Part 15 (1/2)

IX

RALPH STANWELL AGAIN

Johnnie Courteau of de mountain, Johnnie Courteau of de hill; Dat was de boy can shoot de gun, Dat was de boy can jomp an' run, An' it's not very offen you ketch heem still, Johnnie Courteau!

--WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND.

Scotty was setting out for what he hoped was his last winter at school.

It was a performance he considered quite too juvenile, and a single glance at him would convince anyone that it was high time he had put away childish things. His great, strong frame, over six feet in his ”shoepacks,” his brawny arms and hands, well developed under the toil of the axe and the plough, all spoke of his having reached man's estate. But his growth had somewhat outrun his years, and he had not yet reached the age when he might with propriety remain away from school during the winter. Besides, he had held a conference with Dan Murphy and ”Hash” Tucker during the Christmas holidays to consider the matter of further education. Should they abjure the whole trivial business, was the question discussed, or should they attend school this winter just to see what the new master would be like, and, if possible, make things lively for him?

The latter course, being the more uncertain, offered the more entertainment and was unanimously adopted; so here was the young man, on this dazzling January morning, swinging along the silent white forest path, ready for any kind of adventure.

For Scotty had arrived at a period when the unknown and the forbidden were the alluring, and the lawful and the restraining were the irksome.

Indeed Rory was wont to grumble that that young Scot was just going to ruin; he had never been made to mind anybody when he was little, and now he was just growing up clean wild. For since Rory had given up fiddling and dancing and had settled down with Roarin' Sandy's Maggie in the north clearing he had become a very staid householder and frowned upon all youthful frivolity. And though his prophecies were perhaps overpessimistic, there was undoubtedly some cause for disapproval in the matter of Scotty's conduct. Even Big Malcolm and his wife, who, as old age advanced, were more and more inclined to make an idol of their grandson, could not quite shut their eyes to his imperfections. He was the same big-hearted Scotty he had been in his childhood, lavishly generous and swift to respond to the call of suffering; but his high spirits were sometimes too much for the narrow confines of his life, and he was wont to break out into wild, mischievous pranks.

During the last winter of poor old McAllister's feeble misrule, Scotty and his two leal followers, Dan Murphy and ”Hash” Tucker, had contrived to make the hard name of Number Nine notorious. So long as the three confined their misdemeanours to the school the public had winked at them. Disorder and ill-behaviour always seemed a.s.sociated with old McAllister, everyone felt; and indeed Mr. Cameron, the minister, was suspected by most of the section to have had reference to the old broken-down school-teacher when he preached that solemn discourse upon the blind leaders of the blind. As the sermon was delivered on the Sabbath after Scotty and Dan had knocked over the stovepipes and almost burned down the school-house, Store Thompson declared he was ”convinced of the certainty of the application-like.”

But when the boys perpetrated acts of lawlessness beyond the precincts of school life people began to look upon them askance. Scotty had distinguished himself rather unpleasantly on the last Hallowe'en; for besides the usual small depredations which everyone expected on that historic night, someone had gone to the extremity of elevating Gabby Johnny Thompson's wagon, heavily loaded with grain, to the top of the barn; and everyone in the Oa knew that n.o.body would have conceived of such a daring thing except Big Malcolm's Scot.

Of course, the neighbours could not fail to see some poetic justice in the affair, for Gabby Johnny, who was famed for his astute bargaining, had been voicing a wailing desire for high wheat ever since that grain had begun to grow along the banks of the Oro. Nevertheless, though the neighbours might secretly approve of such retributive acts of Providence, the medium through which they descended was liable to be regarded with disfavour.

For while Scotty was growing up the social life of the Oro valley had been undergoing a great transformation. John McAlpine, that great preacher whose words always awoke his hearers to a terrible realisation of the solemnity of life and the certainty of death, had come to the Glen with his imperative call to higher things. And at his coming the Sun of Righteousness had arisen over the Oro hills and the whole countryside had awakened to a new day.

Other influences had been at work, too; the spirit of the pioneer days was pa.s.sing with the forests, the little isolated circles of cleared land had widened out and merged into each other like the rings on the surface of the Oro pools, and with the broader outlook came gentler manners and more tolerant views. Then this young land was slowly but surely absorbing into her own personality all the discordant elements and making of them a great nation; for within the last few years a new race had sprung up in the Oro valley, a race that was neither English, Irish, nor Scotch, Highland nor Lowland, but a strange mixture of all, known as Canadian. The community in the Glen had grown to quite a respectable village, the post office adding a touch of dignity and necessitating the new name, the name of Glenoro. And best of all, there was the church just at the bend in the river, with the manse beside it where the minister lived; and such had been its influence that a fight at the corner now would have brought a shock to the whole towns.h.i.+p.

So Scotty and his followers did not properly belong to these improved times; they were mediaeval. The boy had been too young when Mr.

McAlpine came to be deeply affected by his great sermons; but he had not outlived the stirring memory of the old fighting days when Callum kept the Oa lively. Callum was still his hero, the dear old handsome Callum, of whom he could never think even yet without a pang of regret.

Hamish and Rory had grown beyond him with the years, but Callum was always young and bright and das.h.i.+ng; and Scotty was determined to be like him and to do the great deeds Callum would certainly have done had it not been for his untimely end.

The bell was ringing when the three conspirators met at the school pump. Number Nine had a bell now, and there was even some agitation for a new building. Poor old McAllister's wasted life had gone out the autumn before like the quenching of a smouldering fire, and now that a new man was to take his place the section was beginning to pick up courage and look for a hopeful future.

The young men lounged in at the end of the procession and flopped into their seats with the proper air of insupportable boredom. Scotty's first task was to take the measure of his new instructor. At the first glance he was conscious of a distinct sensation of disappointment. He had expected the stranger to be young and callow, but this man had grey hair and was apparently nearing middle age. His face, which was pale and showed signs of ill-health, was clearly cut and refined. His frame was well-built and wiry, and he had a pair of steady grey eyes and a quiet, dignified manner which seemed strangely incongruous in the position old McAllister had so long made ridiculous.

Nevertheless Scotty regarded him with strong disfavour. His white collar, his smooth hair and his English way of sharply clipping off his words stamped him as hopelessly ”stuck-up”; and Dan Murphy reported with derisive joy that he had worn gloves to school, a weakness of which no one who called himself a man would be guilty. Besides all this, he had obtained his position through Captain Herbert; indeed, he had been a close friend of the Captain when they lived in Toronto, it was rumoured, and he probably belonged to the aristocracy, who were hated of Scotty's soul. On the other hand, he wasn't an Englishman, for his name was Archibald Monteith, that was one thing in his favour; but he stood for order and good behaviour, and the young man was arrayed against all such.

The new master himself was quietly taking note of his surroundings. He had been thoroughly informed of the bad character of Number Nine, both by Captain Herbert and the trustees, not to speak of the unsolicited advice and information that had been pouring in upon him ever since his arrival. Upon the first night of his stay at Store Thompson's, a burly man with a great bushy head and beard had come suddenly upon him; and after a warm handshake and welcome had given him absolute power in the matter of dealing with his family.

”You lay it onto my Danny,” was the generous admonition. ”Sure, the young spalpeen's mad wid the foolish goin's on, an' it's a latherin' he needs ivery day. You mind an' lay it onto Danny!”

Quite as cordial but more ominous had been the advice proffered by Gabby Johnny Thompson. In his capacity of Secretary-Treasurer of the School Board that gentleman felt it inc.u.mbent upon him to inform the novice of the unsounded depths of iniquity he had to deal with in Number Nine. His darkest hints related to ”yon ill piece o' Big Malcolm MacDonald's.” A scandalous young deil he was, and Mr. Monteith would have to keep an eye on him, for him and yon young Papish of a Murphy were a bad pair. It was young Scot Malcolm who had nearly burned the school down, over McAllister's head; yes, and would have burned up old McAllister, too, without a thought, he was that thrawn and ill.

Monteith was regarding with deep interest the owner of this evil reputation. He was a rare reader of character, and understood at once the nature of Scotty's malady. His man's frame and boy's face, his keen, bright, inquiring eyes, and the signs of abounding life, all fully explained the cause of the trouble. The schoolmaster found something irresistibly attractive about the boy too; there were signs of intellect in every line of his face, and he dearly loved brains.

As the school pa.s.sed out for their morning intermission he beckoned the youth to him. Dan Murphy made a covert grimace expressive of his whole being's revolt against any such degrading task, and Scotty went forward reluctantly. He wanted to disobey, but the man's courtesy held him.

An old school register in which were written some seventy names lay open on the desk.

”I am hopelessly entangled in all these MacDonalds,” said the new master, in a tone one man would use in addressing another. ”Here are four Betseys and six Johnnies, and Donalds without number. Would you be so good as to a.s.sist me?”