The End Of The Rainbow Part 19

"Well, here's a verse that's got a quotation from Scripture or at least an allusion to one. That's to be expected in the history of the McPhersons."

"_Fairshon had a son That married Noah's daughter, And nearly spoiled ta flood By drinking all ta water, Which he would have done I really do believe it Had ta mixture peen Only half Glenlevit!_"

Lawyer Ed was shaking with unseemly laughter.

"Ye'll hae to sing it a' when we eat the haggis the morn's night," he suggested.

"I don't understand how a reference to anything so unholy as the Glenlevit got into the annals of ta Fairshons, Jock," said Doctor Blair.

Now Jock McPherson was not averse to a drop of Glenlevit himself,--for his stomach's sake, of course, for the elder could not be unscriptural even in his eating and drinking. Archie Blair was not averse to it either, though he frankly admitted that it was very bad for his stomach, indeed, and for everybody else's stomach.

But in the opening temperance campaign the latter had come out avowedly on the side of local option, and was looked upon as one of the party's strongest speakers, while Jock had not yet declared himself. It was a delicate subject with Mr. McPherson, and he could not endure to be twitted about it.

He paused at the church steps and laid his hand on the doctor's velvet sleeve. He cleared his throat, always a dangerous sign.

"Yes," he said very slowly, "it will be a ferry fine song indeed, and if Edward would jist be putting big _Aye_-men on the tail of it to-morrow night, it will sound more feenished." The whole procession was waiting to enter the church, but Jock did not hurry. "As for the Glenlevit, the McPhersons were no more noted for liking their drop than many another clan I might mention. But they were honest about it." He paused again and then said even more deliberately: "And if you would like to be referring to the Scriptures again, you might be taking a look at your Bible when you get home, you will be finding some ferry good advice in Romans the 2nd chapter and 21st verse."

He turned away and marched solemnly into the church. The procession followed and it was then that J. P. Thornton, standing at his post, and wondering why Ed had not long ago appeared to receive the Scotchmen, beheld the amazing spectacle of his Irish friend and very brother, marching in their front rank, bonnet and plaid and all!

J. P. was too dignified to make a demonstration of his outraged feelings in church, but Miss Annabel Armstrong reported afterwards that when she pa.s.sed him she heard him say something about Edward, that sounded like "You're too brutish"--or "too bruty" or something like that, and Miss Armstrong said it was exceedingly improper language for an elder to use in church.

J. P. was always in a state of mild irritation when he settled himself to hear the annual St. Andrew's sermon, but this morning he was decidedly indignant. By the time the Scotchmen had gone through two long psalms, with Lawyer Ed leading, he was hot and disgusted, and when the sermon came it was like acid poured upon an open wound.

The famous minister from the city made all the mistakes of his St.

Andrew's predecessors and a great many more of his own. He lingered long at Bannockburn, he recited "Scots Wha Hae" in full, he quoted portions of the death of Wallace and altogether behaved in a way to leave the usually genial English listener with his temper red and raw and anxious for a fight.

Monday evening Lawyer Ed was to have driven out to McClintock's Corners with his friend, to speak at a tea meeting, and convince the farmers that Algonquin would be a much more desirable place as a market town with a prohibitory liquor law than it was at present.

But Lawyer Ed went to the St. Andrew's supper instead and ate haggis and listened to the pipes play "The c.o.c.k O' the North," and Archie Blair recite Burns and Jock McPherson make a speech on Scottish history.

That was more than J. P. could stand. He telephoned to Roderick early the next morning telling him to inform his chief that he, J. P., would go to no more temperance meetings with him. If Lawyer Ed wanted help in his campaign let him look for it among his brother Scotchmen. And the receiver slammed before Roderick could enquire what he meant.

There were storms bursting in other quarters too. Doctor Blair had spent a good part of the time in church on Sunday morning in a laudable search for the Epistle to the Romans, and had surprised all his brethren by studying the 2nd chapter carefully. The result, however, was not what a searching of the Scriptures is supposed to produce. For he telephoned to Roderick the next morning that he could tell Ed, when he came in, that he, Archie Blair, would be hanged if he would waste any more time on local option if that was what people were saying about him. And Captain Jimmie dropped in immediately after to say that if something wasn't done to conciliate Jock McPherson he was afraid he would vote against local option altogether.

So the cause of temperance suffered a check. It proved to be not a very serious one, but it served Roderick. For it postponed the necessity of his declaring himself on either side, and he hoped that before the day arrived when he must join the issue, his affairs would be less complicated.

Diplomacy was one of Lawyer Ed's strong features, and he had almost completed a reconciliation between all the aggrieved parties when Roderick left for a business trip to the north. It was an important commission involving much money, and certain vague statements regarding its outcome made by Mr. Graham had fired the Lad's imagination.

"Now, I needn't warn you to do your best, Roderick," said the man when he bade him good-bye. "You'll do that, anyway. But there's more than money in this. There's an eye on you--"

He would say no more, but Leslie gave him another hint. He had found her strolling past the office as he ran out to post some letters, the day before his departure. He was absolutely without conceit, but he could not help noticing that somehow Miss Leslie Graham nearly always happened, by the strangest coincidence, to be on the street just as he was leaving the office.

He walked with her to the post-office and back, and then she declared her fingers were frozen and she would come into the office for ten minutes to warm them.

"So you're going to fix up things with the British North American Railroad for Daddy, are you?" she said, holding out her gloved fingers over the glowing coal-stove. "That means that you'll be getting your fingers into Uncle Will's business, too. His lawyer is up at Beaver Landing now."

"Whose lawyer?" asked Roderick, giving her a chair by the fire and standing before her feeling extremely uncomfortable.

"Uncle Will's. You know Uncle Will Graham? He's an American now, but he has all sorts of interests in Canada and he's--well, he's not exactly President of the B. N. A., but he's the whole thing in it.

Uncle Will's coming home next summer, and I'm going to make him take me back to New York with him."

Roderick's ambitious heart gave a leap. Of course he knew about William Graham, the Algonquin man who had gone to the States and made a million or more.

His head was filled with rosy dreams as he walked out to the farm that evening to say good-bye. He was leaving for only a short time, but the old people were loath to see him go. Aunt Kirsty drew him up to the hot stove, bewailing the misfortune that was taking him away.

"Dear, dear, dear, and you will be going away up north into the bush,"

she said, clapping him on the back, "and you will jist be frozen with the cold indeed, and your poor arm will be bad again."

"Yes, and the wolves will probably eat me, and a tree will fall on me and I'll break through the ice and be drowned," wailed Roderick. And she shoved him away from her for a foolish gomeril, trying not to smile at him, and declaring it was little he cared that he was leaving her, indeed.

"I have not heard you say anything about the arm for a long time, Lad,"

said his father, who was watching him, with s.h.i.+ning eyes, from his old rocking-chair.

"Oh, it's all right, Dad," he said lightly. "I haven't time to notice it."

He always put off the question thus when Aunt Kirsty was within hearing, but his father's loving eye noticed that the boy's hand sometimes sought the arm and held it, as though in pain.

"And you will not be here to help start the great fight," his father said wistfully, when he had heard all the latest news concerning the temperance campaign, even to the pending disaster. "But you will be finding a Jericho Road up in the bush, I'll have no doubt."

Roderick looked at the saintly old face and his heart smote him. He felt for a moment that to please his father would surely be worth more than all the success a man could attain in a lifetime.

"And did you get a job for poor Billy, Lad?" his father enquired.

"Billy? Oh, the Perkins fellow?" Roderick whistled in dismay. Poor Billy Perkins had not "kept nicely saved," as his brave little wife had hoped, but had fallen among thieves in the hotel at the corner once more. Old Angus had rescued him, put him upon his feet again, and had commissioned his son to look for work for Billy, and his son had forgotten about it entirely in the pressure of his work.

"Oh, Dad, that's a shame," he cried contritely, "I had so much on my mind getting ready to go, I forgot. I'll tell Lawyer Ed about him, and perhaps he can look up something. I have to start early in the morning or I would yet."

"Well, well," said his father cheerfully. "There now, there is no need to worry, for they have got him a job, but it is away from home and I thought he'd do better here. The bit wife is lonely since the wee girl died. But Billy will jist have to go, and it will only be for the winter, anyway."

"What's he going to do?"

"It will be in the shanties. He is not strong enough for the bush, but he will be helping the cook, and the wages will be good. I'm hoping he will not be able to get near the drink. Indeed it was the little la.s.sie herself that got him the job," he added, his eyes s.h.i.+ning.

"She's the great little lady, indeed."

"Who is, Father?" Roderick spoke absently, his eyes on the fire, his mind on Mr. William Graham and the B. N. A. Railroad.

"The young teacher lady. She will be down to see poor Mrs. Perkins every day or so since the wee one died. And the poor bit Gladys! Eh, she's jist making a woman out of her indeed."

Roderick's eyes came away from the fire. He was all interest. "Oh, is she? Does she visit the folks in Willow Lane? What is she doing for them?"

"Eh, indeed, what is she not doing?" cried his father. "It's jist an angel we've got in Willow Lane now, Lad. I don't know how she did it, and indeed Father Tracy says he doesn't know either, but she's got Judy to cook a hot dinner for Mike every day, and she's teaching Gladys at nights, and she's jist saved the poor Perkins bodies from starving.

She showed the wee woman how to make bread, and oh, indeed, I couldn't be telling you all the good she does!"

Roderick listened absorbedly. So that was where she kept herself in the evenings. And that was why he could never meet her any place, no matter how many nights he frittered away at parties in the hope of seeing her.

"And how did she get this job for Billy?" he asked, just for the sake of hearing his father talk about her.

Old Angus smiled knowingly.