the winter passed swiftly and merrily in glenoro. since the accident on the river skating had fallen into disfavour, but the minister loved coasting, someone discovered, and the young people turned the south hill into such a splendid slide that the teams could scarcely get down to the mill with their saw-logs. then there were parties and tea-meetings, and the weekly meetings of the many organisations in connection with the church. the young pastor and his youthful friends lived in a constant whirl.
this state of affairs brought down many a wrathful condemnation from the ruling elder upon the heads of the young minister and all his generation. andrew johnstone had well-nigh lost all hope of the young man's ever accomplishing any good. but he and duncan polite still clung to one straw. every winter the methodists held a series of revival services, and this year the presbyterian church was to be asked to join them. such friendly relations had been established between the two denominations since mr. egerton's arrival in glenoro that this was at last possible. andrew and his friend looked to this period of special services as an anchor in the great tide of worldliness which, to them, seemed to be sweeping away their church.
but when the methodist minister approached his brother clergyman with the proposition, mr. egerton was compelled to give a reluctant refusal. he was grieved at his inability to help mr. ansdell in any undertaking, but he had already promised all his spare time and energy to a scheme of the schoolmaster's. early in the winter mr. watson had dropped into the minister's study, his small, thin face full of eagerness.
"look here, mr. egerton," he said, tilting his chair back against the wall, "let's get up a patriotic society this winter; it'll keep things lively."
the young clergyman was already beginning to realise that he had very little time for reading or study and scarcely relished the thought of additional engagements. "what should you do at the meetings, for instance?" he asked.
"oh, stir up a spirit of loyalty. i'm not just sure how; but you'd be sure to find a way."
"why not make it a literary society, and study one of the poets; don't you think that would be better?"
mr. watson did not look satisfied. "i don't believe you're half patriotic," he said banteringly, "but i'll make a bargain with you. i know a literary society would be a good thing, and i'll go in for it head and feet, if you'll promise to call it the canadian patriotic society, and let's talk about canada for ten minutes or so before you begin on your poets."
john egerton was rather pleased with the idea. certainly young canadians were grievously ignorant of their own country, and a literary society would supply a great want.
so the canadian patriotic society was duly organised and from the first was a great success.
but a quiet weekly meeting at a private house was not sufficient for the insatiable energy and fervid patriotism of mr. watson. he decided that the canadian patriotic society must come before the public. his last attempt at a patriotic demonstration had met with such humiliating disaster that he had abandoned all such projects for a time, but here was a grand opportunity to educate the public. they would give a patriotic concert that very winter and astonish all the township of oro. of course the society was ready for anything and was soon plunged in monster preparations for the event. it was at this juncture that mr. egerton was asked to assist in the period of revival services. but this new society and its concert completely filled his spare time, so the two weeks of special meetings, when the old minister laboured faithfully to bring souls to christ, were carried on without help from his young confederate. the attendance was smaller than on former occasions, and the interest seemed faint. john egerton was sorely troubled. he felt he could not be blamed, and yet his conscience rebuked him.
in spite of its immense popularity the canadian patriotic society met with some opposition. as the minister was taking such an active part in it, duncan polite watched its development with a faint hope. but splinterin' andra soon dispelled his illusions. "it's jist some more o' his balderdash to keep young folk oot o' their beds at night," he declared bitterly. "man, if the buddie'd be faithful to his maister, he needna' fear for his country!"
old mark middleton, whose forebears were united empire loyalists, was another active dissenter. mark's ancestry placed him in a position to speak with authority upon such subjects and his opinion had some weight with the community. he declared that the whole thing savoured of rebellion, and he, for one, would be very glad if he were sure the schoolmaster and the presbyterian minister weren't hatching some irish plot against the government.
coonie found this a tempting morsel, and delivered it duly to the schoolmaster the first saturday he found him at the corner. "awful sorry to hear about the row you'n the minister are gettin' into," he remarked sympathetically, as he crawled into the store, and pulled his poor, half-frozen limbs up to the stove.
mr. watson turned sharply from the contemplation of the pound of butter mrs. watson had cautioned him to bring home, and stared at the speaker.
"what on earth do you mean?" he inquired incredulously.
"why, didn't you hear?" coonie's tone was a master-piece of pained amazement. "why, old middleton's kickin' like a steer about this patriotic concert you're gettin' up. says he bets it's another mackenzie business all over, and he'll have the law if it ain't stopped. an' splinterin' andra says that a minister o' the gospel who——"
"oh, go along, coonie!" cried the other, much relieved. "you're surely old enough to know that mr. egerton's got more sense than to pay attention to anything quite so pre-historic as splinterin' andra! and as for old mark," he continued impressively, "you can tell him, from me, that if there'd been a few more concerts like this long ago, william lyon mackenzie couldn't have raised a rebellion and wouldn't have wanted to if he could."
coonie shook his head doubtfully. "'fraid it would only make trouble. mark says it's all danged nonsense. awful language that old man uses!" he sighed piously, and, lighting his pipe, proceeded to make himself comfortable.
"well, i'll tell you one thing," he continued seriously, putting his feet on the top of the stove and expectorating into the open damper at a perilous distance, "i'll tell you one thing. this here dispenser o' religion you've got in this town tries to run too many shows at once. he's tryin' to keep the gospel trade hummin' an' have his eye on all the fun that's goin' at the same time. i ain't up in the religion business myself; there ain't likely to be any wings sproutin' 'round where i'm at, but i can tell a minister from an alligator seven days in the week, an' without specs, too, an' the first time i laid eyes on that chap you've got now, i knew he wasn't the sort that made folks hop along to heaven any faster than they wanted to go."
"you certainly ought to be a competent judge of a minister's duty, coonie," replied the schoolmaster sarcastically.
mr. basketful paused in the operation of weighing the butter. "coonie's right," he said, with conviction. "mr. egerton can preach, but 'e's not wot i call spiritually minded."
"that's it!" cried coonie. "that's the word i'm rummagin' for; he's a sort o' sleigh-ridin', tea-meetin' parson. i didn't take much stock in old cameron when he was livin'; you couldn't take a chaw o' tobacco without him knowin' about it, but all the same he was the genu-ine article. it was uncomfortable times for sinners when he was 'round. this chap's different grade; he needs a label on him."
mr. watson went out, banging the door in disgust, and coonie kept himself warm for many a mile past glenoro, chuckling over his joke.
but the schoolmaster was too enthusiastic to be depressed by such ignorant opposition. he felt that he was creating an epoch in canadian history; he was stirring up a sentiment which would permeate the whole country from halifax to vancouver and from the international boundary to the north pole, a sentiment which would fire the lukewarm blood of this people and bring glory and honour upon canada and george watson.
if he had remained long enough in glenoro, he might have witnessed a condition of affairs which would have surprised him. could he have seen the boys he had taught in the school, grown to men, pushing and jostling each other in their jealous and frantic efforts to be of the glorious chosen few who marched away to uphold the old flag on the african veldt, could he have foreseen that the disloyal young neil, who had been the first on that shameful dominion day to throw away his flag and desert his country, would one day face a whole regiment for queen and empire, he might have confessed that he had mistaken british reticence for lack of sentiment. but the schoolmaster, though whole-souled and well-meaning, was not by any means far-seeing, so he went on stirring up a spirit of loyalty with an energy worthy of a better cause.
through it all john egerton was dissatisfied and worried. he felt positively grieved over the loss of an opportunity to show his appreciation of mr. ansdell's friendship, and he knew that the elder people of his own congregation blamed him. he had another trouble, too, which he scarcely confessed to himself; it was the strange, subtle change in jessie hamilton. when donald ignored his humble letter, his repentant mood had slowly vanished. he told himself the young man was all he had suspected, and not worth his trouble. he would have resumed his attentions to jessie with a clear conscience, but was met by a gentle but firm opposition. he was puzzled and annoyed by the change in her. she was as sweet and friendly towards him as of old, but her manner of timid deference seemed to have changed to an intangible air of superiority. the young pastor could not know that she had passed far beyond him on the spiritual road, and the distance between them bewildered him. he began to realise too, to his chagrin, that she was avoiding him. no matter what pains he took to seek her company, she managed, in some mysterious way, to elude him. he wondered gloomily how much donald neil had to do with the change.
but soon all personal affairs had to be set aside, for the date of mr. watson's great celebration had arrived. whatever diverse opinions there may have been in the community regarding the aims of the patriotic society, all seemed unanimous in regard to attending their entertainment. the concert was to be given in the methodist church, while tea was served previously in the temperance hall across the street.
at an early hour eager spectators began to pour in.
inside the hall, waiters, struggling through the crowd around the tables, left more cake and pie upon the human obstructions around them than they carried to the hungry folks already seated. turkey, sandwiches, cake and pie disappeared as if by magic, as the long tables were filled again and again.
waiters flew, dishes rattled, babies cried and everyone talked and laughed and made a noise. and every five minutes the door would fly open, creaking on its frosty hinges, to admit a rush of chill, fresh air and still another crowd.
the cooking had been done on a tremendous scale, and the results were beyond praise. the north and the south had "played a drawn game," wee andra declared; for even mr. egerton, seated with the methodist minister at the head of the longest and most heavily-laden board, was unable to detect one slight shade of greater excellence in one than the other and ate northern pies and southern tarts with an impartial relish.
he and mr. watson succeeded after supper in extricating themselves from the hungry crowd. they crossed the street to where the windows of the church gleamed warm and bright.
"well, watson," said the minister encouragingly, "the crowd is here at any rate, whether it's a patriotic one or not."
"yes siree!" the schoolmaster was in high spirits. "if it's not patriotic now, i'll bet my head it will be before we're done with them. this is all owing to our efforts!"
but john egerton did not share his enthusiasm. he was watching morosely three figures that were just disappearing into the church ahead of him. they were jessie and her father and mother. she had formed the habit lately of going out only with her parents, and when they remained at home she stayed with them, much to their wonder and delight. when he entered the church he found her safely ensconced between the two, and knew there was no opportunity for him to gain a word with her.
"here comes the choir!" announced a voice from the back, as the broad shoulders of wee andra heralded their approach. that august body walked leisurely to their seats of honour in a bower of evergreens behind the organ, secure in the knowledge that the meeting could not possibly commence without them. they were soon settled in their places, and syl todd found to his unspeakable delight that he was seated next to maggie hamilton. his father and mother, seated in the front row, nudged each other in ecstasy at the sight of their son sitting up there on the platform with the minister and the schoolmaster and looking far handsomer and better dressed than either of them.
but poor syl did not derive as much enjoyment from his proud position as did his parents. maggie was extremely difficult. "ain't the decorations lovely," he remarked, by way of a propitiatory opening of conversation. "if it hadn't a' been for you, maggie, them flags wouldn't a' been hung near so graceful."
his divinity jerked herself round impatiently. "oh, my goodness, i wish something else had been hung besides flags," she said with heartless meaning.
syl laughed nervously. "oh maggie, you are such a tease! i never seen such a monkey of a girl as you. look here what i got you." he handed her a little white candy tablet on which was printed a sentimental inscription. "i bought three pounds of them congregational lozengers at basketful's to-day jist for you."
maggie glared at the unoffending piece of confectionery, but did not deign to touch it. "my, but you must have thought i could eat like a horse!" she remarked scathingly. "you can give them to julia duffy," and she flounced out of the seat to another at some distance, leaving syl to endure an evening of tormenting doubt as to whether he might see her home.
mr. watson came bustling over nervously to confer with the choir leader. "the crowd's nearly all here, do you think we'd better start, andrew?"
"jist as you like," was the reply. wee andra was of too huge proportions to be moved by any excitement. "there's mr. thomas hayes, m. p., no less, comin' in at the door now!" he added, stretching his neck to get a view of the other end of the church and sending a rather unstable cedar tree and a deluge of flags crashing upon the organ. "gosh, i've pulled down the whole shootin' match!"
mr. hayes was the member of parliament for glenoro's constituency, as well as the burke of the flats, oro's irish settlement. he was the only orator honoured with an invitation to address the meeting. mr. watson hurried down the aisle to welcome the distinguished visitor, amid a hail-storm of conversation lozenges. when he had been brought to the platform and duly honoured everything was in readiness.
glenoro custom demanded that all such affairs should be opened with prayer, but in his capacity of chairman, mr. watson did not see fit to call upon either clergyman to perform that ceremony; the programme was long enough, he reflected, and the praying could be dispensed with easier than anything else. the audience settled into expectant silence as mr. egerton arose and in a few well-chosen words explained the double mission of the patriotic society, and the aim of its entertainment. his audience listened attentively, and, judging from the applause that followed, seemed to be quite in sympathy with the movement. it is true that some of the babies, not yet old enough to realise their glorious heritage, occasionally interrupted his remarks, and one disloyal youth shied a "congregational lozenger" across the room; but the speaker did not appear at all disturbed.
the programme which followed was one calculated to arouse the most sluggish soul present. the choir sang quite thrillingly "the maple leaf forever"; the mouth organ and concertina band played "upon the heights of queenston" four times through without stopping to take breath; while the boys at the back of the church kept time vigorously with their feet. during the performance sim basketful made several ineffectual excursions to that abandoned region to demand order, but was met by a fusillade of confectionery. wee andra roared out "the battle of the baltic" at the top of his prodigious lungs, and was thunderously encored. the fact that in his exit he once more knocked over the evergreen tree with its burden of flags detracted not one whit from either his or nelson's glory. then annie fraser played "the battle of waterloo" on the organ with an execution quite worthy of the carnage of that event. the only drawback to it was that sandy neil, who had been detailed to announce each different part of the action, and apprise the audience of the fact that certain sounds meant "cannonade," while others symbolised the "cries of the wounded," as usual allowed his spirit of mischief to carry him away. he sang out the names of the different movements in the long-drawn-out tone associated with "calling-off" at a dance, much to the horror of the staider portion of the audience. mrs. fraser told 'liza cotton afterwards that it just gave her a turn with her heart to see her annie sitting right up there in the midst of such iniquity.
crooked sandy mcdonald, who was as straight as a pine stem, but who lived under the misfortune of his ancestor's distinguishing appellation, and who, next to syl todd, was the best elocutionist in the neighbourhood, recited "the charge of the light brigade"; and though he said "half a leak" owing to the inconvenience of a highland accent, he rendered the selection with such vim that his efforts brought down the house, and a deluge of lozenges.
such a warlike programme had never before been heard in the township of oro. the very air seemed to smell of gunpowder. the schoolmaster was electrified. he sprang to his feet almost before the light brigade had ceased charging, and announced in a voice high and tremulous with emotion that the auspicious moment had come, for they were now to be favoured with the great feature of the evening, a patriotic address by mr. thomas hayes, member of parliament!
mr. hayes arose with the ease and deliberation of an old election campaigner. he was a tall, lean man, with bright penetrating eyes, and a delightful suspicion of an irish brogue, a man with hands horny from the plough and a brain that belongs only to the rulers of men. he represented a political party that had its stronghold in glenoro and its impregnable fortress in the oa; so he took his place upon the platform amid uproarious stamping and cheering.
canada could not well have had a better champion. he spoke in the most glowing terms of his beloved land, of her wonderful scenery, her healthful climate, her free, hardy people, her glorious future. he reeled off enough information about her mines, her fisheries, her agricultural resources and her manufactures to fill an encyclopedia. he dilated upon the beauty and grandeur of canadian scenery. he stood his audience upon the heights of quebec and showed them the whole panorama of their wonderful country in one sentence. he swept from ocean to ocean; he swam the great lakes and sailed down innumerable rivers; he scooped out a canal to port nelson and shot across hudson's bay; he rolled across the prairies; he hewed down the forest belt; he dug gold in british columbia; and, finally, he climbed the highest snow-capped peak of the rocky mountains and poured down from its dizzy heights the torrents of his eloquence; and when his bewildered hearers recovered from the delightful deluge, they found that the exponent of the canadian patriotic society had skipped across the atlantic and was thundering forth upon the wonders and beauty of ireland!
this was a long way from canada and the aims of the canadian patriotic society, and the chairman's face lost its rapt look. john egerton hid a smile behind the pulpit desk and that part of the audience that was of irish extraction applauded uproariously. when, after nearly half an hour's lauding of the emerald isle, the orator did stop, he was so carried away by his own feelings that he wound up with a stanza, recited most thrillingly, from "erin-go-bragh" and sat down amid deafening applause without referring in the remotest way to his original text.
mr. watson was rising to announce the next piece, in a rather doubtful mood, when a voice from the back called out, with no uncertain sound as to either the sentiments or the origin of its owner, "wot's the matter with england?"
there was a roar of laughter and a loud clapping of hands. mr. hayes arose again. he was too old a politician not to see that he had made a mistake in his one-sided speech. he was about to supplement it, and was beginning "ladies and gentlemen," when a loud voice from the centre of the church interrupted him.
mr. sim basketful had sat with an expression of utter boredom during the latter portion of the member's speech, finally working himself up into a volcanic mood as it neared an end. his face was purple and his short, thick neck showed veins standing out dangerously. he might have held down his righteous indignation had it not been for the challenge from the back of the room, but the sight of that "blathering irishman" rising in response to it was too much. mr. basketful was not of mr. hayes' political opinions and, besides that, was his rival upon tea-meeting platforms. he had convinced himself that it was due to the presbyterian minister's interference that he, a methodist, had been denied the honour of being the speaker of the evening. he, a class-leader in the very church where the performance was given, to be set aside for that irish catholic! he would show them all a thing or two before he sat down. he was standing now, looking straight ahead of him, and grasping the back of the seat before him, with true saxon doggedness.
"mr. chairman, ladies and gentlemen," he shouted, and mr. hayes, who had met sim basketful many a time in his political campaigns, sat down, somewhat disconcerted.
"mr. chairman, ladies and gentlemen, if there's anybody in this 'ere haudience wants to know wot's the matter with hingland, i'm 'ere prepared to state, sir, that there ain't one bloomin' thing the matter with 'er!" (loud cheers from his anglo-saxon hearers.) "and wot's more, ladies and gentlemen and mr. chairman, i think it's 'igh time we were 'earin' just a little about that country that's made us all wot we are!" (applause, mingled with noises of an indefinite character.) "we've been 'earin' a lot o' nonsense about hireland and hirish scenery and hirish soldiers, but wot i'd like to be hinformed about, ladies and gentlemen and mr. chairman, is if anybody in this 'ere haudience is under the himpression that a canadian patriotic society is a hirish society!"
the withering contempt of the last words, and the cheers they elicited, brought the first speaker indignantly to his feet. not one word could he get in, however. mr. basketful was a true briton, and with the aid of a voice which drowned all competitors he clung to his theme with magnificent tenacity. when the noise calmed sufficiently for him to be heard, the audience found that he was discoursing fiercely and doggedly upon the inimitable land of his birth.
sandy neil, his eyes dancing, slipped out of his place in the choir, and made his way softly down the aisle at the side of the church. "catchach's down there," he whispered to the choir leader as he passed; "i'm goin' to stir him up;" and wee andra threw back his head with a laugh which blew out the lamp on the organ.
but none of these things moved the patriotic englishman. he was launched upon his favourite theme, his native land, and was irresistible. england was the only country in the world. he stamped, he sawed the air, he used metaphors and similes and hyperboles in a vain endeavour to give some idea of her glory. he eulogized her commerce, her statesmen, her queen. he brought up her infantry, he charged with her cavalry, he poured upon his hearers her heavy artillery. and at last, backed by the whole great english navy, he swept every other country off the face of the globe and retired to his seat behind the stove, the wellington of one last, grand, oratorical waterloo.
mr. egerton reached over and, catching the distracted chairman by the sleeve, shouted above the din that if he wanted to avoid further trouble he must either close the meeting or make the choir sing something, and be quick about it. the chairman arose and strove to make his voice heard above the noise, but the chirping of a sparrow in a tempest would have been as effectual.
for down at the other end of the church a most alarming tumult was in progress. cries of "order!" and "sit down!" were mingled with "go on, catchach; speak up! scotland forever!" and equally ominous sounds.
through the struggling crowd a man was fighting his way fiercely to the platform.
"order! order!" shrieked the chairman. but the disorderly person had reached the platform, his red whiskers flying, his blue eyes blazing, and his big fists brandishing threateningly above his head. it was catchach! the schoolmaster sat down very discreetly and hastily. it was catchach, worked up to a white fury over the insult to scotland—scotland, the flower of creation, to be neglected, while the scum of the earth was being exalted!
"mister chairman, ladies an' chentlemen!" he shouted, "i will not pe a public spoke, as you will pe knowing, put—" he went off into a storm of gaelic, but suddenly checked himself, at the roars of laughter from his sassenach enemies. the ridicule saved him—and scotland. he had been incoherent with rage, but that laugh steadied him, and settled him into a cold fury. he would make a speech for the glory of scotland now, if they pulled the church down about his ears. and he did it well, too. england was forgotten, ireland was in oblivion, canada did not exist. but scotland! the land of the heather and the thistle! catchach grew wildly poetic over her. the noise of english groans and irish jeers and scottish applause was so great that much of the effusion was lost, but in the intervals of the uproar could be caught such snatches as, "who iss it that hass won efery great pattle in the last century? ta hielanders!" "who won ta pattle of palacklafa? ta hielanders!" "who stormed ta heights of awlma? ta hielanders!"
on he swept down to the last page of history, shouting the answers to this glorious catechism with a ferocious defiance that challenged denial; and at every shout there was an answering roar from the inhabitants of the oa which threatened to dislodge the roof.
the distracted chairman had not the courage to attempt to stem the torrent. he did not care to obtrude himself inside catchach's range of vision, for before he was done with scotland the orator was rolling up his sleeves and calling out like goliath of gath for all the township of oro to come forward and contradict him. many of the audience became alarmed, and some of the older folk were starting for the door, when at last the flow of fiery eloquence ceased. how he ever managed to stop, no one could understand; some people said they supposed he had come to the limit of his english. if catchach had been able to address his audience in gaelic, it is likely they would not have seen their homes until morning.
but he did stop at last, and went tearing down the aisle and out of the door, shaking the dust of the place from off his feet. the back row arose in a body, and went roaring after him, for catchach in a rage was better than all the patriotic demonstrations on earth.
the meeting broke up in complete disorder. the hour was unconscionably late, and the remainder of the long inspiriting programme had perforce to be omitted. those of the audience who remained sang "god save the queen" in a rather distracted fashion and hurried away with the firm conviction that a patriotic concert was an exceedingly improper performance.
as the unhappy chairman and his confederate were leaving the scene of their disappointment sim basketful brushed violently past the irish orator and confronted them. he informed them in a choking voice that if the presbyterians were contemplating getting up any more such disgraceful performances, they would see that they were held in their own church, as the methodists objected to having their place of worship turned into a den of thieves.
