When the Inverness bumped against the at Algonquin, the strange girl, with her bag in her hand, waiting to step , was surprised to see the late enemy of the boat drive down upon the dock. She was still more surprised to see that his face was beaming with good nature, as he hailed the captain. But then, she did not, as yet, know Lawyer Edward Brians.  
"Hech, Jamie, lad!" he shouted. "! Awa wi ye, mon! Are ye no gaun tae get the fowk ashore the nicht?"
 
And then there was a long outpouring of strange indistinguishable sounds, which caused the Ancient to stop smoking and expectorate into Lake Algonquin with a disgusted "Huh!" For Lawyer Ed's Gaelic, though fluent, was a thing to make ears .
 
At the first appearance of the buggy, the captain had turned away in silence, and went on with his task of seeing that his passengers were safely landed, without so much as a glance at his talkative friend.
 
But his reception seemed only to Lawyer Ed's sense of amusement. He leaned back in his seat, shut up his eyes, and laughed loudly. "Well, for downright pigheadedness and , commend me to a Scotchman every time," he cried delightedly.
 
He threw the lines over the dashboard, and sprang out of the buggy, straight, alert and vigorous.
 
"It's no use, your trying that air of dignity on me, Jimmie McTavish!" he cried, striding over the gang-plank. "You nearly made me lose a train and a client into the bargain. And if I had lost him, that bit of business of yours wouldn't have been worth a of smoke, my braw John Hielanman!" He slapped the captain on the back, and a change came over the latter's face. There was no man in Algonquin who could remain angry at Lawyer Ed and be hammered by him on the back. He was voted the most person in the world, by people of all ages, and many a time an indignant individual would announce publicly that was about to be launched upon his wicked head. But when all Algonquin waited for the blow to fall, presently Lawyer Ed and the injured party would appear in the most companionship, and once more his execution was . It was as usual this time, the captain's broke, shattered by that friendly blow upon the back. He still kept up a show of taciturnity, by a concerning the undignified procedure of Irishmen in general, but the Irishman laughed so loud that Captain Jimmie was deceived into thinking he had said something very indeed, and laughed too, in spite of himself.
 
"I'm hunting a young lady," cried Lawyer Ed; "the new teacher. Miss Armstrong hailed me in passing and said I was to drive her up."
 
"Oh, yes, Mr. Brians," cried Alfred Wilbur, up, "she's over there. I was going to show her the way up myself. It's too bad to trouble you, when you're so busy."
 
Lawyer Ed eyed him sternly.
 
"What! Do you think I'd allow you, in all your magnificence, to burst upon the vision of an innocent young girl, first go off, and have her fall in love with you, and get her heart broken? Not much, young man! We'll bring you on the stage gradually. A few ugly old married men like Jimmie here, or a old bachelor like myself, will do as preliminaries, and in about six months or so,—ah, well, well,—How do you do, my dear young lady? I'm chairman of the school board and I just drove down to tell you that you are very welcome to Algonquin."
 
He had pushed Afternoon Tea Willie quite out of sight and followed the captain to where the new teacher stood alone. He took her hand and shook it vigorously, his kind blue eyes beaming a welcome.
 
"I'm sure we are glad you've come!" he declared again, still more , for he saw the homesickness in the big eyes. "You'll be as happy here as a bob-o-link in a field of clover. I needn't ask you if Captain McTavish took good care of you on the way up. He couldn't help it, with that Hieland heart of his, eh, Jimmie, lad? Whenever we want to make a good impression upon a stranger, Miss Murray, we always see that he comes to Algonquin by boat, for by the time the Inverness carries him for an afternoon, he's so prejudiced in our favour, he never gets over it. Eh, my braw John Hielanman?"
 
He slapped the captain on the back again, and his forgiveness was complete.
 
"Now, Miss Murray, I shall show you up to your new home. Give me your bag. Never mind, Alfred Tennyson. You round there and tell young Peter to see about that trunk. I'll send a for it. Good-bye, Jimmie. I'll see you at the meeting to-morrow night."
 
He helped Helen into his buggy and tucked the lap-rug around her, while Mr. Alfred Wilbur held his horse's head, though Lawyer Ed's horse, everyone knew, would stand for a week untethered. He jumped in and started off with a dash that nearly poor Afternoon Tea Willie into the lake, and away they up the street to the utter of the yellow dog and the yellow-and-white dog that were fighting in the middle of Main Street.
 
It was just the waiting time before the six-o'-clock bells and whistles would break into a clamour and send every one out on the street; so the place was very quiet. The pretty streets rose up from the lake, all cool and shady under their green . It was like a little town dropped down into the woods, and in spite of her homesickness and the quiet loneliness of it all, the new-comer felt a sensation of pleasure.
 
Lawyer Ed gave her no chance to be lonely. He chatted away cheerfully, pointing out this and that place of interest. As they turned off Main Street up a wide avenue of swaying elms, he touched his horse into greater speed, and leaning far over to one side, called her attention to something across the street.
 
"Look there, now!" he cried impressively. "Isn't that a fine building? Just take a good look at this, Miss Murray. I don't think that in all Algonquin there is a place like it."
 
"I—I don't think I saw," said Helen, looking about her puzzled, for they had passed nothing but a row of very modest homes. She looked at him enquiringly, to find him leaning back, his eyes shut, and shaking with laughter.
 
"Never mind. Don't hurt your eyes, child. There's nothing there. But we've just passed my office, on the opposite side, and I saw from the corner of my eye about a half-dozen people waiting for me, all in a bad humour. It's just as well that I shouldn't get a better view of them. Tut, tut, don't apologise. I don't want to hurry back. Patience is a every man should practise, and I believe in giving my clients a at it whenever I can. There's the Manse. I've heard Dr. Leslie speak of your father. We knew him by report if not personally. You'll find Doctor Leslie a fine . He'll make you feel at home."
 
He glanced back towards his office and laughed again. "I'm trying to—well not exactly retire—but to ease off a bit on my business. And I'm going to have a partner, the son of an old friend. Why, he came part of the way on the boat with you."
 
"Oh, yes, the young man who took the terrible leap," she said. She did not want to confess she had met him before.
 
"That's nothing for Rod!" laughed Lawyer Ed. "He'd jump twice that distance. Ah, he's a great lad, is Roderick. He's going to make another such man as his father, and that's about the highest praise I can give him. Old Angus McRae—well you must meet him to know what he's like. I believe I think more of Angus McRae—outside my own family—than of any living person, of course always excepting Madame. Bless me! You haven't met her yet, of course?"
 
"Why, no, I don't think so. Who is she?"
 
"Madame, my dear Miss Murray, is the handsomest and cleverest and most young lady in all Canada or the United States. And she's your Principal, so you may think yourself fortunate. You two girls will have a grand time together."
 
Helen felt not a little relieved. A Principal who was a girl of about her own age, and who was evidently of so many charms, would surely not be a formidable person to face on the to-morrow.
 
They had been climbing the hills, under great low-branched and elms, and past gardens. And now they pulled up in front of a big square brick house set in a square lawn.
 
"Now, here's your boarding-house, my dear," said her guide, springing down and her to alight. "This is Grandma Armstrong's place. Remember that she's grandmother to nearly all Algonquin, and don't laugh at her when there's any one round. You'll have to when you're alone, just as a safety-valve. You'll like the daughters. The elder one is a bit stiff, but they're fine ladies." He had rung the bell by this time, and now it was opened by a tall handsome lady, slightly over middle age. The Misses Armstrong, because of an old acquaintance with her father, had stepped aside from the strict rules they had hitherto followed, and had taken the new school teacher as a boarder. Helen had often heard her father speak of them and knew, the moment the door opened, that this was Miss Armstrong, the , who had been a in her father's day. She belonged so obviously to the house, that Helen had a complete sense of fitness at the sight of her. Like it she was tall, and fine looking, in a stately, stiff fashion.
 
Lawyer Ed presented his charge in his most affable manner, and Miss Armstrong smiled upon him graciously and upon her with some reserve. A boarder, after all, had to be kept at a distance, even though she were the daughter of an old friend.
 
"And how is Grandma, to-day?" Lawyer Ed. "And Annabel? Isn't she home?"
 
"Mother has gone to bed this afternoon, Edward, but she is very well, I thank you. She will be disappointed when she hears you were here. Annabel has gone to the meeting of the Club. She will be back presently. I remained at home to welcome Miss Murray."
 
"Good-bye just now, then, my child," he said , taking Helen's hand. He saw the homesick returning to her big eyes, and he squeezed the hand until it hurt. "You'll have a great time in Algonquin, never fear. The air here will bring the roses back to your cheeks. Won't it, Elinor?"
 
Miss Armstrong agreed and bade him a gracious good-afternoon, moving out on the steps to see him to the gate. She then led the way up the long steep stair. The ceilings of Rosemount were very high, and every step echoed . They went along another hall upstairs flanked by two terrible pictures, one a scene of carnage on land—Wellington meeting Blücher on the field of Waterloo, the other an equally dreadful scene on water—Nelson's death on the Victory. Her bedroom was a big airy place, stiff and formal and in perfect order. The ceiling again impressed her with its vast distance from the floor. In the centre of this one, like the others, was a circular device of plaster; flowers and fruit and birds, and great bunches of hard white grapes that looked ready to fall heavily upon one's head. One end of the room was almost filled with a black marble mantel and over it hung a picture of Queen Victoria with her family, in the early days of her married life. There was a big low bed of heavy , four high windows with stiff lace curtains, a circular marble-topped table and a tiny writing desk. Miss Armstrong assisted her to remove her hat, expressing the hope that she had had a pleasant trip from Barbay. Helen did not say that her heart had been aching all the way. She merely assured her that the trip had been very comfortable indeed, and that Captain McTavish had done everything to make it enjoyable.
 
"Jimmie McTavish is a kind creature," said Miss Armstrong. "Very ignorant, and too familiar ; but he is well-meaning, for all that. Now, I hope you will feel at home with us here, Miss Murray. Your father's daughter could not but be welcome at Rosemount. Indeed, I am afraid, had you not been a clergyman's daughter, I should never have consented to taking you. Having any one to board was so foreign to our minds. But Mr. Brians begged us to take you. You see he is chairman of the school board, and always sees to it that the young persons who teach have suitable homes."
 
"I am so sorry if my coming has inconvenienced you," Helen, for Miss Armstrong's manner was very impressive.
 
"Oh, not at all, I assure you. When we heard who you were, we consented with pleasure. We have so much more room in this big house than we need. There is a very large family of us, Miss Murray, as you will discover, but now there are only my mother and my sister and I left at Rosemount." Her face grew sad. "But indeed I sometimes have thought recently," she added, growing stately again, "that my dear father would turn in his grave if he knew we were filling Rosemount with boarders."
 
She paused a moment, and the strange girl was wondering if she should take her bag and move out to some other place, rather than risk disturbing her father's old friend in his last long sleep, when Miss Armstrong went on. "I hope you won't mind, Miss Murray, you are to be as one of the family, you know, and if you would be so good—" she hesitated and a slight flush rose in her face.
 
"Yes?" asked Helen wonderingly.
 
"If you would be so good as to not use the word board. I don't know why it should be so offensive to me," she added with a little laugh. "My ears are very sensitive, I suppose. But if you wouldn't mind saying, in the course of your conversation, that you are staying with the Rosemount Armstrongs, it would please me so much."
 
"Certainly, I shall remember," said Helen, much relieved.
 
"Thank you so much. And now if you would like to rest for a little after your journey you may. Supper will be served in the course of half-an-hour."
 
Helen felt a lump growing in her throat that made the thought of food choke her. But she dared not refuse. To remain alone in that big echoing room, was only to invite thoughts of home and other far off and lost joys.
 
When Miss Armstrong had left her, and her trunk had come bumping up the back stairs and been deposited in the vast closet, she sat down on the black haircloth chair and looked hopelessly around the big room. There rose before her a vision of her own room at the old home, the room that she and her sister Betty had shared. It had rose-bordered curtains and rose-festooned wall-paper and pink and white cushions. And it had a dear mother-face peeping in at the door to her gently if she sat too late writing those long letters to Dick.
 
The memory of it all came over her with such a rush that she felt she must throw herself upon that broad white bed and herself sick. But she sat still, holding her hands tightly , and choking back the tears. She had work to do and she must be ready for that work. To give way in private meant in public to-morrow. School-teaching was a new, untried field of labour for her, and if she went to bed and cried herself to sleep, as she wanted to do, she would have a headache for to-morrow and she would fail. And she must not fail, she told herself ; she dared not fail, for Mother was depending upon her success. And yet she had no idea how that success was to be gained. She knew only too well that she was not fitted for her task. She had never wanted to teach school, and had never dreamed she would need to. Her place had always been at home, and a big place she had filled as Mother's help and the minister's right hand. But her father had insisted upon her taking her teacher's certificate. "It's easy to carry about, Nellie," he was to say, "and may come useful some day."
 
So Helen had gone, with good-natured indulgence of Father's , and studied at a training school, with one eye on her books and the other watching for Dick to come up the street. And when she brought home her despised diploma, there was a diamond ring on the hand that placed it on her father's desk. That had been a year ago. And almost immediately after, her father had been taken from them. The old home went next. The boys and girls to earn their own living. Mother had gone with Betty, who had married, and who lived away in the West. And then the last and best treasure had been taken, the diamond with its marvellous lights and colours, and with it had gone out all the light and colour of life.
 
She was just twenty-three, and she had been given the task of working out a new strange life unaided, with nothing ahead of her but work and loneliness.
 
At first she had given way to a despair, then necessity and the needs of the family aroused her. There was something for her to do, something that had to be done, and back of all the of her life, dimmed by clouds of sorrow, there stood her father's God. In spite of all the despair and dismay she felt He must be somewhere, behind it all. She did not know as yet, that that assurance spelled hope. But she knew that there was work for her and there was Mother waiting until she should make her a home.
 
She sprang up, as her threatened to overwhelm her again, and began swiftly to change her dress and arrange her hair. She pulled back the stiff curtains of one of the tall windows and leaned out. A soft blue , the first glimpse of September's tender eyes, was settling on the distant hills. The sun was setting, and away up the street towards the west flamed a gold and sky, and away down in the east flamed its gold and crimson reflection on the mirror of Lake Algonquin. From the garden below, the of the opening blossoms came up to her.
 
She was sitting there, trying to admire the beauty of it all, but her heart protesting against the feeling of utter loneliness it bred, when there came a sharp tap on the door. It opened the next moment and a young lady tripped in.
 
"Good evening, Miss Murray. I just bounced in to say welcome to Rosemount. I'm so glad you've come. I've just been dying to have a girl in the house of my own age."
 
She caught Helen's two hands in hers with genuine .
 
She was a plump fair lady with yellow hair and big blue eyes. She was dressed in a pink flowered muslin trimmed with girlish frills and wore a big hat wreathed with nodding roses. Helen was puzzled. This wasn't Miss Annabel, then; for her mother had said the Misses Armstrong were both over forty.
 
"I'm Annabel Armstrong," she said, settling the question. Helen gave her a second look and saw that Miss Annabel carried signs of in her face and form, she carried them very indeed. "And I can't tell you how glad I am you've come. You'll just adore Algonquin. It's the gayest place on earth, a dance or a tea or a bridge or some sort of kettle-drum every day. What a love of a dress! It's the very colour of your eyes, my dear. Come away now; you must meet Mother. She always takes supper in her own room now, and I must carry it to her. Our little maid is about as much use as a pussy-cat and if I'm not in the kitchen every ten minutes to tramp on her tail she'll go to sleep. Come along!"
 
She danced away down the hall, Helen following her, feeling extremely old and . Grandma Armstrong's bedroom was at the back of the house overlooking the and kitchen-garden. She was sitting up in bed, a very handsome little old lady in cap and ribbons. She gave the strange girl's hand a gentle pressure.
 
"Here she is, Muzzy," cried Miss Annabel in an apologetic tone. "It's too bad you didn't see her sooner, but she was so busy."
 
"Indeed I generally notice that I am left to the last, when any new person comes to the house," said Grandma Armstrong in a grieved tone. "Well, my dear, I am pleased to see the . Walter Murray's son in my house. You look like him—yes, very much, just the image of him in fact, only of course he was a man and wore a portmanteau when I knew him."
 
Grandma Armstrong's separate were all alert and as keen as they had ever been in youth. But some strange lack of connection between her tongue and her memory, seemed to have befallen the old lady, so that they did not always agree, and she was wont to her otherwise quite intelligent conversation with words having no remotest connection with the context.
 
"A moustache, you mean, Muzzy dear," said her daughter. "Mother forgets you know," she added, in a hasty, low apology to Helen.
 
"Why do you interrupt me, Annabel? I said a moustache. I hope you sleep well here, my dear. I had that room of yours for some time, but I had to move back here, I could never get to sleep after they put up the Israelite at the corner. It shone right over my bed. Let me see now. You are the second daughter, are you not? Your father was a fine man, my dear. Yes, indeed. We knew him well as a student. He preached one summer in—where was that, Annabel? Alaska?"
 
"Muskoka, Mother."
 
"Oh, yes, Muskoka, and the Rev. Walter Hislop, your father, was there as a student."
 
"Murray, you mean, Mother."
 
"Don't interrupt me, Annabel. Your uncle preached there two summers, my dear, and I thought my daughter Annabel and he—"
 
"It was Elizabeth, Mother, not me! Good gracious, how old do you think I am?" demanded Miss Annabel, quite alarmed.
 
"Oh, Elizabeth, of course. I really thought she and your brother, the Rev. Mr. McIntosh, should have become engaged before the summer was over. But we had other plans for our daughter, and we thought it wiser for her to go to the sea-shore the next summer."
 
"Now, Mother," said Miss Annabel tactfully. "Miss Murray doesn't want to hear all that ancient history. She has to get her supper. She's tired and hungry."
 
Helen slept soundly that night. Two big windows of her room looked out to the west where, beyond the town, ran a high wooded , and the low organ tones of the evening wind singing through the trees made her forget her grief and her to sleep.
 
She set off to her work early in the morning, nervous and . Her hostesses all wished her well. Miss Armstrong, in her quiet stately fashion hoped she would find her employment congenial, and Grandma expressed the desire that Miss Carstairs would enjoy her work at the , a remark which the worried young teacher felt was more appropriate than the old lady guessed. Miss Annabel followed her to the gate, with instructions regarding the road to school. She plucked a big crimson dahlia from its bed and stuck it in the belt of Helen's blue dress.
 
"Good luck, dearie, and cheer up!" she cried, seeing the look in the sad blue eyes. "School teaching's heaps of fun, I feel sure. Don't worry about it. We're going to have great times in the evenings. There's always something on. Bye bye, and good luck," and she tripped up the garden path waving her hand .
 
Helen had scarcely gone half a block under the elm , when she heard her name called out in a musical roar from far up the street behind her. She had not been in Algonquin twenty-four hours, but she knew that voice. She was just a bit scandalised as she turned to see a man waving his , as he hurried to overtake her. But she had not yet learned that no one minded being hailed half-a-mile away by Lawyer Ed.
 
He was accompanied by a lady, a tall woman of such ample proportions, that she had some ado to keep up with Lawyer Ed's brisk step. She wore a broad old-fashioned hat tied under her round chin, and a gay flowered muslin dress that floated about her with an easy swaying motion. She wore, too, a pair of soft low-heeled , that gave forth a accompaniment to the rhythm of her movements. She was surrounded by a perfect of children. They danced behind her and ahead of her, they clung to her hands and peeped from the flowing muslin draperies, while she moved among them, and smiling like a great flower surrounded by a cloud of buzzing little bees.
 
"Good morning, good morning!" shouted the chairman of the school board. "Abroad bright and early and ready for work! Well, well, well," he added admiringly, as he shook her hands violently, "if the Algonquin air hasn't commenced to do its work already! Now, my dear, up and don't be frightened. It is my duty as chairman of the school board to introduce you to your stern principal. Miss Murray, I have the honour of presenting you to Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby, known in private life as Mrs. Adam; but if you are as nice as you look, you may one day be admitted to the inner circle of her friends, and then you will be allowed to call her Madame."
 
As the lady took her hand and turned upon her a smile in proportion to her size, Helen suddenly realised why she had seemed so familiar even at the first glance. She was exactly like the wonderful fairy who cared for the water-babies at the bottom of the sea. And the resemblance was further heightened by the presence of the babies themselves who came about to settle all over her, and when shoved out of the way, only came swarming back.
 
"Bless me, what a mistake!" she cried. "It's you that's the Principal and I'm the assistant. I'm so thankful you're young, my dear. I can't stand old folks, and people are my . I told Edward Brians that if he put me down there all alone with a middle-aged woman,—a young gay thing like me,—I just wouldn't stand it."
 
"I don't think there are any old people in Algonquin, are there?" asked Helen.
 
They were moving on down the street now, and their going was something of a triumphal procession. At every turn some one joined them,—young or old, and from every side greetings were called after them, until the bewildered stranger felt as if she had become part of a circus parade. She was feeling almost light-hearted as the gay moved forward, when they passed their escort's office, and in the stood the young Mr. McRae who reminded her so sadly of the past.
 
"Hooray, Rod," roared his chief. "A graun beginnin', ma braw John Hielanman! Come down here off that and do your respects to the March of Education!"
 
Roderick obeyed very willingly. He had been a pupil of Madame's in his primary days, notwithstanding her extreme youth, and she welcomed him home and hoped he would be as good a boy as he had been when she had him. Then Lawyer Ed introduced him to the new teacher. She shook hands, but she did not say they had met before, and Roderick tactfully ignored the fact also, for which he fancied she gave him a glance of . They moved on but soon the March of Education was again interrupted. Across the street, Doctor Archie Blair, with his black in his hand and a volume of Burns beneath his arm, was preparing to climb into his buggy for a drive into the country. He stepped aside for a moment and crossed the street to tell Madame how glad he was to see her back from her holidays, for the town had been a howling without her.
 
"This is Miss Murray, the new teacher, I know," he added before Lawyer Ed could introduce him. "You will learn soon, Miss Murray, that if you want to find a stranger in Algonquin, especially a strange young lady, you have just to hunt up Lawyer Brians and there she is."
 
"And a very good place to be, Archie Blair," said Madame. "If every one looked after strangers as well as he does there wouldn't be many lonely people."
 
"Hear, hear, Madame," roared Lawyer Ed. "No one knows my as you do. Did ye hear yon, Aerchie mon?"
 
"The trouble is, Miss Murray," said the doctor, without paying the slightest attention to the other two, "the trouble is that this gentleman doesn't give any one else a chance to do a good deed. He does everything himself. No one in Algonquin minds neglecting his duty, for he knows that Mr. Brians would be there ahead of him and get it done anyway, so where's the use of bothering? I'm a member of the school board, and I might be betraying my trust if I encouraged you to neglect your work, but I feel I ought to tell you that if any day you would like to take a few hours off, why, do so, Mr. Brians will teach for you."
 
There was a great deal more and fun, and the March of Education was resumed with small recruits in clean pinafores out of homes here and there to join it. It ended at last at the gate of the little schoolhouse. The East was a small part of the town, consisting mostly of lake, so the population was not very large. There were but two grades, of which Mrs. Adam taught the younger.
 
The children over the yard, and into the building. Lawyer Ed ran about, pink "bull's-eyes" all over the floor and yard, calling, "Chukie, Chukie!" with the whole school at his heels like a flock of noisy chickens. And when he had the place in an , he shouted good-bye and rushed away in a fit of laughter.
 
Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby sank heavily into a chair, with a relieved smile, and said, as Helen hung up her hat, and looked about , "Now, my dear child, I remember my first day at school-teaching distinctly, and if yours is anything the same, you are scared to death. So if you want to know anything or need any help, you just come right along into my room, and we'll fix it up. And whatever you do, don't worry. We're going to have just a glorious time together, you and I."
 
And the new teacher went to her first day's work with a heart far less heavy than she would have believed possible. Far ahead had begun to show the first faint of the light that was leading her through sorrow and pain to a higher and better life. And all unconsciously she had begun to follow its gleam.