The End Of The Rainbow Part 30

It seemed as if with that word the last feeble support gave way, and then Roderick McRae's soul went down to the black brink of despair. He was utterly alone, without help or friend. Everything, his success, his health, his father, his love, had been s.n.a.t.c.hed from him in one moment.

There was even no G.o.d for him. He had been so long dependent entirely upon himself, that G.o.d had become a meaningless word. And now, if G.o.d were real, His cruel Hand was behind that fearful black mist that was closing about him shutting him off from hope. He lay like a log, staring at the white ceiling of the little hospital room. The nurse and the orderly were bidding him brace up and were shaking their heads over him. He paid no more attention to them than to the strong odour of drugs or the soft click-click of heels on the hardwood floor of the corridor. Some subtle trick of memory had taken him back to the one other time of despair in his experience. He was back again in that night, years ago, when he was lost on the lake, drifting away in the darkness to unknown terrors; and just as he had cried out that night, his whole soul rose in one desperate demand upon his Father for help.

"Oh, G.o.d!" he groaned, starting up, "oh, G.o.d, help me!"

And then it happened; the great wonder. The light from his Father's boat! The sound of his Father's voice! Just as, long ago, lost in mists and darkness, a prey to every terror, his father's voice, calling down the shaft of light, had caught him up from despair to the heights of joy, so it was now. Suddenly, without reason, there fell upon the young man's writhing soul a great calm. He lay back on his pillow, perfectly still, his whole being held in awe of what had happened. For there, in the common light of day, within the bare walls of the hospital room, not visible to the human eye, but plain to the eye of the soul, staring beyond the things that are seen for a gleam of hope, a Presence was quietly standing. Serene, omnipotent, all-calming, the gracious One stood, close to his side, and fear and pain fled before Him.

Roderick was conscious of no feeling of surprise or wonder. He felt only a great serenity, and an absolute safety. He asked no questions, felt no desire to ask any. There had been another young man once, who had met this same One in a like headlong career, planned by his own strong right hand, and he had cried out in fear, "Who art thou, Lord?"

But Roderick knew just as well as he had known his father's voice that night coming out of the mists and darkness. His Eternal Father was at his side. That was all he knew now. It was all he cared to know. He lay there in perfect peace and, close to his side, silent and strong, stood the Presence.

The orderly pushed up the little wheeled conveyance to the bedside, the nurse took his wrist in her hand again. She beamed happily. "Good for you," she said, as she placed her hand upon his forehead. "Why, you're splendid. You've got your nerve all right," and she stared in amazement when Roderick smiled at her. He did not answer, though, he was listening to something. All the old promises he had learned at his father's knee and that had meant nothing to him for so long, were flooding over his peaceful soul, coming serenely and softly from the Presence standing by his pillow.

"When thou pa.s.sest through the waters, I will be with thee and through the rivers they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee... Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day, nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness."

"Now, sir," said the orderly, "we'll just move you onto this truck."

But Roderick rose up strongly. "Why can't I walk down?" he asked. The nurse stared and again felt the patient's pulse for some explanation of this transformation. The quiet steady beat in the wrist was the strangest part of it all.

"Well," she cried admiringly, "I never saw anything like you. You're perfectly able to walk; but you'd better save your strength. Just lie down on this. You'll be all over your operation in no time!" Roderick obeyed, and the orderly wheeled him away to the elevator; and along the bare hospital corridor moved with him that strong Presence. And he went with a perfect faith and as little fear as if he had been going along the Pine Road to his home. What did it matter as to the result, or what did it matter that his father back in Algonquin did not know?

He and his father were safe, upheld by the everlasting arms. It was well, no matter what the outcome. When he reached the operating room the Presence was there, just as real as the m.u.f.fled doctors standing ready to do their work, and when he was stretched upon the table taking the anaesthetic, he felt as peaceful as on that night when he sank asleep in his father's arms and was borne safely homeward.

It seemed that the next moment he awoke in the room he had so recently left. Dr. Nicholls was at his side. "A normal pulse," he said, smiling into Rod's enquiring face. "You're a wonder. What do you think of that, nurse?"

"I expected that," she said, smiling.

"You've behaved so well," continued the doctor, "that I believe you're able to receive two pieces of good news."

"My father," whispered Roderick. The doctor nodded happily. "A telegram came half-an-hour ago. It reads, 'Out of danger, no need to come, will write. E. Brians.'" Roderick felt the tears slipping over his cheek. The nurse wiped them away. He was remembering it all now.

The Presence had been with his father too.

"You haven't asked about my other news," said the doctor.

Roderick looked at him enquiringly. He was thinking of Helen, and had forgotten all about the operation.

"Berger saved your arm. And it will be as fit as ever in a few months.

It was the most delicate kind of operation, and one of the finest he ever did. I shall tell you more about it later, you must be quiet now.

But I must give you Dr. Berger's message. He had to leave for Halifax, but he said he wished he could congratulate you on your nerve. I don't know what you did to get hold of yourself in such a hurry, but you saved your own life. Now, I've told you enough. You must neither speak nor be spoken to until I see you again."

He smiled again, radiant with the true scientist's joy over such a triumph of skill as Roderick's arm presented, and left the room.

And Roderick, who knew so much more about it all than mere science could ever teach, closed his eyes and lay still, his whole soul raising to its new-found G.o.d one inarticulate note of thanksgiving.

CHAPTER XIV

"FOLLOW THE GLEAM"

It was the first trip of the season and the _Inverness_ was crowded from stem to stern. The picnic was given by the Sons of Scotland, so every Presbyterian in the town was there. But there were many more, for Lawyer Ed had gone out into the highways and byways of other denominations and nationalities and had compelled Methodists and Anglicans and Baptists and folk of every creed to come over to the Island and hear the bagpipes and see Archie Blair toss the caber.

"Your father's got to come, Rod," he said, the evening before the picnic. "So don't you dare show your nose here without him to-morrow."

But Old Angus laughingly refused his son's pleading. "Tuts, tuts," he said reprovingly, "it's the foolish boy that Edward is. He is younger than you, Lad. Indeed I'll not be going, and I think you should jist stay at home yourself, my son. The night air will be damp and you will not be jist too strong yet."

Roderick laughed. "Father, you will soon be as bad as Aunt Kirsty. I do believe she is bitterly disappointed that I didn't remain an invalid for a year, so that she might coddle me. I wouldn't miss this picnic for all Algonquin. It will be my first festivity since I was sick, and I want you to be in it."

The old man looked up into his son's face, his eyes shining. This new Roderick who had come back to him, maimed and weakened, right from the very gates of death was even more to him than the old Roderick. Not that his love had grown, nor his faith, that was impossible. But while he had always had high hopes that the Lad would one day fulfil all his fondest dreams, now he saw those dreams being fulfilled right before his eyes. There was a strong sentinel on the Jericho Road now, and the Good Samaritan could scarcely bear to part with him even for a day.

But he shook his head happily. No, no; Peter was coming over in the morning to look at the north field, and they would just row out as far as Wanda Island and hear the pipes, when the _Inverness_ went past, and they would come back and stay at home with Aunt Kirsty like a pair of sensible old bodies.

Roderick managed to catch Lawyer Ed in the office for a few moments in the morning and reported his failure. His chief called him many hard names, as he rushed out to catch a pa.s.ser-by and make him come to the picnic, and Roderick locked the office door and went down to the wharf.

There lay the _Inverness_, her gunwale sinking to the water's edge under her joyous freight, banners flying from every place a banner could be flown, and the band, and Harry Lauder's piper brother making the town and the lake and the woods beyond ring with music.

Immediately after Roderick's disappointing message had been delivered, Lawyer Ed rushed down Main Street and spied Afternoon Tea Willie driving the Baldwin girls down town to buy some almond cream to take to the picnic, in case of sunburn. And in his usual high-handed way, he had hailed them, sent the girls home on foot, and the young man spinning out to the McRae farm with stern commands not to dare return without Old Angus.

So when Roderick was standing on the wharf talking to Dr. Archie Blair, all resplendent in his kilt he was amazed to see coming down Main Street, the smartest buggy in the town, and in it Alf. Wilbur, driving his father, and more amazing still, by his side sat old Peter, with his fiddle in a case across his knee. They drew up at the edge of the wharf with a splendid flourish, and Afternoon Tea Willie with his innate good manners, sprang out to help the two old men alight with as great deference as if they had been a couple of charming young ladies just come to town.

Roderick sprang forward and caught his father's hand as he stepped out, laughing in sheer delight. His eyes were misty with deep feeling. In the first quick glance he had turned upon the faces of the two old men, smiling in a half-ashamed, half-pleased way, like a couple of boys caught running away from school; Roderick had been struck with their strange resemblance. His father's refined face and his white hair had once made an absolute contrast to poor Old Peter's bloated countenance, but with the last half-year, Old Peter's face and form had been undergoing a change. Not since that terrible winter night when he had almost caused the death of his best friend had he fallen. It had been a hard fight sometimes, but the great victory won by the temperance folk on New Year's Day had been a victory for Peter. On the first of May the bar-rooms of Algonquin had closed. And now Peter walked the streets unafraid. And with his new courage and hope, his manhood had returned and he was slowly and surely growing like the man whose life-long devotion had brought him salvation.

Doctor Blair saw them and came swinging up to make the old men welcome.

Then Doctor Leslie sighted them and came forward in delighted amazement, and Captain Jimmie spied them from the wheel house and called out joyfully, "Hoots, toots, Angus! And is that you, Peter Lad?" And the Ancient Mariner left off smoking, and, pouring out a stream of Gaelic above the roar of the pipes, came right out on the wharf to make sure his eyes had not deceived him.

Roderick guided the two to seats up on the deck near to the captain's pilot house, finding the way thither a veritable triumphal procession.

The crowds were still coming down Main Street; nervous mothers with babies bouncing wildly in their little buggies, embarra.s.sed fathers with great sagging baskets and hysterical children with their newly starched attire already wildly rumpled.

Roderick scanned each new group eagerly, wondering if Helen Murray would come. He had seen little of her since his return. A long illness following the critical operation had kept him at home, and when at last he was able to go out again and take up his work he found that gossip had it that Miss Murray, the pretty girl who taught in the East Ward school had had a young man to visit her. Miss Annabel had been quite excited over him, for he was very handsome and was a successful surgeon, and Miss Armstrong had p.r.o.nounced him a splendid match for any girl. Roderick had been spared a visit from d.i.c.k Wells, and had wondered that the young man had not kept his promise. He had longed and yet dreaded to see him. He had been able to learn nothing about the visit except what gossip said, and to-day he was full of hope and fear, as he watched. His fears were stronger, but he was young and he could not keep from hoping.

The _Inverness_, as every one in Algonquin knew, gave ample warning of her leave-taking. At exactly half-an-hour before the hour set for sailing, she always blew one long blast from her whistle. At fifteen minutes to the hour she blew two shorter toots, and just on the eve of departure three blasts loud and sharp. This final warning, which Doctor Blair had profanely named the last trump, had been sounded, and Roderick began to look anxious for she had not yet appeared nor Mrs.

Adams either. But he had gone sailing on picnics via the _Inverness_ too many times to be seriously alarmed. The door of the little wheel-house where the captain had now taken his stand, commanded a view of Main Street rising up from the water, and no native of Algonquin could do him the injustice to suppose that he would sail away while any one was waving to him from the hill.

A half dozen women were signalling him now, and the captain blew a rea.s.suring blast. And then round the corner from Elm Street, moving leisurely, came a stout swaying figure, with floating draperies.

Children clung to her hands, children hung by her skirts, children ran after her and children danced before her. And long before she reached the water's edge could be heard her admonitions, "Now, you, Johnnie Pickett, don't you dare to walk down there in the dirt. Maddie Willis, just you tie that hat on your head again, you'll get a sunstroke, you know you will. Jimmie Hurd, you leave that poor little dog alone--"

Roderick looked eagerly beyond the lady, and there she was, at the rear of the procession, bringing up the stragglers. She was wearing a dress of that dull blue he liked to see her wear, the blue that was just a shade paler than her eyes, and she wore a big white shady hat. As she came nearer he could see she was laughing at Johnnie Pickett's wicked antics. Her face had lost all its old sadness. Roderick's heart was filled with a great foreboding. Had d.i.c.k Wells' visit brought that new colour to her cheek and the sparkle to her eyes? He wanted to go down and help her and her flock on board, for Gladys Hurd and Mrs. Perkins and Eddie and the baby were with her, and a half-dozen little folk were asking each a half-dozen questions of her at one moment. But he stood back shyly watching her from a distance, as Dr. Blair and Harry Lauder and the rest of the Highland Club helped them on board, the Piper meanwhile circling around Madame much to her disgust.

When they were all on board and the _Inverness_ had again given the three short shrieks which announced she was really and truly starting, Roderick suddenly realised that Lawyer Ed was not on board. Now a Scotchman's picnic without Lawyer Ed was an absurd and unthinkable thing, beside which Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark would have seemed perfectly reasonable and natural. He ran to the captain, but there were several ahead of him with the dire news. For the _Inverness_ had no sooner begun to move from the wharf than the awful truth had dawned upon a dozen folk at once. They had rushed from three directions and attacked the captain and Young Peter and the Ancient Mariner and demanded of them what they meant by such outrageous conduct. Very much abashed by her mistake the _Inverness_ came surging back, the captain taking refuge in the Gaelic to express his dismay.

They were just in time, for there he was tearing down the street in his buggy, Miss Annabel Armstrong and Mrs. Captain Willoughby squeezed in beside him and the horse going at such a breakneck pace that the dust and stones flew up on every side and there was danger that they would drive right into the lake. They stopped just on the brink. Lawyer Ed leaped out, flung the lines to a lounger on the dock bidding him take the horse back to the stable, helped the ladies alight, and had rushed them on board before the gang-plank could be put in place. The crowd cheered, and he waved his hat and shouted with laughter, over the narrow escape; but the ladies looked a little ruffled. They had not intended to come to the picnic; the day of private launches and motor-cars was dawning over Algonquin, and these public picnics were not in favour among the best people, therefore Mrs. Captain Willoughby had felt that she did not care to go, and the Misses Armstrong had felt they did not dare to go. But Lawyer Ed did not approve of social distinctions of any sort whatever, and he was determined that the best people should come out and have a good time like the worst. So he had gone right into the enemy's camp and carried off two of the leaders captive, and here they were half-laughing and half-annoyed and explaining carefully to their friends how they had not had the slightest intention of coming in such a mixed crowd but that dreadful man just made them.

Once more the _Inverness_ gave her last agonised shriek, the captain shouted to the Ancient Mariner to get away there, for what was he doing whatever, and with a great deal of fussing and steaming and whistling the voyage was again commenced. The band gave place to the Piper, and he marched out to the tune of "The c.o.c.k o' the North," looking exactly like a great giant humming-bird, his plumage flashing in the sunlight, as he went buzzing around the deck. Harry Lauder and the doctor and two or three others of the frivolous young folk in the kilts went away off to where the minister could not see them and danced a Highland reel. The people who did not quite approve of public picnics gathered in a group by themselves, Miss Annabel Armstrong and Mrs. Captain Willoughby in the centre, and told each other all the latest news about Toronto, and yawned and wished they could have a game of whist, but Dr.

Leslie would be sure to see them. The tired mothers who seldom went beyond their garden gate, handed over their children to Mrs.

Doasyouwouldbedoneby, and settled themselves contentedly in a circle to have a good old-fashioned visit. Up in the bow, a group of the older men surrounded Dr. Leslie. Old Angus McRae was so seldom seen at any festivity that his presence had made the picnic an event to his old friends. Again and again Dr. Leslie placed his hand on the old man's knee and said, "Well, well, Angus, it's a treat to see you here." And Peter Fiddle, the outcast and drunkard, sat in the group and listened eagerly to their talk like a man who had been long away and was eager to hear again the speech of his native land. And indeed poor Peter had been for many years in a far country, and his return had opened up a new life to him. Roderick sat behind his father's chair and listened as they talked and wondered to hear Peter take his part with a fine intelligence. He looked at his father and thought of all the weary years he had toiled for Peter, and he was filled with a great grat.i.tude that this was the sort of splendid work to which he had been called.

He would take his father's place on the Jericho Road. It might be a highway here in Algonquin, the future was all unquestioned, but wherever it was the Vision would stand by him as He had stood in that hour of despair. And how glorious to think he might pick up a Peter from the dirt and help to restore him to his manhood.

J. P. Thornton had led the conversation to theological subjects. J. P.

read along many lines, and it was whispered that he had queer ideas about the Bible.

Lawyer Ed had been balancing himself on the railing of the deck listening for some time but it was impossible that he could stay in the one place long when the whole boat was crowded with his intimate friends. So when J. P. intimated that modern criticism pointed to two Isaiahs and Jock McPherson strongly objected to the second one, Lawyer Ed yawned, and telling them he would be back in an instant, he wandered away.