the saxon force, the celtic fire,

these are thy manhood's heritage!

—c. g. d. roberts.

old ian mcallister, schoolmaster of section number nine, oro, was calling his flock into the educational fold. it was no clarion ring that summoned the youths from the forest, for the times were early and a settlement might be proud to possess a school, without going to the extremity of such foolishness as a bell, and number nine was not extravagant. but the schoolmaster's ingenuity had improvised a very good substitute. he stood in the doorway, hammering upon the doorpost with a long, flexible ruler, and making a peremptory clatter that echoed far away into the arches of the forest and hastened the steps of any tardy youths approaching from its depths. good cause they had to be expeditious, too, for well they knew, did they linger, the master would be apt to resume the bastinado upon their belated persons when they did arrive. this original method had other advantages, from the schoolmaster's point of view, for, as his pupils crowded past him through the narrow doorway, he had many a fine opportunity to transfer occasional whacks to the heads of such boys, and girls, too, as he felt would need the admonition before the day was over, and who could not manage to dodge him. so those approaching the school, even before they came within sight of the place, could reckon exactly the state of the master's temper, and the number of victims sacrificed thereto, by the intermittent sounds of the summoning stick. indeed, number nine possessed an almost superhuman knowledge of their master's mental workings. when he was fiercest then they were most hopeful; for they knew that, like other active volcanoes, having once indulged in a terrible eruption he was not likely to break forth again for some time. he was quite dependable, for his conduct followed certain fixed rules. first came about a fortnight of stern discipline and faithful and terrifying attention to duty. during this period a subdued and busy hum pervaded number nine and much knowledge was gained. for ian mcallister was a man of no mean parts, and, as the trustees of the section were wont to boast, there was not such another man in the county of simcoe for "bringing the scholars on—when he was at it." but the trouble was he could never stay "at it" very long. a much more joyous, though less profitable, season followed, during which the schoolmaster's energies were taken up in a bitter and losing fight with an appetite for strong drink. poor mcallister had been intended for a fine, scholarly, upright character, and he struggled desperately to maintain his integrity. but about once in two months he yielded to temptation. during these "spells," as number nine called his lapses from duty, he still taught, but in a perfunctory manner, being prone to play practical jokes upon his pupils, which, of course, they returned with interest. when he finally succumbed in sleep, with his feet on the desk and his red spotted handkerchief over his face, number nine took to the bush and proceeded to enjoy life. that they did not altogether give themselves over to unbounded riot was due to the fact that the master's awakening might occur at any moment. and well they knew he was apt to come out of his lethargy with awful suddenness, with a conscience lashing him for his weakness and with a stern determination to work out tremendous reparation for the lost hours.

but number nine suffered little from this changeable conduct. they had studied their master so faithfully that they could generally calculate what would be the state of his temper at a given time, and guided themselves accordingly. indeed, roarin' sandy's archie, a giant macdonald who had attended every winter since the schoolhouse was built, could tell almost to a day when the master was likely to relax, and he acted as a sort of barometer to the whole school.

but to-day mcallister showed no signs of relaxation as they dodged past him and scrambled into their places. the room was soon filled, for the winter term had commenced and all the big boys and girls of the section were in attendance. the schoolroom was small, with rough log walls and a raftered ceiling. down the middle ran a row of long forms for the younger children, and along the sides were ranged a few well carved desks, at which the elder pupils sat when they wrote in their copy-books. at the end nearest the door stood a huge rusty stove, always red-hot in winter, and near it were a big wooden water-pail and tin dipper. at the other end of the room stood the master's desk, a long-legged rickety structure, with a stool to match, from which lofty throne the ruler of number nine could command a view of his realm and spy out its most remote region of insubordination. behind him was the blackboard, a piece of sheep-skin used as an eraser, and an ancient and tattered map of europe.

scotty was already in his place; he had hurried to his seat as soon as he arrived for fear someone might ask him his name, and in dread lest he might be claimed by those english boys from the tenth, whom his soul loathed.

he had started to school at a time when the several nationalities that were being welded together to make the canadian race were by no means one, and he had inherited all the prejudices of his own people. number nine was a school eminently calculated to keep alive all the small race animosities that characterised the times; for english, irish and scotch, both highland and lowland, had settled in small communities with the schoolhouse as a central point.

the building was situated in a hollow made by a bend in the oro river; to the north among the green hills surrounding lake oro, was the oa, a district named after a part of islay, and there dwelt the highlanders; all macdonalds, all related, all tenaciously clannish, and all such famous warriors that they had earned the name throughout the whole county of simcoe of the "fighting macdonalds," a name which their progeny who attended number nine school strove valiantly to perpetuate.

from the low-lying lands at the south, a region called the flats, which sloped gently southward until it sank beneath the blue waters of lake simcoe, came the irish contingent, always merry, always quarrelling, and always headed by young pat murphy and nancy caldwell, who were the chief warriors of the section.

and over on the western plains that stretched away from the banks of the oro, on a concession locally styled "the tenth," lived a class of pupils whose chief representative had been overheard by a highland enemy to say, as he named the forest trees along his path to school, "that there's a hoak, an' that there's a hash, an' that there's a helm." though the youth bore the highly respectable and historic name of tommy tucker, he was forever after branded as "hoak" tucker, and his two innocent brothers were dubbed, respectively, "helm" and "hash."

one more nationality was represented in number nine, those who approached the school-house with the rising sun behind them. they were scotch to a man; what was more, they proclaimed the fact upon the fence-tops and made themselves obnoxious to even the macdonalds, for after all they were only lowlanders, and how could the celt be expected to treat them as equals?

when this heterogeneous assembly had all passed under the rod and seated themselves, the master tramped up to his desk and a solemn hush fell over the room. this was remarkable, for unless mcallister was in an unusually bad humour number nine buzzed like a saw-mill. but this morning the silence was intense and ominous, and for a very good reason. for only the evening before number nine had for once miscalculated their ruler's condition, and a flagrant act of disobedience had been perpetrated. mcallister had commanded that all fighting cease, and in the face of his interdict the macdonalds and the murphys, according to the established custom of the country, had manfully striven to exterminate each other. for between the oa and the flats there was an undying feud; partly hereditary, and partly owing to the fact that pat murphy considered it an impertinence on the part of anyone to come from the north when he chose to approach from the opposite direction.

during school-hours a truce was preserved, all factions being united against a common foe; but as soon as school was dismissed the lines of demarcation became too obvious to be overlooked. the outlandish gaelic the macdonalds spoke when among their brethren, their irritating way of gathering clan-like for the journey home, always aroused resentment in the breasts of the assembling murphys. so, five o'clock fights had long ago become one of the institutions of the school, and in the winter when the big boys were present the encounters were frequent and sanguinary.

the schoolmaster objected to all strife in which he had no part, and since the opening of the winter term he had set his face like adamant against this international warfare. but his opposition served only to increase the ardour of the combatants. in vain he scolded and thrashed. in vain he imprisoned the scots until the hibernians had had a reasonable time to make an honourable retreat. the liberated party only waited behind stumps and fallen logs, with the faithfulness of a lover to his tryst.

so at last mcallister arose in his might and announced that the next time such an affair occurred he would thrash the leaders of each party within an inch of their lives. on such occasions the schoolmaster was not to be trifled with, and for a few days even the murphys were cowed.

but as time passed there grew up between the belligerents a tacit understanding that just as soon as the master entered upon a less rigid frame of mind they would settle the fast accumulating scores.

so the night succeeding scotty's first day at school they felt the time was ripe. roarin' sandy's archie assured all that a fight would be perfectly safe. the master's tropical season was already overdue some days, and on the morrow he was sure to be jolly. so the forbidden campaign had opened just a day too soon. it proved to be an armageddon, too; lowlander and highlander, sassenach and hibernian, they battered each other right royally, and now here they were ranged before their judge to find to their dismay that he was clear-eyed, clear-headed, and ready to inflict upon the culprits the severest penalties of the law.

the strange, tense atmosphere filled scotty with vague alarm. he felt that the air was pregnant with disaster. danny murphy nudged him when the master closed his eyes for prayer and whispered that "somebody was goin' to get an awful hidin', likely the macdonalds." prayers were extremely lengthy, always a bad sign, and scotty felt his hair rise as at their close the master banged his desk lid, and glared fiercely about him. perhaps mcallister was going to thrash him for pretending he was a macdonald, he reflected fearfully.

the master lost no time in going straight to the point, he knew his period of weakness was coming over him with overwhelming rapidity; one more visit to that which lay in his desk would, he knew, destroy his judgment; and struggling desperately to do what he deemed right, he put his fists firmly upon the desk lid as if to crush down the tempter and proceeded to business.

"so, ye've been fighting again!" he cried, fixing the row of bigger boys with his eye. "ye uncivilised macdonald pack, an' ye savage murphy crew! tearin' at each other like wolves! aye! roarin' an' rantin' an' ragin' like a pack o' blood-hounds! ah, ye're nothing but a pack o' savages! jist uncivilised savages! but ah'll have no wild beasts in my school. ah'll teach ye! ah'll take some o' the fight out o' ye!" he glared meaningly at peter lauchie, one of the most bellicose highlanders, but that young man dodged cleverly behind pat murphy's broad shoulders. "ye'll think ah'll not find ye out?" the master shouted triumphantly. "but ah'll soon do that! aye, it was at the birch crick ye were fightin' like a pack o' wild beasts; ye thought ye were far enough away to be safe. but ah'll find out who started it!" his eye ranged quickly round the room and fell upon scotty, sitting open-mouthed straight in front of him. mcallister was not above extorting information from the younger pupils, and scotty went by the scotch line and could be made to tell. "you, ralph stanwell!" he cried, fixing the boy with an admonitory finger. "yon's your road. now, jist tell me all about this fight!"

now, scotty, in his eagerness to get home, had taken the short road across the swamp and knew nothing of the affray. but he scarcely heard the master's question; he had caught only that hateful name, the name that made him an alien from the macdonalds and classed him with that baby, "hash" tucker, who was even now weeping behind his slate lest his big brother should be thrashed. scotty's face flushed crimson, his hands clenched.

"are ye deef?" roared the master. "answer me my question, ralph stanwell!"

the boy leaped as if he had been struck. "that will not be my name!" he cried defiantly.

mcallister glared at him with wild bloodshot eyes; under other circumstances he would have been ashamed of the part he was playing; but now his nerves were raw and his temper was rendered wild by his craving.

"are ye ashamed o' yer name, ye young english upstart?" he roared.

that opprobrious epithet "english" swept all fear and discretion from scotty's mind. "i'll not be english!" he shouted back, "i'll be scotch, an' my name will jist be macdonald, whatever!"

a low growl of approval came from the region of the macdonalds at the back of the school, and peter lauchie macdonald, who was scotty's next of kin, came out from behind pat murphy and snorted triumphantly. the master reached out his powerful arm and swept the boy up onto his desk, holding him there in a terrible grip. "ah'll macdonald ye!" he shouted, shaking him to and fro. "another macdonald to be a wild beast in the school! ah'll knock the macdonald out o' ye! ye young english wasp, ye!"

scotty's face was white; but he remembered callum and held his lips firmly to keep from crying out. peter lauchie half rose, "he'll be no more english than you!" he shouted. the master turned; he was facing rebellion. "peter macdonald," he said in a low, thrilling tone, "you will go out and cut me a stick, an' when ah've taught this ill piece with it ah'll break it over your back!"

peter lauchie's defiance melted in the white glare of the master's wrath. he arose and stumbled sullenly out of doors on his unpleasant errand. scotty had been placed in his especial care both by the boy's grandmother and his own mother, and his soul writhed under the master's command. outside the door he paused, weighing the chances of returning without the weapon; the master's tawse had been removed the night before, and he might put off the day of judgment until the judge collapsed. as he stood, miserably irresolute, a low hiss sounded from beneath the door. roarin' sandy's archie had crept to it on all fours. "don't be hurryin' back," he whispered eagerly, "i'll tell ye when to come!"

peter lauchie stepped behind a hemlock and peeped through the window. the first glance convinced him of the wisdom of his friend's advice; delay was the watchword, for trouble had arisen in a new quarter.

at one of the side desks near the platform sat nancy caldwell. nancy was the biggest girl in the school and the only person in the township of oro whom old mcallister feared. she was a handsome girl, belonging to one of the leading protestant families of the flats; she was bold and fearless and had withal such a feminine ingenuity for inventing schemes to circumvent the schoolmaster that he regarded her with something akin to superstitious awe.

nancy had a big, irish heart, and it swelled with indignation when scotty was put up for execution. she shrewdly guessed that mcallister was nearing the limit of his strength, and thought she might try a tilt with him. so as he tramped angrily up and down the platform, she reached out, when his back was turned, and whisked the boy under her desk.

"lie still!" she whispered. "sure, i'll murder him if he touches ye!"

mcallister marched over to her, his arm raised threateningly; the girl sat and stared coolly back. for a moment the baffled man stood glaring at her. he would rather have met all the big boys in concerted rebellion than nancy caldwell, and felt that he must be fortified within before he could successfully combat her. he stepped up to his desk and clutching a half-empty bottle from it, drained the contents.

the tension of the school was immediately relaxed; the pupils nudged each other and giggled and nancy caldwell laughed aloud and pulled scotty out from his hiding place.

as everyone expected, mcallister sank into his chair and glared sheepishly about him, making a desperate attempt to retain his dignity.

peter lauchie stepped out from his post of observation, with a light heart; and strolled off leisurely in search of a weapon. since the master was now on his way to a better frame of mind, peter was not the one to retard his happy progress; so he sauntered about, knowing that roarin' sandy's archie would summon him when the time was ripe.

his commander did not fail him. with the keen eye of an old campaigner, roarin' sandy's archie saw the moment to strike. the master had worked up a little energy and was again making for nancy; now was the time to divert his attention; he beckoned to his henchman. as peter lauchie entered he showed himself a worthy follower of a worthy leader, for he strode solemnly up the aisle, dragging in his wake a respectably-sized hemlock tree, the branches of which swept up the floor and whipped the boys and girls in the faces, evoking shrieks of laughter. he paused before the master's desk and solemnly handed him the sapling.

"here's the switch to hide scotty macdonald, sir," he said with great seriousness, and a fine emphasis on the name.

the master turned like an animal at bay, and the school broke into a torrent of laughter. he grasped the tree and raised it above his head. "ah'll batter the cursed impidence out o' ye, ye curse o' a macdonald!" he roared, making a drive at the boy.

but peter lauchie knew that the master need not now be taken seriously; he darted down the aisle, mcallister after him, bearing his clumsy weapon, and mowing down all within three yards of his path. the boy leaped over the wood box, dodged round the stove, upset the water pail over the girls and came careering back.

number nine rose to the occasion; their year of jubilee, so long delayed, had come at last. the boys joined in the chase, and soon the master became the pursued as well as the pursuer. the girls shrieked and fled to the wall, all except such amazons as nancy caldwell and roarin' sandy's teenie, who joined in the race, materially assisting peter by getting in the master's way or catching hold of his flying coat-tails.

the chase did not last long; the prey, exhausted, fled out of doors and the master subsided into a chair. he brought the school to some semblance of order and made a feeble attempt at teaching. but by the afternoon he was uproariously genial. he spent an hour conducting a competition in which the boy who could stand longest on the hot stove received the highest marks, and finally went to sleep with his feet on the desk and his red handkerchief spread over his face.

but the affair was not without material benefit to scotty. in his gallant refutation of the charge against him, and in the miraculous way he had averted the master's vengeance, he had won a place in the heart of every macdonald. thereafter, no one outside the clan dared give him his english name, and at last the fact that he possessed one almost faded from his friends', as well as his own, mind.