Roderick’s work allowed him little chance for brooding over his worries, for Lawyer Ed left more and more to him as the days went on.  Not that he did any less, but the temperance campaign was on again, all racial and religious prejudices forgotten, in the glory of the fight.  Lawyer Ed was quite content that his young partner should let him do all the public speaking, and so neither side was offended at the young man’s careful steering in a middle course.  Roderick himself hated it, but there seemed no other way, on the road he was determined to follow.

He was not too busy to watch Helen Murray, and serve her in every way possible.  He tried to atone for his past neglect of the Perkins family by getting Billy a good position on his return, and was rewarded by being allowed to walk up to Rosemount with Helen the night Billy came home.  He was so quietly persistent in his devotion to the girl, making no demands, but always standing ready to serve her, that she could not but see how matters were with him.  But the revelation brought her no joy.  Her heart was still full of bitter memories, and with all gentleness and kindness, she set about the task of showing Roderick that his attentions were unwelcome.  It was not an easy task, for she was often very lonely and sometimes she forgot that she must not allow him to waylay her in Willow Lane and walk up to Rosemount with her.  Again she punished herself for her laxity by being very severe with him and at such times Roderick allowed himself to seek comfort for his wounded feelings in Leslie Graham’s company, for Leslie was always kind and charming.

One evening, Roderick and Fred Hamilton had been dining at the Grahams and had walked home with the Misses Baldwin.  They were returning down the hill together, and Fred, who had been very sulky all evening, grew absolutely silent.  Roderick tried several topics in vain and finally gave up the attempt at conversation and swung along whistling, his hands in his pockets.

At last the young man spoke.

“I’m going West this spring.”

“Oh, are you?” said Roderick, glad to hear him say something.  “You’re lucky.  That’s where I’d like to be going.”

“Yes, likely,” sneered the other.  “I guess any fellow can see what direction you’re going all right.”

“What do you mean?” asked Roderick, nettled at the tone.

“Oh, yes, as if you didn’t know,” growled his aggrieved rival.  “You don’t need to think I’m blind and deaf too, and a fool into the bargain.”

Roderick stopped short in the middle of the snowy side-walk.  “Look here,” he said quietly, “if you don’t speak up like a man, and tell me what you’re hinting at I-well, I’ll have to make you, that’s all.”

Fred had run foul of Roderick McRae at school and knew from painful experience that it was not safe to make him very angry.

“Well, you needn’t get so hot about it,” he said half apologetically.  “I merely hinted that you-well, you can’t help seeing it yourself-”

“Seeing what, you blockhead?”

“Seeing that she-that Leslie doesn’t care two pins about anybody but you.  She’d be glad if I went West to-morrow.”  The hot blood rushed into Roderick’s face.  He turned upon the young man, but they were passing under an electric light and the look of misery in Fred’s face disarmed him.  He burst into derisive laughter.

“Well, of all the idiots!” he exclaimed.  “You ought to be horsewhipped for insulting a young lady so.  Can’t you see, you young madman, that she’s just trying to show a little bit of polite gratitude?  I know I don’t deserve it, but she seems to be as grateful to me for helping you that night on the lake, and you must be a fool if you think anything else.”

The young man walked on for a little in silence.  Then he said, in quite a changed tone, “Are you sure, Rod?”

“Yes, of course,” shouted Roderick, “you ought to be shut up in a mad house for thinking anything else.”

“Well, she told everybody in the town last fall that I upset her, just to give you the glory,” he said resentfully.

“Pshaw,” cried Roderick disgustedly.  “She did it for pure fun, and you ought to have taken it that way.  You don’t deserve her for a friend.”

Fred seemed to be pondering this for a while, and finally he said, “Well, maybe you’re right.  Only I-well, you know how I feel about Leslie.  She-we’ve been chums ever since we were kids, and you may be sure I don’t like the idea of any other fellow cutting in ahead of me now.”

“Well, wait till some fellow does before you jump on him again,” said Roderick, so hotly that the other grew apologetic.

“I didn’t mean to be such a jay, Rod.  It’s all right if you say so.  I guess I was crazy.  If you just give me your word that you haven’t intentions towards her, why, it’ll be all right.”

Roderick gave the assurance with all his heart, and Fred insisted upon shaking hands over it, and they parted on the best of terms.

But Roderick felt covered with shame when he found himself alone on the Pine Road.  He could not deny to his heart that Fred’s suspicions had some little reason in them, and the knowledge filled him with dismay.  He was humiliated by the thought that he had accepted many favours from Leslie’s father and been a welcome guest many, many times at her home, and he wondered miserably if Helen Murray held the same opinion as Fred.

He came back to his office the next morning determined to avoid Leslie Graham, no matter what the consequence.

She called him on the telephone, wrote dainty notes, and strolled past the office at the time when he was likely to be leaving, all to no avail.  Roderick was buried in work, and slowly but surely the knowledge began to dawn upon the girl that she, with all her attractions, was being gently but firmly put aside.

And so the winter sped away on the swift wheels of busy days, and when spring came the local option petition began to circulate.  And once more Roderick escaped the necessity of declaring himself.

The firm of Elliot and Kent, with whom he had worked in the North, wished to consult him, and he was summoned to Montreal for a week.

Lawyer Ed saw him off at the station fairly puffed up with pride over his boy’s importance.

When Roderick returned, the petition was signed, and sent away, and Lawyer Ed was jubilating over the fact that they could have got far more names if they had wanted them.  And Roderick comforted himself with the thought that his was not needed after all.

The excitement subsided for a time after this, the real hard preparation for voting day would not commence until the autumn, so J. P. Thornton was seized with the grand idea that the coming summer was surely the heaven-decreed occasion upon which to go off on that long-deferred holiday.  The inspiration came to him one day when he had telephoned Lawyer Ed twice and called at his office three times to find him out each time.

“Is this the office of Brians and McRae or only McRae?” he asked when Roderick informed him for the third time that his chief was absent.

“Well, it isn’t often like this,” said the junior partner apologetically.  “We’ll get back to our old routine when my chief gets over his local option excitement.”

“If you can run this business alone during a Local Option to-do, I see no reason why you couldn’t while we take three months holidays, do you?”

“No, I do not,” said Roderick heartily.  “Can’t you make Lawyer Ed go to the Holy Land this spring?  I’ll do anything to help him go.  He needs a rest.”

J. P. Thornton looked at the young man smiling reminiscently.  He was recalling the night when two young men gave up that very trip and Lawyer Ed had laughingly declared he would go some day even if he had to wait till little Roderick grew up.  “And little the boy knows,” said Mr. Thornton to himself, “just how much Ed gave up that time.”

“Well,” he said aloud, “this is surely poetic justice.”

“What is?” asked Roderick puzzled.  But J. P. would not explain.  “We’ll just make him go,” he declared.  “You stand behind me, Rod, and don’t let him get back to work, and I’ll get him off.”

It was not entirely the old boyish desire to go on the long-looked-for trip with his friend that was at the bottom of Mr. Thornton’s anxiety to get away.  He could not help seeing that Ed needed a rest and needed it very badly.  Archie Blair aroused his fears further.  For one evening Lawyer Ed did an altogether unprecedented thing and went home to bed early.  Mrs. Hepburn, his sister, was so amazed over such a piece of conduct on her brother’s part, that she called at the doctor’s office the next day to ask if he thought there was anything wrong with Ed’s heart.

Doctor Blair laughed long and loud over the question, putting the lady’s fears at rest.

“No, I don’t think any one in Algonquin would admit there was anything astray with Ed’s heart, Mary,” he said.  “But his head might be vastly improved by putting a little common sense into it regarding eating and sleeping.  He’s been going too hard for about twenty-five years and he’s tired, that’s all.  But J. P.’s going to get him off this time, all right, and the change is just what he needs.”

He spoke to J. P. about it, and the two determined that they would make all preparations to start for the Holy Land in July and if Ed had to be bound and gagged until the steamer sailed, they would certainly see that he went.

Lawyer Ed consented with the greatest enthusiasm.  Of course he would go.  He really believed he had enough money saved up, and Roderick was doing everything, anyway, and he could just start off for a forty years wandering in the wilderness if J. P. would go with him.

The whole town became quite excited when Mrs. Hepburn announced at a tea given by Mrs. Captain Willoughby that her brother and J. P. Thornton were really and truly, even should Algonquin go up in flames the day before, going to sail from Montreal sometime in July for foreign parts.  There was a great deal of running to and from the Thornton and Brians homes, and a tremendous amount of talking and advising.  And the only topic of conversation for weeks, in the town, was the Holy Land, and the question which greeted a new-comer invariably was, “Did you hear that Lawyer Ed and J. P. have really decided to go?”

All this bustle of preparation and expectation did not deceive J. P. into a false position of security.  He was by no means confident, and he kept a strict eye on Lawyer Ed to see that he did not launch some new scheme that would demand his personal attention till Christmas.  For well he knew that until his friend was on board the steamer and beyond swimming distance from the land, he was not safe.  Any day something might arise to make it seem quite impossible to go.

So he was thrown into quite a state of nervousness when, early in June, Algonquin began to prepare for a unique celebration.  The first of July had been chosen as “Old Boys’ Day,” and all Algonquin’s exiled sons had been invited to come back to the old home on that day and be made happy.

“Old Boys’ Day” was an entirely new institution in Algonquin.  Indeed she did not have many sons beyond middle age, but other Ontario towns were having these reunions, and Algonquin was never known to be behind her contemporaries, in the matter of having anything new, even though the newest thing was Old Boys.

So no wonder J. P. Thornton was anxious.  For such a celebration was just the sort of thing in which Lawyer Ed gloried.  Fortunately it was set a month before they were to sail, but J. P. knew that Ed would need all that time to recover from the perfect riot of friendship into which he would be sure to plunge on Old Boys’ Day.

As the first of July approached, the whole town gave itself up to extravagant preparations and, as J. P. expected, Lawyer Ed, turned over his office to Roderick, put away railway time-tables and guide books and headed every committee.  There was a committee of ladies from all the churches to serve dinner to the Old Boys on their arrival.  There was a decorating committee with instructions to cover the town with flags and bunting and banners, no matter what the cost.  There was a committee for sports, on both land and water and, most important of all, a reception committee, half to go down to Barbay with Captain Jimmie and the town band to bring the Old Boys home by water, the only proper way to approach Algonquin, and the other half to meet them at the dock.

Of course all this upheaval and bustle did not take place without some slight discord.  The first storm arose through a dispute as to where the big dinner should be held upon the arrival of the boat.  The first suggestion was that it be held in the opera house.  But unfortunately, many of the best people of Algonquin objected to holding anything there as a matter of principle.

It was the common case of a very good place having a bad name.  Had the opera house been called the town hall, which it really was, no one would have found fault with it.  But its name suggested actors and the theatre, and many of the good folk, Mr. McPherson at their head, just wouldn’t countenance it at all.

Of course there was the other class who said Algonquin would be too dull to live in were it not for the winter attractions of the opera house which gave it such a bad name.  In fact every one who had any pretensions towards knowing what was the correct thing in city life, went regularly to the plays, and declared they were just as high class as you would see in Toronto.

Indeed a new play was always announced as “The Greatest Attraction in Toronto Last Week,” and companies had several times come all the way from New York just to appear in Algonquin.  Then every winter there were the Topp Brothers who came and stayed a whole week in Crofter’s Hotel, and gave a different play every night.  There were all the best known dramas, “Lady Audley’s Secret,” and “East Lynne” and “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” and once they even gave “Faust,”-without music, it is true, but a splendid reproduction nevertheless, with the biggest and tallest Topp brother as Mephisto, all in red satin and, every one said, just perfectly terrible.

So every one who knew anything at all about what was demanded of people moving in the best circles, pronounced the opera house the finest institution in the town and demanded that the Old Boys be taken to it upon their arrival and welcomed and fed.  And all the other people said it was a sinful and worldly place, and declared they would have no Old Boys’ banquet at all if it were to be served in that theatrical abomination.

The Presbyterian Sunday-school room was the next place in size, and, to smooth matters over, Lawyer Ed offered it for the dinner.

Then the Anglican and the Catholic and the Methodist ladies met and said it was just like the Presbyterians to want to have the banquet in their church, to make it appear to the Old Boys that they were doing it all.  And Mrs. Captain Willoughby, the smartest woman in Algonquin and the Convener of the dinner committee, said that if those gossipy old cranks wanted to have the banquet in the lock-up, why they might have it there for all she cared, but she wanted every one to know that it would be served in the Presbyterian School room or she would have nothing to do with it.  That almost settled it for every one knew it was utterly impossible to get up such a huge affair without Mrs. Captain Willoughby at the head.  But the very next night Jock McPherson brought up the matter in a session meeting and objected to having the dinner in the schoolroom, as it was not a religious gathering.

But Lawyer Ed met and overcame every difficulty.  He laughed and cajoled the opera house party into giving way.  He forced the programme committee to put Mr. McPherson down for one of the chief addresses of welcome at the banquet, and the objections ceased.  He called up his friend Father Tracy on the telephone and bade him see that his flock did their duty in the matter, and he took the Methodist minister’s wife and the Anglican clergyman’s daughter and Mrs. Captain Willoughby all down town together for ice cream, and there was no more trouble.

“Women are ticklish things to handle, Rod,” he said, wiping his perspiring forehead when all was harmony again.  “The only wise way for a man to act is to get married and hand over all such manoeuvres to his wife.  See that you get one as soon as possible.”

“I’ve heard something somewhere regarding the advantage of example over precept,” said Roderick gravely.

“Hold your tongue,” said his chief severely.  “If I wish to serve you as a terrible warning, to be avoided, instead of an example to be followed, you ought to be grateful in any case.”

He strode away swinging his cane and whistling and Roderick watched him with affectionate eyes.  He was wondering, as all the town wondered, except a couple of his nearest friends who knew, why Lawyer Ed had never married.  And he was thinking of a pair of soft blue eyes that had not grown any kinder to him as the months had passed.  He went back to his work, the solace for all his troubles.  He was taking no part in the preparations for the Old Boys’ celebration, and was looking forward to the date with small pleasure.  For that was the day she would likely be leaving for her summer vacation.  And who knew whether she would come back or not?  So he watched Lawyer Ed’s joyous preparations for the Old Boys’ visit, without much interest, little thinking it was to be of more moment to him than to any one else in Algonquin.

Early in the morning of the first of July the rain came pouring down, but the clouds cleared away before ten o’clock, leaving the little town fresh and green and glowing after its bath.  Everything was dressed in its best for the visitors.  The gardens were in their brightest summer decorations.  The June roses and peonies were not yet gone, and the syringa bushes and jessamine trees were all a-bloom.  Main Street was lined with banners and overhung with gay bunting.  Lake Algonquin smiled and twinkled and sparkled out her welcome.  The fairy islands, the surrounding woods, everything, was at its freshest and greenest.

Early in the morning the Inverness with half of the entertainment committee, the town band, and such youngsters as Captain Jimmie could not eject from his decks, sailed away down to Barbay to bring the heroes home and, as the Chronicle said in a splendid editorial, the next morning, Algonquin’s heart throbbed with pride as the goodly ship sailed into port with her precious cargo.  The Barbay Clarion, Algonquin’s and the Chronicle’s bitter and hasty enemy, wearily remarked the next week that Algonquin always found something to be proud of anyway.  But there could be no doubt Algonquin had reason on this first of July, for the Inverness carried homeward men whose names had brought honour to the little town.

There was J. P.’s son who edited the paper read by every Canadian from Halifax to Vancouver, except those who, wilfully blinded by political prejudice, read the organ of the opposite party.  There was Tom Willoughby, the captain’s brother, member for the Dominion House, who tore himself away from Ottawa, every one felt, at great risk to his country’s weal, leaving the question of war in South Africa and reciprocity with Australia in abeyance, while he rushed across the country to do honour to the old home town.  As the Chronicle said, the next morning, being a supporter of Tom’s party, not even King Edward himself could have found fault with a loyalty that would take such risks for home and native land.

There was Sandy Graham’s brother from New York, who had made, some said, a million in real estate deals in the West, and Lawyer Ed’s own brother, who was a professor of note in a University “down East.”  There were business, and professional men, young workmen from near by cities and towns, statesmen and scholars.  But of them all, none was such a hero, and none so eagerly awaited, as Harry Armstrong.  For only the summer before, Harry had taken a Canadian lacrosse team around the world and had vanquished everything in Europe, Asia and Africa that dared to hold up a stick against them.

When the first far away note of the Inverness’ whistle floated across the water from the Gates, the ladies at the Presbyterian church began putting the finishing touches to the tables and the dressing on the salads, and half of the reception committee that had remained at home drove down to the dock.  They arranged themselves there in proper order, with Captain Willoughby, the Mayor, at the head, or rather almost at the head, for of course Lawyer Ed was a few steps in advance of him.

The dock was a new and important landing place.  There was a big distinction between the dock and the wharf.  The latter was the decrepit old wooden structure, torn and jarred by ice and storms, that stood at the foot of Main Street, where every one of the Old Boys had fished and fallen in and nearly drowned himself many a time.  But the dock, as every one knew, was the fine new landing place, built of stone and cement, and stretching from the town park, away out, it almost seemed, as far as the Gates.  The Inverness had had instruction to put in at the dock, not only to impress the Old Boys with the strides Algonquin had made, but as a delicate compliment to Tom Willoughby, through whose political influence it had been built.

All the cabs in town had been hired and all the buggies loaned, and they lined up along the park road waiting to take the guests up to the church.  Lawyer Ed had suggested at first that the Mayor ride down in his automobile, but as all the horses in town had to be out at the same time, the experiment was voted too dangerous and the Mayor drove in a commonplace but safe cab.

Every one was at his proper station waiting when, with a blaze of colour and a burst of music, the Inverness curved around Wanda Island and swept into view.  She was a brave sight surely!  From every side floated banners and pennons, her deck rail and her flag-staff were covered with green boughs, Old Boys fairly swarmed the decks from stem to stern.  And up in the bow, their instruments flashing in the sunlight, stood the band, playing loudly and gaily, “Home, Sweet Home.”

No one ever quite knew who was to blame that things went amiss from that splendid moment.  Captain Jimmie said it was the fault of Major Dobie, the leader of the band, and Major Dobie was equally certain it was the captain’s fault.  The Old Boys themselves were willing to take all the blame, and perhaps they were right, for they danced on the deck, and crowded about the wheel so that Captain Jimmie had no idea whither he was steering.  However it was, instead of turning to starboard, as he had been instructed, and running in to the dock where the committee waited, Captain Jimmie swept to larboard around the buoy that marked his turning point, and made straight for his old hitching post at the wharf.

The Mayor and the Committee shouted and waved.  Lawyer Ed stood up on the seat of a cab and roared out a command across the water that might have been heard at the Gates, but the band and the cheers of the Old Boys drowned his voice.  Captain Jimmie pursued his mistaken course, never once stopping in the stream of Gaelic with which he was entertaining his Highland guests, and even the half of the Committee on board forgot where they were to land, in their joyous excitement.

Then Lawyer Ed fairly pitched Afternoon Tea Willie into a row-boat and sent him spinning across the water to head-off the Inverness and make her turn to the park.  But the poor boy had been working like a slave since early morning at the Presbyterian church, and could not row fast enough.  He was only half-way across when the whistle sounded to shut off steam.  But just as the Inverness stopped with a bump, some one of the committee came to his senses, and rushed to the captain, pointing out the frantically waving hosts on the dock.

“Cosh!  Bless my soul!” cried Captain Jimmie in dismay.  He gave a wrench to the wheel, shouting orders to the Ancient Mariner to gee her around and go back, but he was too late.  Before the gang-plank had been thrown out, or rope hitched, the Old Boys had leaped ashore.  Captain Jimmie yelled at them to come back, but they paid no more heed than they would have done twenty-five years earlier and went swarming joyfully up Main Street.

But meanwhile a dozen of the reception committee had come tearing down the railroad track from the park and were shouting upon them to stop.  Then the Mayor, Archie Blair, J. P. Thornton and Lawyer Ed having leaped into a cab, and driven furiously across the town, were now thundering down Main Street.  They headed off the truant Old Boys, and drove them back to the wharf to be received decorously and listen to the welcoming address.  As they had dashed past the Presbyterian church at a mad gallop, every one became alarmed and the news spread that a dreadful disaster had happened to the Inverness.  But Afternoon Tea Willie came running up out of breath and wet with perspiration to tell them the real state of affairs.  He was scolded soundly by Mrs. Captain Willoughby, and went about pouring out apologies all day after.

So the reception took place at the wharf after all, with every one in imminent danger of going through the rotten planks into the lake.  It was a rather informal affair.  J. P. Thornton and Archie Blair tried to preserve some dignity, but Lawyer Ed was in a towering rage and cared not for decorum.  He shook his fist at the Old Boys and told them they were howling idiots and had lost what little manners they had learned in Algonquin.  Then he stood up on the carriage seat, his face red, his eyes blazing, and called Captain Jimmie an old blind mole and an ostrich and everything else in the world foolish and unthinking.  Captain Jimmie shouted back with a right good Highland spirit, from his vantage point on the deck and all the Old Boys cheered joyously, declaring this was the one thing needful to make them feel absolutely at home.

Finally the proper welcome was stammered out by the Mayor, who was even less at home making a speech than running his automobile, and they all got away and the procession started up towards the church.

On every side were shouts of welcome:  “Hello, Bob!” “Hi, there, Jack, you home too?” “Well, well, if there isn’t old Bill!  No place like Algonquin, eh Bill?” etc., etc.  Harry Armstrong was easily the favourite, and was the recipient of many welcoming shouts.

Roderick stood at the door watching the procession go past to the church.  He was amazed to see Lawyer Ed and his brother seated in the same carriage as Alexander Graham.  There was a ponderous man with a double chin seated beside him, and going into a spasm of laughter every time Lawyer Ed spoke.  Roderick looked at him with keen interest.  This was William Graham, the man whose word was law with the firm of Elliot and Kent.  He had come all the way from New York for this celebration entirely, he declared in his speech at the banquet, because Ed had wired him to come and he could not resist Ed. They had been great friends in boyhood days, and the big brother cared not a whit that Sandy had a grudge at Ed. If that were so, he declared, then all the more shame to Sandy.  So he was seated between the Brians brothers, fairly radiating joy from his big fat person, when the procession passed Lawyer Ed’s office.  His chief waved his hat at Roderick and roared: 

“Come awa ben the kirk, ma braw John Hielanman!” and then he turned to the portly gentleman at his side and said: 

“That’s Angus McRae’s boy, Bill.  He’s my partner now.”

“Angus McRae’s son?  You mean Roderick McRae?” The millionaire turned and stared at the young man keenly.  He nodded to his brother.

“Looks like a likely lad all right,” he said.  “I want to see you about him, Ed, when all the fuss is over.”

Roderick had such a pile of work on the desk before him, that he did not get up to the church until the luncheon was over and the last speaker but one on his feet.  This was Jock McPherson, and when Roderick slipped into the crowds standing at the ends of the long glittering tables, the little man was explaining very slowly and solemnly that as the afternoon with its long programme was approaching he would not be keeping them.  All his oratorical rivals had had their turn at the Old Boys and Mr. McPherson was just a bit nettled at being crowded into the last few minutes.  J. P. Thornton and Archie Blair and Lawyer Ed had got themselves put on ahead of him and had taken all the time and said all the complimenting things to be said.  Captain Willoughby was the chairman and, though it was agony for him to make a speech, he had tried in his halting way to make amends to Mr. McPherson.  It was a pity that such an able speaker had been left so late, he had explained, but there were so many on the programme that some one had to come last, etc., etc.  Jock arose after this very doubtful introduction, and spoke so deliberately that Lawyer Ed and J. P. exchanged significant glances, there was something coming.  “It iss true Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen,” he said slowly, “that there have been many fine speeches delivered this afternoon.  And now what shall I say?  For I feel that ufferything has already been said.”  He paused and gave the peculiar sniffing sound that told he had scented a joke from afar and was going to hunt it to earth.  “Yes, Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen, there is no doubt that there is vurry little left to be said on any subject whatuffer.  I feel vurry much like the meenister who went into the pulpit with his sermon.  He had not looked at it since he had put it away the night before, and the mice had got at it and had eaten all the firstly, the secondly and the thirdly, and there was vurry little left-vurry little left, Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen.  But the meenister would jist be explaining his dilemma to the people.  ’My dearly beloved brethren,’ he said, said he, ’I am vurry sorry to inform you that the mice have got at my sermon, and have eaten firstly, secondly and thirdly, but as it cannot be helped, my dearly beloved brethren, we will jist be commencing where the mice left off!’”

Even the mice had to join in the laugh on themselves, and when Jock had given the few words of his fourthly which were left, every one, himself included, was in fine humour.

The last speaker was Alexander Graham’s wealthy brother.  William Graham had been the most successful, from one point of view, of all Algonquin’s returning sons.  He had got together enough wealth, folk said, to buy out Algonquin twice over.  Beside, he had become quite famous in political life in his adopted country, and rumour had it that he might have been President of the United States had he not been born in Canada.  William himself denied this, but he could not deny the honours his adopted country had showered upon him.  His name was a power in Washington circles, and he had more than once, gone abroad on international matters of grave import.

Nevertheless, Algonquin received him with some embarrassment mingled with her joy and pride.  Bill Graham, the Algonquin boy, was a welcome sight to every one, for he had always been popular.  But, W. H. Graham, the great American, was quite another matter, and many of his warmest friends had an uncomfortable feeling that they were committing an act of disloyalty to Britain in thus making him publicly welcome.  It was all right to make money out of the Yankees, and Bill was commended for his millions, but to join the enemy and help it work out its problems was a dangerous precedent to set before the youth of the town.

He made a very wise speech, saying very little about the States, and a great deal about his joy at getting home again, but when he sat down, the applause was not quite as enthusiastic as had been given the other home-comers and Lawyer Ed’s warm heart was grieved.  As they stood up to sing the National Anthem before dispersing, like true sons of Algonquin, J. P. whispered: 

“Too bad about old Bill, can’t we do something better for him?”

Lawyer Ed was just swinging the crowd into the thunder of “God Save our gracious King,” but he heard, and a sudden inspiration thrilled him.  He nodded reassuringly to J. P. and waved his arms to beat time, for Major Dobie and the band were getting far behind.

Just as the last words of the national anthem were uttered, with a flourish of his hand to the band to continue, and another towards Bill to show that the graceful tribute was intended for him, Lawyer Ed burst forth into “My country ’tis of thee .”  The band caught up the strain again, another wave of the leader’s hand, and the Old Boys joined and every one burst generously into the second line “Sweet land of liberty,” with smiling eyes turned towards the American millionaire.

Graham smiled radiantly back.  Down in his heart he cared not a Canadian copper cent for the American national anthem, but he did care a great deal for the love of his old friends, and he was touched and pleased.

But alas for the generous tribute to the American.  No one knew a word of the song beyond the second line.  Lawyer Ed started off with a splendid shout, “Land where the-” but got no further.  The band and the drum thundered gallantly over the lapse, but the singing dwindled away.  The leader cast one agonised glance towards the American but Bill sent back a hopeless negative, and cleared his throat and twitched his New York tie.  The Old Boys began to grin, and Lawyer Ed began to grow hot at the fear of making a fiasco of what he had intended for a grand finale.  But he kept doggedly on, for Lawyer Ed never in his life gave up anything he started out to do, and even if he had had no tune as well as no words he would have sung that song through to the bitter end.  So far above the band and the drum his voice rang out splendidly, defying fate: 

  “Land where the lee la lay,
  Land where the doo da day-”

Then, hearing the laughter rising like a tide about him, he flung the American tribute to the winds, and roared out strong and distinct, the whole congress of Old Boys following in a burst of relief,

  “Long to reign over us,
  God save our King.”

The banquet broke up in a storm of laughter, the American millionaire’s loudest of all.

“Oh, Ed,” he cried, wiping his eyes, “stick to the old version.  You’re more loyal than you knew!”

Roderick was leaving the room with the crowd, when Leslie Graham, in a bewitching white cap and tiny apron, caught his arm.

“Don’t run away!” she cried, “I was told to fetch you to Uncle Will, he wants to meet you.  If he’s going to make a Yankee out of you, see that you resist him strenuously.”

“One American in your family is enough, isn’t it, Les?” said Anna Baldwin, her big black eyes staring very innocently at Roderick.

Roderick blushed like a girl, but Leslie Graham laughed delightedly.

“Isn’t Anna shocking?” she asked, glancing coyly at Roderick, as they moved back through the crowd.  But he did not hear her, and she was surprised at a sudden light that sprang to his eyes.  She looked in their direction, and saw Helen Murray in a blue gown and a white cap and apron.  She was standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen.

Madame was talking to her and the girl’s usually grave face was animated and lighted with a lovely smile.  Leslie Graham looked at her then back swiftly to Roderick.  There was a look in his eyes she had never seen there before.  The old suspicion roused the night she had seen him help Miss Murray out of his canoe returned.  Her gay chatter suddenly ceased.  She presented Roderick to her uncle and quickly turned away and was lost in the crowd.

Roderick scarcely noticed that she had gone, he was wondering if the summer holidays were to be spent in Algonquin after all, and then he noticed that the man he had been anxious to meet was shaking his hand.  “I’m glad to see Angus McRae’s son!” the big man was saying.  “Yes, yes, I’d know you by your father.  And how is he?  I must see him before I leave.  Sandy’s been telling me about your work here.  And Ed too.  Do you intend to settle in Algonquin?”

“I hope not, sir, not permanently at least.”

“That’s right.  Algonquin’s a fine place to have in the background of one’s life, but it’s rather small for any expansion.  Did you know I’ve had an eye on you since you were up north last winter?”

“On me?” cried Roderick amazed.

“Yes, just on you.”  The portly figure shook with a good humoured amusement at the young man’s modest amazement.  “I heard about you from my brother and then from Kent.  Let me see, I suppose there will be high doings all day to-day.  What about to-morrow?  Could I see you for a little talk to-morrow morning?”

Roderick set the hour for the appointment, silently wondering.  His heart was throbbing with expectation, vague, wonderful.  Some great event was surely pending.  He went home that night, full of high expectations.  When he made a great success of his life and came back to Algonquin, rich and with a name, he would go to her and show her he had been right, and she had been wrong.