go to his house, call him forth, and give him the 91 92 THE FOUKTH WATCH thrashing he so well deserved. He would drive that impudent, sarcastic smile from his face, and make him take back his words. A voice seemed to say to him, " Do it. You must do it if you consider yourself a man. He insulted you to your face, and people will call you a coward if you allow it to pass." But always there came to him that gentle touch on his arm; he heard a voice pleading with him to be a man, and saw Nellie looking at him with those large, beseeching eyes, and his clenched hands would relax. And thus the battle raged ; now this way, now that. Which side would win ? When at length the first streak of dawn was breaking far oif in the eastern sky, and Stephen came forth from the Chamber of Decision, there was no doubt as to the outcome of the fight. His face bore the marks of the struggle, but it also shone with a new light. When his mother and !Nora came downstairs they were astonished to see him up so early, the fire in the kitchen stove burning brightly, and the cattle and sheep fed. Usually Stephen was hard to arouse in the morning, and it was nearly noon before the chores were finished, and then always in a half-hearted way. They looked at each other, and wondered at the change which had taken place. Although Stephen had won a victory over himself, he was yet much puzzled. He wished to redeem the homestead, but how should he set about the task ? As he waited that morning while breakfast was being prepared, this was the great thought uppermost in his mind. He knew that when spring came there was the IN CAMP 93 farm to work. In the meantime, however, during the days of winter when the ground was covered with snow, what could he do ? Once aroused, it was needful for him to set to work as soon as possible. Mechanically he picked up the weekly paper lying on a chair and glanced carelessly at the headlines set forth in bold type. As he did so his attention was arrested by two words " Logs Wanted." He read the article through which told how the price of lumber had suddenly advanced, and that logs were in great demand. When Stephen laid down the paper and went into breakfast, the puzzle had been solved. What about that heavy timber at the rear of their farm ? Xo axe had as yet rung there, no fire had devastated the place, and the trees stood tall and straight in majestic grandeur. A brook flowed near which would bear the logs down the river. His mother's and sister's hearts bounded with joy as Stephen unfolded to them his plan. He would hire two choppers ; one could go home at night, while the other, old Henry, could live with him in the little camp he would build. They would chop while he hauled the logs to the brook. Mrs. Frenelle and ISTora would do most of the cooking at home, and Stephen would come for it at certain times. Thus a new spirit pervaded the house that day, and Mrs. Frenelle's heart was lighter than it had been for many months. Stephen did not tell her the cause of this sudden change, but with a loving mother's perception she felt that Xellie's gentle influence had much to do with it all. One week later the cabin was built, the forest ring- 94 THE FOURTII WATCH ing with the sturdy blows of axes and the resounding crash of some hoary pine or spruce. Although the work was heavy, Stephen's heart was light. Not only did he feel the zest of one who had grappled with life in the noble effort to do the best he could, but he had Nellie's approbation. lie drank in the bracing air of the open as never before, and revelled in the rich per- fume of the various trees as he moved along their great cathedral-like aisles, carpeted with the whitest of snow. The two choppers were kept busy from morning dawn to sunset. They were skilled craftsmen, trained from early days in woodland lore. One, old Ilenry, thor- oughly enjoyed his work and at times snatches of ft familiar song fell from his lips as his axe bit deep into the side of some large tree. " You did that well, Ilenry," Stephen one day re- marked, as he watched a monster spruce wing its way to earth with a terrific crash. " It's all in knowin' how," was the deliberate reply, as the old man began to trim the prostrate form. " Now, a greenhorn 'ud rush in, an' hack an' chop any old way, an' afore he knew what he was doin' the tree 'ud be tumblin' down in the wrong place, an' mebbe right a-top of 'im at that. But I size things up a bit afore I hit a clip. Ilavin' made up me mind as to the best spot to fell her, I swing to, an' whar I pint her thar she goes; that's all thar is about it." "But doesn't the wind bother you sometimes!" Stephen inquired. IN CAMP 95 The chopper walked deliberately to the butt-end o£ the tree, and with the pole of his axe marked off the length of the log. Then he moistened his hands and drove the keen blade through the juicy bark deep into the wood. " I allow fer the wind, laddie/' he replied, " I allow fer that. When the good Lord sends the wind, some- times from the North, sometimes from the South, I don't go agin it. Why, what's the use of goin' agin His will, an' it's all the same whether yer choppin' down a tree, or runnin' across the sea of Life fer the great Port beyon'. That's what the parson says, an' I guess he knows, though it seems to me that the poor man hisself has head-winds aplenty jist now." Stephen asked no more questions then, being too busy. But that night, after supper, as the old man was mending his mittens he sat down by his side. " Henry," he began, " how is it that the parson has head-winds ? Do you think it's the Lord's will ? " " 'Tain't the Lord's will, laddie," was the slow response. " Oh no, 'tain't His." " Whose, then ? " " It's the devil's, that's whose it is, an' he's usm* sartin men in Glendow as human bellows to blow his vile wind aginst that man of God. That's what he's doin', an' they can't see it nohow." " And so you think the parson had nothing to do with Billy Fletcher's gold. Tou think he is in- nocent ? " ■" Think it, laddie ? Think it ? What's the use of 06 THE FOURTH WATCH thinkin' it when I know it. Haven't I known Parson John for forty years now. Can't I well remember when his hair, which is now so white, was as black as the raven's wing. An' why did it become white? I ax ye that. It's not old age which done it, ah no. It's care an' work fer the people of Glendow, that's what's done it. D'ye think I'd believe any yarn about a man that's been mor'n a father to me an' my family ? Didn't I see 'im kneelin' by my little Bennie's bed, twenty years ago come next June, with the tears runnin' down his cheeks as he axed the Good Lord to spare the littlo lad to us a while longer. Mark my word, Stevie, them people who are tellin' sich stories about that man 'ill come to no good. Doesn't the Lord say in his great Book, ' Touch not Mine anointed, an' do My prophets no harm ? ' My old woman often reads them words to me, fer she's a fine scholar is Marthy. ' Henry,' says she, ' the parson is the Lord's anointed. He's sot aside fer a holy work, an' it's a risky bizness to interfere with eich a man.' " Scarcely had the speaker finished when the door of the cabin was pushed suddenly open, and a queer little man entered. A fur cap was pulled down over his ears, while across his left shoulder and fastened around his body several times was a new half-inch rope. " Hello, Pete," Stephen exclaimed, " You look cold. Come to the stove and get warm." " Y'bet I'm cold," was the reply. " My fingers and nose are most froze." " What's brought you away out here this time of the IN CAMP 97 night ? " questioned Stephen. " I thought you liked the store too well to travel this far from the fire." " Bizness, Steve, bizness," and the man rubbed his hands together, at the same time taking a good survey of the cabin. " You look as if you were going to hang yourself, Pete, with all that rope about your body. Surely you're not tired of living yet." " ]STo, no, Steve. ISTot on your life. There'd be no fun in that, an' it's fun I'm after this time." " But I thought you said you were out on business, and now you say it's fun." " Bizness an' fun, me boy. Bizness an' fun ; that's my motto. My bizness this time is to pinch the Stickles' cow, an' the fun 'ill be to hear Stickles, Mrs. Stickles an' the little Stickles squeal. Ha, ha ! Bizness an' fun, Steve. Bizness an' fun." " "What ! You're not going to take away the only cow the Stickles have left % " cried Stephen in amaze- ment. " Sure. It's the boss's orders, an' he doesn't mean fun, either. Nuthin' but bizness with 'im; ah no, nuthin' but bizness." " Farrington is a mean rascal ! " and Stephen leaped to his feet, his fists clenched and his eyes flashing. " Hasn't he any heart at all ? To think of him taking the only cow from a poor family when the husband is sick in bed ! "What does the man mean ? " " Don't git excited, me boy. It's only bizness, boss 98 THE FOURTH WATCH sez, only bizness. The heart has nuthin' to do with that." " Business be blowed ! It's vile meanness, that's what it is ! And will you help him out with such work?" " It's bizness agin, Steve. I've got to live, an' keep the missus an' kiddies. "What else is there fer a feller to do ? " " But why is Farrington taking the cow in the winter time, Pete? Why doesn't he wait until the summer, and give the Stickles a chance ? " " It all on account of a woman's tongue. That's what's the trouble." " A woman's tongue ? " " Yes, a woman's tongue, an' ye know it's !M"rs. Stickles' without me tellin' ye. She told Tommy Jones, wot told Hetty Sharp, wot told the boss, that she was mighty glad the parson beat 'im at the auction. So the boss got mad as blazes, an' has sent me fer the cow to pay what the Stickles owe 'im. That's all I know about it, lad, so good-bye to yez both, fer I must be off. I'm to stay the night at Tommy Jones', an' in the morn- in' will go from there fer the cow. Bizness an' fun, Steve; biznoss an' fun; don't fergit that," and the little old man went off chuckling in high glee. CHAPTER XI GUARDING THE FLOCK IT was Hearing the noon hour, and the sun slanting through the forest lifted into bold relief the trailing shadows of the stately trees. A lively chickadee was cheeping from a tall spruce, and a hold camp- robber was hopping in front of the cabin door picking up morsels of food which were occasionally cast forth. Stephen was preparing dinner, and the appetizing smell drifted out upon the air. "Not far away, perched upon the branch of a tree, a sleek squirrel was filling the air with his noisy chattering and scolding. His bright little eyes sparkled with anger at the big strange intruder into his domain, causing him to pour forth all the vitriol of the squirrel vocabulary. Suddenly his noisy commotion ceased, and he lifted his head in a listening attitude. Presently down the trail leading to the main highway the sound of bells could be dis- tinctly heard. As they drew nearer their music filled the air, reverberating from hill to hill and pulsing among the countless reaches of the great sombre forest. Not a child in the parish of Glendow but knew that familiar sound, and would rush eagerly into the house with the welcome tidings, for did it not mean a piece of candy hidden away in most mysterious pockets, which. 90 100 THE FOURTH WATCH seemed never to be empty ? How often in the deep of night tired sleepers in some lonely farm-house had been awakened by their merry jingle, and in the morning husband and wife would discuss the matter and wonder what sick. person Parson John had been visiting. The bells grew more distinct now and brought Stephen to the door. Soon Midnight appeared swing- ing around a bend in the trail, with her fine neck proudly arched, ears pointed forward, and her large eyes keen with expectancy. The squirrel scurried away in a rage ; the chickadee hopped to a safe retreat, and even the saucy camp-robber considered it wise to flap lazily to the top of the cabin. " I'm glad to sec you, Stephen," was Parson John's hearty greeting as he held out his hand. "Dan and I are on our way to visit the Stickles, and called in to see you in passing. What a snug place you have built here. I trust you are getting along nicely." " Better than I expected," was the reply. " But, say, Parson, you're just in time for dinner. Let me put Midnight in the barn. She won't object, at any rate." " What ! is it that late ? " and the worthy man glanced at the sun. " Dear me, how the time does fly ! Well, then, if we will not be in the way I shall enjoy it very much, for it has been many a day since I have dined in the woods. But, wait," he cried, as Stephen was leading Midnight to the stable, " There's a basket of stuff, some pies, and I don't know what else, in the GUARDING THE FLOCK 101 sleigh for hardy woodsmen, with Nellie's compliments. No, no, not that basket. It's for the Stickles. The smaller one; I think you'll find it in the hack of the sleigh. There, that's it, with the green handle. It takes a large basket for all the little Stickles ! " and the parson gave a hearty laugh. What a dinner they had in the little cabin that day. Never did meat taste so good, and never did pie have such a delicious flavour as that which Nellie had made. The table and stools were rough, the food served on coarse dishes, and each one helped himself. But what did it matter ? Their appetites were keen and the parson a most entertaining visitor. He told about the race on the river the day before, and of Tim Eraser's accident and sudden death, to which the choppers listened with almost breathless interest, at times giving vent to ejaculations of surprise. " I'm sorry we have no milk to offer you," laughed Stephen, passing the parson a cup of black tea. " But at any minute now a cow may be passing this way and we might be able to obtain some." " A cow passing ! I don't understand," and Mr. Westmore stirred the sugar in his tea. " Yes. The Stickles are losing their only cow. Far- rington has sent Pete after her, and he should be along by this time." " Stephen," and Parson John's face changed from its genial expression to one of severity, " do I under- stand you aright ? Do you mean to tell me that Far- rington is taking the Stickles' only cow ? " 102 THE FOURTH WATCH " Yes, I'm not joking. It's the solid truth. Pete stopped here on his way out last night, and told us all about it." " Dear me! dear me! " sighed the parson, placing his hand to his head. " When will that man cease to be a thorn in the flesh? The Stickles are as honest as the sun, and Farrington knows it. This business must be stopped. Dan will you please bring out Midnight. We must hurry away at once." Soon the little cabin was left behind and they were swinging out along the trail. The parson was quiet now. His old jocular spirit had departed, leaving him very thoughtful. "The poor people! The poor people!" he ejacu- lated. " When will such things cease ? Why will men dressed in a little brief authority try to crush those less fortunate ? Dan, my boy, you may be a big man some day. You may get money, but never forget the poor. Be kind to them rather than to the powerful. They need kindness and sympathy, lad, more than others. My parents were poor, and I know how they toiled and slaved to give me an education. I well remember how they worked early and late until their fingers were knotted and their backs bowed. They are 1 the noble ones who live in our midst, and though they may have little of this world's goods, they have great souls and are the real salt of the earth. Xever forget that, boy." Dan did not know how to reply to these words, but sat very still watching Midnight speeding on her way. GUARDING THE FLOCK 103 The road wound for some distance through a wooded region and over several hills. At length it entered upon a settlement where the land was lean and rocks lifted their frowning heads ahove the surface. The few houses were poor, standing out grey and gaunt in the midst of this weird harrenness. But at every door Mid- night was accustomed to stop. "Well did she know the little voices which welcomed her, and the tiny hands which stroked her soft nose, or held up some dainty morsel of bread, potatoes or grass. But to-day there was none of this. She knew when the reins throbbed with an energy which meant hurry. Past the gateways she clipped with those long steady strides over the icy road, across a bleak stretch of country, down a valley, up a winding hill, and then away to the right through a long narrow lane to a lone farm-house. As they approached a commotion was observed near the barn. Soon the cause was clearly manifest. Pete, assisted by someone, who proved to be Tommy Jones, had his rope about the horns of a black and white cow, and was endeavouring to lead her away. Mrs. Stickles and four little Stickles were filling the air with their cries of anger and protest. The cow, frightened by the noise, had become confused, and was trying to bolt towards the barn. Pete was tugging at the rope, while his assistant was belabouring her with a stout stick. " Ye brutes ! " Mrs. Stickles was shouting at the top of her voice. " What d'yez mean by thumpin' me poor Pansy in that way ! But here comes the Lord's avengin' angel, praise His holy name ! Stop 'em, Parson ! " 104 THE FOURTH WATCH she shrieked, rushing towards the sleigh. M Smite 'em down, Parson, an' pray the Lord to turn His hottest thunderbolt upon Si Farrington's head ! " " Hush, hush, woman," Mr. Westmore remonstrated. " Don't talk that way. ' Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. I will repay.' " By this time the refractory cow had been brought to a state of partial subjection, and stood blinking at her captors as if uncertain what course to pursue. Leaving the sleigh, Mr. Westmore strode over to where the three were standing and laid his hand upon the rope. "What's the meaning of this, Pete?" he asked. " Why are you troubling this family? " " It's them that's troublin' me, sir," was the reply. "I'm jist here on bizness, an' it's bizness I mean. If yell jist keep that whirlwind of a woman away an' them squaking kids so I kin git this cratur clear of the barn-yard, she'll walk like a daisy." " But why are you taking the animal ? Don't you know it's their only cow, and it's very important that Mr. Stickles, who is sick in bed, should have fresh milk every day ? " " That's not my bizness, Parson. My bizness is to git the cow ; so stand clear if ye pleaso, fer I want to git away. I'm late as 'tis." " Hold a minute, Pete," and the parson laid a firmer hand upon the rope. " Who sent you here after this cow?" " The boss, of course." " Mr. Farrington ? " GUARDING THE FLOCK 1105 " Sure." " And he wants the cow in payment of a deht, does he?" " Guess so. But that ain't none of my bizness. My bizness is to git the cow." " How much is the debt, anyway ? " the parson asked, turning to Mrs. Stickles, who was standing near with arms akimbo. " Twenty dollars, sir. "No mor'n twenty dollars. "Not one cent more, an' Tony'll pay every cent when he comes from the woods." " Well, then, Pete," and the parson turned towards the latter, " unfasten this cow, and go back to your master. Tell him that I will be responsible for the debt, and that he shall have the full amount as soon as I get home." But Pete shook his head, and began to gather up the loose end of the rope into a little coil in his left hand. " That ain't the boss's order, sir. ' Fetch her, Pete,' sez he, ' an' let nuthin' stop ye. If they hev the money to pay, don't take it. The cow's of more value to me than money.' Them's his very orders." " Oh, I see, I see," Mr. Westmore remarked, as a stern look crossed his face, and his eyes flashed with indignation. " It's not the money your master wants, but only the pound of flesh." " Boss didn't say nuthin' 'bout any pound of flesh. He only said ' the cow,' an' the cow he'll git if Pete Davis knows anything." Quick as a flash Parson John's hand dove deep into 106 THE FOURTH WATCH his capacious pocket. ITc whipped out a clasp-knife, opened it, and with one vigorous stroke severed the rope about one foot from the cow's head. " There ! " he cried to the staring, gaping Pete. " Take that rope to your master, and tell him what I have done. Leave the matter to me. I alone will be responsible for this deed." The appearance of Mr. Westmore at this moment was enough to awe even the most careless. His gigantic form was drawn to its fullest height. His flashing eyes, turned full upon Pete's face, caused that obsequious menial to fall back a step or two. Even a blow from the parson's clenched fist just then would not have been a surprise. His spirit at this moment was that of the prophets of old, and even of the Great Master Himself, upholding justice and defending the cause of the poor and down-trodden. For an instant only they faced each other. Then. Pete's eyes dropped as the eyes of an abashed dog before his master. lie stooped for the rope, which had fallen to the ground, and slowly gathered it into a little coil. But still he maintained his ground. " Are you going ? " demanded the parson. " Yes," came the surly response. " I'm goin', but remember you hev interfered with Si Farrington's law- ful bizness, so beware ! I'll go an' tell 'im what ye say. Oh, yes, I'll go, but you'll hear from 'im again. Oh, yes, ye'll hear." " Let 'im come 'imself next time fer the cow," spoke up Mrs. Stickles, who had been silently watching the GUARDING THE FLOCK 107 proceedings. " I'd like fer 'im to come. I'd like to git me fingers into his hair an' across his nasty, scrawny face. That's what I'd like to do." " Hold yer tongue ! " shouted Pete, " an'—" " There now, no more of that," commanded Mr. Westmore. " We've had too many words already, so take yourself off." They watched him as he moved down the lane to the road. He was followed by Tommy Jones, who had stood through it all with mouth wide open, and eyes staring with astonishment. When they were at length clear of the place the parson gave a sigh of relief, and across his face flitted a smile — like sunshine after storm. CHAPTER XII LIGHT AND SnADOW UPOX entering the house Mr. "Westmore divested himself of his great-coat, and stood warming himself by the kitchen fire, while Mrs. Stickles bustled around, smoothing down the bedclothes and putting the room to rights in which her sick husband lay. The kitchen floor was as white as human hands could make it, and the stove shone like polished ebony. Upon this a kettle steamed, while underneath a sleek Maltese cat was curled, softly purring in calm content. Dan, assisted by the little Stickles, stabled Mid- night, after which he was conducted over to the back of the barn to enjoy the pleasure of coasting down an icy grade. The only sound, therefore, was Mrs. Stickles' voice in the next room as she related to " her man " the wonderful events which had just taken place. A slight smile of pleasure crossed the parson's face ag he listened to her words and thought of the big honest" heart beneath that marvellous tongue. The sun of the winter day was streaming through the little window and falling athwart the foot of the bed as Mr. Westmore entered the room and grasped the sick man's white, out- stretched hand. 108 LIGHT AND SHADOW 109 " God bless ye, sir," exclaimed Mr. Stickles, " fer what ye liev done fer me an' mine to-day. It ain't the first time by a long chalk. The Lord will reward ye, even if I can't." " Tut, tut, man, don't mention it," Mr. Westmore replied as he took a seat by the bed. " And how are you feeling to-day, Mr. Stickles \ " " Only middlin', Parson, only middlin'. Simply joggin', simply joggin'." Mrs. Stickles seated herself in a splint-bottomed chair, and picked up her knitting which had been hurriedly dropped upon the arrival of Pete Davis. How her fingers did work ! It was wonderful to watch them. How hard and worn they were, and yet so nimble. The needles flew with lightning rapidity, clicking against one another with a rhythmical cadence ; the music of humble, consecrated work. But when Mr. "Westmore began to tell about Tim Fraser, and his sudden death, the knitting dropped into her lap, and she stared at the speaker with open-eyed astonishment. " An' do ye mean to tell me," she exclaimed, when the parson had finished, " that Tim Eraser is dead ? " " Yes, it's only too true, Mrs. Stickles. Poor man — poor man ! " " Ye may well call 'ini poor, Parson, fer I'm thinkin' that's jist what he is at this blessed minute. He's in a bad way now, I reckon." " Hush, hush, Marthy," her husband remonstrated. ""We must not judge too harshly." 110 THE FOURTH WATCH " I'm not, John, I'm not, an' the parson knows I'm not. But if Tim isn't sizzlin', then the Bible's clean wrong," and the needles clicked harder than ever. " It teaches us the uncertainty of life," replied Mr. Westmoro. " It shows how a man with great strength and health can he stricken down in an instant. How important it is to be always ready when the call does come." " Ye're right, Parson, ye're surely right," and Mrs. Stickles stopped to count her stitches. " Wasn't John an' me talkin' about that only last night. I was readin' the Bible to 'im, an' had come to that story about poor old Samson, an' his hard luck." " ' It's very strange/ sez John, sez he to me, ' that when Samson lost his hair he lost his great strength, too. 1 tan't unnerstan' it nohow.' " " t Why, that's simple enough,' sez I to 'im. ' The Lord when He let Samson's strength rest in his hair jist wanted to teach 'im how unsartin a thing strength is. ' Why, anyone can cut off yer hair,' sez I, ' an' ye know, John,' sez I, ' ye don't alius have to cut it off, either, for it falls out like yourn, John — fer yer almost bald.' Ain't them the exact words I said, John, an' oidy last night at that ? " " Yes, Marthy. That's just what ye said, an' we see how true it is. Tim Eraser was a powerful man as fer as strength an' health goes, but what did it all amount to ? He lost it as quick as Samson of old. Ah, yes, a man's a mighty weak thing, an' his strength very unsar- LIGHT AND SHADOW 111 tin, an' hangs by a slender thread. Look at me, parson. Once I was able to stan' almost anything, an' here I be a useless log — a burden to meself an' family." " Don't say that, John, dear," remonstrated Mrs. Stickles wiping her eyes with her apron. " Ye know ye ain't a bother. Yer as patient as a fly in molasses. The fly is thar an' can't help it, an' so are you, John. It's the Lord's will, an' ye've often said so. He'll look after me an' the little ones. He's never forsaken us yit, an' I guess He won't if we stick to 'im." " Your children are certainly a credit to you, Mrs. Stickles," remarked Mr. "Westmore. " You should be proud of them." " I am, sir, indeed I am," and the worthy woman's face beamed with pleasure. " But it takes a lot of 'scretion, Parson, to handle a big family. I've often said to John that children are like postage-stamps. They've got to be licked sometimes to do the work they were intended to do. But if ye lick 'em too much, ye spile 'em. Oh, yes, it takes great 'scretion to bring up a family." " You certainly have used great discretion," replied Parson John, much amused at Mrs. Stickles' words. " I suppose those who are working out are just as dear as the four little ones at home 1 " " They're all dear to me, sir, all dear. I kin count 'em all on me ten fingers, no more an' no less. Now some fingers are larger than t'others, and some smaller, an' some more useful than t'others an' do more work, but I couldn't part with one. So as I often tell John 112 THE FOURTH WATCH our children are jist like me ten fingers. I couldn't do without one of 'em — ah, no, bless their dear hearts." The sound of little feet and childish voices caused them to look towards the kitchen. There they beheld the four little Stickles, with Dan in the midst, standing in a row by the stove. " II o, ho!" exclaimed the parson, rising and going towards them. " So here you are, as fresh and active as ever." Diving deep into his pocket he brought forth a generous piece of home-made candy. " Sweets for the sweet," he cried. " Now, who's to have this ? " At once a rush ensued and four little forms sur- rounded him. " Wait, wait ; not yet 1 " and the good man held the candy aloft. " Nothing given away here. You must earn every bit. All in a row now. There, that's better," and he lined them up, like a veteran schoolmaster, proud of his little class. " Come, I want your names. You begin," and he tapped the nearest to him on the shoulder. " John Medley Stickles, sir," came the quick reply. " A good name, my little man," and the parson patted him on the head. " May you be worthy of your name- sake, that noble man of God — the first Bishop of this Diocese. Now next," and he pointed to the second little Stickles. " Benjamin Alexander Stickles, sir." ft Ha, ha. Named after your two grandfathers. LIGHT AND SHADOW 113 Fine men they were, too. Now my little maiden, we'll hear from you." " Martha Trumpit Stickles, sir," came the shy re- sponse. " That's a good name, my dear, after your mother — ■ and with her eyes, too. Just one more left. Come, my dear, what have you to say ? " " Ruth Wethmore Stickles, thir, if you pleath," lisped the little lass, with her eyes upon the floor. At these words the parson paused, as if uncertain what to say. " Euth, the gleaner," he at length slowly remarked. " Euth Westmore. Ah, Mrs. Stickles, I little thought that day my dear wife stood sponsor for your haby here, and gave her her own name, how soon she would he taken from us. Four years — four long years since she went home. But come, but come," he hurriedly continued, noticing Mrs. Stickles about to place her apron to her eyes. " I have a question to ask each little one here, and then something is coming. Look, John, answer me, quick. How many Command- ments are there ? " " Ten, sir," came the ready reply. " What is the fifth one % " " Honour thy father and mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee." " That's good, that's good. Don't forget that, my little man. The first commandment with promise. I taught your brother Tony that when he was a little lad, and I'm sure he hasn't forgotten it. Now, Bennie, 114 THE FOURTII WATCH what two things do we learn from these command- ments ? " " Hy duty towards God, an' my duty towards my neighbour." " Right, right you are. Xow, Martha, what were you made at your baptism ? " " A member of Christ, a child of God, and an in- heritor of the Kingdom of Heaven." " Well done. I thought that would stick you, but I see you have learned your lesson well ! It's Ruth's turn now. Can you tell me, my dear, what happened on Good Friday?" "Jesus died, thir, on the Croth." "And what took place on Easter Day?" " He roth from the grave, thir." " Good. good. Always remember that. Good Friday and Easter Day come very near together. 'Earth's saddest i]'av and brightest day are just one day apart.' " -Mrs. Stickles' face beamed with pleasure as the parson praised the little class, and gave a piece of candy to each. Then he drew from his pocket a small package wrapped in white tissue-paper tied with a piece of pink ribbon, and held it up before the wondering eyes of the little Stickles. " From Xollie," he remarked. " Candy she made herself for the one who can best say the verses on the Christian Year she gave you to learn some time ago. Xow, who can say them all through without one mis- take \ " Instantly four little hands shot up into the air, and LIGHT AND SHADOW 115 four pairs of sparkling eyes were fixed eagerly upon, the coveted treasure. " Well, Bennie, we'll try you," said the parson. " Stand up straight, and don't be afraid to speak out." " Advent tells us Christ is here, Christmas tells us Christ is near — " " Hold, hold ! " cried Mr. Westmore. " Try again." But the second attempt proving worse than the first, it was passed on to Martha. Bravely the little maiden plunged into the intricacies of the two first verses, hut became a total wreck upon the third. Try as she might the words would not come, and tears were in her eyes when at length she gave up the attempt and waited for John Medley to conquer where she had failed. But alas ! though starting in bravely he mixed Epiphany and Advent so hopelessly that the parson was forced to stop his wild wanderings. " Dear me ! dear me ! " Mr. Westmore exclaimed. " What are we to do % Surely Buth can do better than this." With hands clasped demurely before her and her eyes fixed upon the floor, slowly the little maiden began to lisp forth the words while the rest listened in almost breathless silence. " Advent telth uth Christ ith near; Christmath telth uth Christ ith here; In Epithany we trath All the glory of Hith grath." Thus steadily on she lisped through verse after verse, 116 THE FOURTH WATCH and when the last was completed a sigh of relief was heard from Mrs. Stickles, while the parson clapped his hands with delight. How her eves did sparkle as he handed her the little package, with a few words of en- couragement, and how longingly the three others looked upon the treasure. " Xow," said Mr. Westmore, " we must he away. Xellie will wonder what has become of us." " Xot yet, sir, not yet ! " cried Mrs. Stickles. " You must have a cup of tea first. The water is bilin', an' it'll be ready in a jiffy. Did ye give Midnight any hay ? " she demanded, turning to Bennie. " Oh, ma ! " came the reply. " I fergot all about it." " There now, it's jist like ye. Hurry off this minute and give that poor critter some of that good hay from the nigh loft." As the little Stickles and Dan scurried out of the room, Ruth still clutching her precious package, Mrs. Stickles turned to Mr. Westmore. " There now, Parson, ye jist must wait, an' have that cup of tea, an' some of my fresh bread. We shan't tech Xellie's pies an' cake, cause ye kin hev her cookin' any time, bless her dear heart. How I wish she was here herself so I could look into her sweet face an' tell her meself how grateful I am." Hardly had the parson seated himself at the table ere several piercing shrieks fell upon his ears. Rushing to the door he beheld John Medley hurrying towards the house with arms at right angles, and his face as pale as death. LIGHT AND SHADOW 117 " Child ! Child ! What is it ? " shouted Mrs. Stickles. " R-r-uth's k-k-illed ! She f-f-ell from the la-la-der. Oh! Oh!" Waiting to hear no more they hurried to the barn, and there they found the little form lying on the floor, still grasping in her hand the precious package. " My poor lamb ! My darlin' baby ! are ye kilt, are ye kilt ? " wailed Mrs. Stickles, kneeling down by her side. " Speak to me, my lamb, my little baby ! Oh, speak to yer mammy ! " But no sign of recognition came from the prostrate child. Seeing this the mother sprang to her feet and wrung her hands in agony of despair. " What will we do ? Oh, what kin we do ? My baby is kilt — my poor darlin' ! Oh — oh — oh ! " Tenderly Parson John lifted the child in his arms, carried her into the house, and laid her on the settle near the stove. It was found that she was breathing, and soon a little water brought some color into her face. Pres- ently she opened her eyes, and started up, but fell back again, with a cry of pain, fiercely clutching the package. " What is it, dear % " asked the parson. Where is the pain ? " " My leg ! My leg ! " moaned the child. " Ah, I feared so," exclaimed Mr. Westmore, after a brief examination. " We must have the doctor at once. Is there anyone near who will go for him, Mrs. Stickles?" ' " Not a man, sir, that's fit to go. They're all in the woods. Oh, what kin we do ! " 118 THE FOURTH WATCH "Don't worry, Mrs. Stickles," was the reassuring reply. " Midnight will go, and I will hold the reins. Come, Dan, the horse, quick" As Midnight drew up to the door a few minutes later, Parson John came out of the house and affectionately patted the sleek neck of the noble animal. " Remember, Midnight," he said, " you must do your best to-day. It's for the sake of the little lass, and she was getting hay for you. Don't forget that." CHAPTER XIII FOR THE SAKE OF A CHILD NIGHT had shut down over the land as Midnight, with her long, swinging strides, clipped through the lighted streets of the prosperous little rail- way town of Bradin, and drew up at old Doctor Leeds' snug house. A fast express had just thundered shriek- ing by. A strong, cutting wind racing in from the Northeast was tearing through the sinuous telegraph wires with a buzzing sound, the weird prelude of a com- ing storm. The worthy doctor was at home, having only lately returned from a long drive into the country. He and his wife, a kindly-faced little woman, were just sitting down to their quiet meal. Seldom could they have an evening together, for the doctor's field was a large one and his patients numerous. " You have no engagement for to-night, I hope, Joseph," remarked his wife, as she poured the tea, " No, dear," was the reply. " I expect to have one evening at home, and I'm very glad of it, too. I ni weary to-night, and am longing for my arm-chair, with my papers and pipe." A sharp knock upon the door aroused them, and great 119 120 THE FOURTH WATCH was their surprise to see the venerable Rector of Glen- dow enter. " Parson John ! " cried the doctor, rushing forward and grasping his old friend's hand. " It's been months since I've seen you. What lucky event brought you here to-night ? Did you miss the train % If so, I'm glad. My chessmen are moulding for want of use." But the parson shook his head and briefly told of the accident in the barn. " And so the little lass is in trouble, hey? More worry for Mrs. Stickles." " And you will be able to go to-night, Doctor ? " " Certainly. Sweepstakes hasn't been on the road for two days, and is keen for a good run." " But, my dear," remonstrated Mrs. Leeds, " are you able to go ? You have been driving all day, and must be very tired. Why not rest a little first ? " " And let the poor child suffer that much longer ! Not a bit of it." " I have heard doctors say," remarked the parson, as he and Dan sat down to their supper, " that they get so hardened to suffering that at last it does not affect them at all. I am glad it is not true with you." " The older I get," replied the doctor thoughtfully, stirring his tea, " the more my heart aches at the pains and sufferings of others, especially in little children. As soon as I hear of someone in distress I can never rest until I reach his or her side. There always comes to me a voice urging me to make haste. Even now I seem to hear that child calling to me. She is a sweet, FOR THE SAKE OF A CHILD 121 pretty lass, and how often have I patted her fair little head, and to think of those blue eves filled with tears, that tiny face drawn with pain, and her whole body writhing in agony. However, you know all about this, Parson, so what's the use of my talking." " But I am glad to hear you speak as you do, Doctor. Over thirty years have I been in Glendow, and I become more affected by suffering the older I get." The doctor looked keenly into Mr. "Westmore's face, as if trying to read his inmost thoughts. " Do you ever become weary of your work ? " he at length asked. " Do you not long for a more congenial field?" " I have often been asked that question, Doctor," the parson slowly replied, " but not so much of late. I am getting old now, and young men are needed, so I am somewhat forgotten. However, I am glad that this is so. Years ago when a tempting offer came to me from some influential parish, though I always refused, it disturbed me for days, until the matter was finally settled. Xow I do not have such distractions, and am quite happy. In the quiet parish of Glendow I find all that the heart can desire. The labour to me becomes no more monotonous than the work of parents with their children. They often are weary in their toil for their little ones, but not weary of it. The body gives out at times, but not the love in the heart. And so I always find something new and fresh in my work which gives such a relish to life. I have baptized most of the young people in this parish, I have prepared them for Confir- 122 THE FOURTH WATCH mation, given them their first Communion, and in numerous cases have joined their hands in holy wedlock. Some may long for a greater field and a wealthy congre- gation. But, remember, as the sun in the heavens may be seen as clearly in the tiny dewdrop as in the great ocean, so I can see the glory of the Father shining in these humble parishioners of mine, especially so in the children of tender years, as in the great intellects. As for travelling abroad to see the world and its wonders, I find I can do it more conveniently in my quiet study among my books. At a very small cost I can wander to all parts of the world, without the dangers and in- conveniences of steamers and railroads. As to studying human nature, it is to be found in any parish. Carlyle well said that ' any road, this simple Entepfuhl road, will lead you to the end of the world,' and was it not the quaint and humble-minded Thoreau who expressed him- self in somewhat the same way : " 'If with Fancy unfurled, You leave your abode, You may go round the world, By the Marlboro road.' " The doctor rose from the table and grasped Mr. TVestmore's hand. " Thank you for those words," he said. " I have thought of those very things so often, and you have ex- pressed my ideas exactly. I must now be away. You will stay all night, for I wish to have a good chat with you upon my return." FOR THE SAKE OF A CHILD 123 " Thank you very much," the parson replied, " but we must be off as soon as possible. My daughter is all alone and will be quite uneasy by my long absence. We shall go home by the way of Flett's Corner, and thus save three miles. But look, Doctor, don't send your bill to the Stickles. Send it to me. Now be sure." " Tut, tut, man. Don't worry about the bills of others. Leave this matter to me. The Stickles won't have any cause for anxiety about the bill, and why should you ? It's paid already." What a noble picture these two men presented as they stood there ! Both had grown old in a noble service for their fellow-men, and truly their grey heads were beauti- ful crowns of glory. One had charge of the cure of souls, the other of bodies, and yet there was no clashing. Each respected the work of the other, and both were in- spired with the high motive which lifts any profession or occupation above the ordinary — the Christ-like motive of love. Parson John remained for some time after the doctor had left, chatting with Mrs. Leeds, and when at length Midnight started on her homeward way it was quite late. They had not advanced far before the storm which had been threatening swept upon them. Although the night was dark, the roadbed was firm and Midnight surefooted. As they scudded forward the wind howled through the trees and dashed the snow against their faces. They fled by farm-houses and caught fleeting glimpses of the bright, cosy scenes within. Twice they met belated teams plodding wearily homeward. With- 124 THE FOURTH WATCH out one touch of rein, or word of command, each time Midnight slowed down, swerved to the left and swung by. It was only when the dim, dark forms of the pant- ing steeds loomed up for an instant on their right, and then disappeared into the blackness, were they aware of their presence. Occasionally the road wound for a mile or more through a wooded region, and in such places they found peace and shelter. Here the wind could not reach them, although they could hear its wild ravings in the tree-tops above. The snow came softly, silently down, and, although they could not see it falling, they could feel it flecking their faces and knew it was weaving its mystic robe over their bodies. In one place such as this a faint glimmer of light struggled through the dark- ness a short distance from the road. " It's Stephen's cabin," the parson remarked. " It is a snug place on a night like this. I wonder what he is doing now. I wish we had time to call to give him a word of cheer." About two hundred yards beyond the cabin they left the main highway and entered upon a lumber road. This latter was used in the winter time in order to avoid a large hill on the former and the huge drifts which piled from fence to fence. At first Midnight slowed down to a walk, but at length, becoming a little im- patient to get home, she broke into a gentle trot. Then, in the twinkling of an eye, the sleigh gave a great lurch, and before a hand could be raised Dan found himself shooting over the parson and falling headlong into the soft yielding snow. Recovering himself as quickly as FOE THE SAKE OF A CHILD 125 possible, and brushing the snow from his mouth, ears and eyes, he groped around to ascertain what had hap- pened. Away in the distance he could hear a crashing sound as Midnight hurried along with the overturned sleigh. Then all was still. He called and shouted, but received no reply. A feeling of dread crept over him, and at once he started to walk back to the road. He had advanced but a few steps, however, when he stumbled and half fell over a form which he knew must be that of Parson John. He put out his hand and felt his coat. Then he called, but all in vain. Hastily fumbling in his pockets he drew forth several matches and tried to strike a light. His little hands trembled as he did so, and time and time again a draught blew out the tiny flame. In desperation he at length kneeled down upon, the snow, sheltered the match with his coat, and era long had the satisfaction of seeing the flame grow strong and steady. Carefully he held it up and the small light illumined the darkness for the space of a few feet around. Then it fell upon the prostrate form at his side. It touched for an instant the old man's face, oh, so still and white, lying there in the snow ; and then an awful blackness. The light had gone ©ut ! CHAPTER XIV THE LONG NIGHT AS Dan stood there in the darkness -with snow to his knees, clutching between his fingers the extinguished match, the helplessness of his posi- tion dawned upon him. What had happened to the parson he could easily guess, for the place was full of old stumps, half protruding from beneath the snow. "No doubt he had struck one of these in the fall. But of the result of the blow he could not tell, for placing his ear close down to the face he tried to detect somo sign of life, but all in vain. Suppose the parson had been killed! He thought of Xcllie, waiting anxiously at the Rectory. How could he tell her what had hap- pened ? Suddenly a new sense of responsibility came to him. Something must be done as quickly as possible, and he was the only one to do it. He thought of Stephen's cabin, which they had passed a short time before. He could obtain help there, and he must go at once. Taking off his own outer coat he laid it carefully over the prostrate man, and then struggled back to the road. Having reached this he imagined it would not take him long to cover the distance. But he soon found how difficult was the undertaking, and what a task it 126 THE LONG NIGHT 127i was to keep the road on such a night. The blackness was intense, and the snow, which all the time had been steadily falling, added to the difficulty. Every few steps he would plxuage off into the deep snow, and flounder around again until he had regained the solid footing. The distance, which was not more than a mile, seemed never-ending. Still he plodded on, the thought of that silent form lying in the snow inspiring him with extra energy. At length, much exhausted, a welcome glimmer of light winged its way through the darkness. Dan's heart leaped within him. The place was near, and Stephen had not yet gone to bed. Panting heavily, and struggling unsteadily, he crept slowly forward, reached the door and pounded fiercely upon it with both doubled-up fists. Slowly the door was opened, and great was Stephen's surprise to see the little snow-covered figure standing before him. " Help ! Come quick ! " gasped Dan. " What' s wrong ? " Stephen demanded, dragging the boy into the cabin. " "Where's the parson ? " " Over there — in the snow — in the woods ! " " Sit down," said Stephen, noticing how weary and excited was the little lad. " Tell me now all about it." Quickly and briefly Dan related about the drive through the storm, the accident on the " cut off," and Parson John's fall. " Oh, God ! " Stephen groaned when he had heard the story. " What will Nellie think ? What will she say ? It will break her heart ! I must be off at once I " 128 THE FOURTH WATCH Reaching for the lantern his hand trembled as he lighted it. " Wait here," he commanded, " till I hitch Dexter to the pung; or no, you'd better come with me and give a hand. There is no time to lose." Dan obeyed without a word and held the lantern while Stephen harnessed the horse. " Where's Midnight ? " Stephen asked, as he deftly drew the reins through the terrets. " She ran away. I heard the sleigh crashing after her as she ran." " She'll kill herself! But no, she's too wise for that. She'll go home and whinny at the door, and then what will Nellie think ! We must hurry along as fast as possible. She will be frantic with fear." " Guess we'd better bring the parson back to your place," Dan remarked as Dexter swung down the road. " Bring him to my place ! " exclaimed Stephen in surprise. " What can we do for him there? " " Won't he need the doctor ? " " Yes, he may. But we can't go all the way to Bradin now." " Guess you won't have to do that." " Why, what do you mean ? " " He's at the Stickles'." " At the Stickles' ? " " Yep. The little girl got hurt, so we went after the doctor." " Oh, I see — I see now," Stephen mused. " That'a a different matter. It's only three miles to the Stickles'. THE LONG NIGHT 129 But the road will be bad to-night, for the wind's across country, and the drifts there pile fast and deep. But I shall go if necessary, even if I have to crawl on all fours. I won't have to do that, though, for Dexter will take me through if any horse can." It did not take them long to cover the one mile of road between the cabin and the place where the acci- dent had occurred. By the light of the lantern it was not difficult to find the spot. An uncanny feeling crept over them as they drew near, and saw the parson lying there in the snow just as Dan had left him. With the lantern in his hand Stephen leaped from the pung and looked intently into the face of the prostrate man. It did not take him long to ascertain that life still re- mained in his body, and a prayer of thankfulness went up from his heart as he thought of the dear old man and the anxious Nellie. Quickly and as carefully as possible they lifted him into the pung, covered him with a warm robe, and then sped back to the cabin. As soon as they had laid him upon the bed, Stephen reached for a heavy coat hang- ing on the wall. " I'm off now," he said. " You keep watch. I'll be back as soon as I can." The injured man lay perfectly motionless, to all out- ward appearance dead. Dan stood looking at him for some time after Stephen had left, puzzled and be- wildered. What could he do ? What would Nellie think of him now? He sank upon the stool by the bedside and buried his face in his hands — a forlorn little crea- 130 THE FOURTH WATCH ture, trying to think. Presently he glanced towards the bed, and gazed long and intently upon the parson's face. Many were the thoughts which crowded into his mind as he sat there. A deep affection for the old man had sprung np in his heart. To him he was like some superior being with his great strength and wonderful knowledge. Then to think he should care for him, Dan Flitter, so small, who could neither read nor write, who was nothing but a sponger. The thought of Farring- ton's insult came to him, and what he had said about the parson. It had rankled continually in his breast, and now it arose in greater force than ever. Why were the people saying such things about this good man ? lie had listened to men talking in the store and along the road. They had said and hinted many things, and he had been silent. But, though silent, his mind and heart had been at work. Often while lying in his little bed at night he had brooded over the matter. lie longed to do something to clear the parson, and show the people that they were wrong. But what could he do ? They would not listen to him. They hinted that the parson had stolen the gold, and what could he say? It needed more than words. These were the thoughts which had been beating through his brain for days, giving him at times that listless manner, far-away look, and lack of interest in his studies, which worried Nellie so much. So sitting on guard by the injured man's side this night with large, dreamy eyes, thoughtful face < — more thoughtful than ordinary for a child of his age — he recalled the various scenes since the night of the THE LONG NIGHT 131 fire. Suddenly his face flushed, the dreamy expression faded from his eyes, as the dim light of dawn is dis- persed by the fulness of day. They shone with a new radiance as he turned them upon the parson's face. He rose to his feet and walked quickly up and down the room. He was once again a creature of the wild. The glory of a lofty purpose fired his blood. He had experi- enced it before when, out in the woods, he had followed the tracks of the nimble deer, or listened to the whirr of ihe startled pigeon. But now it was a nobler chase, a loftier purpose, in which the honour of a faithful friend was at stake. A sound from the bed startled him. Glancing quickly in that direction he noticed the lips of the wounded man moving. No sign of consciousness, however, did he give. He was in another world, the strange, mysteri- ous world, where the mind roams at will and language flows from the fountain-head of the inner being. " ' The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for thee — drink this — .' " He was in church at the Communion service, administering the cup. " Four thousand dollars." He was at the auction now, eager and intent. " Poor lassie, poor little lamb." This time it was the injured Stickles child. And thus he rambled on from one thing to another, while Dan stood like a statue in the room staring upon him. Suddenly he opened his eyes, looked around in a dazed manner, and then fixed them upon the boy's face. He moved a little, and at once a cry of pain escaped his lips. 132 THE FOURTH WATCH '■' Dan ! Dan ! " he exclaimed. " What is the matter ? "Where am I, and what is the meaning of this pain in my shoulder ? " The look in his face was most pathetic, and Dan longed to do something to relieve his suffering. "Does yer shoulder hurt much?" the lad asked. " Yes, yes, the pain is intense. Tell me how it hap- pened." " We were chucked from the sleigh, an' I guess you struck a stump," was the reply. " Is this Stephen's cabin ? " " Yep. He's gone fer the doctor, so I'm keepin' watch." The parson remained very quiet, and did not speak for some time. He still felt confused, and his shoulder was giving him great pain. He realized, however, how much he owed to Dan. What if he had been alone when the accident occurred ? " Did you come back for Stephen ? " he at length questioned. " Yep." " And you were not hurt ? Arc you sure ? " " Sure's I'm livin'." " And you were not afraid to come alone to the cabin for help ? " " No, I didn't mind." " You're a brave boy, Dan. You've done much for me to-night. Saved my life, in fact." " Oh, I didn't do much. Xot worth mentionin'," and the lad took his seat by the bedside. THE LONG NIGHT 133 How the time did creep by. Often Dan went to the door and looked out. He strained his ears in order to hear the sound of bells, hut the wind moaning and tearing through the tree-tops alone fell upon his ears. At last, when his patience was almost exhausted, the door was flung open, and Doctor Leeds entered, covered with snow, and a most anxious look upon his face. It did not take long for the practised eye and hand to ascertain the trouble. The shoulder had been dislocated, and would have to be replaced. Then the parson showed of what stuff he was made. Hardly a sound escaped his lips as the doctor, assisted by Stephen, performed the painful operation. " There ! " exclaimed the physician, as he bound up the wounded member, " we'll have you round again in a short time. Now, some would have squaked and yelled like a baby, but you're a man through and through." " Thank you, Doctor. You are very good. But how about the little lass ? You didn't leave her for me ? Tell me the truth," and the parson's eyes sought the doctor's face. " Oh, don't you worry about her," was the good- natured reply. " Sweepstakes took me over the road like the wind, and I had the poor little leg all fixed up before Stephen arrived. She'll do very well now with- out my care. But come, we must get you home at once." " Do you think I am able to go ? " " Able ! certainly you're able. Home's the only place for you, though the journey may cause you some pain." 134: THE FOURTII WATCH " And you will come too, Doctor ? You must be very tired, and need a good rest." " Yes, I'm going with you. I'm not going to leave you yet. You're worth fifty ordinary men, and we must not run any risk. Besides that, sir, I do want a glimpse of your dear Nellie, and a little chat with her. I haven't rested my eyes upon her for months, and do you think I'm going to miss such an opportunity ? No, sir, not a bit of it." Mr. Westmore was forced to smile in spite of his weakness as he looked into the doctor's strong, rugged face. " God bless you," he replied. " This isn't the first time you have been a firm friend to me. I can never forget how you stood day and night by the side of my dear wife, doing all in your power to keep her with us a little longer." " Tut, tut, man," and the doctor turned away to hide a mistiness in his eyes. " She was worthy of it, and her like can't be found every day. But come, Steve has been waiting at the door for some time, and we must be away." CHAPTEK XV, DEEPENING SHADOWS S Nellie stood at the study window the Sun- day afternoon her father left for Craig's Corner a sense of depression and loneliness stole over her. How much longer could her father continue those hard drives, she wondered. He was getting old. His hair was so white and his steps feeble. What was to become of him when he could perform his beloved work no longer ? She knew very well how they were pressed for money, and how much had gone to help Philip in his fight in British Colum- bia. How many things had they gone without ! Even mere common necessities had been given up. Nat- urally her mind turned to the auction, and the money her father had paid down for the farm. Eour thou- sand dollars ! Where had it come from, and why would her father never tell her, or speak about it in her presence ? How often had she lain awake at night thinking about it all ! Then to hear people more thar hinting about Billy Fletcher's gold, and what had be- come of it, was at times more than she could bear. Never for a moment did she doubt her father, but often she longed to ask him for an explanation of the mystery. Was the money his own, or was he handling it for some- 135 136 THE FOURTH WATCH one else ? If so, why should he not tell her — his only daughter — who was so dear to him ? She was aroused by the arrival of several children from the houses nearest the Rectory. Every Sunday afternoon Nellie found her real enjoyment with her little class. She had known them all since their birth, and they loved her. How longingly thoy looked for- ward to that brief Sunday gathering. There were no harsh, strict rules here, no perfunctory opening and closing, and no lifeless lessons droned forth in a half- rebellious spirit. Tt was all joy and love. IIow their voices did ring as Xellie played on the little harmonium some sweet hymn attuned to childish hearts and minds. Then, after the lessons were over, there came the treat of the day — a story read from one of those marvellous books kept on a shelf in a corner all by themselves. When at last the story had been finished and the class dispersed, Xellie locked the doors, and made her way to Vivien Nelson's. What a hearty welcome she re- ceived from them all ! To Mr. and Mr-. Nelson, hard- working, God-fearing people, she was as their own daughter. She and Vivien, their only child, had been playmates together at school, and their friendship had never languished. There Xellie felt at home. She knew that no matter what disagreeable things were being said about her father throughout the parish, no word of reproach or blame was ever mentioned in the Xclson home. Others might think what they liked about Parson John, but the Xelsons had known him too long in times of sorrow and joy to believe any evil of their old Rector. DEEPENING SHADOWS 137 Here Nellie stayed until the following afternoon, and then made her way home to have the house com- fortable before her father came back. As the evening drew near she anxiously watched for his return. She saw the dull grey sky and knew that a storm threatened. As the darkness deepened and the wind raved about the house, ancl the snow beat against the north windows, her anxiety increased. The supper table stood ready in its snowy whiteness; the kettle sang on the stove and the fire in the sitting-room grate threw out its cheerful glow. It was a scene of peace and genial comfort con- trasted with the raging of the elements outside. But Nellie thought nothing of this, for her heart was too much disturbed. Had anything happened to her father and Dan ? It was some relief to know that the lad was along, for two were better than one should an acci- dent occur. Her eyes roamed often to the little clock ticking away on the mantel-piece. Six-seven— eight- nine. The hours dragged slowly by. She tried to read, but the words were meaningless. She picked up her needlework, but soon laid it down again, with no heart to continue. Once more she glanced at the clock. Ten minutes after nine. She thought it longer than that since it had struck the hour. She arose to attend the kitchen fire, when a loud knock upon the front door startled her. She turned back, and stood for an in- stant in the centre of the room. Her heart beat fast, and her face paled. Tramps were frequently seen in Glendow, working their way from one place to another. At times they were impudent and tried to force an 138 THE FOURTH WATCH entrance into houses. It was a likely night for them to " ' The Mission Board ' sez he. " ' An' do ye git it reglar ? ' sez I. " c Every month,' sez he. " ' I thought so,' sez I. ' An' d'ye think the parson here gits his every month ? ' " ' I don't know/ sez he. i But s'pose he does.' " ' Xot by a long chalk/ sez I. ' He has to wait months an' months fer it, an' sometimes he doesn't git 174 THE FOURTH WATCH it at all, an' then has to take hay an' oat", or do without. I know that to he a fact. Old skinflint Eeeker over thar owed two dollars one year to the church, an' ho wondered how in the world he was to git out of payin' it. Durin' the Bummer a Sunday-school picnic was held on his place Lack in his grove, an' fer one of the games the parson cut down four little beeches about as big as canes. Thar was thousands of 'em growin' around, an' wasn'*: worth a postage-stamp. But old Eeeker saw 'im cut 'em, an' the next day he went to the parson an' told 'im how vallable the beeches was — his fancy trees or somethin' like that — an' charged 'im fifty cents a piece, the amount he owed to the church. " Wasn't that so, Parson ? " sez I, turn in' to 'im.' " * Yes, yes,' sez he. ' But it ain't worth speakin' about now. I think we had better have our cup of tea, an' talk no more about the subject.' " " Dear, good mar," and Mrs. Stickles wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. " lie was kinder upsot at what I said. But not so, Xellie. Her sweet face jist beamed on me, an' when I went out into the kitchen to help her she put her arms about me old neck, an' gave me a good big thumpin' kiss. That's what she did." Scarcely had Mrs. Stickles ended, ere bells were heard outside. " Why, I declare, if Abraham ain't back already ! " exclaimed Mrs. McKrigger, rising to her feet and don- ning her hat and wraps. " He's made a quick trip. I'm very grateful, indeed I am, fer the cup of tea an' WASH-TUB PHILOSOPHY 175 the pleasant time I've had. Ye must come to see me as soon as ye kin." Mrs. Stickles stood for some time at the window watching the McKriggers driving away. She was thinking deeply, and a plan was being evolved in her mind which made her forget her washing and the vari- ous household duties. At length she turned and en- tered the room where her husband and little Ruth were lying. " John," she said, after she had related to him what Mrs. McKrigger had told her about Earrington and the petition, " d'ye think you an' Ruthie will mind if me an' Sammy go into the shore this afternoon with old Queen ? " " Why no, dear," was the reply. " But don't ye think the roads are too bad, an' besides, what are ye thinkin' of ? " " I don't mind the roads, John. They're purty well smashed down by now, an' Queen's very stidy. I've a plan, John, which comes right from me insides," and leaning over she whispered it into his ear. " Land sakes, dear ! " replied her husband. " D'ye think ye kin manage it ? Will they listen to ye ? Ye' re only a woman, remember, an' what kin a woman do ? " " Yes, I'm only a woman, John, an' mebbe 'tain't a woman's place. But when men are too scart an' heven't as much spunk as a chicken jist outer the shell, what else is thar to do ? Is thar no one in the hull parish to stan' up fer the Lord's anointed ? Tell me that. Didn't that beautiful Queen Ester stan' before her crank of a 176 THE FOURTH WATCH husband, Hazen Hearus, an' plead fer the lives of her people? An' didn't Jael do the Lord's will when she put old Sirseree outer the way, tell me that ? Now, I ain't a queen like Ester, an' I hope I ain't a woman like Jael that 'ud drive a nail through a man's head. I'm jist plain old Marthy Stickles, but mebbe I kin do some- thin' fer the Lord, even if I ain't purty or clever." An hour later an old, lean horse fastened to a home- made pung was wending its way slowly along the road leading to the river. Holding the reins was Sammy, a queer little figure, wrapped from head to foot, bravely maintaining his precarious position on six inches of the end of the board seat. Towering above him, broad- shouldered and ponderous, sat Mrs. Stickles, the very embodiment of health and strength. " Sammy," said she, as the sled lurched along the rough road, " I don't like this bizness. But when the Lord's work's to be did, somebody's got to set his face like flint, as the Bible sez, an' do it. Don't ye ever fergit that, Sammy. Don't ye ever disremember that yer ma told ye." CHAPTEE XIX THE STING THE buzz of gossip once more filled the air of" Glendow. This last affray between Parson John, and Farrington and the part Nellie had taken gave greater scope to the numerous busy tongues. Up and down the shore road and throughout the back settle- ments the news travelled. It was discussed at the store,, the blacksmith shop, the mill, and in the homes at night, wherever a few were gathered together. The Fletchers had never been idle since the night of old Billy's death. They stirred up others by various stories and conjectures, fashioned in their own suspicious minds. " Why," they asked, " did not the parson ex- plain about that money he paid down for the Frenelle homestead ? How was it that a poor country parson was able to buy such a farm ? They were further in- censed by an incident which happened several weeks after the auction. Tom Fletcher was determined that he would question the parson some day, in the presence of others. He prided himself upon his keenness of observation and shrewdness in detecting a guilty man- ner in those whom he suspected of wrong-doing. The first opportunity he seized when he met the parson at the blacksmith shop, waiting for his horse to be shod. 177 178 THE FOUETH WATCH " Well, Parson, are ye goin' to sell the farm ? " he asked in a sort of careless manner. " What farm ? " was the reply. " Oh, the Frenelle place." " No ; it's not for sale." " Well, is that so ? Money's tight these times, an' I thought mebbe ye'd be glad to get rid of it." " 'No. I'm not anxious to do so." " But, isn't it a heap of money to be tied up in one place? Mebbe ye'd give us a hint how ye manage to do it. It's as much as us poor farmers kin do to live, let alone put four thousand in a place which we don't intend to use ! " Tom tipped a wink to several others in the shop, as much as to say, " Now, I've cornered him. Watch for the fun." Parson John saw the wink, and drew him- self suddenly up. He realized that the man was draw- ing him out for some purpose, and it was as well to check, him first as last. " Tom, do you mind," he asked, " if I put one ques- tion to you ? " " Why, certainly not. Drive ahead." " It's concerning that Widow Tompkins' place. Per- haps you will tell us how you got control of it 1 Such a thing doesn't happen every day." Across Tom's face spread an angry flush, while a half-suppressed laugh was heard from the bystanders. All knew very well that Tom had cheated the widow out of her property, though no one ever had the courage to mention it to him before. THE STING 179 " What do you mean by that question ? " demanded Fletcher. " It's a simple one, though, is it not ? " the parson quietly responded. " It naturally makes us curious." " Then I'll not satisfy such d curiosity. I tend my own affairs, an' I ax others to do the same." " That's just the point, Tom," and the parson looked him square in the eyes. " You wish to be let alone with your business, and so do I. You don't wish to satisfy idle curiosity with your affairs, and neither do I. So we are quits." This incident only caused the Fletchers to hate the parson more than ever. Their greatest ally was Far- rington. He was a man of considerable means, and to have his support meant much. Never before was he- known to be so liberal to the people who came to his store. Often he invited them into his house to sup with him, and then the grievances and election matters were thrashed out. Occasionally when a farmer came to make purchases, Farrington would see that a present was bestowed in the form of a piece of calico for the wife, or some candy for the children. This was done especially when Farrington was not sure of his man. He was playing his part, not only stirring up these men against the man of God, but also ingratiating himself into their good wishes against the day of the election. When Farrington entered the field as a candidate for the County Council, he knew he would have a hard struggle against his opponent, Philip Gadsby, who was a man much respected, and had occupied the position 180 THE FOURTH WATCH of councillor with considerable credit for two terms. The storekeeper had been hard at work for some time with no visible success, for the Farrington family with their high-flown ideas wore much disliked by the quiet, humble-minded folk of Glendow. The idea, therefore, of him being their representative was at first abhorrent to most of the people. But this new ruse of Farring- ton's was proving most successful. The Fletchers drew with them all the loud-talking and undesirable element of Glendow. This Farrington well knew, and by espous- ing their cause he was greatly strengthening his own. The election day was only a few weeks off, so Farring- ton and his party had no time to lose. During all this buzz of gossip, Parson John, the man most vitally concerned, was perfectly oblivious of the disturbance. Of a most unsuspecting nature, and with not a particle of guile in his honest heart, he could not imagine anyone harming him by word or deed. Happy in his work, happy in the midst of his flock, and with his pleasant little home guarded by his bright house- keeper, he had no thought of trouble. To his eyes the sky was clear. His humble daily tasks brought him comfort through the day, and sweet, undisturbed rest by night. But with Xellie it was different. She heard what her father did not. Fragments of gossip drifted to her ears, which paled her cheek and set her heart beating fast. Occasionally Dan bore her news he had picked up at the store, or from the boys of the neighbourhood, who were not slow in talking of the things thev had heard from THE STING 181 their elders. Nellie longed to tell her father, that he might he able to answer some of the charges which were made. Several times had she determined to do so. But when she had looked upon his calm face, noted his white hair, and gazed into his clear, unsuspecting eyes, her resolution always took wings and disappeared. Then she would surprise her father by twining her arms about his neck and giving him a loving kiss. Two weeks had now passed since the accident, and Parson John was rapidly improving. Two Sundays had he missed from church, something which had hap- pened but once before in his long ministry in the parish. Winter was passing, and signs of spring were beginning to be seen and felt. The snow was steadily disappearing from the hills, and the fresh, balmy air drifted gently in from the south with its exhilarating influence. It was Saturday night, and Parson John was looking forward to the morrow, when he could take his accus- tomed place at the parish church. He and Nellie were sitting quietly in the little room, when Mr. Larkins entered with the mail. The postman had met with an accident on the icy road, and was several hours behind time. Usually Dan went to the office, but on this occa- sion Mr. Larkins was down to the store, and had brought along the mail for both families. " Letters for us ! " Nellie exclaimed as Mr. Larkins entered. " Oh, how good of you to bring them ! " " Stay, stay," insisted the parson, as the worthy neighbour was about to retire and leave them to the enjoyment of their letters. " You have not had a whifF 182 THE FOURTH WATCH with me for a long time, and here is a new church- warden waiting to he broken in." u But, I shall interrupt you," Mr. Larkins replied. " Kb, no, not in the least." " Well, then, I agree to remain for one smoke, if you vvill promise that you will read your letters, and not mind me. I see a new magazine on the table which looks very tempting." Ensconced in a large easy-chair, he was soon deeply immersed in the fascinating pages, at the same time endeavouring to enjoy the long " church-warden," which was not altogether to his taste. Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the cutting of envelopes and the occasional rattle of the letters. Mr. Larkins was startled by a sudden cry of aston- ishment, and looking quickly up he saw the parson sitting erect in his chair, clutching a sheet of paper in both hands, and staring at it in a dazed manner. Nellie at once sprang to his side to ascertain the cause of the commotion. " Look ! Look ! " he cried, thrusting the paper into her hand. " It's from the Bishop ! Read it, quick, and tell me what it means ! Am I losing my senses, or is this only a dream, or a joke ? " Although Xellie's face was pale as she sprang to her father's side, it went white as death as she quickly scanned the missive, drinking in almost intuitively every word and its meaning. Then, flinging it aside with an impatient gesture, she placed her arms about her father's neck, and tried to soothe him. THE STING 183 " Father, father, dear, never mind," she pleaded. But her voice faltered, and she simply clung to him like a tender vine to some sturdy oak. " Girl ! girl ! " demanded the parson, " what does it mean ? Do you know anything ? Tell me, quick ! " " Father, father," urged the maiden, " calm yourself. Don't get so excited." " But, do you know anything about this ? Tell me at once ! " " Yes " " Yes, what ? Don't stop. Go on," and the old man leaned forward so as not to miss a single word. " Oh, father, give me time," sobbed Nellie. " I will explain all. What will ]\Ir. Larkins think ? " " True, true. What will he think? " and the parson turned towards his visitor. " You will pardon me, sir, for acting so strangely. But I am much upset. There, please, read this. A letter from my Bishop, full of the most remarkable utterances a man ever wrote. My people turned against me ! ]\ly people charging me with being a common thief! Xo, no! It cannot be true! Bead it — read it for yourself," and with a trembling hand he passed over the letter. " ]\Iy dear Westmore," so began the epistle. " WTiat is the trouble between you and your parishioners in Glendow % I have recently received a petition signed by twenty of your people asking for your removal, on the following grounds : " First. That you are too old to do the work ; that 184: TIIE FOURTH WATCH many parts of the parish are being neglected, and that a young man should take your place, who will be able to bold the flock together. "Second. That you alone attended the deathbed of an old man, William Fletcher by name, who was pos- sessed of a considerable sum of money, all in gold. The money, it is well known, was always kept in the house in a strong, iron box. The night you attended him the house was burned to the ground, but no trace of the money has since been found. Even at the time you were suspected by some, as it was well known you were much involved in some mining transactions out in Brit- ish Columbia and badly in need of money to carry on the work. But not until shortly after the fire, when at a public auction you purchased a large homestead and paid down the amount, four thousand dollars, in cash, did the whole parish suspect that something was radi- cally wrong. " Third. That on your way to attend a funeral at Craig's Corner on a recent Sunday, you engaged in a horse-race w T ith one, Tim Fraser, a most notorious character. " Such in brief is the purport of the petition which now lies before me, and I am asked not only to remove you, but to make a thorough investigation concerning the whole affair. I am much grieved at this matter, and cannot understand it at all. You have ever been looked upon as a faithful priest in the Church of God, and I believe you will be able to explain everything to the satisfaction of all. At first I thought it well that you THE STING 185 should write to me. On second consideration, however, I think it better to make a visit to Glendow, and see if the matter cannot be quietly settled. I do not wish this trouble to get abroad or into the newspapers. I wish to have the people of the parish come before me, fuie by one, that I may hear what they have to say, and thus be in a better position to form a sound judgment. I have written the petitioners to this effect, and have told them that I shall be in the vestry of the church next Thursday, morning and afternoon, to hear what they have to say. I have also written to your wardens — whose names, by the way, do not appear on the petition — stating the case, that they may give due notice throughout the parish." Silently Mr. Larkins returned the letter, not know- ing what to say. " What does it all mean ? " questioned the parson, looking keenly into his neighbour's face. " Am I only dreaming, or is it a joke? " " Neither, father, dear," Nellie replied, taking a seat near his side, and tenderly clasping his hand, which was trembling with excitement. " It is all real, ah, too real ! The people have been saying these things." " What, girl ! Do you mean to tell me that these things have been talked about ever since the night of the fire ? " demanded the parson. " Yes, father, some have been saying them." " And you knew about these stories, Nellie % " " Y — yes, some of them." " And you never said a word to me ! Never gave me 1S6 THE FOURTH WATCH a hint of warning, but let me remain in ignorance the whole of this time! " " We thought it was for the best, father. Don't get angry with me. I suppose I should have told you, but I thought the gossip would soon cease." " You thought so, did you! Girl, I didn't think you would deceive me — your father, in his old age! Have all my friends turned against me ? Yes, yes. and even she, of my flesh and blood — the darling of my heart for whom I would die ! God help me ! " "Father, father, dear! don't talk that way," pleaded Nellie. " You will break my heart. You don't know what I have suffered. Day and night the trouble has been with me. I loved you so much that I wished to spare you the worry. I thought it was for the best, but now I see I should have told you. You have friends, true and tried, who do not believe a word of these charges." The parson who had been gazing straight before him, rested his eyes upon his daughter weeping by his side. His face softened, and the old look returned. " Forgive me, darling," he said, placing his arm tenderly about her. " I have wronged you and all my dear friends. But, oh, the blow is so sudden ! I hardly know what to think. What can I do ? " For over an hour they sat there and discussed the matter. As Mr. Larkins at length rose to go, he looked into Parson John's face so drawn and white, and almost cursed the wretches who had brought such trouble upon that hoary head. CHAPTER XX THE OVERSEER ,HE service at the parish church Sunday morn- ing was largely attended. Word had spread rapidly that the Bishop would arrive during the week, and it was confidently expected that the parson would touch on the question from the pulpit. " Guess we'll git something to-day," one man re- marked to another, near the church door. " Y'bet," was the brief response. " D'ye think the parson will say anything about old Billy?" " Mebbe he will, an' mebbe he won't." " But I think he will. The parson likes to hit from the pulpit when no one kin hit back." " Is that what brought you to church to-day ? Tou seldom darken the door." " Sure ! What else should I come fer ? I'm not like you, Bill Elanders, wearin' out me shoes paddin' to phurch every Sunday. I kin be jist as good a Christian an' stay at home. I kin read me Bible an' say me prayers there." " I'm not denying that, Bill, but the question is, Do ye ? I reckon ye never open yer Bible or say yer prayers either fer that matter. If you were in the 187 1S8 TI1E FOURTH WATCH habit of (loin' so you never would Lev signed that peti- tion to the Bishop." " Well, I'm not alone in that. There's Farrington, a church member an' a communicant, who headed the list, an' if he " " Hold, right there, Bill. Farrington never signed that paper." " Yes, he did." " But, I say, he didn't. TTe promised to do so, but jist after he scut it away he made a fuss an' said that he had fergottcn to do it." " Ye don't say so ! " and Bill's eves opened wide with surprise. But are ye sure?" " Sartin. I had it from Tom Fletcher himself, who feels rather sore about it. It is well known that Far- rington wanted the parson removed on the plea of old age, but didn't want that clause in about Billy's death. The Fletchers insisted, however, an' in it went." " The devil ! Well, it's queer, I do declare." Just then the bell rang out its last call, and they entered the church with others. Parson John looked greyer than usual as he con- ducted the service and stood at the lectern to read the lessons. But his voice was as sweet and musical as ever, though now a note of pathos could be detected. His step was slow and feeble as he mounted the pulpit, and a yearning look came into his face as he glanced over the rows of heads before him. " Bemember my bonds," was the text he took this morning, and without a note to guide him, he looked THE OVERSEER 189 into the numerous faces, and delivered bis brief mes- sage. A breathless silence pervaded the sanctuary as he proceeded to draw a picture of St. Paul, the great champion of the faith, in his old age enduring afflic- tion, and appealing to his flock to remember his bonds. The arm of the parson still in the sling, and the knowl- edge the people had of the reports circulated about him, added much to the intense impressiveness of the scene. For about .fifteen minutes he spoke in a clear, steady voice. Then his right hand clutched the top of the pulpit, while his voice sank and faltered. " Brethren," he said, straightening himself up with an effort, " St. Paul had his bonds, which were hard for him to bear; the bond of suffering, the bond of loneliness, and the bond of old age. You, too, have bonds, and will have them. But how sweet to know that your friends and loved ones will remember your bonds, will understand your sufferings, peculiarities, and will sympathize with you, and be considerate. I, too, have bonds : the bond of unfitness for my great work, and the bond of old age. These two shackle and impede me in the Master's cause. But I ask you to think not so much of these as of an- other which binds me soul and body — it is the bond of love. I look into your faces this morning, and think of the many years I have laboured among you in evil report and good report. I have learned to love you, and now that love is my greatest bond, for it enwraps my very heart. "VYhen parents see their darling child turn against them, their love to him is the hardest bond to bear, because they cannot sever it. They remember 190 THE FOURTH WATCH him as a babe in arms, as a little, clinging, prattling child. They think of what thoy have done and suffered for his sake and how the cord of love has been silently woven through the years. My love to you is my great- est bond, and, though some may grow cold, some may scoff, and some repudiate, never let the lips of any say that your rector, your old grey-headed pastor, now in his fourth and last watch, ever ceased in his love to his little flock." There was a diversity of opinion among the listeners to these pathetic words, which was quite noticeable as the congregation filed out of the church. The eyes of some were red, showing the intensity of their emotion, while others shone with a scornful light. " The parson fairly upset me to-day ! " blurted out one burly fellow. " I heven't been so moved sense the day I laid me old mother to rest in the graveyard over yonder." " Upset, did ye say ? " replied another, turning suddenly upon him. " What was there to upset ye in that ? " " Why, the way the parson spoke and looked." " Umph ! lie was only acting his part. lie was trying to work upon our feelings, that was all. Ah, he is a cute one, that. Did ye hear what he said about the bond of love ? Ha, ha ! That's a good joke." There was one, however, who felt the words more deeply than all the others. This was Nellie, who sat straight upright in her pew, and watched her father's everv movement. She did not shed a tear, but her THE OVERSEER 191 hands were firmly clasped in her lap and her face was as pale as death. As soon as the service was over she hurried into the vestry, helped her father off with his rohes, and then supported his feeble steps hack to the Rectory. She made no reference to the sermon, hut endeavoured to divert her father's mind into a different channel. She set about preparing their light midday repast, talked and chatted at the table, and exhibited none of the heaviness which pressed upon her heart. Only after she had coaxed her father to lie down, and knew that he had passed into a gentle sleep, did she give way to her pent-up feelings. How her heart did ache as she sat there alone in the room, and thought of her father standing in the pulpit uttering those pathetic words. Thursday, the day of the investigation, dawned bright and clear. Not a breath of wind stirred the air. It was one of those balmy spring days when it is good to be out-of-doors drinking in freshness and strength. The Bishop had arrived the night before, and had taken up his abode at the Rectory. About ten o'clock the following morning, he wended his way to the church, there to await the people of Glendow. Some time elapsed before any arrived, and not until the afternoon did most of them come. Tom Fletcher was among the first, and at once he made his way into the yestry, and confronted the Bishop. The latter was a small-sized man, clean shaven, and with his head adorned with a mass of white, wavy hair. His face and massive forehead bore the stamp of deep 1«J2 THE FOURTH WATCH intellectuality. He was noted as a writer of no mean order, having produced several works dealing with church questions, full of valuable historic research. Ilia every movement bespoke a man of great activity and devotion in his high office. His eyes were keen and searching, while his voice was sharp and piercing. " Sharp as a razor/' said several of his careless clergy. Merciless and scathing in reference to all guile, sham and hypocrisy, he was also a man of intense feeling, sympathetic, warm-hearted, and a friend well worth having. He was poring over certain church registers as Tom Fletcher entered, and, glancing quickly up, noted at once the man standing before him. He rose to his feet, reached out his hand to Fletcher and motioned him to a chair. " Fletcher is your name, you say — Tom Fletcher," and the Bishop ran his eyes over several lists of names before him. " Yes, sir, that's my name." " You signed the petition, I see." " Yes." " Well, then, you must know about these charges which are made against your rector. Xow, as regards the first. It states here that he is neglecting certaix parts of the parish. Is that true ? " " I understand so." "Where?" " Oh, I hear he hasn't been to Hazel Creek an' Landsdown Corner fer over two years." THE OVERSEER 193 u Any other place % " " !N"o, I guess them's the only two, but it seems to me to be a purty serious matter fer sich places to be neglected so long." " Ah, I see," and the Bishop looked keenly into Tom's face. " You're not a vestryman, Mr. Fletcher ? " he re- marked. " ]STo, never was one." " Did you ever attend an Easter Monday meeting? " " ISTo, never had time." " Do you take a church paper ? " " Should say not Much as I kin do is to pay fer the newspaper." " But, of course, you read the Synod Journal, which, is freely distributed. It contains each year a report from this parish." " Yes, I read it sometimes, but there isn't much to interest me in that." " But surely, Mr. Eletcher, you must have read there that Hazel Creek and Landsdown Corner were cut off from Glendow over two years ago, and added to the adjoining parish, and are now served by the rector of Tinsborough. They are more accessible to him, and the change has been a good one." " What ! Ye don't tell me ! " and Tom's eyes opened wide with surprise. " I never knew that before. The parson never said a word about it." 64 Did you ever ask him ? Or did you inquire why he never went to those places ? " 194 THE FOURTH WATCH " No. I thought " " I don't want to know what you thought," and the Bishop turned sharply upon him. " Explanations are not needed now. You have proven conclusively that you know nothing about the church affairs in this parish, and care less. According to these registers I find that you never come to Communion and never con- tribute one cent to the support of the church. But we will let that pass, and consider the next charge made hero." " What, about Uncle Billy ? " " Yes. You know the charge made, and as you signed the petition you must have some substantial proof to bring forth." Tom twisted uneasily on the chair and twirled his hat in his hands. He was mad at the way the Bishop had cornered him, and at what he had said. But he was also afraid of this man who knew so much and seemed to read his inmost thoughts. He began to dread the questions which he knew would come, and longed to be out of the vestry. He was not feeling so sure of him- self and wished he had stayed away. " The second charge made here," continued the Bishop, " is of a most serious nature. It is to the effect that your rector stole the gold from William Fletcher the night the house was burned, and used some of it to buy a farm. Is that what it means ? " " I — I — don't know," Tom stammered, now on his guard, and not wishing to commit himself. " But you should know," the Bishop insisted. " You THE OVERSEER 195 signed the paper, and I ask you what it means, then?" " The gold is gone, sir, an' the parson was the only one there with Uncle Billy. Besides, where did he git all of that money ? " " But that's no proof. I want facts, and I expect you to give me some." " That's all I know," was the surly response. " And upon the strength of that suspicion you signed this paper % " " Yes." " And you would swear that you know nothing definite ? " " Y— yes — that's all I know." The Bishop remained silent for a short time, musing deeply. " Do you know," he at length remarked, " that you have put yourself in a very awkward position ? " " How's that ? " " You have virtually said that Mr. Westmore stole that gold. If you cannot prove your statements you have laid yourself open to prosecution for defamation of character. Your rector, if he wished, could bring in a charge against you of a most serious nature." " I never thought of that." " !STo, I know you didn't. You may go now, but re- member the position in which you have placed yourself." Tom waited to hear no more. He fairly sprang to the door, his face dark and frightened. He spoke to no one, neither did he notice the sturdy form 01 Mrs. 19G THE FOURTH WATCH Stickles standing there waiting to be admitted into the vestry. Tbe Bishop looked up as the door opened and Mrs. Stickles entered. She always proved the dominating factor wherever she went, and what her size could not accomplish was well supplied by her marvellous tongue. The Bishop winced as she seized his hand in a vise- like grip. " It's real glad I am to set me eyes on ye," she ex- claimed. " I heven't seen ye in a dog's age, an' I'm mighty pleased ye look so well. How did ye leave the missus, bless her dear heart ? My, I'm all bet up, the church is so hot," and she bounced down upon the chair Fletcher had recently vacated. The Bishop's eyes twinkled, and his care-worn face brightened perceptibly. His exalted position made him a lonely man. There was so much deference paid to him. Teople as a rule were so reserved in his presence, and showed a longing to be away. " Many people de- sire a high office," he had once said, " but very few realize the responsibility and loneliness it entails. So much is expected of a Bishop, and his slightest words and acts are criticized. I often envy humble workmen, smoking and chatting together. They have many things in common. They may say what they like, and much heed is not given to their remarks." It was therefore most refreshing to have this big- hearted woman seated before him acting and talking so naturally, without the least restraint, the same as if she were in her own house. THE OVERSEER 197. "You Lave come, I suppose," said the Bishop, "in connection with this petition," and he pointed to the paper lying on the table. " Oh, that's the thing, is it ? " asked Mrs. Stickles, as she leaned forward to s;et a better view. " Be verv keerful of it, Mr. Bishop. Don't scratch it or bring it too close to the fire." " Why, what do you mean ? " asked the Bishop. " What do I mean ? Don't ye know that's the work of the devil, an' there's enough brimstone in that paper to burn us up in a jiffy. It's soaked through an' through, so I advise ye to handle it keerful." " So you think these charges in this petition are not true ? What can you say to the contrary, then ? " " What kin I say to be contrary % I kin say a good deal, an', indeed, I hev said a good deal. When I heered about that pertition my buzum jist swelled like the tail of an old cat when a hull bunch of yelpin' curs git after her. But I didn't sit down an' weep an' wring me hands. iSTo, sir, not a bit of it. Me an' Sammy went to them in authority, an' sez I to them church- wardens, sez I, ' will ye let that old parson, the Lord's anointed, be imposed upon by them villains ? ' " " " What kin we do ? ' sez they. " ' Do ! ' sez I. ' Do what the Lord intended ye to do, fight. Didn't the Holy Apostle say, ' Quit ye like men, be strong ? ' ' Git up a pertition,' sez I, ' an' git every decent, honest man in Glendow to sign it, an' send it to the Bishop. Tell 'im,' sez I, ' that the parson isn't 19S THE FOURTH WATCH neglectin' his parish an' that yez hev full confidence in lm. We don't like to do it/ sez they. " ' Why not ? ' sez I. " ' We don't like to stir up strife/ sez they. " 'Tisn't good to hev a disturbance in the church. We're men of peace.' " ' Peace/ sez I, ' an' let the devil win 1 That's not the trouble. Yer afeered, that's what's the matter. Yer too weak-kneed, an' hain't got as much backbone as an angle worm.' That's what I said to 'em, right out straight, too. ISTow kin ye tell me, Mr. Bishop, why the Lord made some people men instead of makin' 'em chickens fer all the spunk they've got ? " " But, Mrs. Stickles," replied the Bishop, who had been staring in amazement at the torrent of words, " what has this to do with the question before us ? " " I'm comin' to that, sir, only I wanted to tell ye my persition. When I found that them in authority wouldn't make the start, I concluded that the Lord meant me to do the work. So me an' Sammy an' our old horse Queen travelled up an' down the parish fer three solid days, with this result," and, drawing a paper from a capacious pocket, she laid it on the table. " Thar 'tis, read it fer yerself, an' jedge." The Bishop's eyes grew a little misty as he read the words written there, and noted the long list of names testifying to the worthiness of the rector of Glendow. " Mrs. Stickles," he at length remarked, and his voice was somewhat husky, " the Lord will reward you THE OVERSEER 199 for what you have done. While others have been simply talking, you have been acting. Like that woman of old, you have done what you could, and this deed of love, believe me, will be remembered in the parish of Glen- idow for generations to come. You may go now; you have done your part." CHAPTER XXI DECISION WITII his chair drawn up close to the window, Parson John watched the people as they moved along the road to and from the church. He recognized them all, and knew them hy their horses when some distance away. As clothes betray a person when his face is not observable, so do horses and sleighs on a country road. They seem to be vital parts of the owners, and to separate them would be fatal. Xo one could imagine Mrs. Stickles seated in a finely-uphol- stered sleigh and driving a high-mettled horse. She and Sammy, the home-made pung and the old lean mare plodding onward, were inseparably connected with the parish of Glendow. The parson's face brightened as he saw this quaint conveyance shaking along the road. In Mrs. Stickles he knew he would have one champion at least, though all the others should turn against him. Team after team he watched, but none turned aside into the Rectory gate to say a word to the /old grey-headed man, sitting before the window. The hours dragged slowly by, and still he sat there. Nellie went quietly about her household duties, but a great weight kept pressing upon her heart. Her father was so quiet, took no interest in his books, and did no 200 DECISION 201 writing. Often she would stop and watch him as he sat there. He seemed to be greyer than usual ; his head was more bent, and his face wore a sad, pained expres- sion. " If he would only utter some word of com- plaint," thought Nellie, " it would not be so hard. But to see that dumb, appealing look is almost more than I can bear." Though very quiet, Parson John was fighting a hard, stern battle. His eyes were often turned towards the road, but his thoughts were mostly upon other things. Over his desk hung two pictures, and occasionally his gaze rested upon these. One was that of a sweet-faced woman, who looked down upon him with gentle, loving eyes — such eyes as Nellie inherited. " Ruth, Ruth," he murmured, " my darling wife. Thirty-five years since I brought you here as a fair young bride. Thirty-five years ! "SYe knew not then what lay before us. We knew not then how one must walk for years by himself and at last tread the wine- press alone." His eyes drifted to the other picture hanging there — the Master kneeling alone in Gethsemane. Long he looked upon that prostrate figure with the upturned face. He thought of His agony in the Garden, the be- trayal, desertion and suffering. " I have trodden the winepress alone," he softly whispered as into his face came a new light of peace and strength. Opening a well-worn volume lying on the desk he read again that Garden scene, when the Master knelt and fought His terrible battle. Forgotten for a brief space were his own 202 THE FOURTH WATCH trials as he pored over that sacred page. How often had he read that story, and meditated upon every word, but never before did he realize the full significance of the scene. " Wonderful, wonderful," he murmured again, as he reverently closed the Book. " Thank God — oh, thank God for that life of suffering and sorrow! He knows our human needs. lie trod the winepress alone, and must I, His unworthy servant, expect to es- cape ? So, my Father, do with me what is best. ' Not my will, but Thine be done.' " At this moment Nellie entered the room. She no- ticed the changed expression upon hor father's face, and, crossing to where he was, stood by his side. " Do you feel better, father ? " she asked. " Yes, dear. My heart was very heavy a short time ago, but it is lighter now. I seem to see my way more clearly. The darkness has passed, and a new peace has come to me. Will you sing something for me, dearie ? " " Certainly, father. What shall it bo ? " " Your mother's favorite hymn. The one she sang just before she left us." Taking her seat at the little harmonium, Nellie gently touched the keys, and in a clear, sweet voice sang tho old favourite hymn : " The sands of Time are sinking, The dawn of Heaven breaks, The summer morn I've sighed for, The fair, sweet mora awakes. Dark, dark has been the midnight, But dayspring is at hand, And glory, glory dwelleth In Emmanuel's land." DECISION 203 Softly she sang the whole hymn through, her father leaning hack in his chair with closed eyes, drinking in every word and sound. " I've wrestled on towards Heaven, 'Gainst storm and wind and tide; Lord, grant thy weary traveller To lean on Thee as guide." " That's what I must do now, Nellie. ' Lean on Him as guide.' Oh, it gives me such comfort. And lie will guide right ; we must never doubt that." When the Bishop had finished his investigation in the vestry, he sighed as he closed his small grip and left the church. Slowly he walked up the road lost in deep thought. There were numerous things which disturbed his mind. He had listened to what the people had to say, but everything was so vague. Yet there was some mystery, he believed, connected with the whole matter. That missing gold, the Hector's need of money and then the purchase of the farm were still shrouded in dark- ness. Thinking thus he reached the Larkins' house where he had been invited to tea. " It will help Nellie to have the Bishop here," Mrs. Larkins had said to her husband, " for she has enough care at the present time." Keenly she watched the Bishop's face as he came into the house, hoping to obtain some clue to his thoughts. To her the trouble at the Eectory was as her own, and she longed to know the outcome of the investigation. iA.t first she dreaded the thought of having the Bishop to 204 THE FOUETH WATCH tea. Had she not often heard of his sharp, abrupt man- ner? Anxiously she scanned the tea-table, with its spotless linen, with everything so neatly arranged, and wondered what she had omitted. Her fears were soon dispelled, however, for the Bishop made himself per- fectly at home. It was a pleasure to him to sit at the table with these two true, honest souls, of whom he had heard much from Parson John. They were so natural, and made no effort to be what they were not. " You must be tired, my Lord," said Mrs. Larkins, " after this trying day." " ]STot so much tired as puzzled," was the reply. " And did you get no light on the matter ? " " Not a bit. Look at all those notes I took — not worth the paper on which they are written. Everything is hearsay — nothing definite. And yet there is some mystery attached to the whole affair. I am sorely puz- zled about that missing gold and where the Hector ob- tained the money to buy that farm." " And didn't he tell you, my Lord ? " asked Mrs. Larkins, pausing in the act of pouring the tea. " Xo, he will not tell me. He is as silent as the grave. When I pressed him to speak and thus clear himself, he begged me with tears in his eyes not to urge him. ' It's honest money/ he said, ' which purchased the farm, but I can tell you no more now.' " " You have heard, my Lord, that he is involved in some mining transaction out in British Columbia. It is now in litigation and the parson is contributing all he possibly can." DECISION 205 " Yes, I learned of that to-day, and it only tends to complicate matters. I cannot believe that your Rector had anything to do with that gold. But oh, if he would only explain. Are you sure that that box is not still among the ashes and ruins of the old house ? " " I am certain it is not there," Mr. Larkins replied. " We have searched the place thoroughly, and even sifted the ashes, but all in vain. Xot a trace could we find of the box or the gold." The evening was somewhat advanced as the Bishop bade the Larkins good-night and made his way over to the Eectory. He found Parson John seated in a deep chair, gazing silently before him. ISTellie was sitting near reading, or trying to read. She greeted the Bishop with a bright smile, drew up a chair for him to the pleasant fire, and took his hat and coat. " Have I kept you up, ISTellie ? " he asked. " Your father must be tired." " Xo, no, my Lord," she replied. " It is not late yet. But you must be tired." " A little, my dear. The day has been somewhat trying." From the time he had entered Parson John had kept his eyes fixed full upon the Bishop's face with a mute, questioning look which spoke louder than words. " What have you found out ? " He seemed to be saying. " What stories have they been telling about me ? Who have been my foes and friends ? " " The vestry was converted into quite a court-room to-day," said the Bishop, reading the questioning look 206 THE FOURTH WATCH in the parson's face. " There were certainly several lively scenes, especially when Mrs. Stickles made her appearance." " You have reached a conclusion then, I suppose ? " and Mr. "Westmore loaned eagerly forward. " No, not vet. I cannot give my decision now. I want to think it carefully over, and shall notify you by letter." " I thank you, my Lord, for the trouhle you have taken in the matter," and the parson resumed hi9 former position. " But I have been thinking deeply since hearing these reports concerning me, and my; mind is made up as to the course I shall pursue." " Indeed, and in what way ? " queried the Bishop. " To-morrow morning I shall hand to you my resig- nation of this parish." The effect of these words was startling, and Nellie's face went very white as she glanced quickly at her father. " Do you mean it ? " inquired the Bishop. " Yes, my Lord. I have not come to this decision without much thought, prayer, and struggle. I have been too blind. I forgot how old I am, though God knows my heart is as young as ever. It's only natural that the people of Glendow should desire a change; a man who will infuse new life into the work, and draw in the wandering and indifferent ones. May God for- give me that I did not think of it before! " Ilis head drooped low as he uttered these words, and the pathos of his voice denoted the intensity of his feel- DECISION 207 ings. It was impossible not to be much moved at the figure of this venerable man, this veteran warrior of his church, without one word of complaint, willing to relinquish all, to give up the command to another, that the Master's work might be strengthened. The Bishop was visibly affected, although he endeavoured to con- ceal his emotion. " Westmore," he replied, " I always believed you to be a noble man of God, though I never knew it as I do to-night. But where will you go if you leave Glendow ? How will you live ? " " I am not worrying about that. He who has guided me all of these years ; He, who has given me strength for the battle, will not forsake me now in my fourth and last watch when I am old and grey-headed. My brother and his wife at Morristown have for years been urging us to pay them a long visit. We will go to them, and stay there for a time. Perhaps the Master will open to me some door in His vineyard that I may do a little more work ere He take me hence. I have no means of my own, but the parish owes me six months' salary, and no doubt the people will gladly pay it now to be rid of me." " Why not sell that farm you purchased ? " suggested the Bishop. " It should bring a fair price, and the money would keep you for some time. I cannot place you on the Superannuated list at present, but there may be a vacancy soon and the money from the sale of the farm will keep you until then." " I can't sell the place, my Lord, it is impossible." 208 THE FOURTH WATCH " But you bought it; it is yours." " It's not mine to soil ! It's not mine to sell ! " The look upon the old man's face and the pathos of his words restrained the Bishop from saying more on the subject. " And so you think you must go ? " he remarked after a painful silence. " Yes, I see nothing else to do." " But remember all have not turned against you. See this list," and the Bishop handed over the petition !Mrs. Stickles had given him. Eagerly the parson read the words, and scanned the names scrawled below. " And did Mrs. Stickles do this ? " he asked. " Yes. She went up and down the parish fur three days." " God bless the woman! " murmured Mr. "Westmore. " "What a comfort this is to me ; to know that all have not deserted me. I did not expect it. But it will not change my mind. My eyes have been suddenly opened to my own inability to do the work. Another will do much better. I've explained everything to you, my Lord, that I can explain, and about that horse-race, too. It is better for me to go." " Father," said Xellie, " let us go to Uncle Reuben's for a month or so. You need a resi, and a vacation will do you good. Perhaps then you will see things differ- ently." " Capital idea ! " exclaimed the Bishop. " It's just DECISION 209 the thing! Go to your brother's and stay there for a month or two." " But what about the parish ? It will be left vacant the whole of that time. If I resign a new Rector can take charge at once." " Oh, I will arrange for that," responded the Bishop. " There is a young man fresh from college who will be ordained shortly. I will send him here during your absence. We will thus give the people a change, and then, no doubt, they will be glad enough to have you back again." Parson John sat for some time in deep meditation, while Xellie watched him with an anxious face. The clock in the room ticked loudly, and the fire crackled in the hearth. " Very well," he assented at length with a deep sigh. " If you think it best, my Lord, that this should be done I shall not oppose your wish. But I am firmly convinced that it will be just the same as if I resigned. When once the new man comes and begins the work, the people will not want their old Bector back again. But, nevertheless, it will be all for the best. * llj times are in His hands,' and I feel sure that ever ' underneath are the Everlasting Arms.' " CHAPTER XXII m THE DEEP OF THE nEART IT did not take long for the news of Parson John's intended departure to spread throughout Glen- do w. Tongues -were once more loosened and numerous conjectures made. " Guess the Bishop found things pretty crooked," remarked one, " an' thinks it high time for the parson to g°A out." " I've thought the same myself," replied another. " The parson's been dabblin' too much in furren affairs. As I was tellin' my missus last night, we never know what will happen next. When them as is leaders goes astray, what kin be expected of the sheep ? I've given a bag of pertaters each year to support the church, but dang me if I do it any more ! " But while some saw only the dark side and believed the parson to be guilty, there were others who stood nobly by him in his time of trial. Various were the calls made, some people driving for miles to say good- bye, and to express their regrets at his departure. Among the number was Mrs. Stickles. She was the first to arrive, and, bustling out of the old broken-down 210 IN THE DEEP OF THE HEART 211 wagon, she seized the parson's hand in a mighty grip as he met her at the gate. " God bless ye, sir! " she ejaculated. "I'm more'n delighted to see ye. I was on me knees scrubbin' the kitchen floor when Patsy Garlick dropped in an' told me the news. It so overcome me that I flopped right down an' bawled like a calf." " Dear me ! dear me ! " replied the Rector. " What's wrong ? did you receive bad news ? I hope nothing's the matter with Tony." " Oh, no. I don't mean 'im, sir, though I ain't heered from 'im fer months now. He's so shet up thar in the woods that it's hard to hear. But I feel he's all right, fer if he wasn't I'd soon know about it. No, it's not fer 'im I bawled, but fer you an' the darlin' lass. To think that ye are to leave us so soon ! " " Oh, I see," and the parson placed his hand to his forehead. " Thank you very much for your kindness, Mrs. Stickles, and for what you did concerning that petition. So you have come all the way to bid us good-bye. You must go into the house at once, and have a bite with us. I shall send Dan to give the horse some hay." " Thank ye, sir. I didn't come expectin' to be taken in an' fed, but seein' as it'll be some time afore I hev sich a privilege agin, I don't mind if I do." Spring had now come in real earnest. The days were balmy, the sun poured its bright rays upon hill and valley, and the snow disappeared as if by magic. Thousands of streams and rivulets rushed racing down 212 TIIE FOURTH WATCH to the river, sparkling and babbling, glad of their re- lease from winter's stern grip. The early birds had returned, filling the air with their sweet music, and the trees, awakened from their long slumber, were putting forth their green buds. Everything spoke of freshness and peace. But within the Rectory there was an unusual silence. A gloom pervaded the house, which even Nellie's sunny presence could not dispel. Dan had disappeared, and no trace of him could be found. lie had departed in the night so silently that even Nellie's ever-watchful ear did not hear his footsteps upon the floor. They knew no reason why the lad should do such a thing, and anxiously they discussed the matter over the break- fast-table. Inquiries were made throughout the parish, which only served to set tongues wagging more than ever. " I knew when the parson took him in," said one knowing person, " that something 'ud happen. Ye can never tell about sich waifs. They generally amount to nuthin' or worse." Nellie missed Dan very much. She had come to love the lad with all his quaint ways and dreamy far-away look. He had always been so ready to do anything for her, and often she found him watching her with wonder- ing eyes. In her heart she could not believe that the boy had run away because he was tired of living at the Rectory. She felt sure there must be some other reason, and often she puzzled her brain trying to solve the problem. IN THE DEEP OF THE HEART 213 As the days passed preparations were made for their departure. There was much to do, for numerous things they must take with them. The parson took but little interest in what was going on. He seemed to he living in another world. So long had he lived at the Rectory that the building had become almost a part of him- self. How many sacred associations were attached to each room ! Here his children had been born ; here he had watched them grow, and from that front door three times had loving hands borne forth three bodies, — two, oh, so young and tender — to their last earthly resting- place in the little churchyard. In youth it is not so hard to sever the bonds which unite us to a loved spot. They have not had time fully to mature, and new associations are easily made and the first soon forgotten. But in old age it is different. New con- nections are not easily formed, and the mind lives so much in the past, with those whom we have " loved long since and lost awhile." It was hard for Nellie to watch her father as the days sped by. From room to room he wandered, stand- ing for some time before a familiar object, now a picture and again a piece of furniture. Old chords of memory were awakened. They were simple, common household effects of little intrinsic value. But to him they were fragrant with precious associations, like old roses pressed between the pages of a book, recalling dear and far-off, half-forgotten days. Nellie, too, felt keenly the thought of leaving the Eectory. It had been her only home. Here had she 214: THE FOURTH WATCH been born, and here, too, bad she known so much happi- ness. Somehow she felt it would never again be the same; that the parting of the ways had at last arrived. Her mind turned often towards Stephen. She had seen him but little of late. Formerly he had been so much at the Rectory. Seldom a day had passed that 6he did not see him. But now it was so different. Sometimes for a whole week, and already it had been a fortnight since he had been there. She knew how busy he was bringing his logs down to the river. He had told her that stream driving would soon begin, when every hour would be precious to catch the water while it served. She knew this, and yet the separation was harder than she had expected. There was an ache in her heart which she could not describe. Often she chidcd herself at what she called her foolishness. But every evening while sitting in the room she would start at any footstep on the platform, and a deep flush would suffuse her face. She had come to realize during the time of waiting what Stephen really meant to her. Thus while Nellie worked and thought in the Rectory, Stephen with his men was urging his drive of logs down the rough and crooked Pennack stream. How he did work! There was no time to be lost, for the water night suddenly fall off and leave the logs stranded far from the river. All day long he wrestled with the monsters of the forest. At night there was the brief rest, then up and on again in the morning. But ever as he handled the peevy there stood before him the rision of the sweet-faced woman at the Rectory. She IN THE DEEP OF THE HEAKT 215 it was who had moved him to action, and inspired him through days of discouragement. His deep love for her was transforming him into a man. He longed to go to her, to comfort her in her time of trouble. But he must not leave his work now. Too much depended upon that drive coming out, and she would understand. So day by day he kept to his task, and not until the last log had shot safely into the boom in the creek below did he throw down his peevy. It was late in the even- ing as he sprang ashore and started up the road. Hi3 heart was happy. He had accomplished the undertak- ing he had set out to perform. And while Stephen trudged homeward Nellie sat in the little sitting-room, her fingers busy with her needle. All things had been completed for their departure, which was to take place on the morrow. Parson John had retired early to rest, and Nellie was doing a little sewing which was needed. The fire burned in the grate as usual, for the evening was chill, and the light from the lamp flooded her face and hair with a soft, gentle radiance. Perfect type of womanhood was she, graceful in form, fair in feature, the outward visible signs of a pure and inward spiritual nobleness. So did she seem to the man standing outside and look- ing upon her through the window with fond, loving eyes. His knock upon the door startled the quiet worker. She rose to her feet, moved forward, and then hesitated. Who could it be at such an hour ? for it was almost eleven o'clock. Banishing her fear she threw open the door, and great was her surprise to behold the one of 216 THE FOURTH WATCH whom she had just been thinking standing there. For a brief space of time neither spoke, but stood looking into each other's eyes. Then, " Stephen," said Xellie, and her voice trembled, " I didn't expect to see you to-night. Is anything wrong?" j " Xo, not with me," Stephen replied as he entered. I " But with you, Xellie, there is trouble, and I want to tell you how I feel for you. I wanted to come before ; but you understand." " Yes, I know, Stephen," and Xellie took a chair near the fire. As Stephen looked down upon her as she sat there, how he longed to put his strong arm about her and comfort her. lie had planned to say many things which he had thought out for days before. But nothing now would come to his lips. He stood as if stricken dumb. " Xellie." " Stephen." Silence reigned in the room. Their hearts beat fast. Each realized what that silence meant, and yet neither spoke. With a great effort Stephen crushed back the longing to tell her all that was in his heart, and to claim her for his own. Would she refuse ? He did not be- lieve so. But he was not worthy of her love — no, not yet. He must prove himself a man first. He must redeem the homestead, and then he would speak. Sharp and fierce was the struggle raging in his breast. He had thought it would be a simple matter to come and talk to her on this night. He would bid her a con- IN THE DEEP OF THE HEART 217 ventional good-bye, and go back to his work, cheered and strengthened. But he little realized how his heart would be stirred by her presence as she sat there bowed in trouble. " Xellie," he said at length, taking a seat near by. " I'm very sorry you're going away. "What will the place be like without you ? " " Yes, I'm sorry to go, Stephen," was the low reply. " 'Tis hard to go away from home, especially under — under a cloud." " But, surely, Xellie, you don't think the people believe those stories ? " " Xo, not all. But some do, and it's so hard on father. He has had so much trouble lately with that mining property in British Columbia, and now this has come." Stephen sat thinking for a while before he spoke. "When at last he did he looked searchingly into Xellie's face. " There is something which puzzles me very much, and partly for that reason I have come to see you to- night." " Anything more in connection with father, Stephen?" " Yes. Xora has been worse of late, and the doctor said that the only hope of curing her was to send her to Xew York to a specialist. Mother was very much de- pressed, for we have no means, and under the circum- stances it is so hard to hire money. I had about made up my mind to get some money advanced on the logs. 219 TIIE FOUKTH WATCH I would do anything for bora's sake. The next day your father came to see her, and mother was telling him what the doctor said, and how much he thought it would cost. Two days later your father sent mother a cheque for the full amount, with a letter begging her to keep the matter as quiet as possible. I cannot under- stand it at all. I know your father is in great need of money, and yet he can spare that large sum. Do you know anything about it ? " Nellie listened to these words with fast beating heart. Sho knew her father had been over to bid Mrs. Frenelle and Nora good-bye, but he had said nothing to her about giving the money. The mystery was certainly deepening. Where had that money come from ? A sudden thought stabbed her mind. She banished it in- stantly, however, while her face crimsoned to think thafc she should believe anything so unworthy of her father. " Nellie," Stephen questioned, after he had waited some time for her to speak, " do you know anything about it ? " " No, Stephen ; nothing. It is all a great puzzle. But it is honest money ! Never doubt that ! Father keeps silence for some purpose, I am sure. He will tell us some day. "We must wait and be patient ! " She was standing erect now, her eyes glowing with the light of determination, and her small, shapely hands were clenched. She had thought of what people would gay if they heard this. It would be like oil to fire. No, they must never know it. u Stephen," she cried, " promise me before God that IN THE DEEP OF THE HEART 219 you will not tell anyone outside of your family about that money ! " " I promise, Nellie. Did you think I would tell ? I know mother and Nora will not. Did you doubt me? " " No, Stephen, I did not doubt you. But, oh, I do not know what to think these days ! My mind is in such a whirl all the time, and my heart is so heavy over the puzzling things which have happened. I just long to lie down and rest, rest, forever." " You're tired, Nellie," replied Stephen, as he straightened himself up in an effort to control his own feelings. " You must rest now, and you will be stronger to-morrow. Good-bye, Nellie, God bless you," and before she could say a word he had caught her hand in his, kissed it fervently, flung open the door, and dis- appeared into the night. CHAPTER XXIII WHERE IS DAN ? DURTXG the whole of this time of excitement Dan had been doing his own share of thinking. He heard the rumours of the parish, listened to the stories told at the store or blacksmith shop, tucked thorn away in his retentive mind, and brooded over them by day and night. The purpose which had taken possession of him as he sat by the parson's side during his lonely watch in Stephen's camp grew stronger as the days passed by. He told no one, not even Xellie, what was in his mind. It was a sacred thing to him, and he dreamed over it, as a mother over her unborn child. Xot until the dream had become a reality, a living deed, must the world know of it. Formerly he had been indifferent as to his studies. His listless manner was a great cause of worry to Xellie. Rut after the accident a change took place. His eagerness to know how to write surprised her. Often she found him painfully scrawling huge letters upon any old piece of paper he happened to find. Time and time again he asked her how to spell certain words, and when she had printed them for him he copied them over and over again with the greatest care. Every day he watched the mail-carrier as he rattled by in hie 220 WHERE IS DAN? 221 rude buckboard. To him this man was a wonderful being. Knowing nothing of the postal system, Dan imagined that Si Tower conducted the whole business himself. " How much he must know/' he thought, " and what long journeys he must take." It was there- fore with considerable trepidation he one day stood by the roadside watching the postman rattling along. " Hello, kid ! Watcher want ? " was Si's salutation as he pulled in his old nag, and glared, down upon the boy. " You give this to Tony, please," and Dan held up a little folded slip of paper. Tower looked at the paper, and turned over the wad of tobacco in his cheek before replying. Then a quaint twinkle shone in his eyes. " I can't take that," he said. " 'Tain't lawful. Xo stamp. Say, kid, guess the only way fer ye to deliver that is to take it yerself. Git up, Bess," and with a hearty laugh the postman swung on his way, and all that day told the story wherever he stopped. " Ye should have seen his face an' eyes," he chuckled. " It was as good as a circus. Thar was no stamp on the letter, an' when I told 'im to go himself an' deliver it, he jist stared at me. Ha, ha, it was too funny fer any- thing." But Dan, as he stood in the road watching Tower drive away, did not see anything funny. His faith in the postman had received a rude shock. His hero was made of common clay after all. He sighed as he walked back to the house, clutching in his hands the little 222 THE FOURTH WATCH crumpled piece of paper. As the days passed and the new trouble arose at the Rectory, Dan became very restless. lie knew of everything that was going on, and when the Bishop arrived he gazed upon him with awe mingled with fear and anger. Often he would draw forth the letter, from a deep, capacious pocket, and look long and carefully upon it. At length the moment arrived when his mind was fully made up. lie bade Nellie and her father good- night, and crept upstairs to his own little room. For lorae time he sat upon the bed lost in thought. Ho heard Nellie come up the stairs and enter her own room. Drawing up the blind and turning down the light, he looked out of the window. How dark it was, and dismal. He would wait awhile until it became lighter. Throwing himself upon the bed without un- dressing, he drew a quilt over him and ere long wag fast asleep. When he opened his eyes a dim light was struggling in through the window, and contending slowly with the blackness of night. Dan was sleepy, and the bed so comfortable, that he longed to stay where he was. But this feeling was soon overcome, and spring- ing to his feet he stood listening and alert, as a creature of the wild startled from its lair. Not a sound disturbed the house. Everything was wrapped in silence. Quietly he moved out of his room, and crept softly down the stairs, fearful lest at every creak Nellie sho? M be aroused. Reaching the kitchen he put on his shoes, which he had left by the stove. Next he wont i -to the pantry, found some cold meat, bread, cheese £.nd bis- WHERE IS DAN? 223 cuits. A paper bag lying near was soon filled and securely tied with a stout string. Dan sighed as he donned his cap, drew on his mittens, closed the back door, and stood by the little outside porch. In his heart he felt it was wrong to go away without telling Nellie and her father where he was going. But on the other hand he was quite sure they would not be willing for him to go so far away, and besides he did not wish to tell them anything until the deed had been accom- plished. The early morning air was cool, clear and crisp. The sun had not yet risen, but far away in the eastern sky the glory of another new-born day was clearly visible. Dan's heart responded to the freshness and the beauty which lay around him. As the daylight in- creased the feeble chirp of half-awakened birds fell upon his ears. The old longing for the wild filled his Boui. He thought of his father, the little cabin in the valley, and the woodland haunts he knew and loved so dearly. His eyes sparkled with animation, and the blood tingled and surged through his body. He felt like shouting at the mere joy of being alive. " Guess I must be like the bears," he thought. " They stay in their dens all winter and come out in the spring. I'm just like one now." He knew the direction, for had he not listened time and time again to the conversations in the store ? The talk had often turned upon Rodgers & Peterson's big lumbering operations in Big Creek Valley. Yes, he wa* sure he could find the place. Up the river to Rocky 224 THE FOURTH WATCH Point, from thence along a big cove, then over a hill and down into a valley. lie had dreamed of the way; how long it would take him, and what he would say when he got there. All day long he plodded steadily onward, and when night shut down he stopped by a large stack of hay which had been brought from the lowlands when the river was frozen. lie was tired, and the soft hay inviting. Into this he crawled, and ere long was fast asleep. Early the next morning he was up and on again. Hia supply of food was now getting low. At noon he ruefully viewed the little that was left. " Enough only for supper," he murmured. " Maybe I'll get there to-morrow." During the day he learned from several people he met that he was on the right road. They had looked with interest upon the little figure, and asked him numerous questions. But Dan gave only indefinite answers. He wished to go to Big Creek Valley to Bodgers & Peter- son's lumber camp. "When the second night arrived he was very weary and footsore. He had eaten his last scrap of food before sundown, and as he trudged on he wondered what he would do in the morning. He dis- liked the idea of asking at any of the farm-houses for food. His father had always scoffed at tramps and beggars. " They are spongers," he had often said, " and people cannot afford to have such useless people around." That word " sponger " as it came to Dan caused him to straighten himself up and step forward more quickly. He was not a sponger now. His face flushed at Far- WHERE IS DAN? 225 rington's insult. He would show the whole world that he could pay for his keep, and if he could not do it in one way, he would in another. That night no friendly haystack stood by the road- side, but over there in the field he saw a barn near a - farm-house. He could find shelter in that. Waiting until it was dark, he crept cautiously through a small sheep door, and entered. He heard in another part of the building the cattle munching the last of their even- ing meal. It was good to know that they were near, and that he was not altogether alone. As he threw himself upon a small bunch of straw which he found as he felt around with his hands, a great feeling of loneliness came over him. He longed for the Rectory and a glimpse of Nellie's face. Was she thinking of him, he wondered, or had she forgotten him, and believed him to be an ungrateful scamp ? He clenched his hands, and the blood surged to his face as he thought of it. No, he would show her he was not a scamp, but a real man. Oh, she should know what he could do ! Thinking thus he found himself no longer in the barn, but back again at the Rectory. He could see the fire burning brightly on the hearth, and a number of people standing around. They were all looking upon him, and he saw the doctor there, too. But Nellie's face riveted his attention. She was gazing upon him with such a deep look of love. And yet it did not seem altogether like Nellie, and, when she spoke, it was a different voice. Suddenly a strange sound fell upon his ears. The room at the Rectory faded, and in its stead 226 THE FOURTH WATCH there was the rough barn floor, and the hunch of straw on which he was lying. For an instant he gazed around him in a bewildered manner. lie could not realize just where he was. A childish laugh caused him to turn his head, and there looking in at him from a small door to the left was a little maiden, with curly, auburn hair and cheeks twin sisters to the rosiest apples that ever grew. " Oo azy ittle boy ! " she cried, clapping her hands. " Oo must det up. Turn, daddy, tee azy, azy ittle boy." Presently there apppeared at her side, a large man, holding a pail in his left hand. " What is it, dearie ? " he asked. " What's all the fun and chattering about ? " " Tee, tee, azy boy," and she pointed with a fat little finger to the corner of the barn floor. By this time Dan had leaped to his feet, and stood confronting the man. He felt that he was a trespasser, and perhaps he would be punished. But as he looked into the big man's eyes he read with the instinct of a wild animal that he had nothing to fear, for only pity shone in those clear, grey depths. " Did you sleep there all night ? " the man asked, pointing to the straw. " Yes, sir," was the reply. " I hope you're not cross." " I'm cross, boy, to think that you didn't come to the house and ask for a bed." " I didn't like to, sir. I didn't like to bother any- body. But I knew whoever owned the barn wouldn't WHERE IS DAN? 227 mind if I slept here. It's a comfortable place, and I was tired." " Did you have any supper last night ? " the man asked, looking keenly into Dan's face. " Yes, sir ; a piece of bread." " What, nothing more ? " " No. But I had a grand drink from that spring back yonder, and with the good sleep I've had, I think I can manage to-day." " Look here, boy, you'll not leave this place until you have your breakfast. So come. Marion, you found this little stranger, and you must take him to the house." But Dan drew back, as the little maiden toddled up to take him by the hand. " I can't go," he stammered. " I've got no money, and I won't be a sponger." " A what ? " asked the man. " A sponger. I hate a sponger, and so did my father. I'll split wood for my breakfast if you'll let me, sir, for I am hungry." " That's a bargain," said the man, much pleased at the spirit of the boy. " So hurry off now. I haven't much time to lose." Proudly the little maiden conducted her charge to the house, and told in broken language about her mar- vellous find. Dan felt much at home with Marion's mother, and during breakfast he told her where he was going. " What ! to Eodgers & Peterson's camp ! " exclaimed 22S THE FOURTH WATCH the big man at the head of the table. " That's -where I'm going myself, and that's why I'm up so early this morning. I'm glad to hear of that, for I'll have com- pany." " But I must split the wood," Dan insisted. " I shall try to earn my breakfast, but what about the ride ? " " Oh, I'll give you work along the way," laughed the man. " You'll have plenty to do, so don't worry." While the horses were being harnessed Dan vigor- ously swung the axe in the wood-house. Perched upon the door-step Marion watched him with admiring eyes. He knew that she was looking at him, and his bosom swelled with pride, ne was not a sponger, but a man working for his breakfast. At times he stole a glance at the little figure sitting there. " How pretty she is," he thought. " I wish I had a sister like her. lie longed to stay there, to be near the little maiden, and to work for the big, kind man. He sighed as he laid down the axe, and gazed at the wood he had chopped. " It ain't much," he remarked, as he stood ready to climb into the waggon. " Wish I had more time." " It will do," responded the big man. " I am satis- fied if you arc." Dan had no time to answer, for at that instant a little voice sounded forth. Looking quickly around he beheld Marion hurrying towards him holding in her hand a small rose. " ~Mc div dis to oo, ittle boy," she cried. " It's off my own woes bus. Oo must teep it." WHEKE IS DAN? 229 Hardly knowing what he did Dan took the little flower, and stood staring at Marion. " Come, lassie," cried her father, catching her in his arms and giving her a loving hug and a kiss. Take good care of mother. We must be off." " Oo div me tiss, too," and she lifted up her lips to Dans. The latter's face flushed scarlet, and he trembled. Never in his life had he kissed a little girl like that. What should he do ? He longed for the ground to open or something dreadful to happen. He would have wel- comed anything just them. " Tiss me, ittle boy," urged Marion. She had him by the coat now with both hands, drawing him down to her. There was nothing for him to do. He must go through the ordeal. Suddenly he bent his head and shut his eyes. His face came close to hers ; he felt her lips touch his cheek, and heard her childish laugh of delight. " Dood ittle boy ! " she exclaimed. " Now dood-by. Don't lose my pitty fower." Too much confused to say a word Dan scrambled into the waggon, and soon the horses were speeding off down the lane to the road. For some time he sat bolt upright on the seat, silent and thoughtful, clutching in his hand that tiny rose. The big man at his side asked no questions, but seemed intent solely upon managing his horses. But not a motion of the little lad at his side escaped his notice. He loved children, and had the rare gift of understanding them. A faint smile 230 THE FOURTH WATCH played about bis moutb as from tbe corner of his eye he saw Dan take a piece of paper from bis pocket, shyly place tbe rose between tbe folds and then return it to its former place. He could not bear tbe boy's heart thumping bard beneath his jacket, but he understood, and what more was needed ? All day long they jogged over the road, stopping only at noon to feed tbe horses and eat a lunch Marion's mother had tucked away in the corner of tbe waggon. Dan found it easy to talk to tbe big man sitting by his side. He told him about his father's death, Parson John, and the accident, to which his companion listened with much interest. But concerning the object of his visit to the lumber camp, Dan was silent. Several times he was at the point of explaining everything, but always he hesitated and determined to wait. " I did not tell Xcllie," he said to himself, " and why should I tell a stranger first ? " The sun was sinking far westward as they wound their way along a woodland road. Down to the left the water of Big Creek Brook raced and swirled. Occa- sionally they caught glimpses of the rushing torrent as the road dipped closer to the bank. " We should meet the drive ere long," the big man remarked, as he flicked the horses with his whip. " I'm afraid the logs have jammed in Giant Gorge, or else they would have been here by this time. It's a bad, rocky place, and seldom a drive gets through without trouble." WHERE IS DAN? 231 Presently he pulled up his horses before a little log shack standing to the right. " I shall leave the horses here for the night, boy," he said. " There's a path down yonder to the left. If you're in a hurry you can take that. It will lead to the stream, and you can follow it up until you meet the men. If they ask any questions tell them you came with Big Sam, and everything will be all right. Take care and don't fall into the water." Dan was only too anxious to be on foot. He was cramped from sitting so long in the waggon. Moreover, he was restless to get to the end of his journey, and accomplish his business. Thanking the big man, he leaped from the waggon and was soon speeding down the path, and in a few minutes reached the edge of the brook, roaring and foaming between its steep banks. Looking up-stream he could see no sign of the drive, but the well-beaten path was there, and along this he hurried. Ere long he reached a bend in the stream and as he rounded this, and lifted up his eyes, a wild, terrible scene was presented to view. Away to the right he beheld Giant Gorge, a narrow gash in the rocks, through which the waters were seething and boiling in wildest commotion. On the hither side a flood of logs was sweeping and tearing down, like a mighty breastwork suddenly loosened. Dan started back in terror at the sight, and was about to spring up the bank to a place of safety, when his eyes rested upon the form of a man out in the midst of that rush of destruction, vainly trying to free himself from the watery chasm 232 THE FOURTH WATCH which had suddenly yawned beneath his feet. Dan's heart beat wildly at the sight But only for an instant did he hesitate. Then forward he leaped like a grey- hound. Forgotten was the rushing torrent, and his own danger. lie thought only of that frantically cling- ing man. He reached the edge of the stream, leaped upon the nearest logs, and, with the agility of a wild- cat, threaded his way through that terrible labyrinth of grinding, crashing, heaving monsters. CHAPTER XXIV THE RUSH OF DOOM TO bring a drive of logs down Big Creek Brook re- quired skill, patience and courage. It was a nasty, crooked stream, filled with sunken rocks, bad bends and stretches of shallow water. Rodgers & Peterson had their logs in the stream early, and every- thing pointed to a successful season's work, Eor awhile all went well, but then mishap after mishap held them back. The logs jammed in several places, and days were lost in getting them cleared. Then they grounded upon bars and shoals, which caused a great delay. But the most serious of all was the hold-up in Giant Gorge. This was the most dreaded spot in the whole stream, and seldom had a drive been brought through without some disaster. Much blasting had been done, and a number of obstacles blown away. But for all that there were rocks which defied the skill of man to remove. Two flinty walls reared their frowning sides for several rods along the brook. Between these an immense boulder lifted its head, around which the waters in- cessantly swirled. But when the stream was swollen high enough the logs would clear this obstacle at a bound, like chargers leaping a fence, and plunge into the whirling eddies below. 233 234 THE FOURTH WATCH When the " R & P " drive, 'the name by which it was commonly known, reached Giant Gorge, it was con- fidently believed that there was enough water to carry it safely through. But such reckoning was wrong. As the logs came sweeping down and were sucked into the Gorge they began to crowd, and, instead of rushing through loose and free, they jammed against the rocky walls, while a huge monster became wedged on the sunken boulder, and, acting as a key log, held in check the whole drive. Then began a wild scene, which once beheld can never be forgotten. Stopped in their mad career, the logs presented the spectacle of unrestrained passion. The mighty, heaving, twisting mass groaned, pressed and writhed for freedom, but with the awful grip of death the sturdy key log held firm. Steadily the jam increased in size, and whiter threw the foam, as one by one those giant logs swept crashing down, to be wedged amidst their companions as if driven by the sledge of Thor. The drivers stood upon the bank and watched the log3 piling higher and higher. Well did they know what the delay might mean to Rodgers & Peterson. Much de- pended upon that drive coming out, and for it to be held up during summer meant almost ruin to the firm. They were a hardy body of men who stood there late that afternoon discussing the matter. They were great workmen these, well versed in woodland lore. All winter long had they taken their part in that big lumber operation, and, now that the work was almost completed, it was certainly aggravating to be thus checked. THE RUSH OF DOOM 235 !As the men talked, and several lighted their pipes, one strapping fellow stood on the bank, his eyes fixed upon that immovable key log. During the whole winter Tony Stickles had been the butt as well as the curiosity of the men. His long, lank figure was the source of much ridicule, while his remarks, which were always slow and few, were generally greeted with merriment. From the first night in camp he had been a marked man. Ere he threw himself into the rude bunk he had knelt down on the floor in the presence of them all, and said his evening prayer. A boot had been thrown at his head, and a laugh had gone about the room. Tony had risen from his knees, and with a flushed face sought his couch, surprised at the action on the part of these men. But one middle-aged man of great stature and strength had watched it all. He sat quietly smoking for several minutes after the laughter had subsided. " Boys," he said at length, taking his pipe from his mouth, " I'm real sorry at what ye've done to-night. I've six little ones of me own, an' I hope to God when they grow up they'll not be afeered to kneel down an' do as yon lad has done to-night. I'm not a good man meself, more's the pity. But that boy's had a good mother's teachin'. I honour her an' 'im. An' let me tell ye this, men, if I ketch ye doin' agin what ye did to-night, ye'll have to reckon with me. So jist try it on, an' I won't give a second warnin'." Jake Purdy calmly resumed his smoking, and the men looked at one another in silence. They knew very Well from certain past unpleasant experiences what it 23G THE FOURTH WATCH meant to cross this quiet, plain-spoken man. He said little, and never entered into a quarrel without some reason. But when he did there was cause for the stout- est heart to quake. Tony listened to it all concealed away in his bunk. His heart thumped beneath his rough shirt, and he wished to thank Jake for taking his part. But strive as he might he never had the opportunity. The big woodsman never seemed to notice him. Days passed into weeks, and still Tony did not utter the gratitude which was lying in his heart. To him Jake was more than ordinary — a hero. He watched him as he chopped, and drank in greedily the few words he let fall from time to time in the camp. " Boys, that drive must go through." It was the boss who spoke, as he jerked his thumb towards the Gorge. " Yes, it's got to go through to- night, or it's all up. The water's falling off fast, and if we wait till to-morrow, we'll wait till next fall. I've always said there should be a dam at the head of the Gorge, and I say it now more emphatically than ever. But as it is not there, it's up to us to get this d — n thing through as best we can. I've never been stuck yet in bringing out a drive, and I hope this won't be the first time." " But what's your plan ? " asked one. " Hadn't ye better pick one of us to go down into that hell-hole, an' cut that key log ? " " Xo, that isn't my plan," and the boss scratched the back of his head. " I'm not going to be responsible THE RUSH OF DOOM 237 for the carcase of any man. If I say to one ' Go/ and he goes and gets pinched, I'll worry about it to my dying day. I'd rather go myself first. But if we draw for it, then it's off my shoulders, and I stand the same chance as the rest of ye. I believe that whatever is to be will be, and the right man to go down there will be chosen. Do you agree to that, boys ? " " Ay, ay," came the response. " Go ahead, Tim. "We'll stand by the agreement." Some brown paper was accordingly found, and cut with a big jack-knife into twenty pieces, according to the number of the men. On one of these a large X was marked with a blue lead-pencil,, which one of the men had in his pocket. A tin lunch can was next produced, and into this the pieces of paper were all thrown and the cover shut down tight. When the can had been thoroughly shaken, the men came up one by one, shut their eyes, put in their hands and drew forth a slip. A tense silence reigned during this performance, and the hearts of these sturdy men beat fast as each glanced at his paper to see what it contained. Jake Purdy was one of the last to approach, and, thrusting in a huge, hairy hand, jerked forth his piece, and as he looked upon it his face turned pale, though he said not a word as he held up the slip for all to see the fatal X scrawled upon it. At that instant Tony Stickles started forward, and confronted Jake. His eyes were wide with excitement, and his long, lank figure was drawn up to its full height. " You mustn't go ! " he cried. " ~Ro, no ! You've 238 THE FOURTH WATCH got six little ones at home, an' a wife who wants ye. I'll go in ycr place." Big Jake looked at Tony in surprise, and into his strong, determined face came an expression of tender- ness which the men had never seen hefore. " No, lad," he replied, " it can't be. The lot's fallen to me, an' I'm the one to do it I thank ye kindly all the same." Tony waited to hear no more. TTis eyes glanced upon an axe lying near. Springing towards this he seized it, and before a restraining hand could be laid upon him he bounded towards the Gorge, sprang down the bank and leaped upon the logs. Big Jake rushed after him, calling and imploring him to come back. But his cries were unheeded. Tony was now belween the rocky walls, working his way over those tossed and twisted monsters, deaf to all entreaties from the shore. " Come back, Jake ! " roared the men from behind. " It's no use for you to go now. lie's taken the matter into his own hands, an' one's enough." Reluctantly he obeyed, and stood with the rest watch- ing with breathless interest to see what would happen. Tony had now reached the front of the jam, and was carefully picking his way to the gripping key log. Balancing himself as well as he could he chose a spot where the strain was the greatest. Then the axe cleaved the air, the keen blade bit the wood, and the whirling chips played about his head. Deeper and deeper the steel ate into the side of the giant spruce. THE RUSH OF DOOM 239 Suddenly a report like a cannon split the air, the axe was hurled like a rocket out into midstream to sink with a splash into the foaming eddies. Tony turned, leaped like lightning back upon the main body of logs, and started for the shore. But he was too late. With a roar of pent-up wrath the mighty drive moved forward. Down through the Gorge it surged, gaining in speed every instant from the terrible pressure behind. And down with it went Tony, enwrapped with foam and spray. Nobly he kept his feet. He leaped from one log to another. He dodged monster after monster, which rose on end and threatened to strike him down. It was a wild race with death. Should he miss his foot- ing or lose his head only for an instant he would have been ground to pieces in that rush of doom. The watch- ing men stood as if transfixed to the spot. They saw him speeding onward and drawing nearer to the shore at the sharp bend in the stream. It looked as if he would gain the bank, and a cheer of encouragement rang out over the waters. But the words had scarcely died upon their lips ere they beheld the logs part asunder right beneath Tony's feet, and with a wild cry he plunged into the rushing current below. Frantically he clutched at the nearest logs, and endeavoured to pull himself up from that watery grave. At times he man- aged to draw himself part way out, but the swirling waters sucked him down. It needed only a little help, but the logs were wet and slippery, and there was nothing on which to obtain a firm grip. His body was becoming numb from the icy waters, and at each ter- 240 THE FOURTH WATCH rible struggle he felt himself growing weaker. He knew he could last but little longer in such a position. Was he to drown there? His thoughts flashed to his little home in Glendow. Were they thinking of him? he wondered. What would his mother say when they carried her the news ? Oh, if he could only feel her strong hand in his now, how soon he would be lifted from that awful place. Suddenly there came into his mind her parting words when he had left home. " Tony," she had said, " ye may be often in danger out thar in the woods. But remember what the good Lord said, ' Call upon me in the day of trouble an' I will deliver ye.' " And there in the midst of that swirling death ho lifted up his voice. " Oh, Lord ! " he cried, " help me ! save me ! " And even as he prayed, and made one more mighty struggle, a small hand reached out and grasped his. It was all that was needed. He felt the watery grip loosen, and numbed to the bone he sprawled his full length across a big log at Dan's feet. And not a moment too soon had that helping hand been stretched forth, for glancing back he saw the logs had closed again, grinding and tearing as before. They had struck a wild eddy and all was confusion. He staggered to his feet at the shock and barely escaped a huge log which suddenly shot up from below. But Dan was not so fortunate, for a glancing blow sent him reeling back, a helpless, pathetic little figure. Tony was all alert now. Leaping forward he caught the unconscious THE EUSH OF DOOM 241 boy in his arms, and started for the shore. Then hegan a fierce, determined fight, a hand-to-hand encounter with cold, relentless death. Step by step Tony staggered for- ward, bafned here, retreating a few paces there, but steadily gaining. At first he did not mind Dan's weight, but after a few minutes the burden began to tell. He was weak anyway from the terrible strain and ex- perience through which he had recently passed. Could he hold out until he reached the shore ? His face was drawn and tense ; his eyes stared wildly upon those rolling, moving, writhing things beneath his feet. They seemed like thousands of serpents trying to capture him as he leaped from one to the other. His brain reeled,^ he was falling, but at that moment he felt strong arm.9 about him. His burden was snatched away. He heard voices, friendly, encouraging and cheering, and then oblivion. When Tony opened his eyes he found himself lying upon the shore with several men standing near, watch- ing him with keen interest. There was no merriment or ridicule in their faces now, but only anxiety and sympathy. The hearts of these rough men had been touched by what they had recently witnessed. Most of them were with the drive, but a few had been told off to look after the two lads. " Where's that boy ? " asked Tony as the terrible scene flashed back into his mind. " Over there," replied one, jerking his thumb to the left. " Is he all right ? " was Tony's next query. 242 THE FOURTH WATCH " Can't say. He's not come to yet." At this Tony struggled to his feet, and walked slowly over to where Dan was lying, unconscious still, and breathing hard. " Who is he ? "Where did he come from ? " were the questions which these men asked one another as they rubbed Dan's body, and bathed his forehead. Something white sticking from a little pocket in Dan's coat caught Tony's eye. Reaching down he drew it forth, and as he did so the little crushed rose dropped to the ground. One of the men picked it up and holding it in his big, rough hand looked curiously upon it. But Tony did not notice the flower, for his eyes were fixed upon the paper on which he saw his own name. Slowly and with difficulty he spelled out the queer letters scrawled there. " deR toXy," so the missive began. " cTJm hoM qiK they say paRson John sTol ol bilees goLD i tHINK yoU nO weR IT ISS yeR friEND TruLEE Dan." Tony held the letter in his hand for some minutes and stared at those quaint w T ords. He had heard from his mother of the death of old Billy and the burning of his house. But of the trouble later he knew nothing, for letters from home had been few. Now a new light dawned upon his mind. Something must be wrong, and this lad had come all the way for him ! But w T ho was Dan ? He had never seen nor heard of him before. THE RUSH OF DOOM 243 As he stood there Big Sam drew near. He started with surprise as he saw the boy lying on the ground, his little pale face resting upon a rough coat. " What ! what's this ? " he exclaimed. " Why, this is the boy who came with me to-day ! Has he fallen into the stream ? I warned him to be careful." " Poor boy ! poor boy ! " he remarked when the story of the brave deed had been related. " Do you think he's badly hurt ? " " Can't say," replied one. " But do ye know who he is ? " " Yes," and Big Sam in a few words told all that he knew. " We must get him away from this as soon as pos- sible," said the former speaker. " He needs the doctor. Where had we better take him ? " " Look here, boys," said Sam after a moment's thought. " As soon as those horses have munched their oats they shall head for home. I'll take the boy with me, and my wife will care for him. The doctor lives near." Tony stood by listening to it all with his eyes fixed intently upon Dan's face, while his hand still clutched the letter. He was weak, and ready to drop. But a burning desire throbbed within his breast. He partly realized the situation at Glendow. There was trouble, deep, serious trouble, and he was needed. CHAPTER XXV BENEATH THE ASHES FAR away in the West the sun was sinking low as Stephen Frenelle stood on the shore looking out over his newly rafted logs. Not a ripple dis- turbed the surface of the noble river, or the waters of the little creek lying between its semi-wooded banks. It was a balmy spring evening when the whole world seemed at peace. On a night such as this new longings and aspirations swell the heart, and the blood tingles joyfully through the body. Stephen had remained after the rest of the men had gone home. He wished to examine the logs to see that the work was well done. As he now stood on the shore his thoughts were not upon the glassy river or Nature's loveliness. His mind was disturbed. All through the winter he had been looking forward to the time when the logs would be floating there secured by their wooden bonds. He had planned to have Nellie come to see the completion of his work. He knew how she would rejoice at what he had accomplished, and in his mind he had heard her words of congratulation. But now all was changed. The work was done, but Nellie was not there to behold his victory. How lonely seemed the parish since her de- parture. He had thrown himself with great energy into 244 BENEATH THE ASHES 245 his task, and the days had sped by. But, try as he might, he could not free himself from the weight which pressed upon his heart. Everything in the parish moved on as before. The new clergyman came, and service- had been held in the church as usual. Many spoke favourably of the new man. He was young, full of spirit, and a clear, forcible speaker. But to Stephen it: was not the same as formerly. He missed the white- haired, venerable man in his accustomed place. The moment he entered the church his eyes sought the seat where Nellie always sat. It was empty. That form so dear to him was not there. He saw her Prayer Book and Hymn Book in the little rack, and a lump came into his throat, as he knew they would not be used. He thought of these things, standing there on the shore. His tall, manly figure was drawn to its full height. He gazed straight before. It was a far-off vision he beheld, and suddenly there came into his heart a peace such as he had not known since she left. She seemed to be very near, standing right by his side. He' saw her face, beheld her eyes looking into his, and heard her voice bidding him to be of good cheer, and to look up. A sound near by startled him. He glanced quickly around, half expecting to see Nellie standing there. Instead, however, he beheld the tall, lank form of Tony Stickles approaching. His face was gaunt, his step weak and slow. But Stephen did not notice these, so surprised was he to see him. 24G THE FOURTH WATCH ''Tony!" he exclaimed, reaching out his hand, " where did you drop from ? I thought you were on the big drive." " So I was, Steve," Tony replied, taking a seat upon a large boulder. " Didn't get fired, eh ? " To this Tony made no response. He looked thought- fully before him for a while. " Say, Steve," he at length remarked. " How's Parson John ? " " He's gone, Tony. Driven from Glendow." " What ! " and Tony sprang to his feet in excite- ment. " When did he leave ? " " Last week." "Then I'm too late! I was afraid of it! But I came fast — I ran sometimes; but it was no use. Is he in the lockup ? " " In the lockup ! What do you mean ? " and Stephen stared at him in amazement. From the depth of a capacious pocket Tony brought forth Dan's soiled letter, and held it up. " Read that," he said. " It's all I know." Quickly Stephen scanned the quaint words, drinking in almost intuitively the meaning of it all. " Did Dan give you this ? " he demanded. " Yes." " And where is the boy now ? " Tony's eyes dropped at the question, and he did not answer. " Is anything wrong ? " Stephen insisted. BENEATH THE ASHES 247 " Yes, I'm afraid so. But set down close, Steve. I've somethin' great to tell ye." And sitting there in the dusk of even Tony poured into his companion's ears the story of that terrible scene in Giant Gorge, and of Dan's brave deed. Stephen listened spell-bound to the tale. The mean- ing of Dan's departure was all clear now. "While people had been blaming the lad as an ungrateful runaway he had fared forth in loving service on behalf of his guardians. A mistiness blurred Stephen's eyes as Tony paused. " Where is Dan now ? " he asked. " At Big Sam's house. We brought 'ini down on the waggon, an' I helped carry 'im in." " W T ho is Big Sam \ " " Oh, he's the teamster. The booms are near his place whar the raftin' will be done. Sam hauls the stuff fer the gang." " And you don't know how badly Dan is hurt ? " " No, I came away at once. I wanted to help the old parson. An' say, Steve, did they find the gold ? " " Find it ? No. And I don't think they will now. It's a great mystery." " An' they say the parson took it ? " " Yes, some do." " An' didn't they find the iron box ? " " No." " Did they look beneath the ashes ? " " They searched every nook and corner, and even sifted the ashes, but could find nothing." 243 THE FOURTH WATCH " An' didn't Billy say nuthin' ? " " Xo, he was too weak. He tried to speak after the parson had carried him out, but no one could understand him." Tony did not speak for a while, but remained lost in thought. " Steve," he at length remarked. " I'd like to go to that old place. Will ye go with me? " "What! to-night?" " Yes, right away." " It will be dark there now, Tony. Why not wait until morning? " " ISTo, no. I must go to-night. We kin git a lantern, an' I want a shovel, too. Will ye come ? " " Yes, if you want me," was Stephen's reluctant reply. " But you might as well save yourself the trouble. The place has been so thoroughly searched by daylight that I don't see we can do much at night. Anyway, I shall go with you." Together they moved on their way up the road, Stephen carrying his peevy upon his shoulder. As they came to the store he stopped. " Wait here, Tony," he said, " till I run in and get the mail. I shall be only a minute." Entering the building he found Farrington sitting behind the counter writing. iTe looked up as Stephen entered, and laid down his pen. He was affable to all now, for election day was but a week off, and he needed ^very vote. BENEATH THE ASHES 249 " Raftin' all done, Steve ? " he asked as lie handed out the mail. " Yes, all finished," was the reply. "Ye'll be to the p'litical meetin' to-night, Steve, v/on't ye ? " " Oh, I had forgotten all about it." " But ye must come. I want ye to hear what I hev to say. Gadsby'll be thar, an' I've got a dose fer 'im which he won't soon fergit. I'll show 'im a thing or two, an' the people'll learn that they need a real, live practical man for councillor. Ye must certainly come." " I'm not sure that I can come," Stephen replied. " I have an engagement to-night. I may be there, however, if I can get through in time. But I must be off now; Tony's waiting for me." At these last words Farrington started, and an ex- pression of concern swept over his face. He leaned anxiously forward and looked intently at Stephen. " Did ye say that Tony Stickles is out thar \ " " Yes. He has just arrived." " Why, w — what's he back so soon fer ? " " Special business, so he tells me. But I must be off." Stephen noted Farrington's remarkable interest in Tony's return, and wondered what it meant. He had no mind to tell him about Dan, for he preferred to have as few words as possible with this man who was such a thorn in the flesh. He left Farrington standing in the door and proceeded with Tony up the road. As they moved along he noticed how his companion lagged be- 250 THE FOURTII WATCH hind. Usually he was such a rapid walker, and this slowness was a surprise to Stephen. " Are you not well, Tony ? " he asked. " I'm all right," was the reply. " I've had a long walk to-day." " Since when ? " " Daybreak." " And did you rest ? " " No." u Look here," and Stephen faced sharply about.