Part 8 (1/2)

Uncle Hughie was not impervious to flattery, but he looked doubtful.

Running up into the village in the evening was strictly forbidden to the younger members of the Cameron household.

”I'll jump into the pond if he comes,” she declared. ”Go on, Uncle Hughie. Aw, haven't you got some errand for me?”

”Well, well,” said the old man indulgently, ”let me see. Oh, yes, now.

You might jist be stepping up to Sandy McQuarry's and tell him not to be forgetting that this is the night to go and see poor John McIntyre.”

”Goody! You're a duck, Uncle Hughie. John McIntyre--isn't that the tramp you found in the hollow?”

”Yes; but indeed I will be thinking that it's no ordinary tramp he will be, whatever. Poor man, eh, eh, poor buddy. If ever the Lord would be laying His hand heavier on a man than He did on Job, that man's John McIntyre, or I will be mistaken. Ay, and it would be a fine Hielan'

name, too--McIntyre.”

The girl danced away up the street, dodging skilfully from tree to tree, and keeping a sharp eye on the figure climbing leisurely up the bank of the ravine.

”Don't be forgetting, Jeannie, child,” the old man called after her, ”not to let Sandy know the minister will be coming.”

The girl nodded over her shoulder, and Uncle Hughie continued his talk to the milkstand.

”Ay, yes, oh, yes indeed. The peety of it, the peety of it. Well, well. Hoots! The Almighty will be knowing all about you, John McIntyre. Oh, yes, indeed, never fear. I will be thinking He will be meaning you some good yet. Oh, yes, yes, never you fear----

”_'Oh, there's many a man o' the Ca----'_”

His voice broke on the high note, and he did not start again, for a figure was coming down the street toward the bridge. It was Silas Long, storekeeper, postmaster and astronomer, with his telescope under his arm. He paused on the bridge, where he was joined by several others. They came straying down the street in aimless fas.h.i.+on, hands in pockets, shoulders drooping. It was the custom to a.s.semble in the most casual manner, for it would never do to confess, even to oneself, that one had started deliberately to spend an evening in idleness.

The group straggled slowly forward, Silas Long, William Winters, the blacksmith, Jake Sawyer, and a new member of the club, a very small person, whose red, curly hair shone like a halo in the light of the evening sun. Holding this little figure by the hand, Jake Sawyer walked along with a tremendous swagger, the proudest man in the county of Simcoe.

Another man was strolling toward them across the golden-lighted pasture field. It was John Cross, Jake Sawyer's partner, called Spectacle John, to distinguish him from a half dozen other John Crosses who didn't wear spectacles. At sight of him Uncle Hughie sniffed, and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed ”Huts!” Spectacle John was an Irishman, of a rather frivolous turn of mind, and the philosopher disapproved of him, and discouraged his attendance. Moreover, he and Silas Long were always at variance, and when the two met the milkstand lost its dignity and became a center of futile argument.

One by one they arrived, and dropped upon the steps of the milkstand or the pile of stones by the gate, with a casual remark about the weather.

In Elmbrook one did not say ”Good-morning” or ”Good-evening,” in greeting; but ”Fine day,” ”Cold night,” as the case might be. So as each man sank into his place, with a sigh for the long day's toil, he remarked ”Fine night,” looking far off at the horizon, and Uncle Hughie also examined that boundary, and remarked ”Fine.” As Jake Sawyer seated himself, and raised the youngest orphan to his knee, he added proudly, ”An' a fine boy, too, eh, folks?”

”Oh, yes, indeed! And indeed, yes!” cried Uncle Hughie, patting the little, curly head, and resorting to the Gaelic for terms sufficiently endearing.

”And how many are there in your family now, Jake?” inquired Spectacle John facetiously. ”Got another carload s.h.i.+pped since I seen ye last?”

The company laughed heartily. The women of the village regarded the Sawyers' large family as a serious problem, but the men treated it as a huge joke.

”Aw, I bet my head any one o' yous would be glad to own a family half as smart,” remarked Jake proudly. ”Golly, Miss Weir says that oldest boy kin go through the 'rithmetic like a runaway team; an' as for the girls, well, sirs”--Jake slapped his knee--”there jist ain't anythin'

they can't' do 'round the house, an' Hannah'll tell you the same.”

”There don't seem to be much they can't do 'round the mill,” grunted Spectacle John, whose days were made weary routing his partner's family from his place of business. ”You won't raise that oldest boy if he shows his face to me 'round the mill again, I promise you that.”

”Speakin' o' mills,” said William Winters, ”when I was at Neeag'ra Falls I seen a mill that you could put this whole village into an'

never notice it, an' it run by electricity, too.”

The population of the milkstand settled more firmly into its place.

When the blacksmith got started on his favorite topic there was no knowing when he might stop. He had visited the Toronto Exhibition and Niagara Falls one autumn, and ever since had lived in the afterglow of that achievement. Not the most astounding phenomena that the milkstand could produce, either in song or story, but he could far surpa.s.s from the wonderful experiences of that visit. The Niagara Falls mill was only half finished when a new arrival interrupted.