The Silver Maple Part 5

To him it was a great metropolis, for it contained a tavern and a store, yes, and a real mill where they made flour. And Hamish had promised to show him the great water wheel that made the mill go, and they were to spend an hour at Thompson's store, and most of all he was anxious to learn the outcome of the boys' mysterious plans of the night before.

The day was delightful, with all the world a gleam of blue and silver, the glittering landscape softened here and there by the restful grey tints of the forest. The blue skies with their dazzling white clouds, and the shimmering white earth with its bright blue shadows, were so bewilderingly alike that one might well wonder whether he was in heaven or on earth. The air was electric, setting the blood tingling, and, as the sleigh slipped along down the winding road that led to the river, Scotty churned up and down on the seat and could with difficulty restrain himself from leaping out and turning somersaults in the snow.

The highway suddenly emerged from a belt of pine forest and descended into a little round valley made by the bend in the river. Here lay "the Glen," the central point of the surrounding communities. Scotty grew quieter and his eyes bigger as they followed the winding steep road that led into its depths. There was the mill by the river, giving out a strange rumbling sound; and beside it the house of old Sandy Hamilton, the miller; and there, on the northern slope of the river bank, was Weaver Jimmie's little shanty, with the loom clattering away inside; and right at the corner stood Thompson's store and opposite it Peter Nash's tavern.

So many houses all in one clearing! Scotty could scarcely believe his eyes. And yet the poor little place had, after all, a greater importance than the child could imagine. The Glen was to the grown part of the community what the school was to the younger portion. It lay within the boundaries of the four different settlements, and as clearings began to widen and social intercourse became easier, it had gradually become a place where men met for mutual help or hindrance, as the case might be. Here the several nationalities mingled, and though they did not realise the fact, here they were laying the foundations of a great nation. Such a vast work as this could scarcely be carried on without some commotion; the chemist must look for explosions when he produces a strange new compound from diverse elements; and it was, therefore, no wonder that the crucible in the valley of the Oro was often the scene of much boiling and seething. Then the tavern came, with its brain-destroying fire, and sometimes after harvest, when the Fighting MacDonalds and the belligerent Murphys met before it, the noise of the fray might be heard in the farthest-off clearing of the Oa.

Scotty's eyes rested fearfully on the tavern. It was a common log building, wider than the ordinary ones and with a porch in front and a lean-to behind. To the boy its appearance was a great surprise and some disappointment. Grandaddy always spoke of it as "a den of iniquity"; and Scotty's fancy had pictured such a den as Daniel had been cast into, which he had seen many times in Granny's big Bible.

He was rather sorry they did not stop there, the inside might be more romantic; but he soon forgot it in the excitement of other scenes; for they went to the mill and Sandy Hamilton, all floury and smiling, took him down to where the water came thundering over the big wheel; and then, while the boys went off with the team, Big Malcolm took his grandson to the most wonderful place yet, the store.

This was the most important place in the Glen, and the man who kept it, James Thompson, or Store Thompson, as the neighbours called him, was the most important and influential member of the community. He was a fine, upright, intelligent man and was known far and wide for his learning. He possessed a vocabulary of polysyllables that never failed to confound an opponent in argument, and all the township could tell how he once vanquished a great university graduate, who was visiting Captain Herbert at Lake Oro. He was often identified by this ill.u.s.trious deed, and was pointed out to strangers as, "Store Thompson, him that downed the Captain's college man."

Big Malcolm and Store Thompson, though the latter was a Lowlander, had been fast friends ever since they had come to Canada. They were slightly above the average pioneer in intelligence and had many interests in common; so for this reason, as well as a matter of principle, Big Malcolm avoided the tavern and spent his leisure moments with his friend.

As they entered, Store Thompson was busy weighing out sugar for a customer, and glanced up. He was a tall man, with a kind, intelligent face and a high, bland forehead. He wore steel-rimmed spectacles, but, when not reading, had them pushed up to the scant line of hair on the top of his head, and his pale blue eyes blinked kindly at all around.

He stopped in the midst of his calculations to welcome his friends.

"Eh, eh, Malcolm, an' is yon yersel'?" he cried heartily. "It's jist a lang, lang time since Ah seen ye, man; aye, an' it's the wee man ye hae. It's a lang time since ye've been to the Glen; jist an unconscionably lang time; aye, jist that, jist unconscionably like!"

He lingered over the word as he shook hands, and then, after inquiring for the wife and family, he turned his attention to Scotty, remarked upon his wonderful growth, and his st.u.r.dy limbs, asked him how he was getting on at school and if he could spell "phthisis."

Scotty hung shyly behind his grandfather, and as soon as the host's attention was turned from him he escaped. He seated himself carefully upon a box of red herring, and his eyes wandered wonderingly around the shop. It was a marvellous place for a boy with sharp eyes and an inquiring mind. Down one side ran a counter made of smoothed pine boards and behind it rose a row of shelves reaching to the raftered ceiling and containing everything the farmers could need, from the gla.s.s jar of peppermint drops on the top shelf to the web of factory cotton near the floor. The remaining s.p.a.ce was crammed with merchandise. There were boxes of boots, bales of cloth, barrels of sugar and salt and kerosene, kegs of nails, chests of tea and boxes of patent medicines; and the combination of odours was not the least wonderful thing in this wonderful museum. Nothing escaped Scotty's eyes, from the festoons of dried apples suspended from the dark raftered ceiling to the pile of axe-handles on the floor in the corner.

He sat utterly absorbed, while his grandfather and Store Thompson talked. There was much to tell on one side, at least, for Store Thompson and the schoolmaster took a weekly newspaper between them, and it all had to be gone over, especially the news from Scotland.

Store Thompson's wife, a bright, little red-checked woman came hustling in to greet Big Malcolm, and ask him in for a cup of tea. "Ah've had the Captain an' his sister an' the wee leddy to denner," she whispered proudly, "an' they'll jist be goin' in a minit, an' ye'll come an' have a cup o' tea with them, jist."

But Big Malcolm, who had arisen at her invitation, suddenly sat down again. His face darkened, and he stoutly refused the joint invitations of husband and wife. Then the lady espied Scotty in his corner, and bore down upon him; she secured a handful of pink "bull's-eyes" from a jar behind the counter, and slipped them into his chubby fist, patted his curly head and declared he was "jist Callum over again." And Scotty smiled up at her, well pleased at being likened to his hero; but when she caught his face between her hands and tried to kiss him, he dodged successfully; for, now that he was a big boy and going to school, not even Granny might kiss him in public.

When she had trotted back to her guests in the house, Scotty caught a few words of the conversation that aroused his interest.

"Ye hae the boys in wi' ye the day, Malcolm?" Store Thompson asked, with a note of anxiety in his voice.

"Yes?" Big Malcolm looked up inquiringly.

"Oh, Ah suppose it's jist naething, jist a--a triviality, like; but Ah see there's a great crood frae the Oa, the day, an' jist as many Murphys an' Connors; an' Ah heerd a lot o' wild talk aboot Fenians, an'

the like. They would be sayin' Pat Murphy was a Fenian; an' that Tam Caldwell would be for sendin' him oot o' the Glen. Ah'm hopin'

there'll be nae trouble."

Big Malcolm's face was full of anxiety. "Indeed, I will be hopin' so too," he said in an embarra.s.sed tone. "You will be knowin' my weakness. I would not be hearin' about it. I hope the lads----"

"Oh, Ah suppose it's jist naething," said Store Thompson rea.s.suringly.

"Indeed it's yersel' that's past all sich things as yon, Malcolm, never fear."

But Big Malcolm shook his head; for years he had purposely avoided the Glen, to be out of the way of temptation; for the sound of strife was to him like the bugle call to a war charger. He fidgeted in his seat and looked anxiously towards the door.

Scotty went over to the window and stood watching the crowds of men come and go across the street.

He could not quite make out what was going on, but there seemed to be a great commotion, for a big crowd of men had suddenly appeared from nowhere. And there was Danny's father, and Nancy's father, apparently having high words; and yes, there was Callum right in the centre of the seething ma.s.s.

There were mingled cries of "Popery" and "Fenians" and "Orangemen."

Then suddenly above the noise there came a roar, "The Oa! The Oa!

MacDonald! MacDonald!"

"Grandaddy! oh, Grandaddy!" cried Scotty shrilly, "they're killin'

Callum, they're killin' Rory!"

At the first sound of the MacDonalds' battle-cry Big Malcolm raised his head like a stag who has heard a challenge, and, at the boy's cry, he cleared the intervening s.p.a.ce with one bound, flung open the door and shot out into the street.

"Malcolm, Malcolm!" cried Store Thompson in dismay, but Big Malcolm had heard the call to arms and nothing in the township of Oro could hold him back.

Scotty sprang to follow him, but Store Thompson closed the door, and his wife, who had re-entered, put her arms about the boy and drew him back.

"Ye mustna gang oot there, ma lad," said the storekeeper. "Yon's no place for a child; aye," he added, "an' no place for yer grandfather either!"

"Lemme go!" shouted Scotty, struggling equally with his captor and his sobs. "They--'re--killin'--Rory! Lemme go!"

"Yer Grandaddy said ye were to bide here, laddie, mind ye!" cried Store Thompson's wife soothingly.

At the reminder of his grandfather's commands Scotty collapsed. He retired to the window once more, bathed in tears of helpless rage. But another shout from the MacDonalds sent him flying again to the door, where he once more encountered the ample skirts of his keeper.

"Ah'd niver look Marget Malcolm in the face again, Jeames, if onything happened the bairn," she cried, struggling with Scotty's st.u.r.dy muscles. "He maun jist bide!"

"What in heaven's name is the matter with that child?" demanded a laughing voice from the rear of the shop. "Has he an attack of spasms?"

Scotty stopped struggling and looked up. In his absorption over the battle outside he had not noticed that three strangers had entered the shop with Store Thompson's wife, and he drew back abashed. The speaker was a short, well-built man under middle age, with an air and appearance quite different from the rough exterior of Scotty's own people. There was a look of command in his merry blue eyes and an air of superiority in his straight, trim figure, that impressed the child.

The other two strangers stood back by the stove; one, a tall lady, the rustle of whose black silk dress gave Scotty a feeling of awe, the other a tiny girl, so wrapped up in furs and shawls that he could see nothing of her, except a bunch of golden curls.

"What's the matter with the confounded little fire-eater?" asked the man, coming forward.

"It's all his kin that's in yon fecht oot by, sir," said Store Thompson's wife apologetically. "The puir wee mannie!"

"Oh, I see; he's starting early. I never come to the Glen but you entertain me with a battle, James. A bad crowd, those fellows from the Flats. What's your name, youngster? Murphy, eh?"

"NO!" Scotty shouted the refutation in indignant horror. This was worse than being English! "It will be MacDonald!"

"Oh, by Jove, one of the Fighting MacDonalds!" The man burst into a hearty laugh. "I might have known."

"But yon's not yer real name, laddie," said Store Thompson's wife.

"Tell Captain Herbert yer name; it's jist a fine one. He's Big Malcolm MacDonald's grandson, Captain, but his faether was an English gentleman, like yersel, an' his mither was a bonny, bonny bit la.s.sie; aye, an' puir Marget lost her."

The man was gazing down at the boy absorbedly. "What's his name?" he demanded sharply. But Scotty stood silent and scowling. Confess his disgrace to this man whom he knew Granddaddy despised? Never!

"His patronymic," said Store Thompson ceremoniously, "is Stanwell, Captain; and his baptismal name is jist the same as his father's was, Ralph Everett; Ralph Everett Stanwell!"

When Store Thompson delivered himself of any such high-sounding speech he was always rewarded by signs of a deep impression made upon his hearers. He had come to look for such results; but he was totally unprepared for the expression of aghast wonder that his words produced in the face of Captain Herbert.

"Stanwell!" he cried, "Ralph Stanwell!" He glanced hurriedly at the two standing at the other end of the shop and an expression of relief pa.s.sed over his face when he saw the tall lady was not attending. "It can't be!" he said, lowering his tone, "Captain Stanwell's child died with the parents!"

"No, sir," said Store Thompson wonderingly. "Big Malcolm an' his son brought him from Toronto when he was jist an infant."