In Orchard Glen

by Mary Esther Miller MacGregor

  CHAPTER III

  "WHOSOEVER WILL LOSE HIS LIFE"

  Christina was sitting in the old hammock on the veranda, ready forchurch. She had already done a big morning's work. For, though theSabbath was rigidly kept in the Lindsay home, and made a day of rest asmuch as possible, the usual multitude of barnyard duties had to beattended to, for the chickens and the pigs and the calves clamouredjust as loudly for their breakfast on Sabbath morning as any week day.

  But Christina's work was all done and she was neatly dressed; her heavygolden brown braids were placed in a shining crown about her head, andher freshly ironed white dress and her white canvas shoes wereimmaculate. For her keen sense of a lack of beauty had taught her thevalue of scrupulous neatness. She was studying her Sunday Schoollesson, and her white gown and her bright head bent over the open Bibleon her lap, made her look not unlike a young saint at her meditations;which was an entirely misleading picture, for Christina's mind wasrioting joyously across the University campus, far away from OrchardGlen and Sabbath calm, even though her eyes were reading words such asnever man spake,

  "Therefore, take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat or drink... is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment?"

  "Are you really ready?" cried Sandy in admiring astonishment, as hesettled himself beside her in the hammock. "You never take half asmuch time as the other girls to get dolled up!"

  It was more than two months since Allister had gone back to the West,and Neil had left for his summer Mission Field away out on theprairies. July was marching over the hills, trailing the glory of herclover-blossom gowns, her arms ladened with sweet-smelling hay. Thepink blossoms were blown from the orchard and instead the trees werehung with a wealth of tiny green globes. Inside the house and aboutthe barnyard there were changes also, for Allister had been verygenerous, especially to John, and his labours had been very muchlightened by machinery.

  Christina sat with her fingers between the leaves of her Bible, herthoughts far away on the shining road to success which she and Sandywere so soon to take. For her the days could not move fast enough.

  "My, but I wish I didn't have that year of High School to put infirst," she declared. "But then I suppose I wouldn't be satisfied if Iwere a B. A. and you a Ph. D. But I'm going to study like a runawayhorse next winter," she added, growing incoherent in her joy, "andmaybe I'll catch up to you, Mr. Alexander Lindsay."

  Sandy lay back in the hammock and gazed up at the festoons of littlegreen balls, hanging in the trees. He did not respond with his usualreadiness to his sister's nonsense. His gaiety seemed to have desertedhim lately.

  "I don't see how you can help getting up on the barn and yelling forjoy, Sandy," she declared impatiently. "I know I would, every time Ithink about going to college, if I were a boy. But I have several goodreasons for not expressing myself in that manner. Ellen's one, andMrs. Sinclair's another, and then I'm really a very well behaved youngwoman anyway, and I'm going to be a lady some day, and it might not bewell to have such dark places in my past."

  Sandy laughed rather forcedly. "It'll be time enough for me to yell,when I've got something to yell about," he said. "'Don't holler tillyou're out of the bush,' is a good old adage. And I'm a long way frombeing out of it yet."

  "What do you mean?" asked Christina in alarm.

  "I was talking things over with John last night, and we're afraid wecan't manage for me to go this year. Allister lost some money in realestate last month, and can't be depended on to help John as much as heexpected. I've almost decided to go down and see Mitchell about theAnondell school. They wrote yesterday asking me to take it again."

  "Oh, _Sandy_! Oh!" Christina's tone was full of unbelieving dismay."I can't believe it. Surely,--oh, John won't let you stay! Somethingcan be done surely----"

  "Oh, of course John wants me to go and he'd manage somehow. But Iwon't let him. It would cut Neil short too. It's no use making a rowover it," he concluded stoically. "It just can't be helped."

  But Christina was inconsolable. It required a great deal of explainingto convince her that it was not all an evil dream. She just couldn'tand wouldn't believe it. It was harder to bear Sandy's disappointmentthan if it had been her own. He found he had to undertake the role ofcomforter and try to convince her it was not such a disaster after all.There was no use making a row over what couldn't be helped, he repeatedagain and again. She would catch up to him in the year she would haveat school, and who knew but they might enter college together.

  But Christina could only sit and stare in silence down the orchardaisle to where the sun was glowing, richly purple, on the last uncutclover field. The glory had departed from the morning, and the gloryhad departed too, from the road to success which she and Sandy were tohave taken together. For she alone realised what a bitterdisappointment this was to Sandy. He would never complain, she wellknew, nor indulge in self-pity, but she did know that there was gravedanger of his throwing away the hope of a University educationaltogether, and going into business or perhaps back to the farm. Forif he did not start this year, how was one to know what might happenbefore the next year? She sat perfectly silent, and when Christina wassilent she was in deep trouble. Sandy strove in vain to cheer her."Never mind. Don't let it worry you," he said bravely. "I can studynights and perhaps I won't lose so much time. And if I can't manage itnext year I can go out West with Allister. Come along, let's get tochurch."

  She rose slowly, and as slowly went into the house to see if Grandpawere comfortable. They left him in a cool corner of the winter kitchenwith his Bible and hymn-book and Sport at his feet. The familygathered on the veranda, and though Christina's mind was so disturbed,she did not forget to see that her mother had a clean handkerchief, andthat her bonnet was on straight.

  Mary was like a fairy in her white muslin dress, and Ellen lookedunusually radiant, in a new blue silk, a present from Allister. ButEllen had an especial reason for looking radiant these days. For along time she and Bruce had nursed the hope that he might studymedicine one day, and Dr. McGarry had promised to hand him over all hispractice the day he graduated. Times had been too hard on the McKenziefarm for Bruce to leave, but crops had been good for several years now,and he had almost decided to try the University. And Ellen, who sharedthe Lindsay ambition to the full, was sharing his joy and urging him on.

  John walked by his mother's side, and Christina fell behind betweenSandy and Jimmie. Usually her mother had to rebuke the hilarity ofthese three on Sabbath mornings, but to-day Christina was so quiet thatJimmie enquired if she were sick.

  They passed silently through the little gate between the lilac bushes,and down the lane to where the tall poplars stood guard at the entranceto the farm. When their mother accompanied them the Lindsays neverwent by the Short Cut, for even Sandy's stile was too difficult a climbfor her.

  As they passed out onto the Highway they were joined here and there bygroups of church goers. For everybody in Orchard Glen except two orthree odd characters, went to church, and Sunday was a day of pleasantsocial intercourse, such as no other time of the busy week afforded.

  It was a real relief, too, from the long strain of six days' toil, andas yet neither the pleasure-seeker nor the money-getter had interferedseriously with its grateful peace. It was a day when you took yourselfout of your toilsome environment, dressed in your best, and drove orwalked leisurely to church, with a feeling of ease and well-being thatno hurried pleasure-seeking could ever give. And you met all yourfriends and neighbours there, and had a word with them, andincidentally you were reminded that while crops and cattle and finehorses and motor cars and a swelling bank account were good things topossess; like the work of the past week, they would be put away oneday, while the unseen things would remain.

  The McKenzies came down the path from the farm above, the whole family,from Old Johnnie, who was an elder, to Katie, who was Christina's age.They paired off with the Lindsays, and Bruce and Ellen dropped behind,for they h
ad gotten so far on their courtship, that they even walked tochurch together, in broad daylight, a stage that was supposed toimmediately precede a wedding.

  The young folk from the Browns came pouring out of their gate. TheBrowns were Methodists and the old folk went only to their own churchwhich held its meetings in the evening. But youthful Orchard Glenpractised Church Union very persistently, and the Browns were onlyfollowing the usual custom when they went to each church impartially.

  Mrs. Johnnie Dunn and Marthy came bouncing past in their car. TheWoman was a Methodist, but Marthy was a Presbyterian so they went toboth churches. Trooper Tom never went with his Aunt anywhere thatcould be avoided and he came down the pathway with the wide stride thatmarked him for a rider of the plains, and walked beside Sandy.

  They were down in the village proper now, and every house sent out itsrepresentatives. The village did not begin until the Lindsay hill hadbeen descended and the little bridge that spanned the brown streamcrossed, and right on the bank stood the tiny cottage where littleMitty Minns and her old invalid grandmother lived. Mitty had latelymarried Burke Wright who worked in the flour mill, and was now emergingfrom the gate with her new husband, fairly bubbling over with joy andpride at being off alone with him for a few hours, away from Granny'scomplainings.

  Across the street stood a much more imposing residence, Dr. McGarry'sred brick, white pillared home. Mrs. Sutherland, his widowed sisterwho kept house for him, came rustling out in her best black silk, andwonder of wonders, the Doctor with her!

  Joanna Falls, the blacksmith's daughter, burst from the next gate, likea beautiful butterfly from a green cocoon. Joanna was glorious in apink silk and white shoes, and a hat trimmed with pink roses. She wasa very handsome girl, but she was fast nearing the danger line ofthirty, and a long attachment to Trooper Tom Boyd, who was a gay lad,attached to nobody, had rather soured Joanna's temper and sharpened hertongue.

  Her father, in his shirt sleeves, was sitting in the most conspicuouspart of the little veranda with his stockinged feet on the railing,smoking his pipe and reading the newspaper. Mark Falls always managed,when the weather permitted, to arrange himself in this position on aSunday before the church goers. He knew it scandalised the worshippersand especially angered the good old Presbyterians who were strictSabbatarians. Mark made a great parade of his extreme irreligiousness,and could tell stories all day long about duplicity of ministers andthe hypocrisy of church members. Joanna was his one orphan child andhe was not a very kind father, which had added not a little to hisdaughter's acidity of temper. But they went their several ways quiteindependently, and Joanna's way was always where Trooper Tom Boyd wasto be found.

  She happened to come out of her gate just as Trooper and Sandy Lindsaywere passing together, and of course they walked with her. It wassurprising how many times little coincidents like this happened.Trooper whispered something to her and Joanna's happy laugh could beheard all down the line of demure church goers.

  The procession passed the closed and deserted store, but MarmadukeSimms was perched on the veranda, and Trooper meanly deserted his fairpartner, and swung himself up beside his chum, there to wait until thesound of the first hymn would assure them they were in no danger ofbeing too early for church.

  Tilly Holmes came tripping out of the side door and through the gardengate, an entrance used only on the Sabbath. The Holmeses were strictBaptists, and their service was not held until the afternoon. But theyfound it impossible to keep their children from the promiscuouschurch-going habits of the village and long ago had given up thestruggle. They even allowed Tilly to belong to the UnionPresbyterian-and-Methodist Choir, knowing that youth will be waywardand you can't put old heads on young shoulders.

  Tilly was trying hard not to giggle, seeing it was Sunday, but shefound it particularly difficult, for she had to walk beside Joanna, andsince Trooper had dropped away Joanna's tongue had become more thanusually sarcastic.

  The unusual sight of Dr. McGarry going to church proved an irresistibleopportunity. Mrs. Sutherland was never done telling Mrs. Sinclair howthe Doctor struggled to get to church on Sundays, and all in vain. Itseemed as though the whole countryside selfishly arranged theirmaladies to prevent his attending the sanctuary.

  "Well my sakes," declared Joanna, "the Doctor's goin' to church!Everybody must a' got awful healthy all at once, or else they've all upand died on him."

  She turned to Mary and Christina who were walking behind her. Theunimpaired success of the Lindsays was particularly trying to Joanna'stemper.

  "Well, how's that rich brother o' yours gettin' on, Christine?" sheasked, her black eyes snapping. "I see he hasn't sent you to collegeyet."

  "It's very kind of you to ask after him, Joanna," said Mary smoothly.Mary Lindsay was the one girl in Orchard Glen who could put Joanna inher place. "If Trooper was of a jealous nature he might object, but hedoesn't seem to be that kind at all."

  Joanna whirled around and addressed herself to Tilly, her cheeksflaming. Her love for Trooper Tom, who was but a wayward cavalier, wasthe cause of much bitterness and heart-burning.

  They were turning in at the church gate, when an old-fashioneddouble-buggy rattled past, drawn by a heavy shining team. A young manwas driving and there were three very gaily-dressed ladies with him.

  Gavin Grant's three Aunts were always a sight worth seeing on a Sunday.They were lovely ladies, who, by the calendar, might have been termedold; but they had stopped aging somewhere in the happiest period ofgirlhood. So it was not unfitting that they should dress in theirgirlhood clothes, though they were all of a fashion of some thirtyyears previous. And so, though Auntie Elspie's hair was white and herface wrinkled, and Auntie Flora was stooped and rheumatic and AuntieJanet stout and matronly, their hearts were young and light, and theyarrayed themselves accordingly. They owned the most wonderful flowergarden in the countryside and the old democrat looked as if all itshollyhocks had come to church, as Gavin pulled up at the door. TheGrant Girls were all dressed in ancient silks and velvets made in thefashion of an early Alexandra period, with much silk fringe and oldheavy jewellery as accessories.

  Gavin carefully helped each of them alight, for the Aunties had givenmuch time to their boy's manners and had seen to it that he did notfail in little acts of courtesy. And though the women declared thatthey had "babied" him beyond belief, and the girls said he was as muchan old maid as any one of them, their kindness had not spoiled him forhe was as generous and unselfish as they were.

  Christina felt the blood mount to her cheeks as she caught Gavin'sglance. She had never mentioned her flowers to him, and always feltashamed when she saw him.

  The three Grant Girls were immediately surrounded by friends.Everybody loved them, and their arrival at church always caused apleasant stir.

  Gavin came back from putting his horses into the shed and showed themto their seats, where he sat with them until it was time for him to gointo the choir.

  Christina always went to choir practice, but like many another, she didnot sing in the choir on Sundays, so she went to the family pew withher mother while Mary and Ellen joined the singers in the vestibule.

  The congregation were almost all seated, when the choir, withTremendous K. at their head, came hurrying down the aisle, and tooktheir places in seats beside the pulpit. Joanna Falls was leadingsoprano, by virtue of a voice of peculiar strength and carrying power,Gavin Grant, who had the best baritone voice in the countryside, ledthe boys, and Minnie McKenzie, whose father was an elder, and MarthaHenderson, Tremendous K.'s sister, played the organ on alternateSundays--an arrangement necessary to prevent a split in the church.

  Mr. Sinclair had been in Orchard Glen for twenty-five years, and knewhis people better than they knew themselves. He realised that theweek's toil was absorbing, and on Sundays he tried hard to turn hispeople's eyes away from the things that are passing to those that areeternal. And on this morning it seemed to Christina that he had chosenhis sermon entirely for her benefit.
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  "For whosoever will save his life, shall lose it;" the divine paradoxwas his text, and he told Christina plainly that by saving for herselfthis life of wider experience and greater opportunity, she was missingthe one great opportunity that comes to all souls. She was losing herlife.

  When church was over and Mr. Sinclair was moving about among thepeople, he came down the aisle and gave one hand to Sandy and the otherto Christina at the same time.

  "Well, well! and you'll both be leaving me soon!" he cried heartily."I'm getting used to sending off my boys to the University, but it's agreat event when I send one of my girls! Sandy, I want to hear of youin Knox yet. That's your destination, don't forget. You'll make asgood a preacher as Neil any day. Well, well, and how are you to-day,Miss Flora--and you Janet--?" He had passed on and was shaking handswith the Grant Girls, giving Christina no chance to reply. She glancedat Sandy; his eyes were on the floor, but she could read his face, andshe knew he was struggling with the bitterness of disappointment.

  She was even more silent on the road home from church. Bell Brown andTilly Holmes chattered away on either side of her, asking questionsabout where she would board in Algonquin, and what new dresses shewould get, and how long she would be at school before she would beready for the University, and wasn't she scared stiff at the thought ofstudying hard for years and years the way folks had to do at college?

  Christina answered absently and when she parted with them she surprisedherself by suddenly exclaiming:

  "Oh, don't talk about my going any more, girls. Maybe I won't go afterall!" and fled from them before they could demand explanations.

  That Sunday marked the opening of a period of misery for Christina.She worked furiously in house and barnyard, striving to smother theinsistent voice that kept reiterating, "Whosoever will save his lifeshall lose it."

  She had caught Opportunity as he came to meet her, determined not tofall into her old error, and now that she held him, her full hands wereunable to grasp a greater prize that was slipping away. Christina didnot realise all this; she only knew with a feeling of sick dismay thatSandy was not going to college and that it lay within her power to lethim go.

  She was still fighting her battle when Friday evening came, the nightof the greatest function of all Orchard Glen's weekly events. It wasthe night when the Temperance Society met, and though it was stillearly, Christina had finished her work and was ready as usual longbefore the other two girls. She went down the orchard path and seatedherself beside Sandy on the old pump platform. Sport stretched himselfout at Sandy's feet, panting with the exertion of putting the cows intheir place and Christina's pet kitten curled up at her side, the greeneyes on guard against the enemy.

  Sandy had striven manfully all week to raise Christina's spirits and heburst into cheerful conversation.

  "What do you suppose, Christine? Bruce says he's got everything fixedup and he's going to Toronto this fall and Dr. McGarry's tickled tofits. He thinks the world of Bruce."

  "Bruce--Bruce McKenzie!" Christina groaned. "Well, I never! It seemsas if everybody in Orchard Glen was going to the University but you,"she added returning to the one subject that absorbed her attention.

  "Well don't go chewin' on that all the time," said Sandy cheerfully."It's better to have one fellow left. Bruce's been saving up his moneyfor the last five years."

  "Ellen won't have to get married so soon then," remarked Christina withsome feeling of comfort, for Ellen's presence at home made her leavingeasier. "But oh, Sandy, if only----"

  "Come along," cried Sandy jumping up. "It's time we were going.There's Tremendous K. passing now."

  Christina went back to the house to see if her mother needed anythingbefore she left, and if Grandpa was comfortable in bed, and returned tothe veranda where Sandy stood waiting for her. Bruce and Ellen werethere ready to start, and Mary and young Mr. MacGillivray were alreadystrolling down the lane.

  "Well, Christina," cried Ellen, her cheeks pink with excitement, "howwould you like to have Bruce for a doctor if you were sick?"

  More than a year before Bruce McKenzie had been prepared for college,but lack of money had stood in his way and every one had thought thathe and Ellen had given up the idea and had decided to settle on thefarm.

  "Why, Bruce!" cried Christina, forgetting her own trouble for themoment. "Isn't that too grand for anything?"

  "Ellen here says I've got to keep up with the family, you see," saidBruce, standing in the midst of the admiring circle, half proud, halfembarrassed. "Everybody in Orchard Glen seems to be getting thecollege fever, and Dr. McGarry's been at me all summer, so I guess I'lltry it anyway."

  If Sandy had been going Christina would have been rapturously happyover this. Ellen's approaching marriage had always hung like a cloudon the horizon, but if Ellen were going to be left at home until Brucebecame a doctor, what a joy that would be. But nothing could be a joynow that Sandy's hopes had been blighted.

  "It's just bully," Sandy was saying generously, "I'm sorry that"----He was interrupted by Christina's pinching his arm, and stoppedsuddenly. No one noticed in the dusk of the veranda, and when theywere out in the lane, Sandy asked an explanation. "I might as welltell everybody first as last," he said, "it's decided now. And I'drather tell and get it over."

  "Oh, don't," pleaded Christina, "wait for a little while. You don'tknow what may happen. Don't say anything about it for a few days,anyway. I--I want to think about it. Promise me you won't, Sandy,till I let you."

  Sandy promised reluctantly, saying she was a silly kid. Thinking for amonth, day and night, wouldn't double his bank account, but hepromised; and Christina proceeded to think about it as she had said,and to think very hard and very seriously all the way down to thevillage.

  The old Temperance Hall was open and already several had arrived.Burke Wright, with his little wife, Mitty, her face shining at beingout alone with her husband, were sitting on the steps and Joanna wasthere laughing and chatting with Trooper Tom and, of course, MarmadukeSimms, with a crowd of girls. For Marmaduke was a sort oflover-at-large and made love openly and impartially to all the girls ofthe village.

  The McKenzie girls had proudly announced that Bruce was going away tolearn to be a doctor, and this piece of news was the chief topic ofconversation. The girls all half envied Ellen, half pitied her. Ittook a deal of study and a dreadful long time to become a doctor,Joanna explained, and as none of the McKenzies were very smart, Ellenwould be an old maid before Bruce was through. But Ellen seemedradiantly happy, and no subject for commiseration, and every one agreedthat it was just the way with all the Lindsays, there was no end totheir luck.

  The crowd gathered inside the hall, where a number of the boys werebunched in a corner preparing the programme with much anxiety.

  After the business of the evening which was never very heavy, there wasalways a programme rendered by the boys and girls on alternateevenings. To-night was the boys' turn to perform, which always meant agreat deal of fun for the girls. John Lindsay was President of theSociety, and was down on the programme for a speech on Reciprocity, andthere was to be a male chorus, both sure to be good numbers, for Johnhad some fame as a political speaker, and the boys of Orchard Glencould always put up a fine chorus with Tremendous K. to beat time andGavin Grant's splendid voice to hold them all to the right tune.

  So the programme opened auspiciously with the chorus. The only troublewas the organist. Sam Henderson, a brother of Tremendous K., was theonly young man in Orchard Glen who could play anything more complexthan a mouth organ, and Sam always seemed to have too many fingers.And he pumped the air into the bellows so hard that the organ's gaspscould be heard far above its strains.

  Then three of the boys played a rousing trio on mouth organs, and youngWillie Brown played a long piece on the violin. Tommy Holmes, Tilly'sbrother, who worked in Algonquin and came home week-ends, then gave arecitation, a comic selection which cheered everybody up after thewails of Willie's fiddle.

 
Tremendous K. sang a solo, a splendid roaring sea song that fairly madethe roof rock, and then John delivered his speech and Christina sat andtwisted her handkerchief and fidgeted every minute of it, in silentfear lest John make a mistake or anybody laugh at him. But John'sspeech was loudly applauded, though Tremendous K. said afterwards therewas to be no politics brought into the Temperance Society, forTremendous K. was not of the same political party as the President andwas not going to run any risks of the liberals getting ahead.

  When John had sat down there arose from the back of the hall among theyoung men a great deal of shoving and pushing and exhorting to "go toit," and Gavin Grant came forward very reluctant, very red in the face,and looking very scared, to sing his first formal solo in public.

  Gavin was a tall fellow and well built, but his clothes, the majorityof which his Aunties still fashioned, were always too small and veryill-fitting. They seemed to have a tendency to work up to his neck andthey were all crowding to the top when he lurched forward and took hisplace beside the organ.

  "Gavin always looks as if some one had just carried him in by the backof the neck and set him down with a thud," said Joanna, loud enough forall the girls to hear. Every one laughed except Christina. She hadnot been able to laugh at Gavin since she had been so unkind to hisbirthday gift. Her heart always smote her for the waste of thatwonderful basket of blooms. Now that she knew she was going away shefelt she might at least have acknowledged them.

  Meanwhile Gavin had brought out his Auntie Flora's oldest song book,"The Casket of Gems," from its wrapping of newspaper, and Sam Hendersonhad once more mounted the tread-mill of the organ, and was tramplingout the opening bars of the solo. Tilly and a few of her companionswere in convulsions of giggles by this time, but when Gavin's richvoice burst into the first notes, every one was hushed and attentive.He sang without the slightest effort, pouring out the melodious soundsas a robin sings after rain.

  "In days of old when knights were bold, And barons held their sway, A warrior bold with spurs of gold Sang merrily his lay, Sang merrily his lay

  'My love is young and fair, My love has golden hair, And eyes so blue And heart so true That none with her compare; So, what care I though death be nigh, I live for love or die! So, what care I though death be nigh, I live for love or die!'"

  It was a gallant lay of love and war and deathless devotion but onlyone as unsophisticated as Gavin could have sung it. For while it washeld quite proper for a young man to sing of war in a public way, noone with a sense of the fitness of things would dare to raise his voicein a love song, alone, before an audience of his fellows. But Gavin'svoice brought the warrior's gallant presence so vividly before themthat not even Tilly felt like smiling, and there was a sober hush asthe song went on to tell how the brave knight

  "Went gaily to the fray. He fought the fight But ere the night His soul had passed away. The plighted ring he wore Was crushed and wet with gore, But ere he died He bravely cried, 'I've kept the vow I swore! So what care I though death be nigh, I live for love or die. I've fought for love, for love I die!'"

  The singer put all the valour of his brave young heart into the song,all its pent up feeling. For Gavin Hume had been born a real diamondin a dark mine of poverty and ill-usage; he had been dug up, andpolished and smoothed by the loving hands of the three Grant Girls andhis character was beginning to shine with the lustre that comes onlyfrom the real jewel. But very few people knew this, he was too shy togive expression to the high aspirations that thrilled his heart, andonly in such songs as this did his soul find a medium of expression.There was a day coming swiftly upon him, that was to try to the utmostall the pent up valour of his reticent nature, but as yet that day wasall undreamed of. And Christina Lindsay, remembering when that daycame, this Temperance meeting, recalled with self-abasement that shehad thought that Gavin Grant could not have chosen a song more unlikehimself; he, so shy and shrinking to sing of "A Warrior Bold." If shehad not been so downhearted she would have laughed at him.

  When the song was finished there was a moment's hush over the meeting,and then came a storm of applause, long continued. The boys took toclapping and stamping rhythmically, and shouting, "More, more," untilthe old building rocked.

  But Gavin shook his head persistently, and John arose and announced thenext. This was a comic song by Marmaduke Simms, and Duke certainly wasa very funny fellow. He could imitate anything from Mrs. JohnnieDunn's car on a steep hill, to the Martins' youngest baby crying. Hesoon had them all in roars of laughter, and the meeting broke up inmuch gaiety, and some anxiety on the part of the girls as to theirability to do as well on the next Friday.

  Most of the boys and girls paired off and vanished into the darkness.The unfortunate ones who were not yet attached, moved away in bunches.Christina belonged to this latter class, unless a brother was with her.But Jimmie had disappeared with the boys of his own age, John waswalking ahead, arguing hotly with Tremendous K. about the subject ofhis address, and Sandy had meanly deserted her to go off with a whitedress, which she had identified as belonging to Margaret Sinclair, theminister's youngest daughter who was home for her holidays. Underhappier circumstances Christina would have been pleased at his choice,but nothing in connection with poor Sandy could please her just now.He was bearing his disappointment far better than she was, for hertrouble was worse than a disappointment. The unbearable part to herwas the fact that stared her in the face, the fact that she wasdeliberately taking the privilege denied him.

  She walked away from the hall slowly and silently, between Joanna Fallsand Annie Brown, for Joanna's cavalier was a very uncertain quantityand poor plain Annie had never had a beau in her life. But Joannasuddenly remembered that she had left her handkerchief on the seat inthe hall, and must run back for it before Trooper and Duke locked thedoor. The girls knew better than to wait for her, and then BurkeWright and Mitty strolled up and began talking with Annie. Christinastepped behind them in the narrow pathway for a moment, and it was thenthat a tall figure loomed up beside her out of the darkness, and amusical voice with a slow Highland accent that it was impossible tomistake, repeated the proper formula.

  "May I see you home, Christine?"

  Christina stopped short in the pathway. Never in all her nineteenyears had she been asked that momentous question; the opening note ofall country romances. She had heard it sounded on every side for yearsbut its music had always passed her by. She had begun to wonder just alittle wistfully, when she would hear it. And now here it was! But,alas, like her first birthday gift, it had came from an unwelcomesource!

  But she answered quite cordially, being incapable of deliberatelywounding any one, and Gavin gave a deep breath of relief as he took hisplace at her side. He was too shy to take her arm in the approvedfashion, as all young men did when seeing a young woman to her home.Instead he left a foot or two between them as they walked up the hillunder the stars in the warm scented darkness.

  Christina tried to chat, but Gavin was so overcome with the wonder ofseeing her home, that he could not talk. He longed for some deadlyperil to threaten her so that he might be her protector, somecatastrophe that he might avert.

  He was fairly aching to tell her that his great ambition was to be herWarrior Bold, and ride out to do doughty deeds for her sweet sake; thatshe was his Love so young and fair, of whom he had been singing, witheyes so blue and heart so true; but instead, he walked dumbly by herside, keeping carefully a yard away from her, and answering herlaborious attempts at conversation with only a word. For Gavin was oneof the inarticulate poets of earth, a mute, inglorious Lovelace, with aheart burdened with unsung lines to his Lucasta on going to the wars.

  They had come to one of their prolonged seasons of silence, whenChristina discovered that they were strolling slowly behind Old JohnnieMcKenzie, Bruce's father, and Mr. Sinclair who was seeing him a pieceof the way home, for the purpose of rejoicing over the good news aboutBruce. The minister had been so many years in th
e pulpit that he usedhis preaching voice on all occasions, and there was no chance ofmissing a word that he said.

  "This is great news about Bruce, Mr. McKenzie," he was saying in a fullround voice, "great news! I'd rather see him going for the Ministry.But you have brought up your lads in the fear of the Lord and Brucewill serve his Maker well as a doctor, I've no fear. Yes, it's finenews."

  Mr. Sinclair was greedy of gain of the highest order for his flock, andgave parents no rest if he thought they were not giving their childrenthe utmost education they could afford. It was largely due to him thatall Orchard Glen looked to the University rather than to the countinghouse as the goal of those who would succeed, and that old Knox alwayshad an Orchard Glen boy helping to keep her halls noisy.

  "Yes sir, it's grand to see another of our boys entering theUniversity," he went on, as though delivering his Sunday sermon. "Andnow that Johnnie's got into the High School we'll have to head him forthe ministry. He's a bright lad that Johnnie of yours. Neil Lindsayis the only boy we have in Knox now, and there must be another comingalong before he gets out. I was hoping I'd get Sandy Lindsay startedto the University this Fall, but he seemed to talk to-night as if hewasn't sure of going. I'll be disappointed if Sandy doesn't get awaysoon; I was hoping Allister would see him through. Sandy would make afine man in the pulpit. He's got the same gift as John. Man, I hopehe won't be kept back. We can't do without our representative in Knox,Mr. McKenzie, the boys must be coming on. And your Johnnie will haveto be the next. Come away in, Mr. McKenzie, and we'll tell Mrs.Sinclair, this is a day of good tidings. Come away in, man."

  They stepped in at the Manse gate, and Christina and Gavin moved onalone. She had almost forgotten his presence, but she turned to himnow, because she must have some one to confide in.

  "Oh, Gavin, did you hear what he was saying, that Sandy might be aminister some day!"

  "But that would be a great thing, wouldn't it?" asked Gavin, surprisedout of his shyness at the grief in Christina's voice.

  "But, I'm afraid--Sandy thinks we can't afford it this Fall. I meanfor him to go to college," whispered Christina in distress. "And if hedoesn't go now he may not go at all. He has had to wait so long."

  Gavin forgot his shyness entirely in his efforts to comfort her.

  "But you must not be feeling so bad," he said gently. "Is there no wayto help it?"

  Christina suddenly remembered that Mr. Sinclair had often told hermother that Gavin Grant had both the ability and the longing to be aminister, but he would never confess his desires, lest they trouble theAunties. Perhaps he could understand her case and advise her, and inan impulsive moment, born of her great need, she told him all about thecloud that had been hanging over her during the past week.

  "I want just dreadfully to go to college and get a good education," shefinished up. "You know all about it, I'm sure you do, don't you,Gavin? And now I've got my first real chance, and if I take it I'll bekeeping Sandy back. Perhaps I'll be keeping him from being a minister,and wouldn't that be dreadful? And I don't know what to do."

  It did not seem queer, somehow, for her to be asking Gavin's adviceabout this momentous question, but his position was especiallydifficult. He could not answer her for a few minutes. For he knewthat he was not at all an unbiased judge. Next to his own going, hewanted more than anything else in the world that Christina should beleft at home. He could hardly bear to think of what life in OrchardGlen would be like without the chance of looking at her in church or atmeeting, and occasionally speaking to her. Indeed he would not havedared to take this bold plunge of asking to see her home to-night hadhe not known that it would likely be his last chance, and that shewould soon be gone out of his life.

  "I am afraid I would want to go if I was in your place," he confessedat last. "But," he hesitated shyly, "Auntie Elspie always knows whatis best, and she has always told me that we never lose a thing bygiving it up for some one else. She gave up all her chances forGrandmother Grant and stayed home and cared for her. And she let theironly brother go to college, while she managed the farm at home. Andshe says now she is always glad she did it."

  He stopped suddenly, embarrassed. It looked as if he had actually hadthe presumption to preach Christina a sermon.

  But she did not seem to think so. "And you, yourself," she said, "Mr.Sinclair always wants you to go to college, Gavin, and you know youwould like to, wouldn't you?"

  "I am in a very different position from any one like you or Sandy,"said Gavin with a new note of sternness in his voice. "It is not forme to choose whether I will go to college or not. But," he addedhastily, "my Aunts would let me go if they could, you may be sure ofthat."

  Christina's heart felt a sudden rush of sympathy. She guessed whatGavin must suffer, seeing this boy and that pass on, leaving him behind.

  There was another long silence, which he broke. "You will always dothe kind thing," he whispered. "You could not do anything else."

  They had come to the big gate between the sentinel poplars, andChristina stopped. Mary and young MacGillivray were leaning on thelittle garden gate that led in from the lane, and Bruce and Ellen, whohad long passed the hanging-over-the-gate stage of courtship, had goneindoors for something to eat.

  "Oh, I'm afraid you're all wrong," she declared; "I--I don't want to abit, but, you think I ought to let Sandy go, don't you?"

  Gavin looked down at her in the dim starlight for a moment before hefound courage to reply. "You know so much better than I do," he saidat last. "And I am not the one to advise you, because,--because,----"

  "Because what?" she asked wonderingly.

  "Because I can't bear to think of you going away," burst out Gavin withdesperate boldness.

  Christina felt her cheeks grow hot under the sheltering darkness. Shewas speechless in her turn, and then afraid of what might follow thissudden outburst, she said confusedly, "I must go in now and think aboutit," and with a hurried good-night, she was gone.

  She ran noiselessly up the lane, avoiding the lovers at the gardengate, and entered the back gate that opened from the barn-yard. Shefound Bruce and Ellen with John and her mother in the kitchen eatingscones and drinking buttermilk. No one remarked her entrance exceptthat her mother, looking over her shoulder asked, "Where's yourbrother, Christine?"

  "He's gone off with some one else's sister," answered Christina tryingto speak carelessly.

  "Sometimes sisters go off with some one else's brother," remarked John,his eyes twinkling. "No, I don't believe he is a brother to any one,is he?" Christina gave him an imploring look, that begged him to keepher secret, and he generously changed the subject. They were all fullof Bruce's new prospects, and Christina slipped away unnoticed to bed.

  But for the first time in her healthy young life worry drove sleep farfrom her. She heard Sandy come in, heard Jimmie enter the next roomand his boots drop heavily on the floor, and when Ellen and Mary cameup she pretended to be asleep. She occupied a small room opening offthe one shared by her sisters, and could hear their whispers and hushedlaughter. Ellen was so proud of Bruce and all he was going to be, andMary was justly proud of her lover, and Christina had nobody to see herhome but Gavin Grant, and no hope of anything better was before her.For how could she go to school and leave Sandy behind?

  How could she? She was facing the question at last. And her heartanswered that no matter what wise folks might say about graspingOpportunity, she simply could not let it stand in Sandy's way. Therewas only one answer to her question.

  She lay very still till she knew that her sisters were asleep. Thenshe rose and softly closed the door between their rooms. She lit herlamp, feeling quite like a thief, and took out her box of writingpaper. The pen and ink were downstairs, but she had a lead pencil, andAllister would not mind.

  She took the little stubby pencil and poured out her heart on to thepaper. She just could not go, that was all about it. And would hesend Sandy instead? Sandy might be a minister some day like Neil,
Mr.Sinclair said, and she would never, never be happy again if she thoughtshe had made him stay home and be a farmer, or perhaps just aschool-teacher because she had taken his chance away from him. Andwould he mind if she stayed home? Perhaps she could go some othertime. Or she could teach for a while and put herself through. Sandywas nearly two years older than she was and he would soon be thinkinghe was too old to go to college. Of course Sandy did not know she wasdoing this. He would not let her, she knew, so she had told no one.She was up late at night when every one else was asleep, and she couldnot rest until she told him what she wanted. And she was going to getup early and give the letter to Mrs. Johnnie Dunn to post in Algonquinso it would get to him sooner. And oh, would he please, please, writeright away, the very day he got it, and tell Sandy he could go in herplace. For she could never, never be happy----"

  The letter went on and on reiterating incoherently all she feared andsuffered. It was very late indeed when she crept to bed. She thoughtthe right thing for a girl to do who had lost all her chances in lifewas to lie down and cry all night. But she was surprised to find thatshe felt strangely light hearted. All the dreadful weight of the pastweek had been removed. She could not think about her own loss, sojoyous was she over the thought that Sandy was going after all.

  So she slept soundly, and dreamed that she was going to college andthat Gavin Grant was a professor there and was teaching her wonderfultruths.