"It is the floating population,--the here-to-day-and-away-to-morrow people who should not be given credit. And,--Mr. Bremner, if you desire to act in kindness to the men themselves, do not allow the loggers, who come in here, to run up bills for themselves personally.

Not that they are more dishonest than other people,--far from it. I find it generally the other way round,--but they are notoriously improvident; inclined,--G.o.d bless them,--to live for the fleeting moment.

"In many ways they are like children in their simplicity and their waywardness,--and their lot is not one of roses and honeysuckle. They make good money and can afford to pay as they go. If they cannot pay, they can easily wait for what they want until they can, for they are well fed and well housed while in the camps."

We sat down at the table together.

"There is a list, George. May I call you George? It is so much more friendly."

I nodded in hearty approval.

"It is not by any means complete, but it contains the princ.i.p.al people among your near-hand neighbours. You can trust them to pay their last cent: Neil Andrews, Semple, Smith, Johannson, Doolan, MacAllister and Gourlay.

"Any others who may call,--make them pay; and I shall be glad to inform you about them when I am this way again."

"How often do you come in here, Mr. Auld?"

"I try to make it, at least, once in two weeks, but I am not always successful. I like to visit Jake Meaghan. Poor, old, faithful, plodding Jake,--how I tried, at first, to extract the thorn from his flesh--the accursed drink! I talked to him, I scolded him, I threatened him, but,--poor Jake,--he and his whisky are one, and nothing but death will ever separate them."

Suddenly his face lit up and his eyes seemed to catch fire.

"And who are we to judge?" he said, as if denying some inward question.

"What right have we to think for a moment that this inherent weakness shall deprive Jake Meaghan of eternal happiness? He is honest; he does good in his own little sphere; he harms no one but himself, for he hasn't a dependent in the world. He fills a niche in G.o.d's plan; he is still G.o.d's child, no matter how erring he may be. He is some mother's son. George,--I am fully persuaded that my G.o.d, and your G.o.d, will not be hard on old Jake when his time comes; and, do you know, sometimes I think that time is not very far off."

We sat silent for a while, then the minister spoke again:

"Tell me, George,--have you met any of your neighbours yet?"

"Only two," I said, "Jake, and Rita Clark."

He raised his white, bushy eyebrows.

"So you have met Rita! She's a strange child; harboured in a strange home."

He sighed at some pa.s.sing thought.

"It's a queer world,--or rather, it's a good world with queer people in it. One would expect to find love and harmony in the home every time away up here, but it does not always follow. Old Margaret Clark is the gentlest, dearest, most patient soul living. Andrew Clark is a good man in every way but one,--but in that one he is the Rock of Gibraltar itself, or, to go nearer the place of his birth, Ailsa Craig, that old milestone that stands defiantly between Scotland and Ireland. Andrew Clark is immovable. He is hard, relentless, fanatical in his ideas of right and wrong; cruel to himself and to the woman he vowed to love and cherish. Oh!--he sears my heart every time I think of him. Yet, he is living up to his idea of what is right."

The white-haired old gentleman,--bearer of the burdens of his fellows,--did not confide in me as to the nature of Andrew Clark's trouble, and it was not for me to probe.

"As for Rita," he pursued, "poor, little Rita!--she is no relative of either Margaret or Andrew Clark. She is a child of the sea. Hers is a pitiful story, and I betray no confidences in telling you of it, for it is common property.

"Fourteen years ago a launch put into the Bay and anch.o.r.ed at the entrance to Jake's cove. There were several ladies and gentlemen in her, and one little girl. They picnicked on the beach and, in the evening, they dined aboard, singing and laughing until after midnight.

Jake was the only one who saw or heard them, and he swears they were not English-spoken. Though they were gay and pleasure-loving, yet they seemed to be of a superior cla.s.s of people.

"He awoke before daylight, fancying he heard screams in the location of The Ghoul Rock. He got up and, so certain was he that he had not been mistaken, he got into his boat and rowed out and round The Ghoul,--for the night was calm,--but everything was quiet and peaceful out there.

"Next morning, while Joe Clark was scampering along the sh.o.r.e, he came across the unconscious form of a little girl about four years old, clad only in a nightdress and roped roughly to an unmarked life-belt. Joe carried her in to his grandfather, old Andrew, who worked over her for more than an hour; and at last succeeded in bringing her round.

"All she could say then was, "Rita, Rita, Rita," although, about a year afterwards, she started to hum and sing a little Spanish dancing song.

A peculiar reversion of memory, for she certainly never heard such a song in Golden Crescent.

"Jake swears to this day that she belonged to the launch party, who must have run sheer into The Ghoul Rock and gone down.

"Little boy Joe pleaded with his grandfather and grandmother to keep the tiny girl the sea had given them, and they did not need much coaxing, for she was pretty and attractive from the first.

"Inquiries were set afoot, but, from that day to this, not a clue has been found as to her ident.i.ty; so, Rita Clark she is and Rita Clark she will remain until some fellow, worthy of her I hope, wins her and changes her name.

"I thought at one time, Joe Clark would claim her and her name would not be changed after all, but since Joe has seen some of the outside world and has been meeting with all kinds of people, he has grown patronising and changeable with women, as he is domineering and bullying with men.

"He treats Rita as if he expected her to be continually at his call should he desire her, and yet he were at liberty to choose when and where he please."

"But, does Rita care for him?" I asked.

"Seems so at times," he answered, "but of late I have noticed a coldness in her at the mention of his name; just as if she resented his airs of one-sided proprietorship and were trying to decide with herself to tolerate no more of it.

"I tried to veer round to the subject with Joe once, but he swore an oath and told me to mind my own affairs. What Joe Clark needs is opposition. Yet Joe is a good fellow, strong and daring as a lion and aggressive to a degree."

I was deeply interested as the old minister told the story, and it was like bringing me up suddenly when he stopped. I had no idea how fast the time had been pa.s.sing.

Well I could understand now why this Rita Clark intuitively hated The Ghoul Rock. Who, in her place, would feel otherwise?

The Rev. William Auld rose from the table.

"I must go now, my son, for the way is long. Thanks so much for the rest and for your hospitality. My only exhortation to you is, stand firm by all the principles you know to be true; never lose hold of the vital things because you are here in the wilds, for it is here the vital things count, more than in the whirr of civilisation."

"Thank you, sir. I'll try," I said. "You will come again, I hope."

"Certainly I shall. Even if you did not ask me, for that is my duty.

"If you accompany me as far as Jake's cove, where my launch is, I think I can furnish you with a paper from your countryside. I have friends in the city, in the States and in England, who supply me, every week, with American and Old Country papers. There are so many men from both lands in the camps and settled along the coast and they all so dearly love a newspaper. I generally try to give them what has been issued nearest their own home towns."

I rowed Mr. Auld over to his launch and wished him good-bye, receiving from his kindly old hands a copy of _The Northern Examiner_, dated three days after I had left Brammerton.

It was like meeting with an old friend, whom I had expected never to meet again. I put it in my inside pocket for consideration when I should get back to my bungalow with plenty of time to enjoy it.

I dropped in to Jake's shack, for I had not seen him all the sleepy day. I found him sitting in perfect content, buried up over the eyes in a current issue of _The Northern Lights_,--a Dawson newspaper, which had been in existence since the old Klondike days and was much relished by old-timers.

The dog was curled up near the stove, sleeping off certain effects; Jake was at his second cup of whisky. I left them to the peace and sanct.i.ty of their Sabbath evening and rowed back to "Paradise Regained," as I had already christened my bungalow.

I sat down on the steps of the veranda, to peruse the home paper which the minister had left with me, and it was not long before I was startled by a flaring headline. The blood rushed from my face to my heart and seemed as if it would burst that great, throbbing organ:--

"SUDDEN DEATH OF THE EARL OF BRAMMERTON AND HAZELMERE."

My eyes scanned the notice.

"News has been telegraphed that the Earl of Brammerton and Hazelmere died suddenly of heart failure at his country residence, Hazelmere.