It was the first trip of the season and the Inverness was crowded from stem to stern.  The picnic was given by the Sons of Scotland, so every Presbyterian in the town was there.  But there were many more, for Lawyer Ed had gone out into the highways and byways of other denominations and nationalities and had compelled Methodists and Anglicans and Baptists and folk of every creed to come over to the Island and hear the bagpipes and see Archie Blair toss the caber.

“Your father’s got to come, Rod,” he said, the evening before the picnic.  “So don’t you dare show your nose here without him to-morrow.”

But Old Angus laughingly refused his son’s pleading.  “Tuts, tuts,” he said reprovingly, “it’s the foolish boy that Edward is.  He is younger than you, Lad.  Indeed I’ll not be going, and I think you should jist stay at home yourself, my son.  The night air will be damp and you will not be jist too strong yet.”

Roderick laughed.  “Father, you will soon be as bad as Aunt Kirsty.  I do believe she is bitterly disappointed that I didn’t remain an invalid for a year, so that she might coddle me.  I wouldn’t miss this picnic for all Algonquin.  It will be my first festivity since I was sick, and I want you to be in it.”

The old man looked up into his son’s face, his eyes shining.  This new Roderick who had come back to him, maimed and weakened, right from the very gates of death was even more to him than the old Roderick.  Not that his love had grown, nor his faith, that was impossible.  But while he had always had high hopes that the Lad would one day fulfil all his fondest dreams, now he saw those dreams being fulfilled right before his eyes.  There was a strong sentinel on the Jericho Road now, and the Good Samaritan could scarcely bear to part with him even for a day.

But he shook his head happily.  No, no; Peter was coming over in the morning to look at the north field, and they would just row out as far as Wanda Island and hear the pipes, when the Inverness went past, and they would come back and stay at home with Aunt Kirsty like a pair of sensible old bodies.

Roderick managed to catch Lawyer Ed in the office for a few moments in the morning and reported his failure.  His chief called him many hard names, as he rushed out to catch a passer-by and make him come to the picnic, and Roderick locked the office door and went down to the wharf.  There lay the Inverness, her gunwale sinking to the water’s edge under her joyous freight, banners flying from every place a banner could be flown, and the band, and Harry Lauder’s piper brother making the town and the lake and the woods beyond ring with music.

Immediately after Roderick’s disappointing message had been delivered, Lawyer Ed rushed down Main Street and spied Afternoon Tea Willie driving the Baldwin girls down town to buy some almond cream to take to the picnic, in case of sunburn.  And in his usual high-handed way, he had hailed them, sent the girls home on foot, and the young man spinning out to the McRae farm with stern commands not to dare return without Old Angus.

So when Roderick was standing on the wharf talking to Dr. Archie Blair, all resplendent in his kilt he was amazed to see coming down Main Street, the smartest buggy in the town, and in it Alf.  Wilbur, driving his father, and more amazing still, by his side sat old Peter, with his fiddle in a case across his knee.  They drew up at the edge of the wharf with a splendid flourish, and Afternoon Tea Willie with his innate good manners, sprang out to help the two old men alight with as great deference as if they had been a couple of charming young ladies just come to town.

Roderick sprang forward and caught his father’s hand as he stepped out, laughing in sheer delight.  His eyes were misty with deep feeling.  In the first quick glance he had turned upon the faces of the two old men, smiling in a half-ashamed, half-pleased way, like a couple of boys caught running away from school; Roderick had been struck with their strange resemblance.  His father’s refined face and his white hair had once made an absolute contrast to poor Old Peter’s bloated countenance, but with the last half-year, Old Peter’s face and form had been undergoing a change.  Not since that terrible winter night when he had almost caused the death of his best friend had he fallen.  It had been a hard fight sometimes, but the great victory won by the temperance folk on New Year’s Day had been a victory for Peter.  On the first of May the bar-rooms of Algonquin had closed.  And now Peter walked the streets unafraid.  And with his new courage and hope, his manhood had returned and he was slowly and surely growing like the man whose life-long devotion had brought him salvation.

Doctor Blair saw them and came swinging up to make the old men welcome.  Then Doctor Leslie sighted them and came forward in delighted amazement, and Captain Jimmie spied them from the wheel house and called out joyfully, “Hoots, toots, Angus!  And is that you, Peter Lad?” And the Ancient Mariner left off smoking, and, pouring out a stream of Gaelic above the roar of the pipes, came right out on the wharf to make sure his eyes had not deceived him.

Roderick guided the two to seats up on the deck near to the captain’s pilot house, finding the way thither a veritable triumphal procession.

The crowds were still coming down Main Street; nervous mothers with babies bouncing wildly in their little buggies, embarrassed fathers with great sagging baskets and hysterical children with their newly starched attire already wildly rumpled.

Roderick scanned each new group eagerly, wondering if Helen Murray would come.  He had seen little of her since his return.  A long illness following the critical operation had kept him at home, and when at last he was able to go out again and take up his work he found that gossip had it that Miss Murray, the pretty girl who taught in the East Ward school had had a young man to visit her.  Miss Annabel had been quite excited over him, for he was very handsome and was a successful surgeon, and Miss Armstrong had pronounced him a splendid match for any girl.  Roderick had been spared a visit from Dick Wells, and had wondered that the young man had not kept his promise.  He had longed and yet dreaded to see him.  He had been able to learn nothing about the visit except what gossip said, and to-day he was full of hope and fear, as he watched.  His fears were stronger, but he was young and he could not keep from hoping.

The Inverness, as every one in Algonquin knew, gave ample warning of her leave-taking.  At exactly half-an-hour before the hour set for sailing, she always blew one long blast from her whistle.  At fifteen minutes to the hour she blew two shorter toots, and just on the eve of departure three blasts loud and sharp.  This final warning, which Doctor Blair had profanely named the last trump, had been sounded, and Roderick began to look anxious for she had not yet appeared nor Mrs. Adams either.  But he had gone sailing on picnics via the Inverness too many times to be seriously alarmed.  The door of the little wheel-house where the captain had now taken his stand, commanded a view of Main Street rising up from the water, and no native of Algonquin could do him the injustice to suppose that he would sail away while any one was waving to him from the hill.

A half dozen women were signalling him now, and the captain blew a reassuring blast.  And then round the corner from Elm Street, moving leisurely, came a stout swaying figure, with floating draperies.  Children clung to her hands, children hung by her skirts, children ran after her and children danced before her.  And long before she reached the water’s edge could be heard her admonitions, “Now, you, Johnnie Pickett, don’t you dare to walk down there in the dirt.  Maddie Willis, just you tie that hat on your head again, you’ll get a sunstroke, you know you will.  Jimmie Hurd, you leave that poor little dog alone-”

Roderick looked eagerly beyond the lady, and there she was, at the rear of the procession, bringing up the stragglers.  She was wearing a dress of that dull blue he liked to see her wear, the blue that was just a shade paler than her eyes, and she wore a big white shady hat.  As she came nearer he could see she was laughing at Johnnie Pickett’s wicked antics.  Her face had lost all its old sadness.  Roderick’s heart was filled with a great foreboding.  Had Dick Wells’ visit brought that new colour to her cheek and the sparkle to her eyes?  He wanted to go down and help her and her flock on board, for Gladys Hurd and Mrs. Perkins and Eddie and the baby were with her, and a half-dozen little folk were asking each a half-dozen questions of her at one moment.  But he stood back shyly watching her from a distance, as Dr. Blair and Harry Lauder and the rest of the Highland Club helped them on board, the Piper meanwhile circling around Madame much to her disgust.

When they were all on board and the Inverness had again given the three short shrieks which announced she was really and truly starting, Roderick suddenly realised that Lawyer Ed was not on board.  Now a Scotchman’s picnic without Lawyer Ed was an absurd and unthinkable thing, beside which Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark would have seemed perfectly reasonable and natural.  He ran to the captain, but there were several ahead of him with the dire news.  For the Inverness had no sooner begun to move from the wharf than the awful truth had dawned upon a dozen folk at once.  They had rushed from three directions and attacked the captain and Young Peter and the Ancient Mariner and demanded of them what they meant by such outrageous conduct.  Very much abashed by her mistake the Inverness came surging back, the captain taking refuge in the Gaelic to express his dismay.  They were just in time, for there he was tearing down the street in his buggy, Miss Annabel Armstrong and Mrs. Captain Willoughby squeezed in beside him and the horse going at such a breakneck pace that the dust and stones flew up on every side and there was danger that they would drive right into the lake.  They stopped just on the brink.  Lawyer Ed leaped out, flung the lines to a lounger on the dock bidding him take the horse back to the stable, helped the ladies alight, and had rushed them on board before the gang-plank could be put in place.  The crowd cheered, and he waved his hat and shouted with laughter, over the narrow escape; but the ladies looked a little ruffled.  They had not intended to come to the picnic; the day of private launches and motor-cars was dawning over Algonquin, and these public picnics were not in favour among the best people, therefore Mrs. Captain Willoughby had felt that she did not care to go, and the Misses Armstrong had felt they did not dare to go.  But Lawyer Ed did not approve of social distinctions of any sort whatever, and he was determined that the best people should come out and have a good time like the worst.  So he had gone right into the enemy’s camp and carried off two of the leaders captive, and here they were half-laughing and half-annoyed and explaining carefully to their friends how they had not had the slightest intention of coming in such a mixed crowd but that dreadful man just made them.

Once more the Inverness gave her last agonised shriek, the captain shouted to the Ancient Mariner to get away there, for what was he doing whatever, and with a great deal of fussing and steaming and whistling the voyage was again commenced.  The band gave place to the Piper, and he marched out to the tune of “The Cock o’ the North,” looking exactly like a great giant humming-bird, his plumage flashing in the sunlight, as he went buzzing around the deck.  Harry Lauder and the doctor and two or three others of the frivolous young folk in the kilts went away off to where the minister could not see them and danced a Highland reel.  The people who did not quite approve of public picnics gathered in a group by themselves, Miss Annabel Armstrong and Mrs. Captain Willoughby in the centre, and told each other all the latest news about Toronto, and yawned and wished they could have a game of whist, but Dr. Leslie would be sure to see them.  The tired mothers who seldom went beyond their garden gate, handed over their children to Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby, and settled themselves contentedly in a circle to have a good old-fashioned visit.  Up in the bow, a group of the older men surrounded Dr. Leslie.  Old Angus McRae was so seldom seen at any festivity that his presence had made the picnic an event to his old friends.  Again and again Dr. Leslie placed his hand on the old man’s knee and said, “Well, well, Angus, it’s a treat to see you here.”  And Peter Fiddle, the outcast and drunkard, sat in the group and listened eagerly to their talk like a man who had been long away and was eager to hear again the speech of his native land.  And indeed poor Peter had been for many years in a far country, and his return had opened up a new life to him.  Roderick sat behind his father’s chair and listened as they talked and wondered to hear Peter take his part with a fine intelligence.  He looked at his father and thought of all the weary years he had toiled for Peter, and he was filled with a great gratitude that this was the sort of splendid work to which he had been called.  He would take his father’s place on the Jericho Road.  It might be a highway here in Algonquin, the future was all unquestioned, but wherever it was the Vision would stand by him as He had stood in that hour of despair.  And how glorious to think he might pick up a Peter from the dirt and help to restore him to his manhood.

J. P. Thornton had led the conversation to theological subjects.  J. P. read along many lines, and it was whispered that he had queer ideas about the Bible.

Lawyer Ed had been balancing himself on the railing of the deck listening for some time but it was impossible that he could stay in the one place long when the whole boat was crowded with his intimate friends.  So when J. P. intimated that modern criticism pointed to two Isaiahs and Jock McPherson strongly objected to the second one, Lawyer Ed yawned, and telling them he would be back in an instant, he wandered away.

“Come awa, ma braw John Hielanman,” he whispered to Roderick.  “This is a heavy subject for a pair of young fellows like you and me on a picnic day, come along and see what Archie Blair’s up to.  I’ll bet my new bonnet and plume he’s dancing the Highland fling in some obscure corner.”

Roderick went most willingly.  He knew Lawyer Ed would go straight to Madame, and where Madame was, there would she be also.

Afternoon Tea Willie who had finally come on board with a dozen young ladies, was running here and there at their beck and call in desperate haste.  Lawyer Ed paused to chat with the girls, for he could never pass even one, and Roderick turned to Alfred and thanked him for the service to his father.

“Oh, that’s nothing at all!” cried the young man.  “You did me a favour lots of times, Rod.  When I had no one else to talk to and tell my trouble!” He smiled at the remembrance of them.  His cheek was flushed and his eyes were glowing.  He looked as though he possessed some great secret.  He came close and began to speak hesitatingly and Roderick knew he was going to be the recipient of more confidences.  “Say, Rod, do you see that young lady over there beside Anna Baldwin?” Roderick looked and saw the latest arrival in Algonquin, a very handsome and well-dressed young lady who was visiting the Misses Baldwin.  “Yes,” said Roderick in a very callous manner, “I see her.”  He drew Roderick away a little distance from the group and whispered: 

“Well-I-this is in strict confidence, you know, Roderick; I would not confide in any one but you, you know.  But-well-that is she!”

“She? who?” asked Roderick.

Alfred looked pained.  “Why the only she in all the world for me.  Her name is Eveline Allan.  Did you ever hear anything more musical?  She came here just last week to visit the Baldwin girls, and they asked me to go to the station to meet her with them, and the moment I set eyes on her I just knew she was the only one in the world for me.  I have sometimes imagined myself to be in love, but it was all imagination.  I never really knew before.”

Roderick found it impossible to conceal a smile.

“Oh, I know what you are thinking about, you are wondering if I have forgotten Miss Murray.  But I have lived that down long ago.  It was madness for me to think of one who was in love with another man.”

Roderick looked at him so eloquently that he went on.

“I never really cared for her, in that way, anyway.  I realise that now, and now that the man she was engaged to has come back-”

“What?” asked Roderick sharply.

“The man she was engaged to.  Don’t you remember my telling you about him?  Why, they have made up again.  He was here to see her last winter and he was in Toronto to see her in the Easter holidays when she was down there.  I was very glad that it has all turned out so, for I found out my mistake as soon as I set eyes on Eveline.  I know I ought not to call her that yet, and I don’t to her of course.  Don’t you think she has wonderful eyes?  I always felt that dark eyes are much more expressive than blue or even hazel ones, don’t you?  Oh, there is Anna calling me.  Excuse me, I must run.”

He flew back to the group, and Roderick was left to digest what he had told him.  Unfortunately Alfred had a reputation for finding out things and he had no reason to doubt his assertion.  He slowly followed Lawyer Ed about.  They made their way down the length of the deck, his chief shaking hands with every one, and at last away in the stern under a shady awning he saw her.  She was seated with Madame on one side, little Mrs. Perkins on the other, Gladys Hurd and Eddie at her feet, the Perkins’ baby on her knee and a crowd of children about her.  There was no hope of having a word with her even had he the courage to go forward and speak to her.

The children were sitting open mouthed, staring up into the face of Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby, while in low thrilling tones she was telling how the dreadful big giant came slowly up the stairs, every step creaking under him, and the lovely Princess behind the door just squeezed herself into a teenty weenty crack and held her breath till he got past.

Lawyer Ed burst into the story with a roar, and every one leaped and shrieked as if the giant himself had sprung into their midst.  He caught two of the youngsters and bumped their heads together, he chased a shrieking half dozen to a refuge behind a pile of life-preservers, he tossed a couple up in the air and pretended he was going to fling them overboard, and finally he took out a great package from his pocket and sent a shower of pink “gum-drops” raining down over the deck, and the whole boat was turned into a mad and joyful riot!

Roderick lingered about for a few minutes until Miss Murray nodded and smiled to him across a surging sea of little heads, then he wandered down below to where the Ancient Mariner was seated spinning yarns to a crowd of young people.

“Indeed and I could tell you many as good a one as that,” he was saying in response to the sighs of amazement.  “I haff a great head for the tales.  If I would jist be hafing the grammar I would challenge anybody to beat me at them.  Take Scott now.  He had the grammar.  That’s what makes folk think his stories are so great.  But if I had just had his chance!  You get an eddication, you young people.  There’s nothing like the grammar indeed!”

Roderick leaned over the little pit of the engine room and talked with Young Peter.  The dull eyes were shining.  This was a great day for Peter.

“Did you see him?” he whispered to Roderick.  “Did you see my father? driving down with your father?  Jist like any gentleman!  Eh, but it was mighty.”

“Yes, it’s splendid to see them together at last, Pete,” said Roderick sympathetically.  And then he had to listen again to the tale Young Peter never tired telling, how Rod’s father had saved his father that stormy night on the Jericho Road.  How Lawyer Ed could not sleep because Roderick had left him, and how he had driven out to the farm in the night to comfort Angus and had found the two on the road nearly frozen!  Young Peter had an attentive listener, for Roderick could not tire of hearing the wonderful story.

They had passed through the Gates, and the news went around that the Island was near.  It was a beautiful big stretch of green with a sloping shingly beach at one end, and a high range of white cliffs at the other, which J. P. Thornton said made him homesick, for they always reminded him of England.

There were many islands in Lake Algonquin; nevertheless when you said The Island every one knew you meant that big, lovely, grassy place away out beyond the Gates, swept by the cool breezes of Lake Simcoe where Algonquin always went for her picnics.

When the cry went forth that the Island was at hand every one ran to the railing and leaned over to watch the Inverness slip in between the big stone breakwater and the dock which stretched out to meet them.  Captain Jimmie from his wheel-house called to them, threateningly and beseechingly, commanding every one to go back or she’d be going over whatever.  As usual no one heeded him and so the accident happened.  Perhaps it was the lure of the Piper, now skirling madly from the bow, with flying ribbons, that distracted the captain, as well as the disobedience of the passengers; whatever was the reason, the Inverness, generally so stately and staid, suddenly gave a lurch, and went crash into the wharf as though she intended to ride right over the Island.  Of course in a tourney with the Inverness, there could be only one result.  The wharf heaved up and went over like an unhorsed knight accompanied by a terrible creaking and ripping and groaning as of armour being rent asunder.  Disaster always stripped Captain Jimmie of his nautical cloak and left him the true landsman.  He dashed out of his little house and leaning over the railing shouted to the Ancient Mariner:  “Sandy, ye gomeril!  Back her up, back up, man, she’s goin’ over!”

There were shouts and shrieks from the passengers even above the din of the Piper who played gallantly on.  The crowd rushed to the side to see what had happened, and there might have been a real catastrophe had not Lawyer Ed taken command.  While the captain and the Ancient Mariner were fiercely arguing the question of whose fault it was, he dashed into the crowd and bade every one in a voice of thunder to go back to his or her seats and be quiet.  Lawyer Ed was a terrifying sight when he was angry, and he was promptly obeyed.  The excited crowd scattered, the children were collected, the alarm subsided and they all waited laughingly to see what was to be done.

Meantime Dr. Blair and Harry Lauder had launched a canoe that was on board and were paddling round the wharf to investigate.

“I’m afraid it’s hopeless, Jimmie!” shouted the doctor.  For the floor of the landing place had almost assumed the perpendicular.  “Nobody could land here that wasn’t a chipmunk!”

This was disconcerting news and a wail arose from Madame’s flock.

“Haud yer whist!” roared Lawyer Ed.  “We’ll get to land somehow, if I have to swim to shore with you all on my back.  Hi!” he gave a shout that made the beech woods on the Island ring.

“Hi!  Archie, mon!  You and Harry paddle over and bring that scow!  We’ll load her and go ashore like Robinson Crusoes!”

A big scow or float, used as a rest for row boats and canoes lay near the end of the dock moored to the shore.  A couple of agile young men leaped upon the upturned wharf, and making their way on all fours along it, they reached the scow in time to assist the doctor and Harry Lauder to bring it to the side of the boat.  Meanwhile Lawyer Ed stood up on the deck and roared out superfluous orders in a broad Scottish dialect that was rather overdone.

The rescuing vessel was received with cheers and the gang-plank was put in place.

“Women and children first!” cried Ed heroically, but Madame, in the centre of her flock called out an indignant refusal.

“No, indeed, the children are not going first.  You, Johnnie Pickett and Jimmie Hurd, you come right back off that thing, do you hear me?  You go along yourself some of you Scotchmen, and see if it will hold, and then I’ll bring my babies.  You’re in your bathing suits anyway,” she added cruelly, for Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby was not a Scotchwoman, and did not know how to appreciate the kilts.

So the Piper marched out upon the scow, playing magnificently; some dozen young men followed him and with poles pushed themselves ashore.  Then, amid cheers a couple of volunteers came back for another load from the wrecked vessel.  When several trips had been made successfully and Madame and the children had been safely landed, Alfred Wilbur came forward and offered to pole a crowd over.  Of course the crowd consisted of young ladies with the Baldwin girls and their pretty guest as the centre piece.

Alfred placed himself upon the scow, pole in hand and with many gallant remarks from Lawyer Ed the young ladies were handed on board.  One by one they tripped out over the gang-plank, laughing gaily, their muslins and ribbons, their sashes and bracelets, their pink cheeks and bright eyes transforming the old scow into a floating garden.  No wonder Alfred became excited over captaining such a fair cargo.  In his nervous zeal he encouraged more than his sailing capacity would admit, and when the scow was almost crowded he saw to his dismay that the Baldwin girls and their guest had not yet come on board.  He had pictured himself, pole in hand, shoving off before all the picnickers with Miss Allan clinging to his arm, and he began to grow anxious lest she be carried off in one of the row boats now come to the rescue.

“Move over further, won’t you, girls, please,” he called to his laughing, chattering crew.  “I mean move a little aft won’t you, please.  I beg your pardon for troubling you, Belle!  Alice!  If you and Flossie-Come, Anna.  Come, Louise!  Anna, bring Miss Allan; there’s acres of room yet.”

Thus encouraged, another group tripped over the gang-plank and at the same moment, those already on board, anxious to oblige Alf, who was always obliging them, crowded over to the farther side.  But so much weight suddenly placed on one end of the scow brought dire disaster.  Without a moment’s warning, down went the heavy end three feet into the water, half submerging its shrieking passengers, and up came the light end with the unfortunate pilot perched upon it like Hiawatha’s Adjidaumo, on the end of his Cheemaun!

Fortunately the water was not deep, and in a moment a dozen young men had plunged in and righted the capsized craft.  But there were shrieks from all sides and threats of fainting, and dreadful anathemas heaped upon the innocent cause of the disaster, as the bedraggled young ladies, lately so trim, crawled back to the Inverness.

The catastrophe could not possibly have happened to any one whom it would distress more than Alf.  He stood in speechless dismay watching the dripping procession pass.  And when the pretty guest of the Baldwin girls splashed past him with a look which would have been withering had she not been so drenched, his despair was complete.  He looked for a few moments as if he were about to throw himself into the lake, then he flung down his pole, and crept away aft to hide his diminished head behind a pile of life-preservers.  Roderick captured a row-boat, and placed his father and Old Peter and a couple of their friends in it, and with the huge basket Aunt Kirsty had packed for them he rowed to shore.

When they landed, the old men seated themselves on a grassy mound under a big elm, and the basket was snatched from Roderick’s hand and whirled away to the commissariat department in a big pavilion near at hand.

In a short time the long white tables were set beneath the trees with a musical tinkling of cups; there was a table for the Sons themselves and their friends, a table for the commoner folk and, farther up the shore, here and there, little groups of friends gathered by themselves.  There was Madame seated on the ground away off at the edge of the beech grove, like the queen of the fairies holding court.  The fairies were all there, too, seated in a wide circle, too busy to talk, as the sandwiches and cake and pie disappeared.  Roderick had not once lost sight of Helen.  She was there too, with Mrs. Perkins and Gladys.  But he had to turn his back on the pretty group and join his father at the table spread for the Sons of Scotland.  Dr. Leslie stood up at the head of it, his white hair ruffled by the lake breeze, and asked a blessing on the feast.  And when the Scotchmen had put on their bonnets again and were seated the Piper tuned up once more and swept around the tables playing a fine strathspey.  Lawyer Ed had a seat near the head of the table but he was too happy to sit still and kept it only at intervals.  He ran up and down the tables, darted away to this group and that, taking a bite here and a drink there, until Dr. Blair declared that Ed had eaten seven different and separate meals by the time the tables were cleared away.

He stopped at a little group seated around a white table cloth laid upon the grass, to inquire if they would like some more hot water.

“No,” said Mrs. Captain Willoughby, whose party it was.  “We’ve plenty.  We’ve been in hot water, in fact, ever since we started.  Annabel and I are having a dispute we want settled.  Come here, Edward, I’m sure you can decide.”

“It’s perfect nonsense,” broke in Miss Annabel.  “Leslie is no more likely to marry him than you are, Margaret!”

“Marry whom?” asked Lawyer Ed eagerly, “Me?”

Miss Annabel screamed and said he was perfectly dreadful, but Mrs. Willoughby broke in.

“No, not you, you conceited thing, but your partner.  I thought Leslie claimed him as her property.  She practically told the Baldwin girls she intended to marry Roderick McRae.  And now she’s left him and gone off to be a nurse.”

Miss Annabel’s fair face flushed hotly.  “How utterly preposterous.  Why, if you lived at Rosemount you’d know whom Mr. McRae would be likely to marry.  As for Leslie, she never cared any more for him than you did.  You know how she loves fun.  She was just enjoying herself.  I admit that she might have found a better way of putting in the time, but it was only a girl’s nonsense.  I was just dreadful that way myself when I was Leslie’s age, a few years ago.”

“Indeed you were, Annabel,” cried Lawyer Ed, scenting danger and wisely steering to a safer subject, “You were a dreadful flirt.  Many a heart you broke and I am afraid you haven’t reformed either.”

This put the lady into a good humour at once.  She laughed gaily, confessing that she was really awfully giddy she knew, but she could not help it.  And Mrs. Captain Willoughby, who never encouraged Miss Annabel in her youthfulness, said very dryly that she supposed they had all been silly when they were girls but she believed there was a time for everything.

Lawyer Ed saw conversational rocks ahead once more and piloted around them.  “What is this I hear about Leslie?” he asked.  “Is she going to be a nurse?”

“Oh, dear,” groaned Miss Annabel.  “That girl will break her mother’s heart, and all our hearts.  Just think of Leslie who never did a thing harder than put up her own hair going to be a nurse.  It is perfectly absurd, but she has gone and Elizabeth will just have to let her go on until experience teaches her better.”

“I think it’s the most sensible thing she ever did,” declared Mrs. Willoughby, “and you shouldn’t discourage her.  She’ll make a fine wife for that boy of yours, Edward.”

Lawyer Ed shook his head.  He had had his own shrewd suspicions regarding Roderick for some time and Miss Annabel’s hint had set him thinking.

“I’ve been such a conspicuous failure in any attempt to get a wife of my own,” he said in the deepest melancholy, “that I wouldn’t presume to prescribe for any other man.”  And he hastened back to his own table.

It was a great day.  The Scotchmen ran races, and tossed the caber and walked the greasy pole across from the capsized dock to the Inverness.  The Piper played, and the band played, and everybody ate all the ice cream and popcorn and drank all the lemonade possible.

At exactly seven o’clock the Inverness gave a terrible roar.  This was to warn every one that going home time had arrived.  Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby began collecting the fairies for the difficult task of getting them on the scow and thence to the Inverness.  All day Lawyer Ed had been keeping an eye on Roderick and had no difficulty in confirming his suspicion that the Lad was unhappy, and he immediately conceived of a plan to help him.  He called a half-dozen young men together and just as Madame was ready to walk across the Island to the scow, Lawyer Ed came rowing round the bend with a fleet of boats to carry them all down to the Inverness.  Then such a joyful scrambling and climbing as there was, while Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby got her water-babies afloat.  Lawyer Ed had seen to it that Roderick was in charge of the one canoe, and as a row-boat in the eyes of Algonquin youths, was a thing to be despised, all the older water-babies screamed with joy at the sight of him, and as soon as he had run it up on the sand they swarmed into it filling it to overflowing.

This was likely to ruin all Lawyer Ed’s fine plan and he charged down upon them with a terrible roar and chased them all to the shelter of Madame’s skirts.

“Get away back there, you young rascals!” he shouted.  “You ought to know better than to try a load like that, Rod, you simpleton.  Two passengers at the most are all you want with that arm of yours!” He glanced about him.  Helen Murray was standing near with the Perkins baby in her arms, while the little mother, free from all care for the first time in many hard years, was wandering happily about with her hands full of wild roses.

“Here, Miss Murray,” he cried, “you jump in.  You are just the right weight for this maimed pilot.  ’Ere, William ’Enry, you come to me!” But William Henry, now a sturdy little fellow of a-year-and-a-half, tightened his arms around his friend’s neck and yelled his disapproval right valiantly.

“Well, now, will yer look at that!” cried the little mother proudly.  “Wot’ll Daddy say w’en I tell ’im?  The little rascal’s so took with the young loidy.  ’Ush up there now, bless ’is ’eart.  See, ’e’ll go with mammy.”  She dropped her roses into Gladys’s hands, and held out her arms, and the fickle young gentleman, let go his grip on his friend, and leaped upon his mother, crowing and squealing with delight.  Helen waved him farewell as she stepped into the canoe, and the baby waved her a fat square paw in return.  Gladys and Eddie were about to follow her, when the Lawyer Ed again interposed.

“No, you mustn’t take a load, Rod, this is your first paddle, so get away with you.  Now you kids, hop into this boat and you’ll be there just as soon as Miss Murray!” he roared.  Roderick pushed off afraid to look at his chief lest the overwhelming gratitude he felt might be seen in his face.

Lawyer Ed turned and watched them for a moment.  They made a fine picture as they glided up the curving shore under the drooping birches and alders.  Roderick kneeling in the stern, straight and strong, with no sign now of the illness he had been through, and the girl in the bow, her blue gown and her uncovered golden head making a bit of colouring perfectly harmonious with the sparkling waves and the sunlit sands.

But Lawyer Ed’s gaze was fixed on Roderick.  The joy in the Lad’s eyes, answered in his own.  Lawyer Ed’s joys were all of the vicarious sort.  He was always happy because he made other people so, but to be able to make Rod happy; that was his crowning joy.

Roderick was more afraid than happy.  It seemed too good to be true, that she was here with him alone.  At first he could do nothing but look at her in silence.  She was so much more beautiful than he had thought, with that new radiance in her eyes.  And then his own brief happiness waned, as he wondered miserably if it had been brought there by Dick Wells.

She was the first to speak.  “Are you getting quite strong again?” she asked kindly.

“Oh yes, I am quite myself.  I feel ready for any kind of work now.”

“Then I suppose you will be going back to Montreal?”

“No.”  Roderick had made that decision long ago.  “No, I could not go with the firm that engaged me-now.”  He was thinking how impossible those mining deals would be in the eyes of one who had been granted a glimpse into the unseen.  Henceforth he knew there was no such work for him.  “For mine eyes hath seen the King,” he often repeated to himself.

She misunderstood him.  “Oh,” she said, “I thought-I was told that Mr. Graham’s lawyers wanted you, that the position had been kept for you.”

“Yes, they were very kind, but I could not.  Something happened that made it impossible for me to take up their work again.  So for the present I am a fixture in Algonquin, until Lawyer Ed grows tired of me.”

She laughed at that, for Lawyer Ed’s love for Roderick was a proverb in Algonquin.  He had never heard her laugh before.  The sound was very musical.

“You will stay a long time then,” she said.  “Algonquin is a good place to live in.”

“You like it?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes, ever so much.  I shall be sorry to leave at the mid-summer vacation.”

Roderick’s heart stood still.  “I-I didn’t know,” he faltered.  “I thought you were staying for the whole year.”

She looked up at him, and then her eyes fell.  The mingled adoration and hunger and dismay written plainly in the Lad’s frank eyes were impossible to misunderstand.  She had seen that look there before many times in the past winter.  She had been afraid of it then, and she had run away from his good-bye that snowy day when he had left Algonquin.  For then she had not wanted to see that look in the eyes of any man.  She had seen it once before and had yielded to its spell, and the love-light had died out and left her life desolate.  But since she had last talked with Roderick McRae, she had seen those eyes again, lit with the old love, and to her amazement she had found no answer in her heart.  She had far outgrown Dick Wells in her self-forgetful life she had taken up in Algonquin.  She had taken up the burdens of others just to ease her own pain, promising herself that when this or that task was finished she could turn to her own grief and nurse it.  But the self-indulgence had been so long postponed that when the opportunity came and she had gone back to her old sorrow, behold it was gone.  And in its place sat the memory of Roderick McRae’s unspoken devotion, his chivalrous silent waiting for his opportunity.

So when poor Roderick all unschooled in hiding his feelings let her see in one swift glance all that her going meant to him she was speechless before the joy of it.  She stooped and trailed her fingers in the green water, to hide her happy confusion.  Then remembering she was leaving him under a misunderstanding she glanced up at him swiftly.

“I don’t,” she said breathlessly, “I didn’t mean I was going away to stay.  I meant only for the summer holidays.”

The transformation of his countenance was a further revelation, had she needed any.

“Oh,” he said, and then paused.  “Oh, I’m so glad!” Very simple words but they contained volumes.  He was silent for a moment unable to say any more, and she filled in the awkward pause nervously, scarcely knowing what she said.

“You were sorry too, were you not, when you went away?”

“It was the hardest task I ever met in my life,” said Roderick.  “And you didn’t let me say good-bye to you.”  He was growing quite reckless now to speak thus to a young lady who might be going to announce her engagement.

She had not gained anything by her headlong plunge into conversation so she tried again.

“Not even your operation?” she asked.  “That was worse, wasn’t it?”

“My operation wasn’t hard,” said Roderick dreamily, his mind going back to the sacred wonder of that hour.  “No, I had-help.”  He said it hesitatingly.  It was hard to mention that event, even to her.  He had spoken of it to no living person but his father.

“Indeed, I heard about how brave you were,” she said.  “I was told that there was never any one with such self-control.”

Roderick looked at her in alarm.  “Who told you?” he asked abruptly.  She looked straight across at him and her eyes were very steady, though her colour rose.  “Doctor Wells told me.  He assisted, didn’t he?”

Roderick’s eyes fell.  He tried to answer but he sat before her dumb and dismayed.  She saw his confusion, and rightly guessed the cause.  Her nature was too simple and direct to pretend, she wanted to tell him the truth and she did not know how.

“Doctor Wells was here last winter,” she faltered, as a beginning, then could get no further.  Roderick made a desperate effort to regain control of himself, and spoke with an attempt at nonchalance.

“Yes, he told me he was coming.  He promised to come and see me too, but he didn’t.”

“No,” she caught a twig of cedar from a branch that brushed her fragrantly as she passed.  Her fingers trembled as she held it to her lips.  “He-he told you he was coming?” she asked.

“Yes,” said poor Roderick briefly.

“Then-then, perhaps he told you why?” She was examining the cedar sprig carefully, and Roderick was thankful.  He would not have cared for her to see his face just then.  She was going to tell him of her renewed engagement he knew.

“Yes, he told me,” he said.  She was silent for a little, looking away over the ripples of Lake Simcoe to the green arms of the channel that showed the way to Algonquin.

“Would it-would you think it right to tell me what he said?”

“He said,” repeated Roderick, wishing miserably that Wells’ words did him less credit, “he said that even if a fellow played the fool once in his life that was no reason why he should take it up as a life’s profession.”  He paused and then came out in the boldness of desperation with the rest.  “And he said that he was pretty sure he would get a welcome when he came.”  She flushed at that, and there came a proud sparkle into her eyes.

She sat erect and looked Roderick straight in the eyes.  “And now, since you have told me,-and I thank you for it,-I must give you his message.  He left one for you.”

“Yes?” Roderick braced himself as for a blow.

“Yes, he left a message for you.  I did not intend to deliver it but since he confided in you I feel I am doing no harm.  He said to tell you the reason he couldn’t wait to see you was that he had played the fool once more, and that was when he thought a woman couldn’t forget.”

She dropped her eyes when she had finished.  Her fine courage was gone.  She dipped one trembling hand into the water again and laid it against her hot cheek.

Roderick sat and looked at her for a moment uncomprehending.  It took some time to grasp all that her confession meant.  When finally its meaning dawned upon him, he drew in a great breath.

“Oh!” he said in a wondering whisper.  “I never was so happy in my life!” It was not a very eloquent speech, it did not seem at all relevant, but she seemed to understand.  She glanced up for an instant with a shy smile, and then Lawyer Ed with Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby and such a load of water-babies, that they looked as if they might sink into their native caves, came shouting round the point, and bore down upon them.

The sun was sinking into the island maze of Lake Algonquin and the moon was coming up out of Lake Simcoe when the Inverness sailed homeward through the Gates.  The little breeze that had danced all day out on the larger lake had gone to sleep here in the shelter of the islands, and Algonquin lay as still as a golden mirror.  A faint shimmer of colour was spread over it like a shining veil.  It was scarcely discernible where the crystal water lay motionless, but as the Inverness sailed across the delicate web it broke into waves of amber and lilac and rose.  The little islands did not seem to touch the water but floated in the air like dream-islands, deep purple and bronze in the shadows.  From their depths arose vesper songs.  Bob White’s silver whistle, clear and sweet, the White throat’s long call of “Canada, Canada, Canada,” as though the little patriot could never tell all his love and joy in his beautiful home, the loon’s eery laugh far away down the golden channel, and the whippoorwill and the cat-bird and the veery in the tree-tops.  It was a wonderful night.

As the sunset colours grew fainter, and the moon’s silver brightened, the passengers became quieter.  The Piper went below and listened to the Ancient Mariner spin a yarn, and let the birds along the shore furnish music.  The babies fell asleep in the arms of Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby, lovers drifted away in pairs to retired nooks.  In a quiet corner J. P. Thornton and Lawyer Ed sat and laid once more their final plans for a trip to the Holy Land, certain this time of their realisation.  The older people sat by the wheel house and talked of their younger days.  Roderick left his father the centre of the group, and went in search of Helen.  He found her sitting in a sheltered nook with Gladys.  The Perkins baby had fallen asleep in her arms, and as Roderick approached the younger girl lifted the baby to carry him to his mother.  He slipped into her seat by Helen’s side.  She smiled at him.  It seemed quite natural and right that he should take that place without asking permission.

They leaned over the railing, the brightness of the sunset reflected in their faces and talked of many things, of the first time he had seen her here on the Inverness, of his hopes and ambitions for a career of greatness, as he had counted greatness, of his chasing the shifting rainbow gold, until a Voice had said “Thus far shalt thou go.”  He even hinted at the Vision that had come to him when he went down into the Valley named of the Shadow, and of how he knew now the value of that real gold at the end of life’s rainbow.  And she told him how she too had found her rainbow gold.  Its gleam had led her through storms and lonely journeyings, but she had followed, and she had found it at last, found it in the new light of hope that had awakened in many dull eyes in Willow Lane.

They were silent then, there was no more to be said.  For the story of each had been the story of the journey that ended in their meeting.  Henceforth, for them, there would be one gleam, and they would follow it together.

They had been slipping past the shadow of Wanda Island and now came out once more into the gold of the sunlight.  Algonquin lay before them buried in purpling woods.  Away above the little town, beyond the circling forest, and beyond the hills shone the last gleam of the day.  The Inverness was going straight up the track of the Sun.