The End Of The Rainbow Part 4

On a hazy August afternoon the little steamer _Inverness_,--Captain, James McTavish--came sailing across Lake Simcoe with her long white bowsprit pointing towards the cedar-fringed gates opening into Lake Algonquin. She was a trim little craft, painted all blue and white like the water she sailed. Captain McTavish, who was also her owner, had named her after his birthplace. He loved the little steamer, and p.r.o.nounced her name with a tender lingering on the last syllable, and a softening of the consonants, that no mere Sa.s.senach tongue could possibly imitate.

There were not many pa.s.sengers to-day; the majority were mothers with their children, the latter chasing each other about the deck or clambering into all forbidden and dangerous places, the former sitting in the shade, darning or sewing or embroidering according to their station in life. A few young ladies sat in groups, and chatted and ate candies, or read and ate candies while one young man, in white flannels and a straw hat waited upon them with stools and wraps and drinks of water, and magazines, fetching and carrying in a most abject manner.

There was always a sad dearth of young men on the _Inverness_, except on a public holiday; but as the girls said, they could always depend on Alf. He was Algonquin's one young gentleman of leisure, and beside having a great deal of money to spend on ice-cream and bon-bons, had also an unlimited amount of good nature to spend with it.

He seemed to be the only one on board who had much to do. Down below, old Sandy McTavish, the engineer and the captain's brother, was seated on a nail keg smoking and spinning yarns to a couple of young Indians.

His a.s.sistant, Peter McDuff the younger, who did such work as had to be done to make the _Inverness_ move, was lounging against the engine-room door, listening.

Up in the little pilot house in the bow, the captain was also at leisure. He was perched upon a stool watching, with deep interest and admiration, the young man who was guiding the wheel.

"Ah, ha! ye haven't forgotten, I see!" he exclaimed proudly, as the strong young hands gave the vessel a wide sweep around a little reedy island. "I was wondering if you would be remembering the Sand Bar, indeed."

"I've taken the _Inverness_ on too many Sunday-school picnics to forget your lessons, Captain. There's the Pine Point shoal next, and after you round that, you head her for the Cedars on the tip of Loon Island, and then straight as the crow flies for the Gates and then Home!

Hurrah!"

He shook his straight broad shoulders with a boyish gesture of impatience, as though he would like to jump overboard and swim home.

"Eh, well, well! It's your father will be the happy man, and to think you are coming home to stay, too." The captain rubbed his hands along his knees, joyfully.

The young man smiled, but did not answer. His eager, dark eyes were turned upon the scene ahead, marking every dearly familiar point.

Already he could see, through an opening in the forest, the soft gleam of Lake Algonquin. There was Rock Ba.s.s Island where he and his father and Peter Fiddle used to fish, and the slash in the middle of it whither he rowed Aunt Kirsty every August to help harvest the blackberries. A soft golden haze hung over the water, reminding him of that illusive gleam he had followed, one evening so long ago, when he set out to find the treasure at the foot of the rainbow.

He smiled at the recollection of his childish fancy. For he was a man now, with a university degree, and far removed from any such folly.

Nevertheless there was something in the quick movement of his strong brown hands, and the look of impulsive daring in his bright eyes, that hinted that he might be just the lad to launch his canoe on life's waters and paddle away in haste towards the lure of a rainbow gleam.

When Captain McTavish had answered a stream of questions regarding all and sundry in Algonquin, he left him in charge of the wheel and went rambling over the deck on a hospitable excursion, for he regarded every one on board as his especial guest. He had aged much in the eighteen years since he had joined the search party for young Roderick McRae.

The _Inverness_ had been overhauled and painted and made smart many times in the years that had elapsed, but her captain had undergone no such renewing process. But he was still famous from one end of the lakes to the other for the hospitality of the _Inverness_. For though his eye had grown dim, it was as kindly as ever, and if his step was not so brisk as in former years, his heart was as swift to help as it had ever been.

He pulled the Algonquin _Chronicle_ out of his pocket, smoothed it out carefully, and moving with his wide swaying stride across the deck to where a young girl was seated alone, he offered it to her as "the finest weekly paper in Canada, whatefer, and a good sound Liberal into the bargain."

The girl smiled her thanks, and, taking the paper, glanced over it with an indifferent eye. She was the only stranger on board, and had sat apart ever since she had left Barbay. Of course every one in Algonquin knew that a new teacher had been appointed for the East Ward. And as school opened the next day, the pa.s.sengers on the _Inverness_ had rightly guessed that this must be she. She had been the subject of much discussion amongst the young ladies, for she was very pretty, and her blue cloth suit was cut after the newest city fashion, and the one young man seemed in danger of presenting himself, and begging to be allowed to fetch and carry for her also. Several of the older women, with motherly hearts, had spoken to her, but she had continued to sit aloof, discouraging all advances. It was not because she was of an unsociable nature, but the struggle to keep back the tears of homesickness took all her attention. There was no place on the little steamer where one might be alone, so she had sat all afternoon, with her back to every one gazing over the water. Nevertheless many a pretty sight had pa.s.sed her unnoticed. Sometimes the _Inverness_ had slipped so close to the sh.o.r.e that the overhanging birches bent down and touched her fair hair with a welcoming caress, and again she ran away out over the tumbling blue waves, where the gulls soared and dipped with a flash of white wings. But the strange girl's mind was far away. She was fairly aching with longing for home--the home that was no more. And she was longing too for that other home--the beautiful dream home which was to have been hers, but which was now only a dream. Again and again the tears had gathered, but she had forced them back, striving bravely to give her attention to the pa.s.sing beauties of land and lake.

Captain Jimmie's kindly eye had noted the stranger as soon as she had come on board, and he had set himself to make the drooping little figure and the big sad eyes look less forlorn.

He had helped her on board, as she came down from the railway station, her trunk wheeled behind her, and had shaken hands and welcomed her warmly to Algonquin, saying she would be sure to like the school and he knew the Miss Armstrongs would be very kind indeed.

She had looked up in surprise, not yet knowing the wisdom of Algonquin folk concerning the doings of their neighbours.

"Och, indeed I will be knowing all about you," the captain said, smiling broadly. "You will be Miss Murray, the young leddy that's to teach. Lawyer Ed--that's Mr. Brians, you know--would be telling me.

And you will be boarding at the Miss Armstrongs'. They told me I was to be bringing you up," he added, with an air of proprietorship, that made her feel a little less lonely. "And indeed," he added, with the gallant air, which was truly his own, "it is a fortunate pair of ladies the Miss Armstrongs will be, whatefer."

Many times during the afternoon he had stopped beside her with a kindly word. And once he sat by her side and pointed out places of interest, while some uncertain pilot at the wheel sent the _Inverness_ unheeded on a happy zigzag course. Yon was Hughie McArthur's farm they were pa.s.sing now. Hughie had done well. He was own nephew to the captain, as his eldest sister had married on Old Archie's Hughie. Old Archie had been the first settler in these parts, and him and his wife had it hard in the early days. His father had told him many a time that Old Archie's wife had walked into where Algonquin now stood--they called it the Gates in those days,--twenty mile away if it was one, with a sack of wheat on her back to be ground at the mill, and back again with the flour, while the eldest girl, then only fifteen, looked after the family and the stock. That was when Archie was away at the front the time of the rebellion. Yes, it was hard times for the women folk in those days. Times was changed now to be sure. Take Hughie, now, his sister's son. That was his new silo over yonder, that she could see.

Hughie had a gasoline engine and it did everything, Hughie said, but get the hired man up in the morning, and he was going to have it fixed so it would do that. The captain paused, pleased to see that Hughie's wit was appreciated. They had the engine fixed to run the churn and the washer, and Hughie's woman hadn't anything to do but sit and play the organ or drive herself to town. And just behind yon strip of timber was where his father had settled first when they came out from _Inverness_. All that land she could see now, up to the topmost hill was the township of Oro, and a great place for Highlanders it was in the early days, though he feared it had sadly deteriorated. Folks said you could scarcely hear the Gaelic at all now.

The captain looked at her now, trying to fix her attention on the little newspaper and he suddenly bethought himself of something else he could do for her and bustled away down the little steep stair.

Whenever the _Inverness_ sighted the entrance to Lake Algonquin of a summer afternoon, Captain Jimmie went immediately below and brewed tea for the whole pa.s.senger list. He had always done it, and this mid-voyage refreshment had come to be one of the inst.i.tutions of the trip, as indispensable as the coal to run the engine. He appeared shortly with a huge teapot in one hand and a jug of hot water in the other, calling hospitably, "Come away, and have a cup-a-tea, whatefer.

Come away."

Mr. Alfred Wilbur, the young man in the white flannels ran to help him.

The fact that he was given to rendering his services at all functions in Algonquin where tea was poured, had brought upon him an ignominious nickname. His t.i.tle in full as engraved on his visiting cards, was Alfred Tennyson Wilbur, and a rude young man of the town had taken liberties with the initials, and declared they stood for Afternoon Tea Willie.

It must be confessed that, while Afternoon Tea Willie was the most obliging young man in all Canada, he was not entirely disinterested in his desire to a.s.sist the captain to-day. He saw in that big tea-pot a chance to serve the handsome young lady with the city hat and the smart suit. He secured a second teapot and was heading her way in bustling haste when the captain, all unconscious, slipped in ahead of him, and the unkind young ladies whom poor Alf had slaved for all afternoon, laughed aloud over his discomfiture.

As soon as the cup-a-tea had been served the captain went back to the pilot house. They had entered the Channel, a toy river, low-banked and reed-fringed, that led by many a pretty curve into Lake Algonquin. Two bridges spanned the Channel at its narrowest part, which was named the Gates, and Captain Jimmie allowed no one but himself, however expert, to take the _Inverness_ through here.

Relieved from his duties, Roderick strolled away. Like the strange girl, he, too, had attracted much attention, especially among the young ladies, and at their bidding Alfred Tennyson had several times attempted to lure him into joining their circle. But Roderick was shy and constrained in the presence of young ladies. He had had no time to cultivate their acquaintance in his school and college days, and had admired them only from afar in a diffident way; so when Alfred approached him and begged him once more to come and be introduced he slipped away downstairs to talk with his old boyhood friend, the fireman.

"h.e.l.lo, Pete, we'll soon be in Lake Algonquin!" he cried joyfully, as he leaned over the low door and watched the young man heaving coal into the _Inverness's_ hot jaws.

Young Peter slammed the furnace door and came up to get a breath of cool air. He put a black hand on Roderick's arm, "Say, I'm awful glad you're home, Rod," he said, smiling broadly.

"And I'm just as awful glad to be home, Pete, old boy. I say, do you do all the work while the Ancient Mariner there smokes and orders you round?"

The crew of the _Inverness_, consisting of an engineer and a fireman, was, whether in port or on the high seas, in a state of frank mutiny.

The Ancient Mariner, as every one called Sandy McTavish, was the captain's elder brother, and he made no secret of the fact that he intended to run the _Inverness_ as he pleased, if he ran her to Davy Jones. Accordingly he smoked and spun yarns all day long in true nautical fashion, and young Peter McDuff did the work.

But Peter looked at Roderick puzzled, and grinned good naturedly. He did not understand that there was anything unjust in the arrangement old Sandy had made of the work. Poor Peter had been born to injustice.

His father was a drunkard and the boy had started life dull of brain and heavy of foot. His slow mind had not questioned why the burdens of life should have been so unevenly divided.

But Roderick McRae felt something of the tragedy of Peter's handicapped life. He put his hands affectionately on the young man's heavy shoulders. They had been brought up side by side on the sh.o.r.es of Lake Algonquin, but how different their lots had been!

"Ah, it's all a hard job for you, Pete, old boy!" he cried.

Peter's dull eyes lit up.

"Oh, no, it ain't! It will be a great job, Rod. Your father would be getting it for me. Your father's been awful good to us, Rod. Say, tell me about the city. Is it an awful big place?"

Roderick studied the young man's heavy face, as he talked. Here was one of his father's neighbours of the Jericho Road. For twenty years or more, he could remember his father struggling to bring Peter Fiddle to a life of sobriety and righteousness and to bring up his son in the same. And what had he to show for it all? Old Peter was a worse drunkard than he had been twenty years ago, and poor Young Peter was the hopeless result of that drinking. Roderick's kindly heart sympathised with his father's efforts, but his head p.r.o.nounced judgment upon them. He confessed he could see very little use in bothering with the sort of folk that were forever stumbling on the Jericho Roads of life.

Peter went back reluctantly to the engine-room, and Roderick ran up on deck to see the _Inverness_ enter the Gates. He had not been home for a whole long year, and he was eager as a child to get the first glimpse of Algonquin and the little cove where the old farm lay.

As he was pa.s.sing round to the wheel-house, he noticed again the young stranger who had come on board at Barbay. He had been puzzled then by the recollection of having seen her before, and he walked slowly, looking at her and trying to recall where and when it could have been.

As he approached, she turned in his direction, her eyes following the sweep of a gull's white wing, and he recognised her. He remembered her quite distinctly, for he could count on his fingers the number of young ladies he had met in his busy college days, and Miss Murray was not one that could be easily forgotten. He stood at the railing and recalled the scene. It had been at the home of Mrs. Carruthers, Billy Parker's aunt. That kind lady made it a blessed habit to invite hungry students to her home on Sunday nights. And the suppers she gave! Billy had taken Roderick that evening, and there were a half-dozen more. And this Miss Murray had dropped in after church with Richard Wells. Wells was a medical in his last year, and Roderick had met him often before.

Miss Murray had worn some sort of soft white dress, he remembered, and a big white hat, and she had been very bright and gay then, not sad and pensive as she seemed now.

He did not realise that he was staring intently at her, while he recalled all this, until she turned and looked at him. She gave a start of surprised recognition mingled with something of dismay. For an instant she looked irresolute; then she bowed, and Roderick came quickly forward. She gave him her hand, a vague look in her deep grey-blue eyes. She remembered him; Roderick's appearance was too striking to be easily forgotten; but it was plain she could not recall where.

"It was a Sunday evening, last fall--at Mrs. Carruthers'," he stammered. She smiled rea.s.suringly.

"Oh, yes, it was stupid of me to forget. You were in law, weren't you?"

"Yes, in my last year. I'm just on my way home now, to practise in Algonquin. Are you going to visit friends here?"

"No, I'm going to teach." She did not seem to want to speak of herself. "Algonquin is a very pretty place, I hear."

"It's is the most lovely place in Canada," said Roderick enthusiastically. He was not as shy in her presence as he usually was with young women. He could not help seeing, that for some unaccountable reason, she was embarra.s.sed at meeting him, and her distress made him forget himself. He tried to put her at her ease in a flurried way.

"How people scatter! The half-dozen that were at Mrs. Carruthers' that night are all over the world. Billy Parker's gone to Victoria to practise law, and Withers is in Germany, and Wells,--he graduated with honours, didn't he? Where did d.i.c.k Wells go?"

Roderick had no sooner uttered the name than he saw he had made a mistake. The girl's face flushed; a slow colour creeping up over neck and brow and dyeing her cheeks crimson. But she looked up at him with brave steady eyes as she answered quietly: