Part 13 (1/2)

”Ay, lad,” answered his mother brightly, ”it will be your turn then.”

They were determined, these two, to look only at the bright side to-day. No sun should s.h.i.+ne upon their tears. The parting would be sore enough with all the help that hope could bring. And so the morning pa.s.sed in last preparations for Shock's going, and the last counsels and promises, and in planning for the new home that was to be made in the shadow of the Rockies in the far West.

”And the time will soon pa.s.s, mother,” said Shock cheerfully, ”and it will be good for you to have Brown with you. He will need your care, you know,” he hastened to add, knowing well that not for her own sake could she have been persuaded to receive even Brown into her little home.

”Ay, I will do for him what I can,” she replied, ”and indeed,” she added warmly, ”he's a kind lad, poor fellow.”

”And the young ladies will be looking in on you now and then, so they said,” and Shock bent low over his trunk working with the roping of it.

”Yes, indeed,” replied his mother heartily, ”never you fear.”

And so with united and determined purpose they kept at arm's length the heart's sorrow they knew would fall upon each when alone.

To go to the ends of the earth in these globe-trotting days is attended with little anxiety, much less heart-break, but in those days when Canada was cut off at the Lakes, the land beyond was a wilderness, untravelled for the most part but by the Indian or trapper, and considered a fit dwelling place only for the Hudson Bay officer kept there by his loyalty to ”the Company,” or the half-breed runner to whom it was native land, or the more adventurous land-hungry settler, or the reckless gold-fevered miner. Only under some great pa.s.sion did men leave home and those dearer than life, and casting aside dreams of social, commercial, or other greatness, devote themselves to life on that rude frontier. But such a pa.s.sion had seized upon Shock, and in it his mother shared. Together these two simple souls, who were all in all to each other, made their offering for the great cause, bringing each their all without stint, without measure, without grudging, though not without heart-break, and gaining that full exquisite joy, to so many unknown, of love's complete sacrifice.

To none but themselves, however, was the greatness of the sacrifice apparent. For when the carriage arrived with Mrs. Fairbanks and her daughters there was no sign of tears or heart-break in the quiet faces that welcomed them. And Mrs. Fairbanks, who had come prepared to offer overflowing sympathy to the old lady ”deserted” by her ”fanatical” son, was somewhat taken aback by the quiet dignity and perfect control that distinguished the lady's voice and manner. After the first effusive kiss, which Mrs. Fairbanks hurried to bestow and which Mrs. Macgregor suffered with calm surprise, it became difficult to go on with the programme of tearful consolation which had been prepared. There seemed hardly a place for sympathy, much less for tearful consolation, in this well-ordered home, and with these self-sufficient folk.

”We thought we would like to come over and--and--help, perhaps drive you to the station to see your son off,” said Mrs. Fairbanks, who was readjusting her scenery and changing her role with all speed.

”That was kind, indeed,” said Mrs. Macgregor, ”but Hamish will be walking, I doubt, and I will just be waiting at home.”

She had the instinct of the wounded to hide in some sheltered and familiar haunt.

”I shall be glad to remain with you, Mrs. Macgregor, if I can be of any service,” repeated Mrs. Fairbanks.

”It will not be necessary; everything is done, and there is nothing needed.”

The voice was more than quiet, as if it came from a heart whose pa.s.sion had been spent.

”It is very kind, indeed, and we are grateful,” said Shock, feeling that his mother's manner might be misunderstood.

”Yess, yess,” said the old lady hastily, ”it iss very good of you and of the young ladies,” turning to look at Helen with kindly eyes. ”You will not be thinking me ungrateful,” she added with a suspicion of tears in her voice. ”I have been spoiled by Hamish yonder,” turning her face toward her son.

”Whist now, mother,” said Hamish to her in a low tone, in which depreciation and warning were mingled. He knew how hard the next hour would be for himself and for his mother, and he knew, too, that they could not indulge themselves in the luxury of uttered grief and love.

At this moment, to the relief of all, Brown entered with an exaggerated air of carelessness.

”Here's a man for your 'settler's effect,'” he cried cheerily. ”Lucky dog, aint he,” he cried, turning to Helen, ”and don't I wish I was in his place. Think of the times he will have riding over the claims with those jolly cowboys, not to speak of the claims he will be staking, and the gold he will be was.h.i.+ng out of those parish streams of his. Don't I wish I were going! I am, too, when I can persuade those old iron-livered professors to let me through. However, next year I'm to pa.s.s. Mrs. Macgregor is to see to that.”

”Indeed, I hope so,” cried Betty, ”an hour's study at least, before breakfast and no gallivanting at night. I will help you, Mrs.

Macgregor. We will get him through this time.”

”Ay, I doubt I will not be much the better of your help,” replied Mrs.

Macgregor, with a shrewd kindly smile.

”There now, take that,” said Brown to Betty, adding ruefully to Shock, ”You see what I'm in for.”

”You'll survive,” said Shock.

Then he rose and lifted his coat from the peg behind the door. At the same instant Helen rose hurriedly and with paling face said to her mother: ”Let us go now.”