Part 8 (2/2)

”What's the matter with Shock?” suggested someone; ”he's a good strong man.” There was a general laugh.

”You're the man, Shock. You would clear out those saloons.”

”Can you ride a broncho, Shock?”

At the good-natured chaff Shock blushed a deeper red than usual. No one expected much of poor Shock. Indeed, most of his cla.s.smates wondered if he would ever ”get a place,” and none more than Shock himself.

But Brown, resenting the laugh and its all too evident implication, replied indignantly: ”You bet Shock's the man for the West, or any place else where solid men are wanted, and where Shock goes there will be something doing! And,” striking an att.i.tude, ”the country will be the better for it! Oh, I am a Canadian!” he continued, smiting his breast dramatically. ”Come along, Shock, we've got an appointment,” and Brown, linking his arm affectionately through that of his big friend, stuck his cap on the back of his head and marched off whistling ”The Maple Leaf.”

”Say!” he cried, as he pa.s.sed out into the street, ”won't a lot of those fellows volunteer, or will they hunt round for a nice little bunk in Ontario?”

”Many would like to go if they could,” said Shock thoughtfully, ”but you know there are many things that must be considered.”

”Young ladies, eh?” asked Brown with a laugh.

”Oh! didn't he tell that yarn well? It was great. But I'd hate to be the fellow.”

”But you are not fair,” replied Shock. ”A man can't answer every appeal. He must think what he is fit for, and, in short, where he is called to work. There's Lloyd, now--”

”Oh, Lloyd!” broke in Brown impatiently. ”He's a quitter.”

”Not he. He's anything but that.”

”No,” owned Brown, ”he's not a quitter, but he puts in overtime thinking of what's good for Lloyd. Of course, I do that sort of thing myself, but from a fellow like Lloyd one expects something better.”

Soon they were at Shock's door.

”Come in,” said Shock cordially, ”mother will be glad to see you.”

And Brown went in.

IV

ONLY ONE CLAIM

It always gave Brown a sense of content to enter the Macgregor cottage.

Even among the thrifty North country folk the widow Macgregor's home, while not as pretentious as those of the well-to-do farmers, had been famous as a model of tidy house-keeping. Her present home was a little cottage of three rooms with the kitchen at the back. The front room where Mrs. Macgregor received her few visitors, and where Shock did most of his reading, except when driven to his bedroom by the said visitors, was lighted by two candles in high, polished, old-fas.h.i.+oned bra.s.s candlesticks, and by the fire from the hearth, which radiated a peace and comfort which even the s.h.i.+ny hair-cloth chairs and sofa and the remaining somewhat severe furniture of the room could not chill. It was the hearth and mantel that had decided Mrs. Macgregor and Shock in their purchase of the little cottage, which in many eyes was none too desirable. On the walls hung old-fas.h.i.+oned prints of Robbie Burns and his Highland Mary, the Queen and the Prince Consort, one or two quaint family groups, and over the mantel a large portrait of a tall soldier in full Highland dress. Upon a bracket in a corner stood a gla.s.s case enclosing a wreath of flowers wrought in worsted, and under it in a frame hung a sampler with the Lord's Prayer similarly wrought. On one side of the room stood a clock upon a shelf, flanked by the Family Bible and such books as ”The Saint's Rest,” ”Holy Living,” ”The Fourfold State,” ”Scots Worthies,” all ancient and well worn. On the other side stood a bookcase which was Shock's, and beside it a table where he did his work. Altogether it was a very plain room, but the fireplace and the s.h.i.+ning candlesticks and the rag carpet on the floor redeemed it from any feeling of discomfort, while the flowers that filled the windows left an air of purity and sweetness.

”Come away, my lad, come away,” said Mrs. Macgregor, who sat knitting by the fire. ”The night is chill enough. Come away up to the fire.”

”Thanks, Mrs. Macgregor,” said Brown, ”it does me good to look at you by the fire there with your knitting. When I'm an old man I only hope I'll have a cozy hearthstone like this to draw up to, and on the other side a cozy old lady like you with pink cheeks like these which I must now kiss.”

”Tut, tut, it's a daft laddie you are whatever,” said the old lady, blus.h.i.+ng a little, but not ill-pleased. ”Sit ye down yonder.” Brown, ever since his illness, when Mrs. Macgregor and Shock had nursed him back from death's door two years ago, was one of the family, and, indeed, he used endearments with the old lady that the undemonstrative Shock would never have dared to use. ”Ye're late, Hamish. Surely yon man had much to say,” said his mother, looking lovingly upon her great, st.u.r.dy son.

”That he had, mother, and great it was, I can tell you.”

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