Dominion¹ Day was approaching, the day upon which Glenoro had held a picnic in Isaac Thompson's maple² grove³, about half a mile down the river, ever since there was a Dominion Day.  
The affair was ostensibly for the Presbyterian Sabbath School, but all Glenoro and the surrounding neighbourhood attended. The people from the Oa and the Flats and even from over on the Tenth flocked to Thompson's grove and swung in the trees and joined the swimming matches and helped on the festivity. Besides the sports and other attractions, there was always a programme of music and speeches after tea. Andrew Johnstone, as superintendent⁴ of the Sabbath School, was responsible for this part of the entertainment. The young men erected⁵ a platform of new pine boards from the mill and the young women decorated it with evergreen⁶ boughs⁷ and the visiting clergymen and township orators¹⁰ seated themselves upon it in dignified¹¹ array. Peter McNabb led the whole assembly in a psalm¹² or paraphrase¹³ and then Mr. Cameron and the Methodist minister and all others honoured with a seat upon the platform delivered addresses to the people seated in semi-circles on the ground. Some of the speeches were sound and edifying¹⁴, some were of a lighter¹⁵ tone and were sprinkled with judicious¹⁶ jokes culled¹⁷ from many sources for the occasion. Old Mr. Lawton, an itinerant¹⁸ Baptist preacher who, no matter what his peregrinations might be, always happened to be in Glenoro on Dominion Day, had told the same jokes annually¹⁹ within the memory of the oldest picnicker, but, as they came only once a year, they were quite fresh after their long rest and the audience laughed at them each season with unabated mirth.
 
When Mr. Watson participated in the Glenoro picnic for the first time, he was filled with a deep disapproval²⁰. He was an energetic, well-meaning young man, rather injudicious and fiercely patriotic²¹ after the spread-eagle manner of his cousins across the international boundary. The Glenoro picnic struck him as being nothing short of disloyal. There was not a flag to be seen anywhere in the woods, only one of the speakers mentioned the fact that it was Dominion Day, and then in a mere²² incidental way, and at the closing they actually sang "Praise God from Whom All Blessings²³ Flow" instead of "God Save the Queen!" The schoolmaster made up his mind that if he lived till the next first of July, he would show the people what a Dominion Day celebration ought to be. For this purpose he sought the co-operation of the minister. Old Andrew Johnstone was ruining the rising generation, he explained, and it was time somebody showed him that he and his old-fashioned ideas were antediluvian²⁴. John Egerton hesitated at first. He did not like the idea of running counter to his ruling elder, but he secretly agreed with Mr. Watson that that old man had too much to do with the affairs of the church. He felt also that this would be a fine opportunity to come in touch with the boys and girls; so, after some demurring²⁵, he finally yielded and consented to give a helping²⁶ hand in the patriotic demonstration²⁷.
 
Mr. Watson set to work with wonderful zest²⁸. As the picnic was for the Sabbath school, the children should properly be the entertainers, he declared, so the public school pupils were detained every day after school hours and the minister came down and helped drill them in patriotic songs and exercises. Of course, they needed a musical instrument, so they hired the Temperance Society's organ, and Jessie Hamilton was asked to play. The whole arrangement proved highly satisfactory to the young minister. He found himself looking forward to the practise hour with pleasure, for he would walk down to the Hamiltons', call for Jessie, and together they would stroll across the bridge and up the river road beneath the trees to the school house where they spent an hour in each other's company.
 
The undertaking²⁹ had its drawbacks as well as its pleasure, however. The chief one was young Neil Neil, a worse imp³⁰ than Sandy even, and an unfailing source of disorder³¹. He and his bosom³² companion in iniquity³³, a wild Irishman from the Flats by the name of Patrick Regan, conspired³⁴ to make the practise hour a burden to both their instructors³⁵. John Egerton was sometimes tempted³⁶ to wonder if Donald Neil was taking his revenge by inciting³⁷ his young relative to acts of rebellion. Then, too, some of the parents grumbled³⁸ because their children did not return home in time to do "the chores." This gave the schoolmaster very little trouble, however. He paid no attention to such base sentiments; patriotism³⁹ must be inculcated in the minds of young Canada, whether the calves⁴⁰ were fed or not.
 
But in spite of all discouragements the work progressed. There were flag drills and motion songs, patriotic songs and public spirited recitations and when the programme was finally completed Mr. Watson heaved a sigh of content. There was to be only one speech, for Mr. Egerton insisted that Mr. Ansdell be asked to say "a few words." They quite forgot, however, that the superintendent of the Sabbath school had always given the opening address and that Sim Basketful, though a Methodist, had never missed contributing to the programme. For the postmaster was undoubtedly⁴¹ the orator⁹ of Glenoro and had never before seen a picnic bill between the Oa and the Flats without his name on it in large type. Mr. Watson brushed away any doubts the minister had regarding the innovation. "Was he going to be ruled by Splinterin' Andra, or was he not?" he inquired, and John Egerton had responded that he most decidedly was not, so the preparations went on unabated.
 
To Donald Neil the new arrangement was anything but pleasing. He never seemed to be able to see Jessie any more. She was always trying over some new songs with the minister or reading a book he had given her, or in consultation⁴² with him over their preparations for the picnic. Donald's opinion of his pastor⁴³ was not improved by this. He was too jealous to be quite impartial⁴⁴ in his judgment⁴⁵ and, therefore, did not realise that his rival was more careless than culpable⁴⁶. Donald's conception of a minister heretofore had been the Glenoro ideal, heightened by Duncan Polite's teachings,—a holy man, set apart from ordinary humanity for the Lord's special work. John Egerton was a revelation to him. Was this the sort of man his uncle worshipped? he asked himself. Was this the sort of man he was to emulate⁴⁷? He concluded by deciding that if John Egerton was a good sample of the ministry⁴⁸, then Donald McDonald would have nothing to do with the profession.
 
Meanwhile, John Egerton went happily on his way, all unconscious that he was doing any harm. As the date of the picnic approached he found, to his intense amusement, that there was still another faction⁴⁹ in Glenoro church. This one was not at all formidable, however, for it was neither religious nor national, but merely culinary and geographical⁵⁰, namely, a strong rivalry⁵¹ in the production of pies and cakes between the matrons north of Glenoro and those beyond the southern hill. It broke out violently twice a year, at the first of July picnic and at the New Year's tea-meeting. When the date of these functions drew near, it was the custom for the North to muster⁵² their forces at the house of Andrew Johnstone, while the South flocked to their standard at Donald Fraser's and each made stupendous efforts to out-bake the other. But very rarely was there an advantage on either side. If one party got ahead of the other by so much as a cookie at one festivity, the defeated were sure to produce some unheard-of ammunition⁵³ at the next. One New Year's Eve the South came charging up with thirty different varieties of pie, causing rout⁵⁴ and dismay in the ranks of the enemy. But on the next Dominion Day the North responded gallantly⁵⁵ with an eleven-story iced cake looking like a triumphal monument to celebrate their victory, and the balance of power was restored.
 
This summer, with the inspiring presence of the new minister, efforts were redoubled and for several days before the picnic the houses of the Johnstones and the Frasers were turned into bake-shops, and pies and cookies and tarts⁵⁶ and story cakes were produced in such quantities and with such elaboration that the producers themselves were rather alarmed.
 
The great day arrived at last and Nature did her part nobly. It was one of those intensely clear, sunny days which only our Lady of the Sunshine can produce, a day when the thermometer announces that it is very hot, but when Nature denies the slander⁵⁷ and the blood dances to the time set by the bracing⁵⁸ air.
 
The blood was dancing in Mr. Watson's veins⁶⁰, at any rate. He was up early and had all his plans laid before noon. He collected his pupils at the school house early in the afternoon and gave them copious⁶¹ instructions. As soon as a sufficient crowd had collected at the picnic grounds, they were to walk in procession with him down to the grove, and just at their entry into the woods to burst into song and march in twos up to the platform, waving their banners and singing of the glory of Canada. After this they were to be given the freedom of the woods until such time as the performance should commence.
 
The idea had been Mr. Egerton's and had been planned by him with great care. He felt that the sight would be inspiring enough to please even Splinterin' Andra. For the ruling elder looked with dark disfavour upon any prominent performance by children and his young minister was rather anxious as to the effect the programme would have upon him.
 
John Egerton assisted his colleague at the school house and then repaired to the grove ahead of the procession, on purpose to be able to report afterwards upon its appearance. When he arrived, the picnic grounds presented a lively and pleasing appearance. Away back among the trees, in the flecking light and shade, the long, white tables were already being laid. White-aproned girls, among whom he recognised Jessie's trim figure, were flitting about them, setting cups and saucers with a musical clatter⁶³. Away in the background, a blue column of smoke rose straight into the treetops from the old stove where Mrs. Fraser and Miss Cotton were superintending the boiling of the tea and at a table near by, piled with baskets, the matrons of the North and South laughed and chatted over their rival productions. Over in an open space of sunlight the boys and young men of the village were engaged in athletic⁶⁴ sports, jumping, racing⁵⁹ and throwing the shoulder stone. As he looked, he saw the slim, lithe⁶⁵ figure of Donald Neil go up over a bar with easy grace, amid the applause of the surrounding spectators. Between the trees to the right flashed a line of blue and silver, where the shouting and splashing of the swimmers had already commenced. Everywhere to right and left there were swings—little swings and big swings. The latter were patronised by young ladies and their attendant swains and manned by two stalwart young men who sent their burden of sober dun-coloured masculinity and fluttering muslin and ribbon swaying far into the treetops, to the accompaniment of many personal and highly mirth-provoking remarks from the crowd waiting to be in the same position.
 
There was a mingling⁶⁶ of shouts, laughter, neighing of horses, scraping of turning buggies and clattering⁶⁷ of dishes, harmonised by that wonderful power which the forest possesses of turning all discordant⁶⁸ sounds within her bosom to perfect music.
 
The young minister moved about from group to group with a pleasant word for all. He swung with Maggie Hamilton and Annie Fraser and Julia Duffy; he entered keenly into the young men's athletic competitions; he carried water for Miss Cotton and waited on the young ladies at the tables; and finally he strolled over towards the platform where the fathers of Glenoro were gathered. They sat on mossy logs or stumps⁶⁹, with drooping⁷¹ shoulders, smoking their pipes in solemn content, discussing crops and creeds⁷², horses and heresies⁷³ and enjoying life to the full. Old Andrew Johnstone was there; but Duncan Polite was not with him. Duncan never went anywhere except to church. The ruling elder seemed in a rather mild frame of mind in spite of the fact that the reins⁷⁴ of government had been taken out of his hands. The young pastor could not know that Duncan Polite's influence had soothed⁷⁵ his wrath⁷⁶. He sat beside the old man and chatted away genially⁷⁷, while Splinterin' Andra watched him solemnly and with a certain wistfulness in his stern face.
 
But John Egerton did not rest long; he was beginning to wonder why Mr. Watson and his flock had not by this time startled them all into admiration⁷⁸ by their appearance. The time set for their arrival had long passed and still the burst of music and the gleam of banners which was to herald⁷⁹ their approach did not come. He arose and walked towards the road to see if they were in sight, when he saw the schoolmaster approaching alone and with a haste which betokened⁸⁰ disaster. His friend hurried to meet him. "Why, what has happened?" he cried. "Where are the children?"
 
But Mr. Watson was in a state of speechless wrath. The heat of the summer sun combined with the internal burning of his indignation would have produced apoplexy in a less cadaverous person. Some minutes passed before he could quite explain the situation. When at length he could tell it, it appeared that he had collected his flock at the school in proper order and supplied them all with full instructions. Then he delivered a flag to each boy and a maple branch to each girl, to be waved as they entered the woods singing. Mr. Watson had an eye for the artistic⁸¹, and had at first decreed that each flag should march beside a maple bough⁸; but the proposition was received with such hysterical⁸² squeals⁸³ and giggles⁸⁴ from beneath the Canadian emblems⁸⁵ and such dark looks of terrible rebellion from the red banners that the schoolmaster was compelled to change the order of their going. So the boys led the procession, going two and two, with the girls tripping demurely⁸⁶ behind, as was compatible with the masculine idea of the fitness of things. The procession marched along quietly enough. Only one digression occurred, when Neil Neil and Patsy Regan halted long enough to hold a muscular dispute as to who should lead the van, a contest in which both the Flag that Braved a Thousand Years and the Maple Leaf Forever were trampled⁸⁷ in the dust of the highway. The matter was settled by their teacher setting the two belligerents⁸⁸, with sundry⁸⁹ cuffs⁹⁰ and jerks, to march side by side, which they did in perfect peace until they reached the grove.
 
And then it occurred—the great disaster! Just how it was managed, or whether it was impromptu⁹¹ or with malice⁹² aforethought, the schoolmaster did not know. But just as they entered the leafy path and he was clearing his throat to give the keynote of "Upon the Heights of Queenston," without warning or disturbance⁹³, the flags of their country were flung to the ground and the disloyal young Britons were scurrying⁹⁴ off through the woods in twenty different directions, leaping over fallen logs, crashing through underbrush and whooping⁹⁵ like a pack of wild Indians. The crucial moment had proved too much for schoolboy modesty⁹⁶. Mr. Watson glared around to find himself left with only a handful of embarrassed and giggling⁹⁷ girls. Just one boy remained, little Tommy Basketful, who was too small to run away and who held to his sister's hand. There was no use trying to have the procession now; the master dismissed the girls in a choking voice and went raging through the woods to find Mr. Egerton, his progress and his wrath accelerated by snatches of the interrupted song coming in high falsetto voice or deep bass⁹⁸ growl⁹⁹, from tree-top or hollow stump⁷⁰.
 
"I'll wager¹⁰⁰ my next year's salary it's that young Turk, Neil, who's at the bottom of it all!" he cried when he had finished the dismal¹⁰¹ recital¹⁰² and wiped the perspiration¹⁰³ from his face. "By Jove, if it isn't a fix! There's Splinterin' Andra over by the platform; he'll never get over it! Yes sir, it's young Neil Neil's done it all, with Patsy Regan's help. They think they're safe because it's holidays, but I'll lay my rawhide¹⁰⁴ on to them next term or my name's not George Watson!"
 
"Never mind," said the minister, with his usual kindly¹⁰⁵ cheerfulness, "we shall have the programme at any rate."
 
"Programme! That's just what we won't have! Those young reprobates¹⁰⁶ are gone for good. I know them! The girls can't do the drills alone and there won't be one piece fit to be given!"
 
The case was certainly more serious than the minister had at first thought. They had advertised their entertainment far and wide and the people were expecting something unique. If Neil Neil would not bring back his rebel band the whole affair would be a complete failure; he and Mr. Watson would be the laughing stock of the community and Splinterin' Andra would be grimly pleased. The young man's face darkened when he reflected that it was Donald Neil's brother who had wrought¹⁰⁷ all this mischief¹⁰⁸. Was that whole family in league against him? The two looked at each other in dismay.
 
"Those Neil boys are a bad lot!" Mr. Watson burst forth¹⁰⁹ again. "They've been the plague of Glenoro school ever since Donald started—— By Jove!" He started up suddenly, his face aglow¹¹⁰, "I have it! Don can make young Neil do anything. We'll get him to order the young rascal¹¹¹ back and to bring the others with him! Let's hunt him up!"
 
John Egerton drew back; he knew his relations with Donald Neil had not improved since Jessie had begun to help with the picnic programme and he did not at all relish¹¹² the idea of asking his assistance in his dilemma¹¹³. But Mr. Watson was already tearing off impetuously and, as there seemed no other way out of the difficulty and he could not leave his friend to bear the burden alone, he reluctantly followed.
 
A rapid survey of the grove showed that Donald was not at the sports, nor at the swings. Mr. Egerton noted¹¹⁴ with satisfaction that he was not with Jessie. She had put aside her apron⁶² and was on one of the big swings with a youth from the Tenth, her muslin dress swaying in the breeze, her brown curls flying. But Mr. Watson would not suffer him to stop one moment to admire the picture.
 
"He'll be down at the water," he cried, plunging¹¹⁵ headlong into a little path which led to the river. "Come along, we've no time to lose—if I only had my rawhide on that young Turk's back!"
 
The path they were following dipped suddenly into a little hollow where it was completely concealed¹¹⁶ from the picnickers by thick clumps¹¹⁷ of cedar¹¹⁸ and, at a sudden turn in the most secluded¹¹⁹ part, Mr. Watson almost ran against the object of their search. He was hurrying up from the river; his face was flushed, his hair damp and curly; he had evidently just emerged from the water. He drew back suddenly to let the schoolmaster pass.
 
"Are you playing tag?" he asked.
 
But Mr. Watson was in no mood for joking. "You're just the chap we're looking for, Don! Mr. Egerton and I are in a beast of a pickle¹²⁰. That young brother of yours has got to be looked after; he upset the procession from the school, and he's cleared off with all the other boys and we can't have any programme without them, and our whole entertainment's ruined!"
 
Donald glanced past him at the minister, standing¹²¹ in dignified silence, awaiting the issue, and for an instant a gleam of mischievous¹²² pleasure flashed in his eyes, a glance John Egerton did not fail to detect and at that moment he would have preferred to let the whole picnic be ruined rather than ask a favour of Donald Neil.
 
"What have I to do with it?" Donald was asking gravely.
 
"Oh, you know," returned the schoolmaster in a wheedling¹²³ tone; "you can make Neil do anything. You order him to come back and bring the other chaps, and we'll be eternally grateful; that's a good fellow, Don."
 
Donald's eyes were beginning to twinkle again; he could not help enjoying his pastor's discomfort¹²⁴. "Why don't you discipline him yourself?" he asked teasingly. "If he's amenable¹²⁵ to neither religion nor education"—he glanced at the minister again—"I am afraid I can do nothing with him."
 
John Egerton's face flushed angrily. "I think you should feel yourself responsible for your brother's action, Mr. McDonald," he said coldly. "I must say he has been an unmitigated nuisance ever since we commenced to practise, and now he promises to spoil everything. If you have the slightest interest in the entertainment, you will see that he does his duty."
 
Donald looked steadily¹²⁶ into his pastor's eyes. For an instant a wild desire to refuse help, to even command Neil to see that the programme was a failure, entered his heart. But it was only momentary¹²⁷; Donald was incapable¹²⁸ of being petty. But he could not resist the retort, "I couldn't think of assuming such honours in the presence of the clergyman and the schoolmaster, but I can at least produce the cause of this serious mishap¹²⁹." He put his fingers to his lips and gave three sharp whistles, ending in a long musical note. A moment later a boy came bounding up the path from the river; he was barefooted, his coat was off and he was plainly preparing for a swim. He stopped suddenly a few paces away when he saw who was with his brother and hung his black curly head sheepishly.
 
"What d'ye want?" he called.
 
"Come here," said Donald quietly, and Neil obeyed; he knew that whatever judgment was to be meted¹³⁰ out to him, Don would see that he got justice. "Mr. Egerton and Mr. Watson have something to say to you."
 
The culprit's bright eyes took on a look of alarm; he wriggled¹³¹ his small bare toes in the dead leaves.
 
Donald pushed him towards the minister half mockingly. "Here," he said with suspicious gravity, "you must judge this grave matter for yourself."
 
John Egerton's sensitive face flushed hotly. He felt himself to be in an extremely ludicrous position, Mr. Watson stood in the background ready to second anything he might say, but very glad to be able to take a subordinate position in the affair, and Donald leaned back against a tree and looked upon the little scene with an extravagant¹³² solemnity which was maddening.
 
At that moment the young clergyman would have enjoyed turning upon the insolent¹³³ fellow standing there with his arms folded so evidently enjoying his discomfiture¹³⁴ and thrashing him soundly, had he been able to find an excuse. Unhappily he had none, however, and his wrath all burst forth upon the boy.
 
"What did you mean by breaking up Mr. Watson's procession and leading all the boys away?" he demanded hotly.
 
Neil's inbred reverence¹³⁵ for the cloth had suffered somewhat under Mr. Egerton's efforts to teach him to sing, so he answered promptly¹³⁶, "I never! I jist cut off with the other fellows."
 
The minister's temper was fast slipping from his control. "Don't dare to tell me that!" he cried, snatching the boy's arm. "You know you planned this disgraceful affair!"
 
But the lad had darted¹³⁷ a glance at his brother, and the keen instinct of childhood had perceived that Donald was not in league with his judges. So he looked up into the minister's face and said with incisive¹³⁸ impudence¹³⁹, "It's a lie!"
 
John Egerton might have restrained his rage even then, had he not again caught the gleam of laughter in Donald's eyes. The double insult was too much. He promptly caught the saucy¹⁴⁰ boy a sounding box upon the ear which sent him sprawling¹⁴¹ upon the ground.
 
The next instant Donald was in front of him. "Try something nearer your own size, you coward!" he was saying, and barely giving his opponent time to prepare, he planted a blow right between the minister's eyes and sent him reeling back against a tree.
 
He was up and at Donald in an instant, and so sudden and terrible was his onslaught that the champion boxer¹⁴² of Glenoro had a distinct impression that he was meeting his match. Donald was just settling to the fierce joy of battle when the schoolmaster flung himself upon them.
 
"There's somebody coming! Stop, Donald! For heaven's sake stop, Mr. Egerton!" he implored¹⁴³ frantically¹⁴⁴.
 
The antagonists¹⁴⁵ parted with a sudden awakening¹⁴⁶ to their position. The minister was fighting with one of his church members! For an instant the two young men stood back and regarded each other with something like horror. Donald looked at the dark bruise¹⁴⁷ on the other's lately handsome face, and, realising who it was he had struck, his generous heart smote¹⁴⁸ him.
 
The approaching group turned off into another path, and as their voices died away a terrible silence fell upon the four. Donald was the first to break it. Duncan Polite's nephew could be courteous¹⁴⁹ even in the midst of his anger.
 
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Egerton," he said with quiet dignity; "I should not have struck you; I forgot your position."
 
But John Egerton's rage was still shaking him. "I regret very much that my position makes it impossible for me to give you the thrashing you deserve. If I were not the minister of this place——" His voice choked with anger.
 
Donald's lips grew tight at this reception of his apology. "You are happy in your choice of profession, sir," he said quietly. "It is at least—safe."
 
The other stepped forward, his hands clenched¹⁵⁰. "Do you intend to insult me again?" he demanded, his face white.
 
"I was merely going to add," said Donald with a smile, "that it's rather hard on the profession."
 
Mr. Watson caught his pastor round the waist in a determined¹⁵¹ grasp.
 
"Splinterin' Andra's coming down the path!" he whispered wildly. "He'll be here in two minutes! Don Neil, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Mr. Egerton," he implored, "for goodness' sake come away!" He dragged the unwilling¹⁵² young man out of the pathway. "If this gets out you'll not be able to stay in Glenoro another day! Think of yourself! Think how it would look!"
 
Donald stood for a moment after they had left, torn between anger and shame. The small cause of all this commotion¹⁵³ stood shifting from one foot to another and looking up at his big brother with frightened eyes. "I never made the other fellows cut off, Don," he whispered as they stepped quickly out of the way of the elder, "honor bright, I didn't."
 
"I know," said Donald dully. "It's all right; run off now. And look here, Neil, not a word about this to anyone, remember, and you and the other boys be at the platform when Mr. Watson wants you."
 
Neil promised and ran swiftly back to the river. Left alone, Donald glanced about anxiously and was much relieved to see no one near. Personally, he did not care if he had been seen, but he knew that Duncan Polite's happiness would be at an end if he knew his nephew had been fighting the minister. With a heavy heart he walked slowly back to where the boys were pitching quoits. He was equally enraged¹⁵⁴ at himself for starting the fight and for not insisting upon finishing it, yes, even though all the congregation of Glenoro Presbyterian Church, elders included, had been watching. But above all, the sense of the disgrace he had brought upon himself and all that his uncle held dear weighed upon the boy's heart. Jessie was at leisure now, standing with a group of girls near the swing, but he could not go and ask her to swing with him after what he had done. He was tormented¹⁵⁵ by the thought that she might blame him if she knew. So he turned and wandered off alone into the depths of the woods, farther down the river, full of anger and misery¹⁵⁶.
 
The first tables were being filled when he returned. He found an excited group gathered around one of them.
 
"Mr. Egerton's sick!" cried Wee Andra, as Donald approached; "Watson took him home."
 
"I wonder if it was a sunstroke, poor young man!" exclaimed Mrs. McNabb, bustling¹⁵⁷ about with motherly anxiety. "I'm going to run home and see, and if he isn't any better I'll not come back. Liza, you and Mrs. Johnstone'll have to 'tend to those sandwiches. Dear, dear, isn't it a dreadful pity!"
 
Mrs. Fraser was already on her way to the afflicted¹⁵⁸ one, and in the bustle¹⁵⁹ and consternation¹⁶⁰ Donald was able to hide his perturbation. He was filled with compunction at the havoc¹⁶¹ he had unwittingly wrought, for he knew the minister's disfigured face prevented his appearance in public.
 
A gloom seemed to be thrown over the whole festivity. The minister's sudden affliction was the one subject of conversation at the tea-table. The usual mirth and jollity gave place to a quiet gravity which might have satisfied even Splinterin' Andra. The schoolmaster did not return, so the original programme was dropped altogether. Instead of the grand-march and chorus which was to open the exercises, they sang the twenty-third psalm, and Mr. Ansdell led in prayer, adding a fervent¹⁶² petition that the young pastor might speedily be restored to health. Then there were some speeches after all. Sim Basketful, who was always ready, and old Andrew Johnstone, as was his unfailing custom, gave long, earnest addresses, and they sang the Doxology and went home.
 
Mrs. Fraser returned just before the assembly broke up with the news that Mr. Egerton was not ill, but had had a nasty accident. Mr. Watson said that he had stumbled and fallen when they were running through the woods, and had cut his face upon a stone. Mrs. Fraser considered it a mercy that he was not killed. Poor young man! In the midst of life they were in death, and likely Providence¹⁶³ had sent this as a warning to the young people who were careless about their future state.
 
Miss Cotton didn't know what in the world the minister wanted to go tearing through the bush like that for, anyhow. It wasn't very becoming, she thought, and it was likely if Providence meant any kind of a warning it was for himself.