Afteramoment’ssurprise，Craigrosetohisfeet，and，facinghimsquarely，tooktheofferedhandinbothofhisandhelditfastwithoutaword.Graemewasthefirsttospeak，andhisvoicewasdeepwithemotion——
　　’Youareagreatman，agoodman.I’dgivesomethingtohaveyourgrit.’
　　PoorCraigstoodlookingathim，notdaringtospeakforsomemoments，thenhesaidquietly——
　　’Notgoodnorgreat，but，thankGod，notquiteatraitor.’
　　’Goodman！’wentonGraeme，pattinghimontheshoulder.’Goodman！Butit’stough.’
　　Craigsatdownquickly，saying，’Don’tdothat，oldchap！’
　　IwentupwithCraigtoMrs.Mavor’sdoor.Shedidnothearuscoming，butstoodnearthewindowgazingupatthemountains.Shewasdressedinsomerichsoftstuff，andworeatherbreastabunchofwild—flowers.Ihadneverseenhersobeautiful.IdidnotwonderthatCraigpausedwithhisfootuponthethresholdtolookather.Sheturnedandsawus.Withagladcry，’Oh！mydarling;
　　youhavecometome，’shecamewithoutstretchedarms.Iturnedandfled，butthecryandthevisionwerelongwithme.
　　ItwasdecidedthatnightthatMrs.Mavorshouldgothenextweek.
　　Aminerandhiswifeweregoingeast，andItoowouldjointheparty.
　　Thecampwentintomourningatthenews;butitwasunderstoodthatanydisplayofgriefbeforeMrs.Mavorwasbadform.Shewasnottobeannoyed.
　　ButwhenIsuggestedthatsheshouldleavequietly，andavoidthepainofsayinggood—bye，sheflatlyrefused——
　　’Imustsaygood—byetoeveryman.TheylovemeandIlovethem.’
　　Itwasdecided，too，atfirst，thatthereshouldbenothinginthewayofatestimonial，butwhenCraigfoundoutthatthemenwerecomingtoherwithallsortsofextraordinarygifts，heagreedthatitwouldbebetterthattheyshoulduniteinonegift.SoitwasagreedthatIshouldbuyaringforher.Andwereitnotthatthecontributionswerestrictlylimitedtoonedollar，thepursethatSlavinhandedherwhenShawreadtheaddressatthefarewellsupperwouldhavebeenmanytimesfilledwiththegoldthatwaspresseduponthecommittee.Therewerenospeechesatthesupper，exceptonebymyselfinreplyonMrs.Mavor’sbehalf.Shehadgivenmethewordstosay，andIwasthoroughlyprepared，elseIshouldnothavegotthrough.Ibeganintheusualway：’Mr.Chairman，ladiesandgentlemen，Mrs.Mavoris——’butIgotnofurther，foratthementionofhernamethemenstoodonthechairsandyelleduntiltheycouldyellnomore.Therewereovertwohundredandfiftyofthem，andtheeffectwasoverpowering.ButIgotthroughmyspeech.Irememberitwell.Itbegan——
　　’Mrs.Mavorisgreatlytouchedbythismarkofyourlove，andshewillwearyourringalwayswithpride.’Anditendedwith——
　　’Shehasonerequesttomake，thatyouwillbetruetotheLeague，andthatyoustandcloseaboutthemanwhodidmosttomakeit.
　　Shewishesmetosaythathoweverfarawayshemayhavetogo，sheisleavingherheartinBlackRock，andshecanthinkofnogreaterjoythantocomebacktoyouagain.’
　　Thentheyhad’TheSweetByandBy，’butthemenwouldnotjoinintherefrain，unwillingtoloseanoteofthegloriousvoicetheylovedtohear.Beforethelastverseshebeckonedtome.IwenttoherstandingbyCraig’ssideasheplayedforher.’Askthemtosing，’sheentreated;’Icannotbearit.’
　　’Mrs.Mavorwishesyoutosingintherefrain，’Isaid，andatoncethemensatupandclearedtheirthroats.Thesingingwasnotgood，butatthefirstsoundofthehoarsenotesofthemenCraig’sheadwentdownovertheorgan，forhewasthinkingIsupposeofthedaysbeforethemwhentheywouldlonginvainforthatthrillingvoicethatsoaredhighovertheirownhoarsetones.Andafterthevoicesdiedawayhekeptonplayingtill，halfturningtowardhim，shesangaloneoncemoretherefraininavoicelowandsweetandtender，asifforhimalone.Andsohetookit，forhesmiledupatherhisoldsmilefullofcourageandfulloflove.
　　Thenforonewholehourshestoodsayinggood—byetothoserough，gentle—heartedmenwhoseinspirationtogoodnessshehadbeenforfiveyears.Itwasverywonderfulandveryquiet.Itwasunderstoodthattherewastobenononsense，andAbehadbeenheardtodeclarethathewould’throwoutanycotton—backedfoolwhocouldn’tholdhimselfdown，’andfurther，hehadenjoinedthemtorememberthat’herarmwasn’tapump—handle.’
　　Atlasttheywereallgone，allbutherguardofhonour——Shaw，VernonWinton，Geordie，Nixon，Abe，Nelson，Craig，andmyself.
　　Thiswastherealfarewell;for，thoughintheearlylightofthenextmorningtwohundredmenstoodsilentaboutthestage，andthenasitmovedoutwavedtheirhatsandyelledmadly，thiswasthelasttouchtheyhadofherhand.Herplacewasuponthedriver’sseatbetweenAbeandMr.Craig，whoheldlittleMarjorieonhisknee.TherestoftheguardofhonourweretofollowwithGraeme’steam.ItwasWinton’sfinesensethatkeptGraemefromfollowingthemclose.’Lethergooutalone，’hesaid，andsoweheldbackandwatchedhergo.
　　ShestoodwithherbacktowardsAbe’splungingfour—horseteam，andsteadyingherselfwithonehandonAbe’sshoulder，gazeddownuponus.Herheadwasbare，herlipspartedinasmile，hereyesglowingwiththeirowndeeplight;andso，facingus，erectandsmiling，shedroveaway，wavingusfarewelltillAbeswunghisteamintothecanyonroadandwesawhernomore.Asighshudderedthroughthecrowd，and，withasobinhisvoice，Wintonsaid：’Godhelpusall.’
　　Iclosemyeyesandseeitallagain.Thewavingcrowdofdark—
　　facedmen，theplunginghorses，and，highupbesidethedriver，theswaying，smiling，wavingfigure，andaboutallthemountains，framingthepicturewiththeirdarksidesandwhitepeakstippedwiththegoldoftherisingsun.ItisapictureIlovetolookupon，albeititcallsupanotherthatIcanneverseebutthroughtears.
　　Ilookacrossastripofever—wideningwater，atagroupofmenuponthewharf，standingwithheadsuncovered，everymanahero，thoughnotamanofthemsuspectsit，leastofallthemanwhostandsinfront，strong，resolute，self—conquered.And，gazinglong，IthinkIseehimturnagaintohisplaceamongthemenofthemountains，notforgetting，buteverydayrememberingthegreatlovethatcametohim，andremembering，too，thatloveisnotall.
　　Itisthenthetearscome.
　　Butforthatpicturetwoofusatleastarebettermento—day.
　　CHAPTERXIII
　　HOWNELSONCAMEHOME
　　Throughthelongsummerthemountainsandthepineswerewithme.
　　Andthroughthewinter，too，busyasIwasfillinginmyBlackRocksketchesfortherailwaypeoplewhowouldstillpersistinorderingthembythedozen，thememoryofthatstirringlifewouldcomeoverme，andoncemoreIwouldbeamongthesilentpinesandthemightysnow—peakedmountains.Andbeforemewouldappearthered—shirtedshantymenordark—facedminers，great，free，boldfellows，drivingmealmostmadwiththedesiretoseizeandfixthoseswiftlychanginggroupsofpicturesquefigures.AtsuchtimesIwoulddropmysketch，andwitheagerbrushseizeagroup，aface，afigure，andthatishowmystudiocomestobefilledwiththemenofBlackRock.Theretheyareallaboutme.Graemeandthemenfromthewoods，Sandy，Baptiste，theCampbells，andinmanyattitudesandgroupsoldmanNelson;Craig，too，andhisminers，Shaw，Geordie，Nixon，andpooroldBillyandthekeeperoftheLeaguesaloon.
　　ItseemedasifIlivedamongthem，andtheillusionwasgreatlyhelpedbythevividlettersGraemesentmefromtimetotime.
　　BriefnotescamenowandthenfromCraigtoo，towhomIhadsentafaithfulaccountofhowIhadbroughtMrs.Mavortohership，andofhowIhadwatchedhersailawaywithnonetoobraveaface，assheheldupherhandthatboretheminers’ring，andsmiledwiththatdeeplightinhereyes.Ah！thoseeyeshavedrivenmetodespairandmademefearthatIamnogreatpainterafterall，inspiteofwhatmyfriendstellmewhocomeintosmokemygoodcigarsandpraisemybrush.Icangetthebrowandhair，andmouthandpose，buttheeyes！theeyeseludeme——andthefacesofMrs.
　　Mavoronmywall，thatthemenpraiseandraveover，arenotsuchasIcouldshowtoanyofthemenfromthemountains.
　　Graeme’sletterstellmechieflyaboutCraigandhisdoings，andaboutoldmanNelson;whilefromCraigIhearaboutGraeme，andhowheandNelsonarestandingathisback，anddoingwhattheycantofillthegapthatnevercanbefilled.Thethreearemuchtogether，Icansee，andIamgladforthemall，butchieflyforCraig，whoseface，grief—strickenbutresolute，andoftengentleasawoman’s，willnotleavemenorletmerestinpeace.
　　Thenoteofthankshesentmewasentirelycharacteristic.Therewerenoheroics，muchlesspiningorself—pity.Itwassimpleandmanly，notignoringthepainbutmakingmuchofthejoy.Andthentheyhadtheirworktodo.Thatnote，soclear，somanly，sonoblysensible，stiffensmybackyetattimes.
　　InthespringcamethestartlingnewsthatBlackRockwouldsoonbenomore.TheminesweretoclosedownonApril1.Thecompany，havingalluredtheconfidingpublicwithenticingdescriptionsofmarvellousdrifts，veins，assays，andprospects，andhavingexpendedvastsumsofthepublic’smoneyindevelopingtheminestilltheassuranceoftheirreliabilitywasabsolutelyfinal，calmlyshutdownandvanished.WiththeirvanishingvanishesBlackRock，notwithoutlossandmuchdeepcursingonthepartofthemenbroughtsomehundredsofmilestoaidthecompanyinitsextraordinaryandwhollyinexplicablegame.
　　PersonallyitgrievedmetothinkthatmyplanofreturningtoBlackRockcouldneverbecarriedout.Itwasagreatcompensation，however，thatthethreemenmostrepresentativetomeofthatlifeweresoontovisitmeactuallyinmyownhomeandden.Graeme’slettersaidthatinonemonththeymightbeexpectedtoappear.AtleastheandNelsonweresoontocome，andCraigwouldsoonfollow.
　　Onreceivingthegreatnews，IatoncelookedupyoungNelsonandhissister，andweproceededtocelebratethejoyfulprospectwithaspeciallygooddinner.Ifoundthegreatestdelightinpicturingthejoyandprideoftheoldmaninhischildren，whomhehadnotseenforfifteenorsixteenyears.Themotherhaddiedsomefiveyearsbefore，thenthefarmwassold，andthebrotherandsistercameintothecity;andanyfathermightbeproudofthem.Thesonwasawell—madeyoungfellow，handsomeenough，thoughtful，andsolid—looking.Thegirlremindedmeofherfather.Thesameresolutionwasseeninmouthandjaw，andthesamepassionslumberedinthedarkgreyeyes.Shewasnotbeautiful，butshecarriedherselfwell，andonewouldalwayslookathertwice.Itwouldbeworthsomethingtoseethemeetingbetweenfatheranddaughter.
　　Butfate，thegreatestartistofusall，takeslittlecountofthecarefuldrawingandthebrightcolouringofourfancy’spictures，butwithrudehandderangesall，andwithoneswiftsweeppaintsoutthebrightandpaintsinthedark.Andthistrickheservedmewhen，oneJunenight，afterlongandanxiouswaitingforsomewordfromthewest，mydoorsuddenlyopenedandGraemewalkedinuponmelikeaspectre，greyandvoiceless.Myshoutofwelcomewaschokedbackbythelookinhisface，andIcouldonlygazeathimandwaitforhisword.Hegrippedmyhand，triedtospeak，butfailedtomakewordscome.
　　’Sitdown，oldman，’Isaid，pushing，himintomychair，’andtakeyourtime.’
　　Heobeyed，lookingupatmewithburning，sleeplesseyes.Myheartwassoreforhismisery，andIsaid：’Don’tmind，oldchap;itcan’tbesoawfullybad.You’reheresafeandsoundatanyrate，’
　　andsoIwentontogivehimtime.Butheshudderedandlookedroundandgroaned.
　　’Nowlookhere，Graeme，let’shaveit.Whendidyoulandhere？
　　WhereisNelson？Whydidn’tyoubringhimup？’
　　’Heisatthestationinhiscoffin，’heansweredslowly.
　　’Inhiscoffin？’Iechoed，mybeautifulpicturesallvanishing.
　　’Howwasit？’
　　’Throughmycursedfolly，’hegroanedbitterly.
　　’Whathappened？’Iasked.Butignoringmyquestion，hesaid：’I
　　mustseehischildren.Ihavenotsleptforfournights.IhardlyknowwhatIamdoing;butIcan’tresttillIseehischildren.I
　　promisedhim.Getthemforme.’
　　’To—morrowwilldo.Gotosleepnow，andweshallarrangeeverythingto—morrow，’Iurged.
　　’No！’hesaidfiercely;’to—night——now！’
　　Inhalfanhourtheywerelistening，paleandgrief—stricken，tothestoryoftheirfather’sdeath.
　　PoorGraemewasrelentlessinhisself—condemnationashetoldhow，throughhis’cursedfolly，’oldNelsonwaskilled.Thethree，Craig，Graeme，andNelson，hadcomeasfarasVictoriatogether.
　　TheretheyleftCraig，andcameontoSanFrancisco.InanevilhourGraememetacompanionofotherandevildays，anditwasnotlongtilltheoldfevercameuponhim.
　　InvainNelsonwarnedandpleaded.ThereactionfromthemonotonyandpovertyofcamplifetotheexcitementandluxuryoftheSanFranciscogamingpalacesswungGraemequiteoffhisfeet，andallthatNelsoncoulddowastofollowfromplacetoplaceandkeepwatch.
　　’Andtherehewouldsit，’saidGraemeinahard，bittervoice，’waitingandwatchingoftentillthegreymorninglight，whilemymadnessheldmefasttothetable.Onenight，’herehepausedamoment，puthisfaceinhishandsandshuddered;butquicklyhewasmasterofhimselfagain，andwentoninthesamehardvoice——’OnenightmypartnerandIwereplayingtwomenwhohaddoneusupbefore.Iknewtheywerecheating，butcouldnotdetectthem.
　　Gameaftergametheywon，tillIwasfuriousatmystupidityinnotbeingabletocatchthem.HappeningtoglanceatNelsoninthecorner，Icaughtameaninglook，andlookingagain，hethrewmeasignal.Iknewatoncewhatthefraudwas，andnextgamechargedthefellowwithit.Hegavemethelie;Istruckhismouth，butbeforeIcoulddrawmygun，hispartnerhadmebythearms.WhatfollowedIhardlyknow.WhileIwasstrugglingtogetfree，Isawhimreachforhisweapon;but，ashedrewit，Nelsonsprangacrossthetable，andborehimdown.Whentherowwasever，threemenlayonthefloor.OnewasNelson;hetooktheshotmeantforme.’
　　Againthestorypaused.
　　’Andthemanthatshothim？’
　　Istartedattheintensefiercenessinthevoice，and，lookinguponthegirl，sawhereyesblazingwithaterriblelight.
　　’Heisdead，’answeredGraemeindifferently.
　　’Youkilledhim？’sheaskedeagerly.
　　Graemelookedathercuriously，andansweredslowly——
　　’Ididnotmeanto.Hecameatme.IstruckhimharderthanI
　　knew.Henevermoved.’
　　Shedrewasighofsatisfaction，andwaited.
　　’Igothimtoaprivateward，hadthebestdoctorinthecity，andsentforCraigtoVictoria.Forthreedayswethoughthewouldlive——hewaskeentogethome;butbythetimeCraigcamewehadgivenuphope.Oh，butIwasthankfultoseeCraigcomein，andthejoyintheoldman’seyeswasbeautifultosee.Therewasnopainatlast，andnofear.Hewouldnotallowmetoreproachmyself，sayingoverandover，"Youwouldhavedonethesameforme"——asIwould，fastenough——"anditisbettermethanyou.Iamoldanddone;youwilldomuchgoodyetfortheboys."AndhekeptlookingatmetillIcouldonlypromisetodomybest.
　　’ButIamgladItoldhimhowmuchgoodhehaddonemeduringthelastyear，forheseemedtothinkthattoogoodtobetrue.AndwhenCraigtoldhimhowhehadhelpedtheboysinthecamp，andhowSandyandBaptisteandtheCampbellswouldalwaysbebettermenforhislifeamongthem，theoldman’sfaceactuallyshone，asiflightwerecomingthrough.Andwithsurpriseandjoyhekeptonsaying，"Doyouthinkso？Doyouthinkso？Perhapsso，perhapsso."AtthelasthetalkedofChristmasnightatthecamp.Youwerethere，youremember.Craighadbeenholdingaservice，andsomethinghappened，Idon’tknowwhat，buttheybothknew.’
　　’Iknow，’Isaid，andIsawagainthepictureoftheoldmanunderthepine，uponhiskneesinthesnow，withhisfaceturneduptothestars.
　　’Whateveritwas，itwasinhismindattheverylast，andIcanneverforgethisfaceasheturnedittoCraig.Onehearsofsuchthings：Ihadoften，buthadneverputmuchfaithinthem;butjoy，rapture，triumph，thesearewhatwereinhisface，ashesaid，hisbreathcomingshort，"Yousaid——Hewouldn’t——failme——youwereright——notonce——notonce——Hestucktome——I’mgladhetoldme——
　　thankGod——foryou——youshowed——me——I’llseeHim——and——tellHim——’
　　AndCraig，kneelingbesidehimsosteady——Iwasbehavinglikeafool——smileddownthroughhisstreamingtearsintothedimeyessobrightly，tilltheycouldseenomore.Thankhimforthat！Hehelpedtheoldmanthrough，andhehelpedmetoo，thatnight，thankGod！’AndGraeme’svoice，hardtillnow，brokeinasob.
　　Hehadforgottenus，andwasbackbesidehispassingfriend，andallhisself—controlcouldnotkeepbacktheflowingtears.
　　’Itwashislifeformine，’hesaidhuskily.
　　Thebrotherandsisterwerequietlyweeping，butspokenoword，thoughIknewGraemewaswaitingforthem.
　　Itookuptheword，andtoldofwhatIhadknownofNelson，andhisinfluenceuponthemenofBlackRock.Theylistenedeagerlyenough，butstillwithoutspeaking.Thereseemednothingtosay，tillIsuggestedtoGraemethathemustgetsomerest.Thenthegirlturnedtohim，and，impulsivelyputtingoutherhand，said——
　　’Oh，itisallsosad;buthowcanweeverthankyou？’
　　’Thankme！’gaspedGraeme.’Canyouforgiveme？Ibroughthimtohisdeath.’
　　’No，no！Youmustnotsayso，’sheansweredhurriedly.’Youwouldhavedonethesameforhim.’
　　’GodknowsIwould，’saidGraemeearnestly;’andGodblessyouforyourwords！’AndIwasthankfultoseethetearsstartinhisdry，burningeyes.
　　Wecarriedhimtotheoldhomeinthecountry，thathemightliebythesideofthewifehehadlovedandwronged.Afewfriendsmetusatthewaysidestation，andfollowedinsadprocessionalongthecountryroad，thatwoundpastfarmsandthroughwoods，andatlastuptotheascentwherethequaint，oldwoodenchurch，blackwiththerainsandsnowsofmanyyears，stoodamongitssilentgraves.
　　Thelittlegraveyardslopedgentlytowardsthesettingsun，andfromitonecouldsee，faroneveryside，thefieldsofgrainandmeadowlandthatwanderedoffoversoftlyundulatinghillstomeetthemaplewoodsatthehorizon，dark，green，andcool.Hereandtherewhitefarmhouses，withgreatbarnsstandingnear，lookedoutfromclusteringorchards.
　　Upthegrass—grownwalk，andthroughthecrowdingmounds，overwhichwaves，uncut，thelong，tanglinggrass，webearourfriend，andlethimgentlydownintothekindlybosomofmotherearth，dark，moist，andwarm.Thesoundofadistantcowbellmingleswiththevoiceofthelastprayer;theclodsdropheavilywithheart—
　　startlingecho;themoundisheapedandshapedbykindlyfriends，sharingwithoneanotherthetask;thelongroughsodsarelaidoverandpattedintoplace;theoldministertakesfarewellinafewwordsofgentlesympathy;thebrotherandsister，withlingeringlooksatthetwogravessidebyside，theoldandthenew，stepintothefarmer’scarriage，anddriveaway;thesextonlocksthegateandgoeshome，andweareleftoutsidealone.
　　ThenwewentbackandstoodbyNelson’sgrave.
　　AfteralongsilenceGraemespoke.
　　’Connor，hedidnotgrudgehislifetome——andIthink’——andherethewordscameslowly——’Iunderstandnowwhatthatmeans，"WholovedmeandgaveHimselfforme."’
　　Thentakingoffhishat，hesaidreverently，’ByGod’shelpNelson’slifeshallnotend，butshallgoon.Yes，oldman！’
　　lookingdownuponthegrave，’I’mwithyou’;andliftinguphisfacetothecalmsky，’Godhelpmetobetrue.’
　　Thenheturnedandwalkedbrisklyaway，asonemightwhohadpressingbusiness，orassoldiersmarchfromacomrade’sgravetoamerrytune，notthattheyhaveforgotten，buttheyhavestilltofight.
　　AndthiswasthewayoldmanNelsoncamehome.
　　CHAPTERSXIV.
　　GRAEME’SNEWBIRTH
　　TherewasmoreleftinthatgravethanoldmanNelson’sdeadbody.
　　ItseemedtomethatGraemeleftpart，atleast，ofhisoldselfthere，withhisdeadfriendandcomrade，inthequietcountrychurchyard.Iwaitedlongfortheoldcareless，recklessspirittoappear，buthewasneverthesameagain.Thechangewasunmistakable，buthardtodefine.Heseemedtohaveresolvedhislifeintoadefinitepurpose.Hewashardlysocomfortableafellowtobewith;hemademefeelevenmorelazyanduselessthanwasmywont;butIrespectedhimmore，andlikedhimnonetheless.
　　Asalionhewasnotasuccess.Hewouldnotroar.Thiswasdisappointingtome，andtohisfriendsandmine，whohadbeenwaitinghisreturnwitheagerexpectationoftalesofthrillingandbloodthirstyadventure.
　　Hisfirstdayswerespentinmakingright，orasnearlyrightashecould，thebreakthatdrovehimtothewest.Hisoldfirm（andI
　　havehadmorerespectforthehumanityoflawyerseversince）
　　behavedreallywell.Theyprovedtherestorationoftheirconfidenceinhisintegrityandabilitybyofferinghimaplaceinthefirm，which，however，hewouldnotaccept.Then，whenhefeltclean，ashesaid，hepostedoffhome，takingmewithhim.Duringtherailwayjourneyoffourhourshehardlyspoke;butwhenwehadleftthetownbehind，andhadfairlygotuponthecountryroadthatledtowardthehometenmilesaway，hisspeechcametohiminagreatflow.Hisspiritsranover.Hewaslikeaboyreturningfromhisfirstcollegeterm.Hisveryfaceworetheboy’sopen，innocent，earnestlookthatusedtoattractmentohiminhisfirstcollegeyear.Hisdelightinthefieldsandwoods，inthesweetcountryairandthesunlight，waswithoutbound.Howoftenhadwedriventhisroadtogetherintheolddays！
　　Everyturnwasfamiliar.Theswampwherethetamaracksstoodstraightandslimoutoftheirbedsofmoss;thebrule，asweusedtocallit，wherethepine—stumps，hugeandblackened，werehalf—
　　hiddenbythenewgrowthofpoplarsandsoftmaples;thebighill，whereweusedtogetoutandwalkwhentheroadswerebad;theorchards，wheretheharvestappleswerebestandmostaccessible——
　　allhadtheirmemories.
　　ItwasoneofthoseperfectafternoonsthatsooftencomeintheearlyCanadiansummer，beforeNaturegrowswearywiththeheat.
　　Thewhitegravelroadwastrimmedoneithersidewithturfoflivinggreen，closecroppedbythesheepthatwanderedinflocksalongitswholelength.Beyondthepicturesquesnake—fencesstretchedthefieldsofspringinggrain，ofvaryingshadesofgreen，withhereandthereadarkbrownpatch，markingaturnipfieldorsummerfallow，andfarbackwerethewoodsofmapleandbeechandelm，withhereandtherethetuftedtopofamightypine，thelonelyrepresentativeofavanishedrace，standingclearabovethehumblertrees.
　　Aswedrovethroughthebigswamp，wheretheyawning，hauntedgullyplungesdowntoitsgloomydepths，Graemeremindedmeofthatnightwhenourhorsesawsomethinginthatsamegully，andrefusedtogopast;andIfeltagain，thoughitwasbroaddaylight，somethingofthegruethatshivereddownmyback，asIsawinthemoonlightthegleamofawhitethingfarthroughthepinetrunks.
　　Aswecamenearerhomethehousesbecamefamiliar.Everyhousehaditstale：wehadeatenorsleptinmostofthem;wehadsampledapples，andcherries，andplumsfromtheirorchards，openlyasguests，orsecretlyasmarauders，undercoverofnight——themoredelightfulway，Ifear.Ah！happydays，withtheseinnocentcrimesandfleetingremorses，howbravelywefacedthem，andhowgailywelivedthem，andhowyearninglywelookbackatthemnow！Thesunwasjustdippingintothetree—topsofthedistantwoodsbehindaswecametothetopofthelasthillthatoverlookedthevalley，inwhichlaythevillageofRiverdale.Woodedhillsstoodaboutitonthreesides，and，wherethehillsfadedout，therelaythemill—
　　pondsleepingandsmilinginthesun.Throughthevillageranthewhiteroad，uppasttheoldframechurch，andontothewhitemansestandingamongthetrees.ThatwasGraeme’shome，andminetoo，forIhadneverknownanotherworthyofthename.Weheldupourteamtolookdownoverthevalley，withitsrampartofwoodedhills，itsshiningpond，anditsnestlingvillage，andonpasttothechurchandthewhitemanse，hidingamongthetrees.Thebeauty，thepeace，thewarm，lovinghomelinessofthescenecameaboutourhearts，but，beingmen，wecouldfindnowords.
　　’Let’sgo，’criedGraeme，anddownthehillwetoreandrockedandswayedtotheamazementofthesteadyteam，whoseeducationfromtheearliestyearshadimpressedupontheirmindsthecriminalityofattemptingtodoanythingbutwalkcarefullydownahill，atleastfortwo—thirdsoftheway.Throughthevillage，inacloudofdust，weswept，catchingaglimpseofawell—knownfacehereandthere，andflingingasalutationaswepassed，leavingtheownerofthefacerootedtohisplaceinastonishmentatthesightofGraemewhirlingoninhisold—time，well—knownrecklessmanner.OnlyoldDunc.M’Leodwasequaltothemoment，forasGraemecalledout，’Hello，Dunc.！’theoldmanlifteduphishands，andcalledbackinanawedvoice：’Blessmysoul！isityourself？’
　　’Standshiswhiskywell，pooroldchap！’wasGraeme’scomment.
　　Aswenearedthechurchhepulleduphisteam，andwewentquietlypastthesleepersthere，thenagainonthefullrundownthegentleslope，overthelittlebrook，anduptothegate.Hehadhardlygothisteampulledupbefore，flingingmethelines，hewasoutoverthewheel，forcomingdownthewalk，withherhandsliftedhigh，wasadaintylittlelady，withthefaceofanangel.InamomentGraemehadherinhisarms.Iheardthefaintcry，’Myboy，myboy，’andgotdownontheothersidetoattendtomyoffhorse，surprisedtofindmyhandstremblingandmyeyesfulloftears.
　　Backuponthestepsstoodanoldgentleman，withwhitehairandflowingbeard，handsome，straight，andstately——Graeme’sfather，waitinghisturn.
　　’Welcomehome，mylad，’washisgreeting，ashekissedhisson，andthetremorofhisvoice，andthesightofthetwomenkissingeachother，likewomen，sentmeagaintomyhorses’heads.
　　’There’sConnor，mother！’shoutedoutGraeme，andthedaintylittlelady，inherblacksilkandwhitelace，cameouttomequickly，withoutstretchedhands.
　　’You，too，arewelcomehome，’shesaid，andkissedme.
　　Istoodwithmyhatoff，sayingsomethingaboutbeinggladtocome，butwishingthatIcouldgetawaybeforeIshouldmakequiteafoolofmyself.ForasIlookeddownuponthatbeautifulface，pale，exceptforafaintflushuponeachfadedcheek，andreadthestoryofpainenduredandconquered，andasIthoughtofallthelongyearsofwaitingandofvainhoping，Ifoundmythroatdryandsore，andthewordswouldnotcome.Butherquicksenseneedednowords，andshecametomyhelp.
　　’YouwillfindJackatthestable，’shesaid，smiling;’heoughttohavebeenhere.’
　　Thestable！WhyhadInotthoughtofthatbefore？Thankfullynowmywordscame——
　　’Yes，certainly，I’llfindhim，Mrs.Graeme.Isupposehe’sasmuchofascapegraceasever，andoffIwenttolookupGraeme’syoungbrother，whohadgiveneverypromiseintheolddaysofdevelopingintoasstirringarascalasonecoulddesire;butwho，asIfoundoutlater，hadnotlivedtheseyearsinhismother’shomefornothing.
　　’Oh，Jack’sagoodboy，’sheanswered，smilingagain，assheturnedtowardtheothertwo，nowwaitingforheruponthewalk.
　　Theweekthatfollowedwasahappyoneforusall;butforthemotheritwasfulltothebrimwithjoy.Hersweetfacewasfullofcontent，andinhereyesrestedagreatpeace.Ourdayswerespentdrivingaboutamongthehills，orstrollingthroughthemaplewoods，ordownintothetamarackswamp，wherethepitcherplantsandtheswampliliesandthemarigoldwavedabovethedeepmoss.
　　Intheeveningswesatunderthetreesonthelawntillthestarscameoutandthenightdewsdroveusin.Liketwolovers，Graemeandhismotherwouldwanderofftogether，leavingJackandmetoeachother.Jackwasreadingfordivinity，andwasreallyafine，manlyfellow，withallhisbrother’sturnforrugby，andItooktohimamazingly;butafterthedaywasoverwewouldgatheraboutthesuppertable，andthetalkwouldbeofallthingsunderheaven——
　　art，football，theology.Themotherwouldleadinall.Howquickshewas，howbrightherfancy，howsubtleherintellect，andthroughallagentlegrace，verywinningandbeautifultosee！
　　DowhatIwould，Graemewouldtalklittleofthemountainsandhislifethere.
　　’Mylionwillnotroar，Mrs.Graeme，’Icomplained;’hesimplywillnot.’
　　’Youshouldtwisthistail，’saidJack.
　　’Thatseemstobethedifficulty，Jack，’saidhismother，’togetholdofhistale.’
　　’Oh，mother，’groanedJack;’youneverdidsuchathingbefore！
　　Howcouldyou？IsitthisbalefulWesterninfluence？’
　　’Ishallreform，Jack，’sherepliedbrightly.
　　’But，seriously，Graeme，’Iremonstrated，’yououghttotellyourpeopleofyourlife——thatfree，gloriouslifeinthemountains.’
　　’Free！Glorious！Tosomemen，perhaps！’saidGraeme，andthenfellintosilence.
　　ButIsawGraemeasanewmanthenighthetalkedtheologywithhisfather.TheoldministerwasasplendidCalvinist，ofheroictype，andashediscoursedofGod’ssovereigntyandelection，hisfaceglowedandhisvoicerangout.
　　Graemelistenedintently，nowandthenputtinginaquestion，asonewouldakeenknife—thrustintoafoe.Buttheoldmanknewhisground，andmovedeasilyamonghisideas，demolishingtheenemyasheappeared，withjauntygrace.Inthefullflowofhistriumphantargument，Graemeturnedtohimwithsuddenseriousness.
　　’Lookhere，father！IwasbornaCalvinist，andIcan’tseehowanyonewithalevelheadcanholdanythingelse，thanthattheAlmightyhassomeideaastohowHewantstorunHisuniverse，andHemeanstocarryoutHisidea，andiscarryingitout;butwhatwouldyoudoinacaselikethis？’ThenhetoldhimthestoryofpoorBillyBreen，hisfightandhisdefeat.
　　’Wouldyoupreachelectiontothatchap？’
　　Themother’seyeswereshiningwithtears.
　　Theoldgentlemanblewhisnoselikeatrumpet，andthensaidgravely——
　　’No，myboy，youdon’tfeedbabeswithmeat.Butwhatcametohim？’
　　ThenGraemeaskedmetofinishthetale.AfterIhadfinishedthestoryofBilly’sfinaltriumphandofCraig’spartinit，theysatlongsilent，tilltheminister，clearinghisthroathardandblowinghisnosemorelikeatrumpetthanever，saidwithgreatemphasis——
　　’ThankGodforsuchamaninsuchaplace！Iwishthereweremoreofuslikehim.’
　　’Ishouldliketoseeyououtthere，sir，’saidGraemeadmiringly;
　　’you’dgetthem，butyouwouldn’thavetimeforelection.’
　　’Yes，yes！’saidhisfatherwarmly;’Ishouldlovetohaveachancejusttopreachelectiontothesepoorlads.WouldIweretwentyyearsyounger！’
　　’Itisworthaman’slife，’saidGraemeearnestly.Hisyoungerbrotherturnedhisfaceeagerlytowardthemother.Foranswersheslippedherhandintohisandsaidsoftly，whilehereyesshonelikestars——
　　’Someday，Jack，perhaps！Godknows.’ButJackonlylookedsteadilyather，smilingalittleandpattingherhand.
　　’You’dshinethere，mother，’saidGraeme，smilinguponher;’you’dbettercomewithme.’Shestarted，andsaidfaintly——
　　’Withyou？’Itwasthefirsthinthehadgivenofhispurpose.
　　’Youaregoingback？’
　　’What！asamissionary？’saidJack.
　　’Nottopreach，Jack;I’mnotorthodoxenough，’lookingathisfatherandshakinghishead;’buttobuildrailroadsandlendahandtosomepoorchap，ifIcan.’
　　’Couldyounotfindworknearerhome，myboy？’askedthefather;
　　’thereisplentyofbothkindsnearushere，surely.’
　　’Lotsofwork，butnotmine，Ifear，’answeredGraeme，keepinghiseyesawayfromhismother’sface.’Amanmustdohisownwork.’
　　Hisvoicewasquietandresolute，andglancingatthebeautifulfaceattheendofthetable，Isawinthepalelipsandyearningeyesthatthemotherwasofferingupherfirstborn，thatancientsacrifice.Butnotalltheagonyofsacrificecouldwringfromherentreatyorcomplaintinthehearingofhersons.Thatwasforotherearsandforthesilenthoursofthenight.Andnextmorningwhenshecamedowntomeetusherfacewaswanandweary，butitworethepeaceofvictoryandaglorynotofearth.Hergreetingwasfullofdignity，sweetandgentle;butwhenshecametoGraemeshelingeredoverhimandkissedhimtwice.Andthatwasallthatanyofuseversawofthatsorefight.
　　AttheendoftheweekItookleaveofthem，andlastofallofthemother.
　　Shehesitatedjustamoment，thensuddenlyputherhandsuponmyshouldersandkissedme，sayingsoftly，’Youarehisfriend;youwillsometimescometome？’
　　’Gladly，ifImay，’Ihastenedtoanswer，forthesweet，bravefacewastoomuchtobear;and，tillsheleftusforthatworldofwhichshewasapart，Ikeptmyword，tomyowngreatandlastinggood.
　　WhenGraememetmeinthecityattheendofthesummer，hebroughtmeherlove，andthenburstforth——
　　’Connor，doyouknow，Ihavejustdiscoveredmymother！Ihaveneverknownhertillthissummer.’
　　’Morefoolyou，’Ianswered，foroftenhadI，whohadneverknownamother，enviedhimhis.
　　’Yes，thatistrue，’heansweredslowly;’butyoucannotseeuntilyouhaveeyes.’
　　BeforehesetoutagainforthewestIgavehimasupper，askingthemenwhohadbeenwithusintheold’Varsitydays.Iwasdoubtfulastothewisdomofthis，andwaspersuadedonlybyGraeme’seagerassenttomyproposal.
　　’Certainly，let’shavethem，’hesaid;’Ishallbeawfullygladtoseethem;greatstufftheywere.’
　　’But，Idon’tknow，Graeme;yousee——well——hangit！——youknow——
　　you’redifferent，youknow.’
　　Helookedatmecuriously.
　　’IhopeIcanstillstandagoodsupper，andiftheboyscan’tstandme，why，Ican’thelpit.I’lldoanythingbutroar，anddon’tyoubegintoworkoffyourmenagerieact——now，youhearme！’
　　’Well，itisratherhardlinesthatwhenIhavebeentalkingupmylionforayear，andthenfinallysecurehim，thathewillnotroar.’
　　’Serveyouright，’hereplied，quiteheartlessly;’butI’lltellyouwhatI’lldo，I’llfeed！Don’tyouworry，’headdssoothingly;
　　’thesupperwillgo.’
　　Andgoitdid.Thesupperwasofthebest;thewinesfirst—class.
　　IhadaskedGraemeaboutthewines.
　　’Doasyoulike，oldman，’washisanswer;’it’syoursupper，but，’
　　headded，’arethemenallstraight？’
　　Iranthemoverinmymind.
　　’Yes;Ithinkso.’
　　Ifnot，don’tyouhelpthemdown;andanyway，youcan’tbetoocareful.Butdon’tmindme;Iamquitofthewholebusinessfromthisout.’SoIventuredwines，forthelasttime，asithappened.
　　Wewereaquaintcombination.Old’Beetles，’whosenicknamewaspropheticofhisfuturefameasabugman，asthefellowsirreverentlysaid;’Stumpy’Smith，ademonbowler;PollyLindsay，slowaseverandassureaswhenheheldthehalf—backlinewithGraeme，andusedtomakemyheartstandstillwithterrorathiscooldeliberation.Buthewasneverknowntofumblenortofunk，andsomehowhealwaysgotusoutsafeenough.ThentherewasRattray——’Rat’forshort——who，fromaswell，haddevelopedintoacynicwithasneer，awfullycleverandagoodenoughfellowatheart.Little’Wig’Martin，thesharpestquartereverseen，andbigBarneyLundy，centrescrimmage，whoseterrificroarandrushhadoftenstruckterrortotheenemy’sheart，andwhowasGraeme’sslave.Suchwastheparty.
　　Asthesupperwentonmyfearsbegantovanish，forifGraemedidnot’roar，’hedidthenextbestthing——ateandtalkedquiteuptohisoldform.Nowweplayedourmatchesoveragain，bitterlylamentingthe’if’s’thathadlostusthechampionships，andwildlyapprovingthetacklesthathadsaved，andtherunsthathadmadethe’Varsitycrowdgomadwithdelightandhadwonforus.Andastheirnamescameupintalk，welearnedhowlifehadgonewiththosewhohadbeenourcomradesoftenyearsago.Some，successhadliftedtohighplaces;some，failurehadleftupontherocks，andafewlayintheirgraves.
　　Butastheeveningworeon，IbegantowishthatIhadleftoutthewines，forthemenbegantodropanoccasionaloath，thoughIhadletthemknowduringthesummerthatGraemewasnotthemanhehadbeen.ButGraemesmokedandtalkedandheedednot，tillRattraysworebythatnamemostsacredofalleverbornebyman.ThenGraemeopeneduponhiminacool，slowway——
　　’Whatanawfulfoolamanis，todamnthingsasyoudo，Rat.
　　Thingsarenotdamned.Itismenwhoare;andthatistoobadtobetalkedmuchaboutbutwhenamanflingsoutofhisfoulmouththenameofJesusChrist’——hereheloweredhisvoice——’it’sashame——it’smore，it’sacrime.’
　　Therewasdeadsilence，thenRattrayreplied——
　　’Isupposeyou’rerightenough，itisbadform;butcrimeisratherstrong，Ithink.’
　　’Notifyouconsiderwhoitis，’saidGraemewithemphasis.
　　’Oh，comenow，’brokeinBeetles.’Religionisallright，isagoodthing，andIbelieveanecessarythingfortherace，butnoonetakesseriouslyanylongertheChristmyth.’
　　’Whataboutyourmother，Beetles？’putinWigMartin.
　　Beetlesconsignedhimtothepitandwassilent，forhisfatherwasanEpiscopalclergyman，andhismotherasaintlywoman.
　　’Ifooledwiththatforsometime，Beetles，butitwon’tdo.Youcan’tbuildareligionthatwilltakethedeviloutofamanonamyth.Thatwon’tdothetrick.Idon’twanttoargueaboutit，butIamquiteconvincedthemyththeoryisnotreasonable，andbesides，itwontwork.’
　　’Willtheotherwork？’askedRattray，withasneer.
　　’Sure！’saidGrame;’I’veseenit.’
　　’Where？’challengedRattray.’Ihaven’tseenmuchofit.’
　　’Yes，youhave，Rattray，youknowyouhave，’saidWigagain.ButRattrayignoredhim.
　　’I’lltellyou，boys，’saidGraeme.’Iwantyoutoknow，anyway，whyIbelievewhatIdo.’
　　ThenhetoldthemthestoryofoldmanNelson，fromtheoldcoastdays，beforeIknewhim，totheend.Hetoldthestorywell.Thesternfightandthevictoryofthelife，andtheself—sacrificeandthepathosofthedeathappealedtothesemen，wholovedfightandcouldunderstandsacrifice.
　　’That’swhyIbelieveinJesusChrist，andthat’swhyIthinkitacrimetoflingHisnameabout！’
　　’IwishtoHeavenIcouldsaythat，’saidBeetles.
　　’Keepwishinghardenoughanditwillcometoyou，’saidGraeme.
　　’Lookhere，oldchap，’saidRattray;’you’requiterightaboutthis;I’mwillingtoownup.Wigiscorrect.Iknowafew，atleast，ofthatstamp，butmostofthosewhogoinforthatsortofthingarenotmuchaccount’
　　’Fortenyears，Rattray，’saidGraemeinadownright，matter—of—
　　factway，’youandIhavetriedthissortofthing’——tappingabottle——’andwegotoutofitallthereistobegot，paidwellforit，too，and——faugh！youknowit’snotgoodenough，andthemoreyougoinforit，themoreyoucurseyourself.SoIhavequitthisandIamgoinginfortheother.’
　　’What！goinginforpreaching？’
　　’Notmuch——railroading——moneyinit——andlendingahandtofellowsontherocks.’
　　’Isay，don’tyouwantacentreforward？’saidbigBarneyinhisdeepvoice.
　　’Everymanmustplayhisgameinhisplace，oldchap.I’dliketoseeyoutackleit，though，rightwell，’saidGraemeearnestly.Andsohedid，intheafteryears，andgoodtacklingitwas.Butthatisanotherstory.
　　’But，Isay，Graeme，’persistedBeetles，’aboutthisbusiness，doyoumeantosayyougothewholething——Jonah，youknow，andtherestofit？’
　　Graemehesitated，thensaid——
　　’Ihaven’tmuchofacreed，Beetles;don’treallyknowhowmuchI
　　believe.But，’bythistimehewasstanding，’Idoknowthatgoodisgood，andbadisbad，andgoodandbadarenotthesame.AndI
　　knowaman’safooltofollowtheone，andawisemantofollowtheother，and，’loweringhisvoice，’IbelieveGodisatthebackofamanwhowantstogetdonewithbad.I’vetriedallthatfolly，’
　　sweepinghishandovertheglassesandbottles，’andallthatgoeswithit，andI’vedonewithit’
　　’I’llgoyouthatfar，’roaredbigBarney，followinghisoldcaptainasofyore.
　　’Goodman，’saidGraeme，strikinghandswithhim.
　　’Putmedown，’saidlittleWigcheerfully.
　　ThenItookuptheword，forthererosebeforemethesceneintheLeaguesaloon，andIsawthebeautifulfacewiththedeepshiningeyes，andIwasspeakingforheragain.ItoldthemofCraigandhisfightforthesemen’slives.Itoldthem，too，ofhowIhadbeentooindolenttobegin.’But，’Isaid，’Iamgoingthisfarfromto—night，’andIsweptthebottlesintothechampagnetub.
　　’Isay，’saidPollyLindsay，comingupinhisoldstyle，slowbutsure，’let’sallgoin，sayforfiveyears.’Andsowedid.Wedidn’tsignanything，buteverymanshookhandswithGraeme.
　　AndasItoldCraigaboutthisayearlater，whenhewasonhiswaybackfromhisOldLandtriptojoinGraemeinthemountains，hethrewuphisheadintheoldwayandsaid，’Itwaswelldone.Itmusthavebeenworthseeing.OldmanNelson’sworkisnotdoneyet.Tellmeagain，’andhemademegooverthewholescenewithallthedetailsputin.
　　ButwhenItoldMrs.Mavor，aftertwoyearshadgone，sheonlysaid，’Oldthingsarepassedaway，allthingsarebecomenew’;butthelightglowedinhereyestillIcouldnotseetheircolour.
　　Butallthat，too，isanotherstory.
　　CHAPTERXV
　　COMINGTOTHEIROWN
　　Amanwithaconscienceisoftenprovoking，sometimesimpossible.
　　Persuasionislostuponhim.Hewillnotgetangry，andhelooksatonewithsuchafar—awayexpressioninhisfacethatinstrivingtopersuadehimonefeelsearthlyandevenfiendish.AtleastthiswasmyexperiencewithCraig.HespentaweekwithmejustbeforehesailedfortheOldLand，forthepurpose，ashesaid，ofgettingsomeofthecoaldustandothergrimeoutofhim.
　　Hemademeangrythelastnightofhisstay，andallthemorethatheremainedquitesweetlyunmoved.ItwasastrategicmistakeofminetotellhimhowNelsoncamehometous，andhowGraemestoodupbeforethe’VarsitychapsatmysupperandmadehisconfessionandconfusedRattray’seasy—steppingprofanity，andstartedhisownfive—yearleague.ForallthisstirredinCraigthehero，andhewasreadyforallsortsofheroicnonsense，asIcalledit.Wetalkedofeverythingbuttheonething，andaboutthatwesaidnotawordtill，bendinglowtopokemyfireandtohidemyface，I
　　plunged——
　　’Youwillseeher，ofcourse？’
　　Hemadenopretenceofnotunderstandingbutanswered——
　　’Ofcourse.’
　　’There’sreallynosenseinherstayingoverthere，’Isuggested.
　　’Andyetsheisawisewoman，’hesaid，asifcarefullyconsideringthequestion.
　　’Heapsoflandlordsneverseetheirtenants，andtheyarenonetheworse.’
　　’Thelandlords？’
　　’No，thetenants.’
　　’Probably，havingsuchlandlords.’
　　’Andasfortheoldlady，theremustbesomeoneintheconnectiontowhomitwouldbeaGodsendtocareforher.’
　　’Now，Connor，’hesaidquietly，’don’t.Wehavegoneoverallthereistobesaid.Nothingnewhascome.Don’tturnitallupagain.’
　　ThenIplayedtheheathenandraged，asGraemewouldhavesaid，tillCraigsmiledalittlewearilyandsaid——
　　’Youexhaustyourself，oldchap.Haveapipe，do’;andafterapauseheaddedinhisownway，’Whatwouldyouhave？Thepathliesstraightfrommyfeet.ShouldIquitit？Icouldnotsodisappointyou——andallofthem.’
　　AndIknewhewasthinkingofGraemeandtheladsinthemountainshehadtaughttobetruemen.Itdidnothelpmyrage，butitcheckedmyspeech;soIsmokedinsilencetillhewasmovedtosay——
　　’Andafterall，youknow，oldchap，therearegreatcompensationsforalllosses;butforthelossofagoodconsciencetowardsGod，whatcanmakeup？’
　　But，allthesame，IhopedforsomebetterresultfromhisvisittoBritain.Itseemedtomethatsomethingmustturnuptochangesuchanunbearablesituation.
　　Theyearpassed，however，andwhenIlookedintoCraig’sfaceagainIknewthatnothinghadbeenchanged，andthathehadcomebacktotakeupagainhislifealone，moreresolutelyhopefulthanever.
　　Buttheyearhadleftitsmarkuponhimtoo.Hewasabroaderanddeeperman.Hehadbeenlivingandthinkingwithmenoflargerideasandricherculture，andhewasfartooquickinsympathywithlifetoremainuntouchedbyhissurroundings.Hewasmoretolerantofopinionsotherthanhisown，butmoreunrelentinginhisfidelitytoconscienceandmoreimpatientofhalf—heartednessandself—indulgence.Hewasfullofreverenceforthegreatscholarsandthegreatleadersofmenhehadcometoknow.
　　’Great，noblefellowstheyare，andextraordinarilymodest，’hesaid——’thatis，thereallygreataremodest.Thereareplentyoftheothersort，neithergreatnormodest.Andthebookstoberead！Iamquitehopelessaboutmyreading.Itgavemeaqueersensationtoshakehandswithamanwhohadwrittenagreatbook.
　　Tohearhimmakecommonplaceremarks，towitnessafalteringinknowledge——oneexpectsthesementoknoweverything——andtoexperiencerespectfulkindnessathishands！’
　　’Whatoftheyoungermen？’Iasked.
　　’Bright，keen，generousfellows.Inthingstheoretical，omniscient;
　　butinthingspractical，quitehelpless.Theytossaboutgreatideasastheminerslumpsofcoal.Theycancallthembytheirbooknameseasilyenough，butIoftenwonderedwhethertheycouldputthemintoEnglish.SomeofthemIcovetedforthemountains.Menwithclearheadsandbighearts，andbuiltafterSandyM’Naughton’smodel.ItdoesseemasinfulwasteofGod’sgoodhumanstufftoseethesefellowspotterawaytheirlivesamongtheorieslivinganddead，andendupbyproducingabook！Theyarealleithermakingorgoingtomakeabook.Agoodthingwehaven’ttoreadthem.Buthereandthereamongthemissomequietchapwhowillmakeabookthatmenwilltumbleovereachothertoread.’
　　Thenwepausedandlookedateachother.
　　’Well？’Isaid.Heunderstoodme.
　　’Yes！’heansweredslowly，’doinggreatwork.Everyoneworshipsherjustaswedo，andsheismakingthemalldosomethingworthwhile，assheusedtomakeus.’
　　Hespokecheerfullyandreadilyasifhewererepeatingalessonwelllearned，buthecouldnothumbugme.Ifelttheheartacheinthecheerfultone.
　　’Tellmeabouther，’Isaid，forIknewthatifhewouldtalkitwoulddohimgood.Andtalkhedid，oftenforgettingme，till，asIlistened，Ifoundmyselflookingagainintothefathomlesseyes，andhearingagaintheheart—searchingvoice.Isawhergoinandoutofthelittlered—tiledcottagesanddownthenarrowbacklanesofthevillage;Iheardhervoiceinasweet，lowsongbythebedofadyingchild，orpouringforthfloodsofmusicinthegreatnewhallofthefactorytownnearby.ButIcouldnotsee，thoughhetriedtoshowme，thestatelygraciousladyreceivingthecountryfolkinherhome.Hedidnotlingeroverthatscene，butwentbackagaintothegate—cottagewhereshehadtakenhimonedaytoseeBillyBreen’smother.
　　’Ifoundtheoldwomanknewallaboutme，’hesaid，simplyenough;
　　’butthereweremanythingsaboutBillyshehadneverheard，andI
　　wasgladtoputherrightonsomepoints，thoughMrs.Mavorwouldnothearit.’
　　Hesatsilentforalittle，lookingintothecoals;thenwentoninasoft，quietvoice——
　　’ItbroughtbackthemountainsandtheolddaystohearagainBilly’stonesinhismother’svoice，andtoseehersittingthereintheverydresssheworethenightoftheLeague，youremember——
　　somesoftstuffwithblacklaceaboutit——andtohearhersingasshedidforBilly——ah！ah！’Hisvoiceunexpectedlybroke，butinamomenthewasmasterofhimselfandbeggedmetoforgivehisweakness.IamafraidIsaidwordsthatshouldnotbesaid——athingIneverdo，exceptwhensuddenlyandutterlyupset.
　　’Iamgettingselfishandweak，’hesaid;’Imustgettowork.I
　　amgladtogettowork.Thereismuchtodo，anditisworthwhile，ifonlytokeeponefromgettinguselessandlazy.’
　　’Uselessandlazy！’Isaidtomyself，thinkingofmylifebesidehis，andtryingtogetcommandofmyvoice，soasnottomakequiteafoolofmyself.Andformanyadaythosewordsgoadedmetoworkandtotheexerciseofsomemildself—denial.Butmorethanallelse，afterCraighadgonebacktothemountains，Graeme’slettersfromtherailwayconstructioncampstirredonetodounpleasantdutylongpostponed，andrendereduncomfortablemyhoursofmostluxuriousease.Manyoftheoldgangwerewithhim，bothoflumbermenandminers，andCraigwastheirminister.Andtheletterstoldofhowhelabouredbydayandbynightalongthelineofconstruction，carryinghistentandkitwithhim，preachingstraightsermons，watchingbysickmen，writingtheirletters，andwinningtheirhearts;makingstrongtheirlives，andhelpingthemtodiewellwhentheirhourcame.Oneday，theselettersprovedtoomuchforme，andIpackedawaymypaintsandbrushes，andmademyvowuntotheLordthatIwouldbe’uselessandlazy’nolonger，butwoulddosomethingwithmyself.Inconsequence，IfoundmyselfwithinthreeweekswalkingtheLondonhospitals，finishingmycourse，thatImightjointhatbandofmenwhoweredoingsomethingwithlife，or，ifthrowingitaway，werenotlosingitfornothing.
　　Ihadfinishedbeingafool，Ihoped，atleastafooloftheuselessandluxuriouskind.TheletterthatcamefromGraeme，inreplytomyrequestforapositiononhisstaff，wascharacteristicoftheman，bothnewandold，fullofgayesthumourandofmostearnestwelcometothework.
　　Mrs.Mavor’sreplywaslikeherself——
　　’Iknewyouwouldnotlongbecontentwiththemakingofpictures，whichtheworlddoesnotreallyneed，andwouldjoinyourfriendsinthedearWest，makinglivesthattheworldneedssosorely.’
　　Butherlastwordstouchedmestrangely——
　　’ButbesuretobethankfuleverydayforyourprivilegeItwillbegoodtothinkofyouall，withthegloriousmountainsaboutyou，andChrist’sownworkinyourhandsAh！howwewouldliketochooseourwork，andtheplaceinwhichtodoit！’
　　Thelongingdidnotappearinthewords，butIneedednowordstotellmehowdeepandhowconstantitwas.AndItakesomecredittomyself，thatinmyreplyIgavehernobiddingtojoinourband，butratherpraisedtheworkshewasdoinginherplace，tellingherhowIhadheardofitfromCraig.
　　ThesummerfoundmereligiouslydoingParisandVienna，gainingamoreperfectacquaintancewiththeextentandvarietyofmyownignorance，andsofullyoccupiedinthisinterestingandwholesomeoccupationthatIfelloutwithallmycorrespondents，withtheresultofweeksofsilencebetweenus.
　　TwolettersamongtheheapwaitingonmytableinLondonmademyheartbeatquick，butwithhowdifferentfeelings：onefromGraemetellingmethatCraighadbeenveryill，andthathewastotakehimhomeassoonashecouldbemoved.Mrs.Mavor’slettertoldmeofthedeathoftheoldlady，whohadbeenhercareforthepasttwoyears，andofherintentiontospendsomemonthsinheroldhomeinEdinburgh.Andthisletteritisthataccountsformypresenceinamiserable，dingy，dirtylittlehallrunningoffacloseinthehistoricCowgate，redolentofthegloriesofthesplendidpast，andofthevariousodoursoftheevil—smellingpresent.IwastheretohearMrs.Mavorsingtothecrowdofgaminsthatthrongedtheclosesintheneighbourhood，andthathadbeengatheredintoaclubby’afineleddiefraetheWestEnd，’fortheloveofChristandHislost.Thiswasan’AtHome’night，andthemothersandfathers，sistersandbrothers，ofallagesandsizeswerepresent.OfallthesadfacesIhadeverseen，thosemotherscarriedthesaddestandmostwoe—stricken.’Heavenpityus！’Ifoundmyselfsaying;’isthisthebeautiful，thecultured，theheaven—exaltedcityofEdinburgh？Willitnot，forthis，becastdownintohellsomeday，ifitrepentnotofitsclosesandtheirdensofdefilement？Oh！theutterweariness，thedazedhopelessnessoftheghastlyfaces！Donotthekindly，gentlechurch—goingfolkofthecrescentsandthegardensseethemintheirdreams，oraretheirdreamstooheavenlyfortheseghastlyfacestoappear？’
　　Icannotrecalltheprogrammeoftheevening，butinmymemory—
　　galleryisavividpictureofthatface，sweet，sad，beautiful，alightwiththedeepglowofhereyes，asshestoodandsangtothatdingycrowd.AsIsatuponthewindow—ledgelisteningtothevoicewithitsflowingsong，mythoughtswerefaraway，andIwaslookingdownoncemoreupontheeager，coal—grimedfacesintherudelittlechurchinBlackRock.Iwasbroughtbacktofindmyselfswallowinghardbyanaudiblewhisperfromaweelassietohermother——
　　’Mither！Seetillyonman.He’sgreetin’.’
　　WhenIcametomyselfshewassinging’TheLando’theLeal，’theScotch’JerusalemtheGolden，’immortal，perfect.Itneededexperienceofthehunger—hauntedCowgatecloses，chillwiththeblackmistofaneasternhaar，tofeelthefullblissofthevisioninthewords——
　　’There’snaesorrowthere，Jean，There’sneithercauldnorcare，Jean，ThedayisayefairinTheLando’theLeal.’
　　Alandoffair，warmdays，untouchedbysorrowandcare，wouldbeheavenindeedtothedwellersoftheCowgate.
　　Therestofthateveningishazyenoughtomenow，tillIfindmyselfoppositeMrs.Mavoratherfire，readingGraeme’sletter;
　　thenallisvividagain.
　　Icouldnotkeepthetruthfromher.Iknewitwouldbefollytotry.SoIreadstraightontillIcametothewords——
　　’Hehashadmountainfever，whateverthatmaybe，andhewillnotpullupagain.IfIcan，Ishalltakehimhometomymother’——whenshesuddenlystretchedoutherhand，saying，’Oh，letmeread！’andIgavehertheletter.Inaminuteshehadreadit，andbeganalmostbreathlessly——
　　’Listen！mylifeismuchchanged.Mymother—in—lawisgone;sheneedsmenolonger.Mysolicitortellsme，too，thatowingtounfortunateinvestmentsthereisneedofmoney，sogreatneed，thatitispossiblethateithertheestatesortheworksmustgo.Mycousinhashisallintheworks——ironworks，youknow.Itwouldbewrongtohavehimsuffer.Ishallgiveuptheestates——thatisbest.’Shepaused.
　　’Andcomewithme，’Icried.
　　’Whendoyousail？’
　　’Nextweek，’Iansweredeagerly.
　　Shelookedatmeafewmoments，andintohereyestherecamealightsoftandtender，asshesaid——
　　’Ishallgowithyou.’
　　Andsoshedid;andnooldRomaninallthegloryofaTriumphcarriedaprouderheartthanI，asIboreherandherlittleonefromthetraintoGraeme’scarriage，crying——
　　’I’vegother.’
　　Buthiswasthebettersense，forhestoodwavinghishatandshouting——
　　’He’sallright，’atwhichMrs.Mavorgrewwhite;butwhensheshookhandswithhim，theredwasinhercheekagain.
　　’Itwasthecabledidit，’wentonGraeme.’Connor’sagreatdoctor！Hisfirstcasewillmakehimfamous.Goodprescription——
　　aftermountainfevertryacablegram！’Andtheredgrewdeeperinthebeautifulfacebesideus.
　　Neverdidthecountrylooksolovely.Thewoodswereintheirgayestautumndress;thebrownfieldswerebathedinapurplehaze;
　　theairwassweetandfreshwithasuspicionofthecomingfrostsofwinter.Butinspiteofalltheroadseemedlong，anditwasasifhourshadgonebeforeoureyesfelluponthewhitemansestandingamongthegoldenleaves.
　　’Letthemgo，’Icried，asGraemepausedtotakeintheview，anddowntheslopingdustyroadweflewonthedeadrun.
　　’RemindsonealittleofAbe’scurves，’saidGraeme，aswedrewupatthegate.ButIansweredhimnot，forIwasintroducingtoeachotherthetwobestwomenintheworld.AsIwasabouttorushintothehouse，Graemeseizedmebythecollar，saying——
　　’Holdon，Connor！youforgetyourplace，you’renext.’
　　’Why，certainly，’Icried，thankfullyenough;’whatanassIam！’
　　’Quitetrue，’saidGraemesolemnly.
　　’Whereishe？’Iasked.
　　’Atthispresentmoment？’heasked，inashockedvoice.’Why，Connor，yousurpriseme.’
　　’Oh，Isee！’
　　’Yes，’hewentongravely;’youmaytrustmymothertobediscreetlyattendingtoherdomesticduties;sheisagreatwoman，mymother.’
　　Ihadnodoubtofit，foratthatmomentshecameouttouswithlittleMarjorieinherarms.
　　’YouhaveshownMrs.Mavortoherroom，mother，Ihope，’saidGraeme;butsheonlysmiledandsaid——
　　’Runawaywithyourhorses，yousillyboy，’atwhichhesolemnlyshookhishead.’Ah，mother，youaredeep——whowouldhavethoughtitofyou？’
　　Thateveningthemanseoverflowedwithjoy，andthedaysthatfollowedwerelikedreamssettosweetmusic.
　　Butforsheerwilddelight，nothinginmymemorycanquitecomeuptothedemonstrationorganisedbyGraeme，withassistancefromNixon，Shaw，Sandy，Abe，Geordie，andBaptiste，inhonourofthearrivalincampofMr.andMrs.Craig.And，inmyopinion，itaddedsomethingtotheoccasion，thatafterallthecheersforMr.
　　andMrs.Craighaddiedaway，andafterallthehatshadcomedown，Baptiste，whohadnevertakenhiseyesfromthatradiantface，shouldsuddenlyhavesweptthecrowdintoaperfectstormofcheersbyexcitedlyseizinghistuque，andcallingoutinhisshrillvoice——
　　’Bygar！TreecheerforMrs.Mavor.’
　　AndformanyadaythemenofBlackRockwouldeasilyfallintotheoldandwell—lovedname;butupanddownthelineofconstruction，inallthecampsbeyondtheGreatDivide，thenewnamebecameasdearastheoldhadeverbeeninBlackRock.
　　Thoseoldwilddaysarelongsincegoneintothedimdistanceofthepast.Theywillnotcomeagain，forwehavefallenintoquiettimes;butofteninmyquietesthoursIfeelmyheartpauseinitsbeattohearagainthatstrong，clearvoice，likethesoundofatrumpet，biddingustobemen;andIthinkofthemall——Graeme，theirchief，Sandy，Baptiste，Geordie，Abe，theCampbells，Nixon，Shaw，allstronger，betterfortheirknowingofhim，andthenI
　　thinkofBillyasleepunderthepines，andofoldmanNelsonwiththelonggrasswavingoverhiminthequietchurchyard，andallmynonsenseleavesme，andIblesstheLordforallHisbenefits，butchieflyforthedayImetthemissionaryofBlackRockinthelumber—campamongtheSelkirks.