Treasure Valley Part 8

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.

"Fine night," said a voice with a deep Scottish burr.

"Fine," acquiesced the milkstand.

"Oh, and it will be you, Sandy?" said Uncle Hughie, making room for the newcomer beside him. "Come away, man, come away."

Sandy McQuarry was a thick-set man, with a face like a Skye terrier.

He stood looking down at the contented, round-shouldered a.s.sembly, with little columns of smoke curling up from pipes of peace, and his disapproving brows bristled as though he were about to burst into loud barking.

"Jeannie said ye wanted me," he remarked, by way of explaining his presence. Sandy McQuarry was a busy man, and a great money-maker, and did not want any one to think he could afford to spend his evenings in idle gossip on a milkstand, as some folks did.

"Oh, yes, indeed, it would be very kind of you to be troubling. You must jist be coming with us to see that poor McIntyre body now, down in your shanty. And what would you be thinking of him?"

"He's a dour body. Ah couldna git a ceevil word oot o' him."

"He would mebby be a good workman, for all?" said Uncle Hughie insinuatingly.

"Ah dinna ken. He's got a bad e'e in his heid, yon man."

"Hoots! It's not wicked the man would be!" cried Uncle Hughie indignantly. "It's a broken heart that ails him, or I'll be mistaken."

"That's jist what I say," agreed Jake Sawyer. "I jist got one squint at him yisterday, when I was down at the Drowned Lands, huntin' our oldest"--Jake tried in vain to keep the quiver of pride from his voice--"an' he looked to me like a dog that was meant to be good-natured, but had jist been kicked straight ahead till it turned surly."

"I'm thinkin' ye could surely give him some light job, Sandy,"

continued old Hughie. "Night watchman, now--it's the only job he could be doin', he's that sick, poor body."

Sandy McQuarry looked obstinate. "I was thinkin' o' settin' our Peter at that job this summer."

"Eh? But you could be helping the Lord to give the poor man better days, Sandy, and that would be grand work, whatever. Eh, indeed, indeed, we can never tell, when we do a kind act, how far it will reach." Uncle Hughie began to grow philosophical. "Here would be Jake, now, taking all these lambs into his home, and the Lord only can tell how much good it will do to other people he will be knowing nothing about. Oh, indeed, when we would be giving the Lord a helping hand, it would jist be starting all the machinery in the world, and mebby beyond it."

"That there's true, 'Ughie, that's true!" cried Silas Long, laying down his telescope. "Wen you're doin' the right thing by your neighbor you're jist 'elpin' along the turnin' o' the earth."

There was an impatient movement from Spectacle John. Silas had touched their chief point of dispute. The shape and motions of the planet they inhabited had long served as a fierce battle-ground between these two.

The astronomer held the generally accepted opinion on these matters, and could prove Columbus' theory beyond gainsaying. But, whether from honest disbelief, or a stubborn resolve to disagree with his adversary upon all subjects, Spectacle John scouted his arguments as moons.h.i.+ne.

"The turnin' o' the earth!" he repeated scornfully. "You'll never catch me takin' a hand at anny such fool ch.o.r.e as that!"

Uncle Hughie gazed indignantly over the golden mill-pond and hummed "The March o' the Cameron Men."

"Well, sir, that McIntyre man has a hard row to hoe," said Jake Sawyer, wisely steering away from the dangerous topic. "It's a caution now, ain't it, how some folks seems to have everything they want in this world, an' others gets all the things n.o.body wants?"

"Man, did you ever think what a queer, botched-up world we live in, anyhow?" inquired William Winters, who, whenever he found himself beyond the influence of his well-managed home, was always in a rebellious state. "The minister, now, 'ud like to make ye believe everything's ordered for our good, but it don't look that way to me.

Gos.h.!.+ Sometimes, when I'm patchin' up somethin' at the shop, I think I could take my hammer an' bang things up into better shape myself than the Almighty's done."

"Lord love ye, William!" cried Silas Long in alarm. "Take care wot ye're sayin'!"

"Well, when I was at Neeag'ra Falls," persisted the blacksmith, "there was a man preachin' there on the streets that said he didn't believe there was any G.o.d at all----"

'"Ere, William," interrupted the astronomer, shoving his telescope into Winters' hand, as one would give a new toy to a complaining child, "you take a squint through this 'ere spygla.s.s, an' if you ain't convinced in five minutes that there is a G.o.d, well, sir, you can smash it, that's all."