"Why, why," cried Doctor Dunn, "it's the same old breed, Mother."

"But in Manitoba--?" began Mr. Rae, still clinging to the subject.

"Oh, in Manitoba there is no forest to cut. However, there are other difficulties. Still, hundreds are crowding in, and any man who has the courage and the nerve to stay with it can get on."

"And what did they do for schools?" said Mrs. Dunn, returning to the theme that had so greatly interested her.

"There were no schools until father was too big to be spared to go except for a few weeks in the winter."

"How big do you mean?"

"Say fifteen."

"Fifteen!" exclaimed Miss Brodie. "A mere infant!"

"Infant!" said Martin. "Not much! At fifteen my father was doing a man's full work in the bush and on the farm, and when he grew to be a man he cleared most of his own land, too. Why, when I was eleven I drove my team all day on the farm."

"And how did you get your education, Mr. Martin?"

"Oh, they kept me at school pretty steadily, except in harvest and hay time, until I was fourteen, and after that in the winter months. When I was sixteen I got a teacher's certificate, and then it was easy enough."

"And did you put yourself through college?" inquired Mr. Rae, both interest and admiration in his voice, for now they were on ground familiar in his own experience.

"Why, yes, mostly. Father helped, I suspect more than he ought to, but he was anxious for me to get through."

"Rob," cried Miss Brodie suddenly, "let's go! What do you say? We'll get a big bit of that land in the West, and won't it be splendid to build up our own estate and all that?"

Rob glanced from her into his mother's face. "I'd like it fine, Mamma,"

he said in a low voice, slipping his hand into hers.

"But what about me, Rob?" said his mother, smiling tenderly down into the eager face.

"Oh, I'd come back for you, Mamma."

"Hold on there, youngster," said his elder brother, "there are others that might have something to say about that. But I say, Martin,"

continued Dunn, "we hear a lot about the big ranches further West."

"Yes, in Alberta, but I confess I don't know much about them. The railways are just building and people are beginning to go in. But ranching needs capital, too. It must be a great life! They practically live in the saddle. It's a glorious country!"

"On the whole, then," said Mr. Rae, as if summing up the discussion, "a young man has better opportunities of making his fortune, so to speak, in the far West rather than in, say, Ontario."

"I didn't speak of fortune, Mr. Rae,--fortune is a chance thing, more or less,--but what I say is this, that any young man not afraid of work, of any kind of work, and willing to stay with his job, can make a living and get a home in any part of Canada, with a bigger chance of fortune in the West."

"All I say, Mr. Rae, is this," said Miss Brodie emphatically, "that I only wish I were a man with just such a chance as young Cameron!"

"Ah, my dear young lady, if all the young men were possessed of your spirit, it would matter little where they went, for they would achieve distinct success." As he spoke Mr. Rae's smile burst forth in all its effulgent glory.

"Dear Mr. Rae, how very clever of you to discover that!" replied Miss Brodie, smiling sweetly into Mr. Rae's radiant face. "And how very sweet of you--ah, I beg your pardon; that is--" The disconcerting rapidity with which Mr. Rae's smile gave place to an appearance of grave, of even severe solemnity, threw Miss Brodie quite "out of her stride," as Martin said afterward, and left her floundering in a hopeless attempt to complete her compliment.

Her confusion was the occasion of unlimited joy to "Lily," who was not unfamiliar with this facial phenomenon on the part of Mr. Rae. "Oh, I say!" he cried to Dunn in a gale of smothered laughter, "how does the dear man do it? It is really too lovely! I must learn the trick of that.

I have never seen anything quite so appallingly flabbergasting."

Meantime Mr. Rae was blandly a.s.sisting Miss Brodie out of her dilemma.

"Not at all, Miss Brodie, not at all! But," he continued, throwing his smile about the room, "I think, Doctor Dunn, we have reason to congratulate ourselves upon not only a pleasant but an extremely profitable evening--ah--as far as the matter in hand is concerned. I hope to have further speech with our young friend," bowing to Mr. Martin and bringing his smile to bear upon that young gentleman.

"Oh, certainly," began Martin with ready geniality, "whenever you--eh?

What did you say, Sir? I didn't quite--"

But Mr. Rae was already bidding Mrs. Dunn goodnight, with a face of preternatural gravity.

"What the deuce!" said Martin, turning to his friend Dunn. "Does the old boy often go off at half-c.o.c.k that way? He'll hurt himself some time, sure."

"Isn't it awful?" said Dunn. "He's got me a few times that way, too. But I say, old boy, we're awfully grateful to you for coming."

"I feel like a fool," said Martin; "as if I'd been delivering a lecture."

"Don't think it," cried Miss Brodie, who had drawn near. "You've been perfectly lovely, and I am so glad to have got to know you better. For me, I am quite resolved to go to Canada."

"But do you think they can really spare us all, Miss Brodie?" exclaimed "Lily" in an anxious voice. "For, of course, if you go we must."

"No, 'Lily,' I'm quite sure they can't spare you. Just think, what could the Browning-Wagner circle do? Besides, what could we do with you when we were all working, for I can quite see that there is no use going to Canada unless you mean to work?"

"You've got it, Miss Brodie," said Martin. "My lecture is not in vain.

There is no use going to Canada unless you mean to work and to stay with the job till the cows come home."

"Till the cows come--?" gasped "Lily."

"Oh, never mind him, Mr. Martin! Come, 'Lily' dear, I'll explain it to you on the way home. Good-night, Mr. Dunn; we've had a jolly evening.

And as for our friend Cameron, I've ceased to pity him; on the contrary, I envy him his luck."

CHAPTER VII

FAREWELL TO CUAGH OIR

Once more the golden light of a sunny spring day was shining on the sapphire loch at the bottom, and overflowing at the rim of the Cuagh Oir. But for all its flowing gold, there was grief in the Glen--grief deep and silent, like the quiet waters of the little loch. It was seen in the grave faces of the men who gathered at the "smiddy." It was heard in the cadence of the voices of the women as they gathered to "kalie"

(Ceilidh) in the little cottages that fringed the loch's side, or dotted the heather-clad slopes. It even checked the boisterous play of the bairns as they came in from school. It lay like a cloud on the Cuagh, and heavy on the hearts that made up the little hill-girt community of one hundred souls, or more.

And the grief was this, that on the "morrow's morn" Mary Robertson's son was departing from the Glen "neffer to return for effermore," as Donald of the House farm put it, with a face gloomy as the loch on a dark winter's day.

"A leaving" was ever an occasion of wailing to the Glen, and many a leaving had the Glen known during the last fifty years. For wherever the tartan waved, and the bonnie feathers danced for the glory of the Empire, sons of the Glen were ever to be found; but not for fifty years had the heart of the Glen known the luxury of a single rallying centre for their pride and their love till the "young chentleman," young Mr.

Allan, began to go in and out among them. And as he grew into manhood so grew their pride in him. And as, from time to time, at the Great Games he began to win glory for the Glen with his feats of skill and strength, and upon the pipes, and in the dances, their pride in him grew until it pa.s.sed all limits. Had he not, the very year before he went to the college, cut the comb of the "c.o.c.k of the North" from Glen Urquhart, in running and jumping; and the very same year had he not wrested from Callum Bheg, the pride of Athole, the coveted badge of Special Distinction in Highland Dancing? Then later, when the schoolmaster would read from the Inverness Courier to one group after another at the post office and at the "smiddy" (it was only fear of the elder MacPherson, that kept the master from reading it aloud at the kirk door before the service) accounts of the "remarkable playing" of Cameron, the brilliant young "half-back" of the Academy in Edinburgh, the Glen settled down into an a.s.sured conviction that it had reached the pinnacle of vicarious glory, and that in all Scotland there was none to compare with their young "chieftain" as, quite ignoring the Captain, they loved to call him.

And there was more than pride in him, for on his holidays he came back to the Glen unspoiled by all his honours and achievements, and went about among them "jist like ain o' their ain sels," accepting their homage as his right, but giving them in return, according to their various stations, due respect and honour, and their love grew greater than their pride.

But the "morrow's morn" he was leaving the Glen, and, worse than all, no one knew for why. A mystery hung over the cause of his going, a mystery deepened by his own bearing during the past twelve months, for all these months a heavy gloom had shrouded him, and from all that had once been his delight and their glory he had withdrawn. The challenge, indeed, from the men of Glen Urquhart which he had accepted long ago, he refused not, but even the overwhelming defeat which he had administered to his haughty challengers, had apparently brought him no more than a pa.s.sing gleam of joy. The gloom remained unlifted and the cause the Glen knew not, and no man of them would seek to know. Hence the grief of the Glen was no common grief when the son of Mary Robertson, the son of the House, the pride of the Glen, and the comrade and friend of them all, was about to depart and never to return.