"Great heavens," cried De Lacy, "why it's Macdonald! What the deuce do you mean coming in on people like that?"

"What is it, Maimie," cried her Aunt Frank, hurrying down stairs.

Then she saw Ranald standing in the doorway, with face bloodless, ghastly, livid. Quickly she went up to him, and said, in a voice trembling and not ungentle: "Oh, why did you wait, Mr. Macdonald; go away now, go away."

Ranald turned and looked at her with a curious uncomprehending gaze, and then said, "Yes, I will go away." He took a step toward Maimie, his eyes like lurid flames. She shrank from him, while De Lacy stepped in his path. With a sweep of his arm he brushed De Lacy aside, hurling him crashing against the wall, and stood before the shrinking girl.

"Good by, Maimie; forget that I loved you once."

The words came slowly from his pallid lips. For some moments he stood with his burning eyes fastened upon her face. Then he turned slowly from her and groped blindly for his hat. Miss St. Clair hurried toward him, found his hat, and putting it in his hand, said, in a broken voice, while tears poured down her cheeks: "Here it is; good by, good by."

He looked at her a moment as if in surprise, and then, with a smile of rare sweetness on his white lips, he said, "I thank you," and passed out, going feebly like a man who has got a death wound.



CHAPTER XXIII

A GOOD TRUE FRIEND

It was springtime and the parks and avenues were in all the dainty splendor of their new leaves. The afternoon May sun was flooding the city with gold and silver light, and all the air was tremulous with the singing of birds. A good day it was to live if one could only live in the sunny air within sight of the green leaves and within sound of the singing birds. A day for life and love it was; at least so Kate thought as she drew up her prancing team at the St. Clair house where Harry stood waiting for her.

"DEAR Kate," he cried, "how stunning you are! I love you!"

"Come, Harry, jump up! Breton is getting excited."

"Stony-hearted wretch," grumbled Harry. "Did you hear me tell you I love you?"

"Nonsense, Harry, jump in; I'll report to Lily Langford."

"Don't tell," pleaded Harry, "and do keep Breton on all fours. This isn't a circus. You terrify me."

"We have only time to make the train, hurry up!" cried Kate. "Steady, my boys."

"Some day, Kate, those 'boys' of yours will be your death or the death of some of your friends," said Harry, as he sprang in and took his place beside Kate. "That Breton ought to be shot. It really affects my heart to drive with you."

"You haven't any, Harry, you know that right well, so don't be alarmed."

"Quite true," said Harry, sentimentally, "not since that night, don't you remember, Kate, when you—"

"Now, Harry, I only remind you that I always tell my girl friends everything you say. It is this wedding that's got into your blood."

"I suppose so," murmured Harry, pensively; "wish it would get into yours. Now seriously, Kate, at your years you ought—"

"Harry," said Kate, indignantly, "I really don't need you at the station. I can meet your aunt quite well without you. Shall I set you down here, or drive you to the office?"

"Oh, not to the office, I entreat! I entreat! Anything but that! Surely I may be allowed this day! I shall be careful of your sensitive points, but I do hope this wedding of Maimie's will give you serious thoughts."

Kate was silent, giving her attention doubtless to her team. Then, with seeming irrelevance, she said: "Didn't I see Colonel Thorp yesterday in town?"

"Yes, the old heathen! I haven't forgiven him for taking off Ranald as he did."

"He didn't take off Ranald. Ranald was going off anyway."

"How do you know?" said Harry.

"I know," replied Kate, with a little color in her cheek. "He told me himself."

"Well, old Thorp was mighty glad to get him; I can tell you that. The old sinner!"

"He's just a dear!" cried Kate. "Yes, he was glad to get Ranald. What a splendid position he gave him."

"Oh, yes, I know, he adores you like all the rest, and so you think him a dear."

But this Kate ignored for the team were speeding along at an alarming pace. With amazing skill and dash she threaded her way through the crowded streets with almost no checking of her speed.

"Do be careful," cried Harry, as the wheels of their carriage skimmed the noses of the car-horses. "I am quite sure my aunt will not be able to recognize me."

"And why not?"

"Because I shall be gray-haired by the time I reach the station."

"There's the train I do believe," cried Kate, flourishing her whip over her horses' backs. "We must not be late."

"If we ever get there alive," said Harry.

"Here we are sure enough."

"Shall I go to the train?"

"No, indeed," cried Kate. "Do you think I am going to allow any one to meet MY Aunt Murray but myself? I shall go; you hold the horses."

"I am afraid, really," cried Harry, pretending terror.

"Oh, I fancy you will do," cried Kate, smiling sweetly, as she ran off to meet the incoming train. In a few moments she returned with Mrs. Murray and carrying a large, black valise.

"Hello, auntie dear," cried Harry. "You see I can't leave these brutes of Kate's, but believe me it does me good to see you. What a blessing a wedding is to bring you to us. I suppose you won't come again until it is Kate's or mine."

"That would be sure to bring me," cried Mrs. Murray, smiling her bright smile, "provided you married the right persons."

"Why, auntie," said Harry, dismally, "Kate is so unreasonable. She won't take even me. You see she's so tremendously impressed with herself, and all the fellows spoil her."

By this time Kate had the reins and Harry had climbed into the back seat.

"Dear old auntie," he said, kissing his aunt, "I am really delighted to see you. But to return to Kate. Look at her! Doesn't she look like a Roman princess?"

"Now, Harry, do be sensible, or I shall certainly drive you at once to the office," said Kate, severely.

"Oh, the heartlessness of her. She knows well enough that Colonel Thorp is there, and she would shamelessly exult over his abject devotion. She respects neither innocent youth nor gray hairs, as witness myself and Colonel Thorp."

"Isn't he a silly boy, auntie?" said Kate, "and he is not much improving with age."

"But what's this about Colonel Thorp?" said Mrs. Murray. "Sometimes Ranald writes of him, in high terms, too."

"Well, you ought to hear Thorp abuse Ranald. Says he's ruining the company with his various philanthropic schemes," said Harry, "but you can never tell what he means exactly. He's a wily old customer."

"Don't believe him, auntie," said Kate, with a sagacious smile. "Colonel Thorp thinks that the whole future of his company and of the Province depends solely upon Ranald. It is quite ridiculous to hear him, while all the time he is abusing him for his freaks."

"It must be a great country out there, though," said Harry, "and what a row they are making over Confederation."

"What do you mean, Harry?" said Mrs. Murray. "We hear so little in the country."

"Well, I don't know exactly, but those fellows in British Columbia are making all sorts of threats that unless this railway is built forthwith they will back out of the Dominion, and some of them talk of annexation with the United States. Don't I wish I was there! What a lucky fellow Ranald is. Thorp says he's a big gun already. No end of a swell. Of course, as manager of a big concern like the British-American Coal and Lumber Company, he is a man of some importance."

"I don't think he is taking much to do with public questions," said Kate, "though he did make a speech at New Westminster not long ago. He has been up in those terrible woods almost ever since he went."

"Hello, how do you know?" said Harry, looking at her suspiciously; "I get a fragment of a note from Ranald now and then, but he is altogether too busy to remember humble people."

"I hear regularly from Coley. You remember Coley, don't you?" said Kate, turning to Mrs. Murray.

"Oh, yes, that's the lad in whom Ranald was so interested in the Institute."

"Yes," replied Kate; "Coley begged and prayed to go with Ranald, and so he went."

"She omits to state," said Harry, "that she also 'begged and prayed' and further that she outfitted the young rascal, though I've reason to thank Providence for removing him to another sphere."

"How does it affect you?" said Mrs. Murray.

"Why, haven't you heard, Aunt Murray, of the tremendous heights to which I have attained? I suppose she didn't tell you of her dinner party. That was after you had left last fall. It was a great bit of generalship. Some of Ranald's foot-ball friends, Little Merrill, Starry Hamilton, that's the captain, you know, and myself among them, were asked to a farewell supper by this young lady, and when the men had well drunk—fed, I mean—and were properly dissolved in tears over the prospect of Ranald's departure, at a critical moment the Institute was introduced as a side issue. It was dear to Ranald's heart. A most effective picture was drawn of the Institute deserted and falling into ruins, so to speak, with Kate heroically struggling to prevent utter collapse. Could this be allowed? No! a thousand times no! Some one would be found surely! Who would it be! At this juncture Kate, who had been maintaining a powerful silence, smiled upon Little Merrill, who being distinctly inflammable, and for some mysterious reason devoted to Ranald, and for an even more mysterious reason devoted to Kate, swore he'd follow if some one would lead. What could I do? My well-known abilities naturally singled me out for leadership, so to prevent any such calamity, I immediately proposed that if Starry Hamilton, the great foot-ball chief, would command this enterprise I would follow. Before the evening was over the Institute was thoroughly manned."

"It is nearly half true, aunt," said Kate.

"And by our united efforts," continued Harry, "the Institute has survived the loss of Ranald."

"I cannot tell you how overjoyed I am, Harry, that both of my boys are taking hold of such good work, you here and Ranald in British Columbia. He must have a very hard time of it, but he speaks very gratefully of Colonel Thorp, who, he says, often opposes but finally agrees with his proposals."

Harry laughed aloud. "Agrees, does he? And do you know why? I remember seeing him one day, and he was in a state of wild fury at Ranald's notions. I won't quote his exact words. The next day I found him in a state of bland approval. Then I learn incidentally that in the meantime Kate has been giving him tea and music."

"Don't listen to his mean insinuations, auntie," said Kate, blushing a little.

Mrs. Murray turned and looked curiously into her face and smiled, and then Kate blushed all the more.

"I think that may explain some things that have been mysterious to me," she said.

"Oh, what, auntie?" cried Harry; "I am most anxious to know."

"Never mind," said Mrs. Murray; "I will explain to Kate."

"That won't help me any. She is a most secretive person, twiddles us all round her fingers and never lets us know anything until it's done. It is most exasperating. Oh, I say, Kate," added Harry, suddenly, "would you mind dropping me at the florist's here?"

"Why? Oh, I see," said Kate, drawing in her team. "How do you do, Lily? Harry is anxious to select some flowers," she said, bowing to a very pretty girl on the sidewalk.

"Kate, do stop it," besought Harry, in a low voice, as he leaped out of the carriage. "Good by, auntie, I'll see you this evening. Don't believe all Kate tells you," he added, as they drove away.

"Are you too tired for a turn in the park," said Kate, "or shall we drive home?"

A drive is always pleasant. Besides, one can talk about some things with more freedom in a carriage than face to face in one's room. The horses require attention at critical moments, and there are always points of interest when it is important that conversation should be deflected from the subject in hand, so since Mrs. Murray was willing, Kate turned into the park. For an hour they drove along its shady, winding roads while Mrs. Murray talked of many things, but mostly of Ranald, and of the tales that the Glengarry people had of him. For wherever there was lumbering to be done, sooner or later there Glengarry men were to be found, and Ranald had found them in the British Columbia forests. And to their people at home their letters spoke of Ranald and his doings at first doubtfully, soon more confidently, but always with pride. To Macdonald Bhain a rare letter came from Ranald now and then, which he would carry to Mrs. Murray with a difficult pretense of modesty. For with Macdonald Bhain, Ranald was a great man.

"But he is not quite sure of him," said Mrs. Murray. "He thinks it is a very queer way of lumbering, and the wages he considers excessive."

"Does he say that?" asked Kate. "That's just what Colonel Thorp says his company are saying. But he stands up for Ranald even when he can't see that his way is the best. The colonel is not very sure about Ranald's schemes for the men, his reading-room, library, and that sort of thing. But I'm sure he will succeed." But Kate's tone belied her confident words.

Mrs. Murray noticed the anxiety in Kate's voice. "At least we are sure," she said, gently, "that he will do right, and after all that is success."

"I know that right well," replied Kate; "but it is hard for him out there with no one to help him or to encourage him."

Again Mrs. Murray looked at Kate, curiously.

"It must be a terrible place," Kate went on, "especially for one like Ranald, for he has no mind to let things go. He will do a thing as it ought to be done, or not at all." Soon after this Kate gave her mind to her horses, and in a short time headed them for home.

"What a delightful drive we have had," said Mrs. Murray, gratefully, as Kate took her upstairs to her room.

"I hope I have not worried you with my dismal forebodings," she said, with a little laugh.

"No, dear," said Mrs. Murray, drawing her face down to the pillow where Kate had made her lay her head. "I think I understand," she added, in a whisper.

Then Kate laid her face beside that of her friend and whispered, "Oh, auntie, it is so hard for him"; but Mrs. Murray stroked her head softly and said: "There is no fear, Kate; all will be well with him."

Immediately after dinner Kate carried Mrs. Murray with her to her own room, and after establishing her in all possible comfort, she began to read extracts from Coley's letters.

"Here is the first, auntie; they are more picturesque than elegant, but if you knew Coley, you wouldn't mind; you'd be glad to get any letter from him." So saying Kate turned her back to the window, a position with the double advantage of allowing the light to fall upon the paper and the shadow to rest upon her face, and so proceeded to read:

DEAR MISS KATE: We got here—("That is to New Westminster.") last night, and it is a queer town. The streets run every way, the houses are all built of wood, and almost none of them are painted. The streets are full of all sorts of people. I saw lots of Chinamen and Indians. It makes a feller feel kind o' queer as if he was in some foreign country. The hotel where we stopped was a pretty good lookin' place. Of course nothin' like the hotel we stopped at in San Francisco. It was pretty fine inside, but after supper when the crowd began to come in to the bar you never saw such a gang in your life! They knew how to sling their money, I can tell you. And then they begun to yell and cut up. I tell you it would make the Ward seem like a Sunday school. The Boss, that's what they call him here, I guess didn't like it much, and I don't think you would, either. Next morning we went to look at the mills. They are just sheds with slab roofs. I don't think much of them myself, though I don't know much about mills. The Boss went round askin' questions and I don't think he liked the look of them much either. I know he kept his lips shut pretty tight as we used to see him do sometimes in the Institute. I am awful glad he brought me along. He says I have got to write to you at least once a month, and I've got to take care of my writin' too and get the spellin' right. When I think of the fellers back in the alleys pitchin' pennies I tell you I'd ruther die than go back. Here a feller feels he's alive. I wish I'd paid more attention to my writin' in the night school, but I guess I was pretty much of a fool them days, and you were awful good to me. The Boss says that a man must always pay his way, and when I told him I wanted to pay for them clothes you gave me he looked kind o' funny, but he said "that's right," so I want you to tell me what they cost and I will pay you first thing, for I'm goin' to be a man out in this country. We're goin' up the river next week and see the gangs workin' up there in the bush. It's kind o' lonesome here goin' along the street and lookin' people in the faces to see if you can see one you know. Lots of times I though I did see some one I knew but it wasn't. Good by, I'll write you soon again.

Yours truly,

MICHAEL COLE.

"The second letter," Kate went on, "is written from the camp, Twentymile Camp, he calls it. He tells how they went up the river in the steamer, taking with them some new hands for their camp, and how these men came on board half drunk, and how all the way up to Yale they were drinking and fighting. It must have been horrible. After that they went on smaller boats and then by wagons. On the roads it must have been terrible. Coley seems much impressed with the big trees. He says:"

"These big trees are pretty hard to write about without sayin' words the Boss don't allow. It makes you think of bein' in St. Michaels, it's so quiet and solemn-like, and I never felt so small in all my life. The Boss and me walked the last part of the way, and got to camp late and pretty tired, and the men we brought in with us was all pretty mad, but the Boss never paid no attention to 'em but went whistlin' about as if everything was lovely. We had some pork and beans for supper, then went to sleep in a bunk nailed up against the side of the shanty. It was as hard as a board, but I tell you it felt pretty good. Next day I went wanderin' 'round with the foreman and the Boss. I tell you I was afraid to get very far away from 'em, for I'd be sure to get lost; the bush is that thick that you can't see your own length ahead of you. That night, when the Boss and me and the foreman was in the shanty they call the office, after supper, we heard a most awful row. 'What's that?' says the Boss. 'O, that's nothin',' says the foreman; 'the boys is havin' a little fun, I guess.' He didn't say anything, but went on talkin', but in a little while the row got worse, and we heard poundin' and smashin'. 'Do you allow that sort of thing?' says the Boss. 'Well,' he says, 'Guess the boys got some whiskey last night. I generally let 'em alone.' 'Well,' says the Boss, quiet-like, 'I think you'd better go in and stop it.' 'Not if I know myself,' says the foreman, 'I ain't ordered my funeral yet.' 'Well, we'll go in and see, anyway,' says the Boss. I tell you I was kind o' scared, but I thought I might as well go along. When we got into the sleepin' shanty there was a couple of fellers with hand-spikes breakin' up the benches and knockin' things around most terrible. 'Say, boys,' yelled the foreman, and then he began to swear most awful. They didn't seem to pay much attention, but kept on knockin' around and swearin'. 'Come, now,' says the foreman, kind o' coaxin' like, 'this ain't no way to act. Get down and behave yourselves.' But still they didn't pay no attention. Then the Boss walked up to the biggest one, and when he got quite close to 'em they all got still lookin' on. 'I'll take that hand-spike,' says the Boss. 'Help yourself,' says the man swingin' it up. I don't know what happened, it was done so quick, but before you could count three that feller was on his knees bleedin' like a pig and the hand-spike was out of the door, and the Boss walks up to the other feller and says, 'Put that hand-spike outside.' He begun to swear. 'Put it out,' says the Boss, quiet-like, and the feller backs up and throws his hand-spike out. And the Boss up and speaks and says, 'Look here, men, I don't want to interfere with nobody, and won't while he behaves himself, but there ain't goin' to be any row like that in this camp. Say, you ought to have seen 'em! They sat like the gang used to in the night school, and then he turned and walked out and we all follered him. I guess they ain't used to that sort of thing in this camp. I heard the men talkin' next day pretty big of what they was goin' to do, but I don't think they'll do much. They don't look that kind. Anyway, if there's goin' to be a fight, I'd feel safer with the Boss than with the whole lot of 'em."

"The letter after this," went on Kate, "tells of what happened the Sunday following."

"We'd gone out in the afternoon, Boss and me, for a walk, and when we got back the camp was just howlin' drunk, and the foreman was worst of all. They kind o' quieted down for a little when we come in and let us get into the office, but pretty soon they began actin' up funny again and swearin' most awful. Then I see the Boss shut up his lips hard, and I says to myself 'Look out for blood.' Then he starts over for the bunk shanty. I was mighty scared, and follered him close. Just as we shoved open the door a bottle come singin' through the air and smashed to a thousand bits on the beam above. 'Is that the kind of cowards you are?' says the Boss, quite cool. He didn't speak loud, but I tell you everybody heard him and got dead still. 'No, Boss,' says one feller, 'not all.' 'The man that threw that bottle,' says the boss, 'is a coward, and the meanest kind. He's afraid to step out here for five minutes.' Nobody moved. 'Step up, ye baste,' says an Irishman, 'or it's mesilf will kick ye out of the camp.' And out the feller comes. It was the same duck that the Boss scared out of the door the first night. 'Sthand up till 'im Billie,' says the Irishman; 'we'll see fair play. Sthand up to the gintleman.' 'Billie,' says the Boss, and his eyes was blazin' like candles; 'yer goin' to leave this camp to-morrow mornin'. You can take your choice; will you get onto your knees now or later?' With that Billie whipped out a knife and rushes at him; but the Boss grabs his wrist and gives it a twist, and the knife fell onto the floor. The Boss holds him like a baby, and picks up the knife and throws it into the fire. 'Now,' says he, 'get onto your knees. Quick!' And the feller drops on his knees, and bellered like a calf.

"'Let's pray,' says some one, and the crowd howls. 'Give us yer hand, Boss,' says the Irishman. 'Yer the top o' this gang.' The Irishman shoves out his clipper, and the Boss takes it in an easy kind of a way. My you o't to seen that Irishman squirm. 'Howly Mither!' he yells, and dances round, 'what do ye think yer got?' and he goes off lookin' at his fingers, and the Boss stands lookin' at 'em, and says, 'You'r a nice lot of fellers, you don't deserve it; but I'm goin' to treat you fair. I know you feel Sunday pretty slow, and I'll try to make it better for you; but I want you to know that I won't have any more row in this camp, and I won't have any man here that can't behave himself. To-morrow morning, YOU,' pointin' at the foreman, 'and you, Billie,' and YOU, pointin' at another chap, leave the camp, and they did too, though they begged and prayed to let 'em stay, and by next Sunday we had a lot of papers and books, with pictures in 'em, and a bang-up dinner, and everything went nice. I am likin' it fine. I'm time-keeper, and look after the store; but I drive the team too every chance I get, and I'd ruther do that a long way. But many a night I tell you when the Boss and me is alone we talk about you and the Institute fellers, and the Boss—"

"Well, that's all," said Kate, "but isn't it terrible? Aren't they dreadful?"

"Poor fellows," said Mrs. Murray; "it's a very hard life for them."

"But isn't it awful, auntie? They might kill him," said Kate.

"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Murray, in a soothing voice, "but it sounds worse to us perhaps than it is."

Mrs. Murray had not lived in the Indian Lands for nothing.

"Oh, if anything should happen to him?" said Kate, with sudden agitation.

"We must just trust him to the great Keeper," said Mrs. Murray, quietly, "in Whose keeping all are safe whether there or here."

Then going to her valise, she took out a letter and handed it to Kate, saying: "That's his last to me. You can look at it, Kate."

Kate took the letter and put it in her desk. "I think, perhaps, we had better go down now," she said; "I expect Colonel Thorp has come. I think you will like him. He seems a little rough, but he is a gentleman, and has a true heart," and they went downstairs.

It is the mark of a gentleman to know his kind. He has an instinct for what is fine and offers ready homage to what is worthy. Any one observing Colonel Thorp's manner of receiving Mrs. Murray would have known him at once for a gentleman, for when that little lady came into the drawing-room, dressed in her decent silk gown, with soft white lace at her throat, bearing herself with sweet dignity, and stepping with dainty grace on her toes, after the manner of the fine ladies of the old school, and not after the flat-footed, heel-first modern style, the colonel abandoned his usual careless manner and rose and stood rigidly at attention.

"Auntie, this is my friend, Colonel Thorp," said Kate.

"Proud to know you madam," said the colonel, with his finest military bow.

"And I am glad to meet Colonel Thorp; I have heard so much of him through my friends," and she smiled at him with such genuine kindliness that the gallant colonel lost his heart at once.

"Your friends have been doing me proud," he said, bowing to her and then to Kate.

"Oh, you needn't look at me," said Kate; "you don't imagine I have been saying nice things about you? She has other friends that think much of you."

"Yes," said Mrs. Murray, "Ranald has often spoken of you, Colonel Thorp, and of your kindness," said Mrs. Murray.

The colonel looked doubtful. "Well, I don't know that he thinks much of me. I have had to be pretty hard on him."

"Why?" asked Mrs. Murray.

"Well, I reckon you know him pretty well," began the colonel.

"Well, she ought to," said Kate, "she brought him up, and his many virtues he owes mostly to my dear aunt's training."

"Oh, Kate, you must not say that," said Mrs. Murray, gravely.

"Then," said the colonel, "you ought to be proud of him. You produced a rare article in the commercial world, and that is a man of honor. He is not for sale, and I want to say that I feel as safe about the company's money out there as if I was settin' on it; but he needs watching," added the colonel, "he needs watching."

"What do you mean?" said Mrs. Murray, whose pale face had flushed with pleasure and pride at the colonel's praise of Ranald.

"Too much philanthropy," said the colonel, bluntly; "the British-American Coal and Lumber Company ain't a benevolent society exactly."

"I am glad you spoke of that, Colonel Thorp; I want to ask you about some things that I don't understand. I know that the company are criticising some of Ranald's methods, but don't know why exactly."

"Now, Colonel," cried Kate, "stand to your guns."

"Well," said the colonel, "I am going to execute a masterly retreat, as they used to say when a fellow ran away. I am going to get behind my company. They claim, you see, that Ranald ain't a paying concern."

"But how?" said Mrs. Murray.

Then the colonel enumerated the features of Ranald's management most severely criticised by the company. He paid the biggest wages going; the cost of supplies for the camps was greater, and the company's stores did not show as large profits as formerly; "and of course," said the colonel, "the first aim of any company is to pay dividends, and the manager that can't do that has to go."

Then Mrs. Murray proceeded to deal with the company's contentions, going at once with swift intuition to the heart of the matter. "You were speaking of honor a moment ago, Colonel. There is such a thing in business?"

"Certainly, that's why I put that young man where he is."

"That means that the company expect him to deal fairly by them."

"That's about it."

"And being a man of honor, I suppose he will also deal fairly by the men and by himself."

"I guess so," said the colonel.

"I don't pretend to understand the questions fully, but from Ranald's letters I have gathered that he did not consider that justice was being done either to the men or to the company. For instance, in the matter of stores—I may be wrong in this, you will correct me, Colonel—I understand it was the custom to charge the men in the camps for the articles they needed prices three or four times what was fair."

"Well," said the colonel, "I guess things WERE a little high, but that's the way every company does."

"And then I understand that the men were so poorly housed and fed and so poorly paid that only those of the inferior class could be secured."

"Well, I guess they weren't very high-class," said the colonel, "that's right enough."

"But, Colonel, if you secure a better class of men, and you treat them in a fair and honorable way with some regard to their comfort you ought to get better results in work, shouldn't you?"

"Well, that's so," said the colonel; "there never was such an amount of timber got out with the same number of men since the company started work, but yet the thing don't pay, and that's the trouble. The concern must pay or go under."

"Yes, that's quite true, Colonel," said Mrs. Murray; "but why doesn't your concern pay?"

"Well, you see, there's no market; trade is dull and we can't sell to advantage."

"But surely that is not your manager's fault," said Mrs. Murray, "and surely it would be an unjust thing to hold him responsible for that."

"But the company don't look at things in that light," said the colonel. "You see they figure it this way, stores ain't bringing in the returns they used to, the camps cost a little more, wages are a little higher, there ain't nothing coming in, and they say, Well, that chap out there means well with his reading-rooms for the mill hands, his library in the camp, and that sort of thing, but he ain't sharp enough!"

"Sharp enough! that's a hard word, Colonel," said Mrs. Murray, earnestly, "and it may be a cruel word, but if Ranald were ever so sharp he really couldn't remove the real cause of the trouble. You say he has produced larger results than ever before, and if the market were normal there would be larger returns. Then, it seems to me, Colonel, that if Ranald suffers he is suffering, not because he has been unfaithful or incompetent, but because the market is bad, and that I am certain you would not consider fair."

"You must not be too hard on us," said the colonel. "So far as I am concerned, I think you are right, but it is a hard thing to make business men look at these things in anything but a business way."

"But it should not be hard, Colonel," said Mrs. Murray, with sad earnestness, "to make even business men see that when honor is the price of dividends the cost is too great," and without giving the colonel an opportunity of replying, she went on with eager enthusiasm to show how the laws of the kingdom of heaven might be applied to the great problems of labor. "And it would pay, Colonel," she cried, "it would pay in money, but far more it would pay in what cannot be bought for money—in the lives and souls of men, for unjust and uncharitable dealing injures more the man who is guilty of it than the man who suffers from it in the first instance."

"Madam," answered the colonel, gravely, "I feel you are right, and I should be glad to have you address the meeting of our share-holders, called for next month, to discuss the question of our western business."

"Do you mean Ranald's position?" asked Kate.

"Well, I rather think that will come up."

"Then," said Mrs. Murray, unconsciously claiming the colonel's allegiance, "I feel sure there will be one advocate at least for fair and honorable dealing at that meeting." And the colonel was far too gallant to refuse to acknowledge the claim, but simply said: "You may trust me, madam; I shall do my best."

"I only wish papa were here," said Kate. "He is a share-holder, isn't he? And wish he could hear you, auntie, but he and mamma won't be home for two weeks."

"Oh, Kate," cried Mrs. Murray, "you make me ashamed, and I fear I have been talking too much."

At this point Harry came in. "I just came over to send you to bed," he said, kissing his aunt, and greeting the others. "You are all to look your most beautiful to-morrow."

"Well," said the colonel, slowly, "that won't be hard for the rest of you, and it don't matter much for me, and I hope we ain't going to lose our music."

"No, indeed!" cried Kate, sitting down at the piano, while the colonel leaned back in his easy chair and gave himself up to an hour's unmingled delight.

"You have given more pleasure than you know to a wayfaring man," he said, as he bade her good night.

"Come again, when you are in town, you are always welcome, Colonel Thorp," she said.

"You may count me here every time," said the colonel. Then turning to Mrs. Murray, with a low bow, he said, "you have given me some ideas madam, that I hope may not be quite unfruitful, and as for that young man of yours, well—I—guess—you ain't—hurt his cause any. We'll put up a fight, anyway."

"I am glad to have met you, Colonel Thorp," said Mrs. Murray, "and I am quite sure you will stand up for what is right," and with another bow the colonel took his leave.

"Now, Harry, you must go, too," said Kate; "you can see your aunt again after to-morrow, and I must get my beauty sleep, besides I don't want to stand up with a man gaunt and hollow-eyed for lack of sleep," and she bundled him off in spite of his remonstrances. But eager as Kate was for her beauty sleep, the light burned late in her room; and long after she had seen Mrs. Murray snugly tucked in for the night, she sat with Ranald's open letter in her hand, reading it till she almost knew it by heart. It told, among other things, of his differences with the company in regard to stores, wages, and supplies, and of his efforts to establish a reading-room at the mills, and a library at the camps; but there was a sentence at the close of the letter that Kate read over and over again with the light of a great love in her eyes and with a cry of pain in her heart. "The magazines and papers that Kate sends are a great boon. Dear Kate, what a girl she is! I know none like her; and what a friend she has been to me ever since the day she stood up for me at Quebec. You remember I told you about that. What a guy I must have been, but she never showed a sign of shame. I often think of that now, how different she was from another! I see it now as I could not then—a man is a fool once in his life, but I have got my lesson and still have a good true friend." Often she read and long she pondered the last words. It was so easy to read too much into them. "A good, true friend." She looked at the words till the tears came. Then she stood up and looked at herself in the glass.

"Now, young woman," she said, severely, "be sensible and don't dream dreams until you are asleep, and to sleep you must go forthwith." But sleep was slow to come, and strange to say, it was the thought of the little woman in the next room that quieted her heart and sent her to sleep, and next day she was looking her best. And when the ceremony was over, and the guests were assembled at the wedding breakfast, there were not a few who agreed with Harry when, in his speech, he threw down his gage as champion for the peerless bridesmaid, whom for the hour—alas, too short—he was privileged to call his "lady fair." For while Kate had not the beauty of form and face and the fascination of manner that turned men's heads and made Maimie the envy of all her set, there was in her a wholesomeness, a fearless sincerity, a noble dignity, and that indescribable charm of a true heart that made men trust her and love her as only good women are loved. At last the brilliant affair was all over, the rice and old boots were thrown, the farewell words spoken, and tears shed, and then the aunts came back to the empty and disordered house.

"Well, I am glad for Maimie," said Aunt Frank; "it is a good match."

"Dear Maimie," replied Aunt Murray, with a gentle sigh, "I hope she will be happy."

"After all it is much better," said Aunt Frank.

"Yes, it is much better," replied Mrs. Murray; and then she added, "How lovely Kate looked! What a noble girl she is," but she did not explain even to herself, much less to Aunt Frank, the nexus of her thoughts.



CHAPTER XXIV

THE WEST

The meeting of the share-holders of the British-American Lumber and Coal Company was, on the whole, a stormy one, for the very best of reasons—the failure of the company to pay dividends. The annual report which the president presented showed clearly that there was a slight increase in expenditure and a considerable falling off in sales, and it needed but a little mathematical ability to reach the conclusion that in a comparatively short time the company would be bankrupt. The share-holders were thoroughly disgusted with the British Columbia end of the business, and were on the lookout for a victim. Naturally their choice fell upon the manager. The concern failed to pay. It was the manager's business to make it pay and the failure must be laid to his charge. Their confidence in their manager was all the more shaken by the reports that had reached them of his peculiar fads—his reading-room, library, etc. These were sufficient evidence of his lack of business ability. He was undoubtedly a worthy young man, but there was every ground to believe that he was something of a visionary, and men with great hesitation intrust hard cash to the management of an idealist. It was, perhaps, unfortunate for Mr. St. Clair that he should be appealed to upon this point, for his reluctance to express an opinion as to the ability of the manager, and his admission that possibly the young man might properly be termed a visionary, brought Colonel Thorp sharply to his feet.

"Mr. St. Clair," said the colonel, in a cool, cutting voice, "will not hesitate to bear testimony to the fact that our manager is a man whose integrity cannot be tampered with. If I mistake not, Mr. St. Clair has had evidence of this."

Mr. St. Clair hastened to bear the very strongest testimony to the manager's integrity.

"And Mr. St. Clair, I have no doubt," went on the colonel, "will be equally ready to bear testimony to the conspicuous ability our manager displayed while he was in the service of the Raymond and St. Clair Lumber Company."

Mr. St. Clair promptly corroborated the colonel's statement.

"We are sure of two things, therefore," continued the colonel, "that our manager is a man of integrity, and that he has displayed conspicuous business ability in his former positions."

At this point the colonel was interrupted, and his attention was called to the fact that the reports showed an increase of expenditure for supplies and for wages, and on the other hand a falling off in the revenue from the stores. But the colonel passed over these points as insignificant. "It is clear," he proceeded, "that the cause of failure does not lie in the management, but in the state of the market. The political situation in that country is very doubtful, and this has an exceedingly depressing effect upon business."

"Then," interrupted a share-holder, "it is time the company should withdraw from that country and confine itself to a district where the market is sure and the future more stable."

"What about these fads, Colonel?" asked another share-holder; "these reading-rooms, libraries, etc? Do you think we pay a man to establish that sort of thing? To my mind they simply put a lot of nonsense into the heads of the working-men and are the chief cause of dissatisfaction." Upon this point the colonel did not feel competent to reply; consequently the feeling of the meeting became decidedly hostile to the present manager, and a resolution was offered demanding his resignation. It was also agreed that the board of directors should consider the advisability of withdrawing altogether from British Columbia, inasmuch as the future of that country seemed to be very uncertain. Thereupon Colonel Thorp rose and begged leave to withdraw his name from the directorate of the company. He thought it was unwise to abandon a country where they had spent large sums of money, without a thorough investigation of the situation, and he further desired to enter his protest against the injustice of making their manager suffer for a failure for which he had in no way been shown to be responsible. But the share-holders refused to even consider Colonel Thorp's request, and both the president and secretary exhausted their eloquence in eulogizing his value to the company. As a compromise it was finally decided to continue operations in British Columbia for another season. Colonel Thorp declared that the reforms and reorganization schemes inaugurated by Ranald would result in great reductions in the cost of production, and that Ranald should be given opportunity to demonstrate the success or failure of his plans; and further, the political situation doubtless would be more settled. The wisdom of this decision was manifested later.

The spirit of unrest and dissatisfaction appeared again at the next annual meeting, for while conditions were improving, dividends were not yet forthcoming. Once again Colonel Thorp successfully championed Ranald's cause, this time insisting that a further test of two seasons be made, prophesying that not only would the present deficit disappear, but that their patience and confidence would be amply rewarded.

Yielding to pressure, and desiring to acquaint himself with actual conditions from personal observation, Colonel Thorp concluded to visit British Columbia the autumn preceding the annual meeting which was to succeed Ranald's period of probation.

Therefore it was that Colonel Thorp found himself on the coast steamship Oregon approaching the city of Victoria. He had not enjoyed his voyage, and was, consequently, in no mood to receive the note which was handed him by a brisk young man at the landing.

"Who's this from, Pat," said the colonel, taking the note.

"Mike, if you please, Michael Cole, if you don't mind; and the note is from the boss, Mr. Macdonald, who has gone up the country, and can't be here to welcome you."

"Gone up the country!" roared the colonel; "what the blank, blank, does he mean by going up the country at this particular time?"

But Mr. Michael Cole was quite undisturbed by the colonel's wrath. "You might find the reason in the note," he said, coolly, and the colonel, glaring at him, opened the note and read:

"MY DEAR COLONEL THORP: I am greatly disappointed in not being able to meet you. The truth is I only received your letter this week. Our mails are none too prompt, and so I have been unable to re-arrange my plans. I find it necessary to run up the river for a couple of weeks. In the meantime, thinking that possibly you might like to see something of our country, I have arranged that you should join the party of the Lieutenant Governor on their trip to the interior, and which will take only about four weeks' time. The party are going to visit the most interesting districts of our country, including both the famous mining district of Cariboo and the beautiful valley of the Okanagan. Mr. Cole, my clerk, will introduce you to Mr. Blair, our member of Parliament for Westminster, who will present you to the rest of the party. Mr. Blair, I need not say, is one of the brightest business men in the West. I shall meet you at Yale on your return. If it is absolutely impossible for you to take this trip, and necessary that I should return at once, Mr. Cole will see that a special messenger is sent to me, but I would strongly urge that you go, if possible.

"With kind regards."

"Look here, young man," yelled the colonel, "do you think I've come all this way to go gallivanting around the country with any blank, blank royal party?"

"I don't know, Colonel," said young Cole, brightly; "but I tell you I'd like mighty well to go in your place."

"And where in the nation IS your boss, and what's he after, anyway?"

"He's away up the river looking after business, and pretty big business, too," said Coley, not at all overawed by the colonel's wrath.

"Well, I hope he knows himself," said the colonel.

"Oh, don't make any mistake about that, Colonel," said young Cole; "he always knows where he's going and what he wants, and he gets it." But the colonel made no reply, nor did he deign to notice Mr. Michael Cole again until they had arrived at the New Westminster landing.

"The boss didn't know," said Coley, approaching the colonel with some degree of care, "whether you would like to go to the hotel or to his rooms; you can take your choice. The hotel is not of the best, and he thought perhaps you could put up with his rooms."

"All right," said the colonel; "I guess they'll suit me."

The colonel made no mistake in deciding for Ranald's quarters. They consisted of two rooms that formed one corner of a long, wooden, single-story building in the shape of an L. One of these rooms Ranald made his dining-room and bedroom, the other was his office. The rest of the building was divided into three sections, and constituted a dining-room, reading-room, and bunk-room for the men. The walls of these rooms were decorated not inartistically with a few colored prints and with cuts from illustrated papers, many and divers. The furniture throughout was home-made, with the single exception of a cabinet organ which stood in one corner of the reading-room. On the windows of the dining-room and bunk-room were green roller blinds, but those of the reading-room were draped with curtains of flowered muslin. Indeed the reading-room was distinguished from the others by a more artistic and elaborate decoration, and by a greater variety of furniture. The room was evidently the pride of the company's heart. In Ranald's private room the same simplicity in furniture and decoration was apparent, but when the colonel was ushered into the bedroom his eye fell at once upon two photographs, beautifully framed, hung on each side of the mirror.

"Hello, guess I ought to know this," he said, looking at one of them.

Coley beamed. "You do, eh? Well, then, she's worth knowin' and there's only one of her kind."

"Don't know about that, young man," said the colonel, looking at the other photograph; "here's one that ought to go in her class."

"Perhaps," said Coley, doubtfully, "the boss thinks so, I guess, from the way he looks at it."

"Young man, what sort of a fellow's your boss?" said the colonel, suddenly facing Coley.

"What sort?" Coley thought a moment. "Well, 'twould need a good eddication to tell, but there's only one in his class, I tell you."

"Then he owes it to this little woman," pointing to one of the photographs, "and she," pointing to the other, "said so."

"Then you may bet it's true."

"I don't bet on a sure thing," said the colonel, his annoyance vanishing in a slow smile, his first since reaching the province.

"Dinner'll be ready in half an hour, sir," said Coley, swearing allegiance in his heart to the man that agreed with him in regard to the photograph that stood with Coley for all that was highest in humanity.

"John," he said, sharply, to the Chinese cook, "got good dinner, eh?"

"Pitty good," said John, indifferently.

"Now, look here, John, him big man." John was not much impressed. "Awful big man, I tell you, big soldier." John preserved a stolid countenance.

"John," said the exasperated Coley, "I'll kick you across this room and back if you don't listen to me. Want big dinner, heap good, eh?"

"Huh-huh, belly good," replied John, with a slight show of interest.

"I say, John, what you got for dinner, eh?" asked Coley, changing his tactics.

"Ham, eggs, lice," answered the Mongolian, imperturbably.

"Gee whiz!" said Coley, "goin' to feed the boss' uncle on ham and eggs?"

"What?" said John, with sudden interest, "Uncle boss, eh?"

"Yes," said the unblushing Coley.

"Huh! Coley heap fool! Get chicken, quick! meat shop, small, eh?" The Chinaman was at last aroused. Pots, pans, and other utensils were in immediate requisition, a roaring fire set a-going, and in three-quarters of an hour the colonel sat down to a dinner of soup, fish, and fowl, with various entrees and side dishes that would have done credit to a New York chef. Thus potent was the name of the boss with his cook.

John's excellent dinner did much to soothe and mollify his guest; but the colonel was sensitive to impressions other than the purely gastronomic, for throughout the course of the dinner, his eyes wandered to the photographs on the wall, and in fancy he was once more in the presence of the two women, to whom he felt pledged in Ranald's behalf. "It's a one-horse looking country, though," he said to himself, "and no place for a man with any snap. Best thing would be to pull out, I guess, and take him along." And it was in this mind that he received the Honorable Archibald Blair, M. P. P., for New Westminster, president of the British Columbia Canning Company, recently organized, and a director in half a dozen other business concerns.

"Colonel Thorp, this is Mr. Blair, of the British Columbia Canning Company," said Coley, with a curious suggestion of Ranald in his manner.

"Glad to welcome a friend of Mr. Macdonald's," said Mr. Blair, a little man of about thirty, with a shrewd eye and a kindly frank manner.

"Well, I guess I can say the same," said Colonel Thorp, shaking hands. "I judge his friends are of the right sort."

"You'll find plenty in this country glad to class themselves in that list," laughed Mr. Blair; "I wouldn't undertake to guarantee them all, but those he lists that way, you can pretty well bank on. He's a young man for reading men."

"Yes?" said the colonel, interrogatively; "he's very young."

"Young, for that matter so are we all, especially on this side the water here. It's a young man's country."

"Pretty young, I judge," said the colonel, dryly. "Lots of room to grow."

"Yes, thank Providence!" said Mr. Blair, enthusiastically; "but there's lots of life and lots to feed it. But I'm not going to talk, Colonel. It is always wasted breath on an Easterner. I'll let the country talk. You are coming with us, of course."

"Hardly think so; my time is rather limited, and, well, to tell the truth; I'm from across the line and don't cater much to your royalties."

"Royalties!" exclaimed Mr. Blair. "Oh, you mean our governor. Well, that's good rather, must tell the governor that." Mr. Blair laughed long and loud. "You'll forget all that when you are out with us an hour. No, we think it well to hedge our government with dignity, but on this trip we shall leave the gold lace and red tape behind."

"How long do you propose to be gone?"

"About four weeks. But I make you a promise. If after the first week you want to return from any point, I shall send you back with all speed. But you won't want to, I guarantee you that. Why, my dear sir, think of the route," and Mr. Blair went off into a rapturous description of the marvels of the young province, its scenery, its resources, its climate, its sport, playing upon each string as he marked the effect upon his listener. By the time Mr. Blair's visit was over, the colonel had made up his mind that he would see something of this wonderful country.

Next day Coley took him over the company's mills, and was not a little disappointed to see that the colonel was not impressed by their size or equipment. In Coley's eyes they were phenomenal, and he was inclined to resent the colonel's lofty manner. The foreman, Mr. Urquhart, a shrewd Scotchman, who had seen the mills of the Ottawa River and those in Michigan as well, understood his visitor's attitude better; and besides, it suited his Scotch nature to refuse any approach to open admiration for anything out of the old land. His ordinary commendation was, "It's no that bad"; and his superlative was expressed in the daring concession, "Aye, it'll maybe dae, it micht be waur." So he followed the colonel about with disparaging comments that drove Coley to the verge of madness. When they came to the engine room, which was Urquhart's pride, the climax was reached.

"It's a wee bit o' a place, an' no fit for the wark," said Urquhart, ushering the colonel into a snug little engine-room, where every bit of brass shone with dazzling brightness, and every part of the engine moved in smooth, sweet harmony.

"Slick little engine," said the colonel, with discriminating admiration.

"It's no that bad the noo, but ye sud hae seen it afore Jem, there, took a hand o' it—a wheezin' rattlin' pechin thing that ye micht expect tae flee in bits for the noise in the wame o't. But Jemmie sorted it till it's nae despicable for its size. But it's no fit for the wark. Jemmie, lad, just gie't its fill an' we'll pit the saw until a log," said Urquhart, as they went up into the sawing-room where, in a few minutes, the colonel had an exhibition of the saw sticking fast in a log for lack of power.

"Man, yon's a lad that kens his trade. He's frae Gleska. He earns his money's warth."

"How did you come to get him?" said the colonel, moved to interest by Urquhart's unwonted praise.

"Indeed, just the way we've got all our best men. It's the boss picked him oot o' the gutter, and there he is earnin' his twa and a half a day."

"The boss did that, eh?" said the colonel, with one of his swift glances at the speaker.

"Aye, that he did, and he's only one o' many."

"He's good at that sort of business, I guess."

"Aye, he kens men as ye can see frae his gang."

"Doesn't seem to be able to make the company's business pay," ventured the colonel.

"D'ye think ye cud find one that cud?" pointing to the halting saw. "An that's the machine that turned oot thae piles yonder. Gie him a chance, though, an' when the stuff is deesposed of ye'll get y're profit." Urquhart knew what he was about, and the colonel went back with Coley to his rooms convinced of two facts, that the company had a plant that might easily be improved, but a manager that, in the estimation of those who wrought with him, was easily first in his class. Ranald could have adopted no better plan for the enhancing of his reputation than by allowing Colonel Thorp to go in and out among the workmen and his friends. More and more the colonel became impressed with his manager's genius for the picking of his men and binding them to his interests, and as this impression deepened he became the more resolved that it was a waste of good material to retain a man in a country offering such a limited scope for his abilities.

But after four weeks spent in exploring the interior, from Quesnelle to Okanagan, and in the following in and out the water-ways of the coast line, the colonel met Ranald at Yale with only a problem to be solved, and he lost no time in putting it to his manager.

"How in thunder can I get those narrow-gauge, hidebound Easterners to launch out into business in this country?"

"I can't help you there, Colonel. I've tried and failed."

"By the great Sam, so you have!" said the colonel, with a sudden conviction of his own limitations in the past. "No use tryin' to tell 'em of this," swinging his long arm toward the great sweep of the Fraser Valley, clothed with a mighty forest. "It's only a question of holdin' on for a few years, the thing's dead sure."

"I have been through a good part of it," said Ranald, quietly, "and I am convinced that here we have the pick of Canada, and I venture to say of the American Continent. Timber, hundreds of square miles of it, fish—I've seen that river so packed with salmon that I couldn't shove my canoe through—"

"Hold on, now," said the colonel, "give me time."

"Simple, sober truth of my own proving," replied Ranald. "And you saw a fringe of the mines up in the Cariboo. The Kootenai is full of gold and silver, and in the Okanagan you can grow food and fruits for millions of people. I know what I am saying."

"Tell you what," said the colonel, "you make me think you're speakin' the truth anyhow." Then, with a sudden inspiration, he exclaimed: "By the great Sammy, I've got an idea!" and then, as he saw Ranald waiting, added, "But I guess I'll let it soak till we get down to the mill."

"Do you think you could spare me, Colonel?" asked Ranald, in a dubious voice; "I really ought to run through a bit of timber here."

"No, by the great Sam, I can't! I want you to come right along," replied the colonel, with emphasis.

"What is he saying, Colonel?" asked Mr. Blair.

"Wants to run off and leave me to paddle my way home alone. Not much! I tell you what, we have some important business to do before I go East. You hear me?"

"And besides, Macdonald, I want you for that big meeting of ours next week. You simply must be there."

"You flatter me, Mr. Blair."

"Not a bit; you know there are a lot of hot-heads talking separation and that sort of thing, and I want some level-headed fellow who is in with the working men to be there."

And as it turned out it was a good thing for Mr. Blair and for the cause he represented that Ranald was present at the great mass-meeting held in New Westminster the next week. For the people were exasperated beyond all endurance at the delay of the Dominion in making good the solemn promises given at the time of Confederation, and were in a mood to listen to the proposals freely made that the useless bond should be severed. "Railway or separation," was the cry, and resolutions embodying this sentiment were actually proposed and discussed. It was Ranald's speech, every one said, that turned the tide. His calm logic made clear the folly of even considering separation; his knowledge of, and his unbounded faith in, the resources of the province, and more than all, his impassioned picturing of the future of the great Dominion reaching from ocean to ocean, knit together by ties of common interest, and a common loyalty that would become more vividly real when the provinces had been brought more closely together by the promised railway. They might have to wait a little longer, but it was worth while waiting, and there was no future in any other policy. It was his first speech at a great meeting, and as Mr. Blair shook him warmly by the hand, the crowd burst into enthusiastic cries, "Macdonald! Macdonald!" and in one of the pauses a single voice was heard, "Glengarry forever!" Then again the crowd broke forth, "Glengarry! Glengarry!" for all who knew Ranald personally had heard of the gang that were once the pride of the Ottawa. At that old cry Ranald's face flushed deep red, and he had no words to answer his friends' warm congratulations.

"Send him East," cried a voice.

"Yes, yes, that's it. Send him to Ottawa to John A. It's the same clan!"

Swiftly Mr. Blair made up his mind. "Gentlemen, that is a good suggestion. I make it a motion." It was seconded in a dozen places, and carried by a standing vote. Then Ranald rose again and modestly protested that he was not the man to go. He was quite unknown in the province.

"We know you!" the same voice called out, followed by a roar of approval.

"And, besides," went on Ranald, "it is impossible for me to get away; I'm a working man and not my own master."

Then the colonel, who was sitting on the platform, rose and begged to be heard. "Mr. Chairman and gentlemen, I ain't a Canadian—"

"Never mind! You can't help that," sang out a man from the back, with a roar of laughter following.

"But if I weren't an American, I don't know anything that I'd rather be." (Great applause.) "Four weeks ago I wouldn't have taken your province as a gift. Now I only wish Uncle Sam could persuade you to sell." (Cries of "He hasn't got money enough. Don't fool yourself.") "But I want to say that this young man of mine," pointing to Ranald, "has given you good talk, and if you want him to go East, why, I'll let him off for a spell." (Loud cheers for the colonel and for Macdonald.)

A week later a great meeting in Victoria indorsed the New Westminster resolutions with the added demand that the railway should be continued to Esquinalt according to the original agreement. Another delegate was appointed to represent the wishes of the islanders, and before Ranald had fully realized what had happened he found himself a famous man, and on the way to the East with the jubilant colonel.

"What was the great idea, Colonel, that struck you at Yale?" inquired Ranald, as they were fairly steaming out of the Esquinalt harbor.

"This is it, my boy!" exclaimed the colonel, slapping him on the back. "This here trip East. Now we've got 'em over the ropes, by the great and everlasting Sammy!" the form of oath indicating a climax in the colonel's emotion.

"Got who?" inquired Ranald, mystified.

"Them gol-blamed, cross-road hayseeds down East." And with this the colonel became discreetly silent. He knew too well the sensitive pride of the man with whom he had to deal, and he was chiefly anxious now that Ranald should know as little as possible of the real object of his going to British Columbia.

"We've got to make the British-American Coal and Lumber Company know the time of day. It's gittin'-up time out in this country. They were talkin' a little of drawin' out." Ranald gasped. "Some of them only," the colonel hastened to add, "but I want you to talk like you did the other night, and I'll tell my little tale, and if that don't fetch 'em then I'm a Turk."

"Well, Colonel, here's my word," said Ranald, deliberately, "if the company wish to withdraw they may do so, but my future is bound up with that of the West, and I have no fear that it will fail me. I stake my all upon the West."



CHAPTER XXV

GLENGARRY FOREVER

The colonel was an experienced traveler, and believed in making himself comfortable. Ranald looked on with some amusement, and a little wonder, while the colonel arranged his things about the stateroom.

"May as well make things comfortable while we can," said the colonel, "we have the better part of three days before us on this boat, and if it gets rough, it is better to have things neat. Now you go ahead," he added, "and get your things out."

"I think you are right, Colonel. I am not much used to travel, but I shall take your advice on this."

"Well, I have traveled considerable these last twenty years," replied the colonel. "I say, would you mind leaving those out?"

"What?"

"Those photos. They're the two you had up by the glass in your room, aren't they?" Ranald flushed a little.

"Of course it ain't for every one to see, and I would not ask you, but those two ain't like any other two that I have seen, and I have seen a good many in forty years." Ranald said nothing, but set the photographs on a little bracket on the wall.

"There, that makes this room feel better," said the colonel. "That there is the finest, sweetest, truest girl that walks this sphere," he said, pointing at Kate's photograph, "and the other, I guess you know all about her."

"Yes, I know about her," said Ranald, looking at the photograph; "it is to her I owe everything I have that is any good. And Colonel," he added, with an unusual burst of confidence, "when my life was broken off short, that woman put me in the way of getting hold of it again."

"Well, they both think a pile of you," was the colonel's reply.

"Yes, I think they do," said Ranald. "They are not the kind to forget a man when he is out of sight, and it is worth traveling two thousand miles to see them again."

"Ain't it queer, now, how the world is run?" said the colonel. "There's two women, now, the very best; one has been buried all her life in a little hole in the woods, and the other is giving herself to a fellow that ain't fit to carry her boots."

"What!" said Ranald, sharply, "Kate?"

"Yes, they say she is going to throw herself away on young St. Clair. He is all right, I suppose, but he ain't fit for her." Ranald suddenly stooped over his valise and began pulling out his things.

"I didn't hear of that," he said.

"I did," said the colonel; "you see he is always there, and acting as if he owned her. He stuck to her for a long time, and I guess she got tired holding out."

"Harry is a very decent fellow," said Ranald, rising up from his unpacking; "I say, this boat's close. Let us go up on deck."

"Wait," said the colonel, "I want to talk over our plans, and we can talk better here."

"No," said Ranald; "I want some fresh air. Let us go up." And without further words, he hurried up the gangway. It was some time before Colonel Thorp found him in the bow of the boat, and immediately began to talk over their plans.

"You spoke of going to Toronto first thing," he said to Ranald.

"Yes," said Ranald; "but I think I ought to go to Ottawa at once, and then I shall see my people in Glengarry for a few days. Then I will be ready for the meeting at Bay City any time after the second week."

"But you have not put Toronto in there," said the colonel; "you are not going to disappoint that little girl? She would take it pretty hard. Mind you, she wants to see you."

"Oh, of course I shall run in for a day."

"Well," said the colonel, "I want to give you plenty of time. I will arrange that meeting for a month from to-day."

"No, no," said Ranald, impatiently; "I must get back to the West. Two weeks will do me."

"Well, we will make it three," said the colonel. He could not understand Ranald's sudden eagerness to set out for the West again. He had spoken with such enthusiastic delight of his visit to Toronto, and now he was only going to run in for a day or so. And if Ranald himself were asked, he would have found it difficult to explain his sudden lack of interest, not only in Toronto, but in everything that lay in the East. He was conscious of a deep, dull ache in his heart, and he could not quite explain it.

After the colonel had gone down for the night, Ranald walked the deck alone and resolutely faced himself. His first frank look within revealed to him the fact that his pain had come upon him with the colonel's information that Kate had given herself to Harry. It was right that he should be disappointed. Harry, though a decent enough fellow, did not begin to be worthy of her; and indeed no one that he knew was worthy of her. But why should he feel so sorely about it? For years Harry had been her devoted slave. He would give her the love of an honest man, and would surround her with all the comforts and luxuries that wealth could bring. She would be very happy. He had no right to grieve about it. And yet he did grieve. The whole sky over the landscape of his life had suddenly become cold and gray. During these years Kate had grown to be much to him. She had in many ways helped him in his work. The thought of her and her approval had brought him inspiration and strength in many an hour of weakness and loneliness. She had been so loyal and so true from the very first, and it was a bitter thing to feel that another had come between them. Over and over again he accused himself of sheer madness. Why should she not love Harry? That need not make her any less his friend. But in spite of his arguments, he found himself weary of the East and eager to turn away from it. He must hurry on at once to Ottawa, and with all speed get done his business there.

At Chicago he left the colonel with a promise to meet him in three weeks at the headquarters of the British-American Coal and Lumber Company at Bay City. He wired to Ottawa, asking an appointment with the government, and after three days' hard travel found himself in the capital of the Dominion. The premier, Sir John A. Macdonald, with the ready courtesy characteristic of him, immediately arranged for a hearing of the delegation from British Columbia. Ranald was surprised at the indifference with which he approached this meeting. He seemed to have lost capacity for keen feeling of any kind. Sir John A. MacDonald and his cabinet received the delegation with great kindness, and in every possible way strove to make them feel that the government was genuinely interested in the western province, and were anxious to do all that could be done in their interest. In the conference that ensued, the delegate for Victoria took a more prominent part, being an older man, and representing the larger and more important constituency. But when Sir John began to ask questions, the Victoria delegate was soon beyond his depth. The premier showed such an exactness of knowledge and comprehensiveness of grasp that before long Ranald was appealed to for information in regard to the resources of the country, and especially the causes and extent of the present discontent.

"The causes of discontent are very easy to see," said Ranald; "all British Columbians feel hurt at the failure of the Dominion government to keep its solemn obligations."

"Is there nothing else now, Mr. Macdonald?"

"There may be," said Ranald, "some lingering impatience with the government by different officials, and there is a certain amount of annexation sentiment."

"Ah," said Sir John, "I think we have our finger upon it now."

"Do not over-estimate that," said Ranald; "I believe that there are only a very few with annexation sentiments, and all these are of American birth. The great body of the people are simply indignant at, and disappointed with, the Dominion government."

"And would you say there is no other cause of discontent, Mr. Macdonald?" said Sir John, with a keen look at Ranald.

"There is another cause, I believe," said Ranald, "and that is the party depression, but that depression is due to the uncertainty in regard to the political future of the province. When once we hear that the railroad is being built, political interest will revive."

"May I ask where you were born?" said Sir John.

"In Glengarry," said Ranald, with a touch of pride in his voice.

"Ah, I am afraid your people are not great admirers of my government, and perhaps you, Mr. Macdonald, share in the opinion of your county."

"I have no opinion in regard to Dominion politics. I am for British Columbia."

"Well, Mr. Macdonald," said Sir John, rising, "that is right, and you ought to have your road."

"Do I understand you to say that the government will begin to build the road at once?" said Ranald.

"Ah," smiled Sir John, "I see you want something definite."

"I have come two thousand miles to get it. The people that sent me will be content with nothing else. It is a serious time with us, and I believe with the whole of the Dominion."

"Mr. Macdonald," said Sir John, becoming suddenly grave, "believe me, it is a more serious time than you know, but you trust me in this matter."

"Will the road be begun this year?" said Ranald.

"All I can say to-day, Mr. Macdonald," said Sir John, earnestly, "is this, that if I can bring it about, the building of the road will be started at once."

"Then, Sir John," said Ranald, "you may depend that British Columbia will be grateful to you," and the interview was over.

Outside the room, he found Captain De Lacy awaiting him.

"By Jove, Macdonald, I have been waiting here three-quarters of an hour. Come along. Maimie has an afternoon right on, and you are our lion." Ranald would have refused, but De Lacy would not accept any apology, and carried him off.

Maimie's rooms were crowded with all the great social and political people of the city. With an air of triumph, De Lacy piloted Ranald through the crowd and presented him to Maimie. Ranald was surprised to find himself shaking hands with the woman he had once loved, with unquickened pulse and nerves cool and steady. Here Maimie, who was looking more beautiful than ever, and who was dressed in a gown of exquisite richness, received Ranald with a warmth that was almost enthusiastic.

"How famous you have become, Mr. Macdonald," she said, offering him her hand; "we are all proud to say that we know you."

"You flatter me," said Ranald, bowing over her hand.

"No, indeed. Every one is talking of the young man from the West. And how handsome you are, Ranald," she said, in a low voice, leaning toward him, and flashing at him one of her old-time glances.

"I am not used to that," he said, "and I can only reply as we used to in school, 'You, too.'"

"Oh, now you flatter me," cried Maimie, gayly; "but let me introduce you to my dear friend, Lady Mary Rivers. Lady Mary, this is Mr. Macdonald from British Columbia, you know."

"Oh, yes," said Lady Mary, with a look of intelligence in her beautiful dark eyes, "I have heard a great deal about you. Let me see, you opposed separation; saved the Dominion, in short."

"Did I, really?" said Ranald, "and never knew it."

"You see, he is not only famous but modest," said Maimie; "but that is an old characteristic of his. I knew Mr. Macdonald a very long time ago."

"Very," said Ranald.

"When we were quite young."

"Very young," replied Ranald, with great emphasis.

"And doubtless very happy," said Lady Mary.

"Happy," said Ranald, "yes, so happy that I can hardly bear to think of those days."

"Why so?" inquired Lady Mary.

"Because they are gone."

"But all days go and have to be parted with."

"Oh, yes, Lady Mary. That is true and so many things die with them, as, for instance, our youthful beliefs and enthusiasms. I used to believe in every one, Lady Mary."

"And now in no one?"

"God forbid! I discriminate."

"Now, Lady Mary," replied Maimie, "I want my lion to be led about and exhibited, and I give him over to you."

For some time Ranald stood near, chatting to two or three people to whom Lady Mary had introduced him, but listening eagerly all the while to Maimie talking to the men who were crowded about her. How brilliantly she talked, finding it quite within her powers to keep several men busy at the same time; and as Ranald listened to her gay, frivolous talk, more and more he became conscious of an unpleasantness in her tone. It was thin, shallow, and heartless.

"Can it be possible," he said to himself, "that once she had the power to make my heart quicken its beat?"

"Tell me about the West," Lady Mary was saying, when Ranald came to himself.

"If I begin about the West," he replied, "I must have both time and space to deliver myself."

"Come, then. We shall find a corner," said Lady Mary, and for half an hour did Ranald discourse to her of the West, and so eloquently that Lady Mary quite forgot that he was a lion and that she had been intrusted with the duty of exhibiting him. By and by Maimie found them.

"Now, Lady Mary, you are very selfish, for so many people are wanting to see our hero, and here is the premier wanting to see you."

"Ah, Lady Mary," said Sir John, "you have captured the man from Glengarry, I see."

"I hope so, indeed," said Lady Mary; "but why from Glengarry? He is from the West, is he not?"

"Once from Glengarry, now from the West, and I hope he will often come from the West, and he will, no doubt, if those people know what is good for them." And Sir John, skillfully drawing Ranald aside, led him to talk of the political situation in British Columbia, now and then putting a question that revealed a knowledge so full and accurate that Ranald exclaimed, suddenly, "Why, Sir John, you know more about the country than I do!"

"Not at all, not at all," replied Sir John; and then, lowering his voice to a confidential tone, he added, "You are the first man from that country that knows what I want to know." And once more he plied Ranald with questions, listening eagerly and intelligently to the answers so enthusiastically given.

"We want to make this Dominion a great empire," said Sir John, as he said good by to Ranald, "and we are going to do it, but you and men like you in the West must do your part."

Ranald was much impressed by the premier's grave earnestness.

"I will try, Sir John," he said, "and I shall go back feeling thankful that you are going to show us the way."

"Going so soon?" said Maimie, when he came to say good by. "Why I have seen nothing of you, and I have not had a moment to offer you my congratulations," she said, with a significant smile. Ranald bowed his thanks.

"And Kate, dear girl," went on Maimie, "she never comes to see me now, but I am glad she will be so happy."

Ranald looked at her steadily for a moment or two, and then said, quietly, "I am sure I hope so, and Harry is a very lucky chap."

"Oh, isn't he," cried Maimie, "and he is just daft about her. Must you go? I am so sorry. I wanted to talk about old times, the dear old days." The look in Maimie's eyes said much more than her words.

"Yes," said Ranald, with an easy, frank smile; "they were dear days, indeed; I often think of them. And now I must really go. Say good by to De Lacy for me."

He came away from her with an inexplicable feeling of exultation. He had gone with some slight trepidation in his heart, to meet her, and it was no small relief to him to discover that she had lost all power over him.

"What sort of man could I have been, I wonder?" he asked himself; "and it was only three years ago."

Near the door Lady Mary stopped him. "Going so early, and without saying good by?" she said, reproachfully.

"I must leave town to-night," he replied, "but I am glad to say good by to you."

"I think you ought to stay. I am sure His Excellency wants to see you."

"I am sure you are good to think so, but I am also quite sure that he has never given a thought to my insignificant self."

"Indeed he has. Now, can't you stay a few days? I want to see more—we all want to hear more about the West."

"You will never know the West by hearing of it," said Ranald, offering his hand.

"Good by," she said, "I am coming."

"Good," he said, "I shall look for you."

As Ranald approached his hotel, he saw a man that seemed oddly familiar, lounging against the door and as he drew near, he discovered to his astonishment and joy that it was Yankee.

"Why, Yankee!" he exclaimed, rushing at him, "how in the world did you come to be here, and what brought you?"

"Well, I came for you, I guess. Heard you were going to be here and were comin' home afterwards, so I thought it would be quicker for you to drive straight across than to go round by Cornwall, so I hitched up Lisette and came right along."

"Lisette! You don't mean to tell me? How is the old girl? Yankee, you have done a fine thing. Now we will start right away."

"All right," said Yankee.

"How long will it take us to get home?"

"'Bout two days easy goin,' I guess. Of course if you want, I guess we can do it in a day and a half. She will do all you tell her."

"Well, we will take two days," said Ranald.

"I guess we had better take a pretty early start," said Yankee.

"Can't we get off to-night?" inquired Ranald, eagerly. "We could get out ten miles or so."

"Yes," replied Yankee. "There's a good place to stop, about ten miles out. I think we had better go along the river road, and then take down through the Russell Hills to the Nation Crossing."

In half an hour they were off on their two days' trip to the Indian Lands. And two glorious days they were. The open air with the suggestion of the coming fall, the great forests with their varying hues of green and brown, yellow and bright red, and all bathed in the smoky purple light of the September sun, these all combined to bring to Ranald's heart the rest and comfort and peace that he so sorely needed. And when he drove into his uncle's yard in the late afternoon of the second day, he felt himself more content to live the life appointed him; and if anything more were needed to strengthen him in this resolution, and to fit him for the fight lying before him, his brief visit to his home brought it to him. It did him good to look into the face of the great Macdonald Bhain once more, and to hear his deep, steady voice welcome him home. It was the face and the voice of a man who had passed through many a sore battle, and not without honor to himself. And it was good, too, to receive the welcome greetings of his old friends and to feel their pride in him and their high expectation of him. More than ever, he resolved that he would be a man worthy of his race.

His visit to the manse brought him mingled feelings of delight and perplexity and pain. The minister's welcome was kind, but there was a tinge of self-complacent pride in it. Ranald was one of "his lads," and he evidently took credit to himself for the young man's success. Hughie regarded him with reserved approval. He was now a man and teaching school, and before committing himself to his old-time devotion, he had to adjust his mind to the new conditions. But before the evening was half done Ranald had won him once more. His tales of the West, and of how it was making and marring men, of the nation that was being built up, and his picture of the future that he saw for the great Dominion, unconsciously revealed the strong manhood and the high ideals in the speaker, and Hughie found himself slipping into the old attitude of devotion to his friend.

But it struck Ranald to the heart to see the marks of many a long day's work upon the face of the woman who had done more for him than all the rest of the world. Her flock of little children had laid upon her a load of care and toil, which added to the burden she was already trying to carry, was proving more than her delicate frame could bear. There were lines upon her face that only weariness often repeated cuts deep; but there were other lines there, and these were lines of heart pain, and as Ranald watched her closely, with his heart running over with love and pity and indignation for her, he caught her frequent glances toward her first born that spoke of anxiety and fear.

"Can it be the young rascal is bringing her anything but perfect satisfaction and joy in return for the sacrifice of her splendid life?" he said to himself. But no word fell from her to show him the secret of her pain, it was Hughie's own lips that revealed him, and as the lad talked of his present and his future, his impatience of control, his lack of sympathy to all higher ideals, his determination to please himself to the forgetting of all else, his seeming unconsciousness of the debt he owed to his mother, all these became easily apparent. With difficulty Ranald restrained his indignation. He let him talk for some time and then opened out upon him. He read him no long lecture, but his words came forth with such fiery heat that they burned their way clear through all the faults and flimsy selfishness of the younger man till they reached the true heart of him. His last words Hughie never forgot.

"Do you know, Hughie," he said, and the fire in his eyes seemed to burn into Hughie's, "do you know what sort of woman you have for a mother? And do you know that if you should live to be a hundred years, and devoted every day of your life to the doing of her pleasure, you could not repay the debt you owe her? Be a man, Hughie. Thank God for her, and for the opportunity of loving and caring for her."

The night of his first visit to the manse Ranald had no opportunity for any further talk with the minister's wife, but he came away with the resolve that before his week's visit was over, he would see her alone. On his return home, however, he found waiting him a telegram from Colonel Thorp, mailed from Alexandria, announcing an early date for the meeting of shareholders at Bay City, so that he found it necessary to leave immediately after the next day, which was the Sabbath. It was no small disappointment to him that he was to have no opportunity of opening his heart to his friend. But as he sat in his uncle's seat at the side of the pulpit, from which he could catch sight of the minister's pew, and watched the look of peace and quiet courage grow upon her face till all the lines of pain and care were quite smoothed out, he felt his heart fill up with a sense of shame for all his weakness, and his soul knit itself into the resolve that if he should have to walk his way, bearing his cross alone, he would seek the same high spirit of faith and patience and courage that he saw shining in her gray-brown eyes.

After the service he walked home with the minister's wife, seeking opportunity for a few last words with her. He had meant to tell her something of his heart's sorrow and disappointment, for he guessed that knowing and loving Kate as she did, she would understand its depth and bitterness. But when he told her of his early departure, and of the fear that for many years he could not return, his heart was smitten with a great pity for her. The look of disappointment and almost of dismay he could not understand until, with difficulty, she told him how she had hoped that he was to spend some weeks at home and that Hughie might be much with him.

"I wish he could know you better, Ranald. There is no one about here to whom he can look up, and some of his companions are not of the best." The look of beseeching pain in her eyes was almost more than Ranald could bear.

"I would give my life to help you," he said, in a voice hoarse and husky.

"I know," she said, simply; "you have been a great joy to me, Ranald, and it will always comfort me to think of you, and of your work, and I like to remember, too, how you helped Harry. He told me much about you, and I am so glad, especially as he is now to be married."

"Yes, yes," replied Ranald, hurriedly; "that will be a great thing for him." Then, after a pause, he added: "Mrs. Murray, the West is a hard country for young men who are not—not very firmly anchored, but if at any time you think I could help Hughie and you feel like sending him to me, I will gladly do for him all that one man can do for another. And all that I can do will be a very poor return for what you have done for me."

"It's little I have done, Ranald," she said, "and that little has been repaid a thousand-fold, for there is no greater joy than that of seeing my boys grow into good and great men and that joy you have brought me." Then she said good by, holding his hand long, as if hating to let him go.

"I will remember your promise, Ranald," she said, "for it may be that some day I shall need you." And when the chance came to Ranald before many years had gone, he proved himself not unworthy of her trust.

* * * * *

At the meeting of share-holders of the British-American Coal and Lumber Company, held in Bay City, the feeling uppermost in the minds of those present was one of wrath and indignation at Colonel Thorp, for he still clung to the idea that it would be unwise to wind up the British Columbia end of the business. The colonel's speech in reply was a triumph of diplomacy. He began by giving a detailed and graphic account of his trip through the province, lighting up the narrative with incidents of adventure, both tragic and comic, to such good purpose that before he had finished his hearers had forgotten all their anger. Then he told of what he had seen of Ranald's work, emphasizing the largeness of the results he had obtained with his very imperfect equipment. He spoke of the high place their manager held in the esteem of the community as witness his visit to Ottawa as representative, and lastly he touched upon his work for the men by means of the libraries and reading-room. Here he was interrupted by an impatient exclamation on the part of one of the share-holders. The colonel paused, and fastening his eye upon the impatient share-holder, he said, in tones cool and deliberate: "A gentleman says, 'Nonsense!' I confess that before my visit to the West I should have said the same, but I want to say right here and now, that I have come to the opinion that it pays to look after your men—soul, mind, and body. You'll cut more lumber, get better contracts, and increase your dividends. There ain't no manner of doubt about that. Now," concluded the colonel, "you may still want to close up that business, but before you do so, I want you to hear Mr. Macdonald."

After some hesitation, Ranald was allowed to speak for a few minutes. He began by expressing his amazement that there should be any thought on the part of the company of withdrawing from the province at the very time when other firms were seeking to find entrance. He acknowledged that the result for the last years did not warrant any great confidence in the future of their business, but a brighter day had dawned, the railroad was coming, and he had in his pocket three contracts that it would require the company's whole force for six months to fulfill, and these contracts would be concluded the day the first rail was laid.

"And when will that be?" interrupted a shareholder, scornfully.

"I have every assurance," said Ranald, quietly, "from the premier himself, that the building of the railroad will be started this fall."

"Did Sir John A. MacDonald give you a definite promise?" asked the man, in surprise.

"Not exactly a promise," said Ranald.

A chorus of scornful "Ohs" greeted this admission.

"But the premier assured me that all his influence would be thrown in favor of immediate construction."

"For my part," replied the share-holder, "I place not the slightest confidence in any such promise as that."

"And I," said Ranald, calmly, "have every confidence that work on the line will be started this fall." And then he went on to speak of the future that he saw stretching out before the province and the whole Dominion. The feeling of opposition in the air roused him like a call to battle, and the thought that he was pleading for the West that he had grown to love, stimulated him like a draught of strong wine. In the midst of his speech the secretary, who till that moment had not been present, came into the room with the evening paper in his hand. He gave it to the president, pointing out a paragraph. At once the president, interrupting Ranald in his speech, rose and said, "Gentlemen, there is an item of news here that I think you will all agree bears somewhat directly upon this business." He then read Sir John A. MacDonald's famous telegram to the British Columbia government, promising that the Canadian Pacific Railway should be begun that fall. After the cheers had died away, Ranald rose again, and said, "Mr. President and gentlemen, there is no need that I should say anything more. I simply wish to add that I return to British Columbia next week, but whether as manager for this company or not that is a matter of perfect indifference to me." And saying this, he left the room, followed by Colonel Thorp.

"You're all right, pardner," said the colonel, shaking him vigorously by the hand, "and if they don't feel like playing up to your lead, then, by the great and everlasting Sammy, we will make a new deal and play it alone!"

"All right, Colonel," said Ranald; "I almost think I'd rather play it without them and you can tell them so."

"Where are you going now?" said the colonel.

"I've got to go to Toronto for a day," said Ranald; "the boys are foolish enough to get up a kind of dinner at the Albert, and besides," he added, resolutely, "I want to see Kate."

"Right you are," said the colonel; "anything else would be meaner than snakes."

But when Ranald reached Toronto, he found disappointment awaiting him. The Alberts were ready to give him an enthusiastic reception, but to his dismay both Harry and Kate were absent. Harry was in Quebec and Kate was with her mother visiting friends at the Northern Lake, so Ranald was forced to content himself with a letter of farewell and congratulation upon her approaching marriage. In spite of his disappointment, Ranald could not help acknowledging a feeling of relief. It would have been no small ordeal to him to have met Kate, to have told her how she had helped him during his three years' absence, without letting her suspect how much she had become to him, and how sore was his disappointment that she could never be more than friend to him, and indeed, not even that. But his letter was full of warm, frank, brotherly congratulation and good will.

The dinner at the Albert was in every way worthy of the club and of the occasion, but Ranald was glad to get it over. He was eager to get away from the city associated in his mind with so much that was painful.

At length the last speech was made, and the last song was sung, and the men in a body marched to the station carrying their hero with them. As they stood waiting for the train to pull out, a coachman in livery approached little Merrill.

THE END