The End Of The Rainbow Part 11

"Oh, but there just is. I haven't told a soul yet, and I nearly had to commit murder to keep it from Mother. Fred's in a pink fit every minute for fear I'll let it out. I've got heaps of fun holding it over his head. It makes him good and obedient. Is Lawyer Ed in?"

"No. Do you wish to see him?"

"No, of course not. I just wondered if he wouldn't keep house, though, for a few minutes, while you came along and joined the bunch. We're all going to make Alf take us for ice-cream. We spied him leaving here. Can't you come?"

"Thank you, but I'm afraid I couldn't leave," said Roderick, rather taken aback by her frankness. That ideal woman, who sat dimly enthroned in the recesses of his heart, never offered her favours, they had to be sued for, and she was apt to sit in judgment on the girl who departed from her strict rule.

"Come on, Les!" called a voice from the lingering group she had left.

"Here's Alf. He's going to treat us all. Ho! A-a-lf!" The young ladies of Algonquin, had lived in such close proximity to each other from childhood that a playmate could always be summoned even from the other end of the town by a clarion call, and they had never seen any reason for changing their convenient method when long skirts and piled-up hair might have been supposed to demand a less artless manner.

But then every one shouted across blocks, and besides, every one knew that Afternoon Tea Willie just dearly loved to be yelled at. He whirled about now, waved his hat, and came hurrying back, with the peculiar jerky irregular motion of his feet, that always marked his movements.

"Hurrah, Leslie!" called her companions again.

"Coming!" she cried. "So sorry you can't come," she added, turning to Roderick, "but we'll give you another invitation." She looked disappointed, and a little inclined to pout, but she waved her hand as she ran down the steps and joined the group of lace and flowers now fluttering down the side-walk towards the ice cream parlour.

"Leslie's made a new conquest," cried a tall girl with flas.h.i.+ng black eyes. "He seemed frantically anxious to come with you, my dear. I don't see how you got rid of him."

"Who is he, Les?" cried another. "If it's a new young man come to this girl-ridden town you simply have got to pa.s.s him round and introduce him."

"Why, he's Lawyer Ed's new partner, you goosie," cried a dozen voices, for it was inexcusable for any young lady not to know all about Lawyer Ed's business.

"A lawyer, how perfectly lovely!" cried a plump little girl with pink cheeks and dancing eyes. "It's such a relief to see some one beside bank boys. I'm going to ask his advice about suing Afternoon Tea Willie for breach of promise. What's his name, Leslie?"

"Why, his name's Roderick McRae," cried the young lady with the black eyes. "I remember when he used to go to school in a grey homespun suit with the hay sticking all over it. He's the son of old Angus McRae who used to bring our cabbage and lettuce to the back door!"

"Mercy!" the plump little girl gave a shriek. "Where in the world did you pick him up, Leslie?"

The girl whirled about and faced her companions, her eyes blazing, her checks red. "I didn't pick him up at all!" she cried hotly. "He picked me up the other night, out of the lake over by Breezy Point, where Fred Hamilton upset me out of his canoe. And if Roderick McRae hadn't come along I'd have been drowned. So now!"

It had all come out in a rush. She had fully intended to s.h.i.+eld Fred.

But she could not see her preserver scoffed at by those Baldwin girls.

Immediately there was a chorus of enquiries and exclamations.

Afternoon Tea Willie was overcome with distress and apologised for not being there. Old Angus McRae's son immediately became a hero.

The little plump girl with the big blue eyes sighed enviously. "Oh dear! How lucky! I think it's a shame all the good things happen to you, Leslie; and he's so handsome!"

"I'm going to ask him to join our tennis club," said Leslie, looking round rather defiantly.

Leslie Graham, by virtue of the fact that her mother belonged to the reigning house of Armstrong, and her father was the richest man in Algonquin, was leader of the younger social set. But Miss Anna Baldwin of the black eyes was her most powerful rival. They were constant companions and very dear friends, and never agreed upon anything. So immediately upon Miss Graham's daring announcement that this new and very exclusive club should be entered by one not in their set, Miss Baldwin cried, "Oh, how perfectly sweet and democratic! Our milkman saved our house from burning down one morning last winter, don't you remember, Lou? We must make Mamma ask him to her next tea!"

Thereupon the group broke up into two sections, one loudly proclaiming its democratic principles, the other as vigorously upholding the necessity for drawing rigid social lines. And they all swept into the ice-cream palace, like a swarm of hot, angry bees, followed by Afternoon Tea Willie in great distress, apologising now to one side, now to the other.

Another call from his work came to Roderick the next afternoon when he paid his first visit to Doctor Leslie. The old Manse did not look just as hospitable as of old, there were no crowds on the veranda and in the orchard any more. For the foster mother of the congregation had left her children mourning, and gone to continue her good work in a brighter and better world.

Viney was still in the kitchen, however, doing all in her power to make the lonely minister comfortable. She had been away from the Manse for some years in the interval, but was now returned with a half-grown daughter to help her. Viney had left Mrs. Leslie to marry "Mahogany Bill," a mulatto from the negro settlement out in Oro. But Bill had been of no account, and after his not too sadly mourned demise, his wife, promoted to the dignified t.i.tle of Mammy Viney, had returned with her little girl to the Algonquin Manse, and there she was still.

"And your father has you home at last, Roderick," said the minister, rubbing his hands with pleasure and surveying the young man's fine honest face with affection. "He has lived for this day. I hope you won't get so absorbed in your practice that you won't be able to run out to the farm often."

"Aunt Kirsty will see to that," laughed Roderick.

The minister beamed. "I'm afraid I shall get into her bad books then, for I am going to keep you here as often as possible. You are just the young man I want in the church, Roderick--one who will be a leader of the young men. Algonquin is changing," he added sadly. "Perhaps because it is growing rapidly. I am afraid there is a rather fast set of young men being developed here. It makes my heart ache to see fine young fellows like Fred Hamilton and Walter Armstrong learning to gamble, and yet that is just what is happening. There's a great work here for a strong young man with just your upbringing, my boy. We must save these lads from themselves--'Who knoweth,'" he added with a smile, "'but thou hast come to the Kingdom for such an hour.'"

There was a great deal more of the same earnest call to work, and Roderick went away conscious of a slight feeling of impatience. It was just what his father was always saying, but how was he to attend to his work, if he were to have all the responsibility of the young men of the town and all the people of Willow Lane upon him? He was inclined to think that every man should be responsible for himself. He was kind-hearted and generous when the impulse came, but he did not want to be reminded that his life's work was to be his brother's keeper. His work was to be a lawyer. He did not yet realise that in being his brother's keeper he would make of himself the best kind of lawyer.

The next evening, when he prepared to go home, Lawyer Ed declared he must just take his horse and drive him out to the farm and have a visit with Angus and a drink of Aunt Kirsty's b.u.t.ter-milk. So, early in the evening, they drove through the town down towards the Pine Road.

Willow Lane still stood there. The old houses were more dilapidated than ever, and there were more now than there used to be. Doctor Blair's horse and buggy stood before one of them. Willow Lane was on low, swampy ground, and was the abode of fevers and diseases of all sorts.

As they whirled past it, Lawyer Ed waved his whip towards it in disgust. "That place is a disgrace to Algonquin," he bl.u.s.tered. "We boast of our town being the most healthful and beautiful in Ontario, and it's got the ugliest and the most unsanitary spot just right there that you'd find in Canada. If J. P. gets to be mayor next year he'll fix it up. He's having it drained already. I hope you'll get interested in munic.i.p.al affairs, Rod. I tell you it's great. I'm so glad I'll have more time for town affairs now that you're here. But you must get going there too. There's nothing so bad for a professional man as to get so tied down to his work that he can't see an inch beyond it. You can't help getting interested in this place.

It's going ahead so. Now, the lake front there--"

Lawyer Ed was off on his pet scheme, the beautifying of that part of the lake front that was now made hideous by factory and mill and railroad track and rows of tumble-down boathouses.

And Roderick listened half-heartedly, interested only because it interested his friend. They pa.s.sed along the Jericho Road, with its sweet-smelling pines; the soft mists of early autumn clothed Lake Algonquin in a veil of amethyst. The long heavy gra.s.s by the roadside, and ma.s.ses of golden-rod s.h.i.+ning dimly in the evening-light told that summer had finished her task. She was waiting the call to leave.

Lawyer Ed was not half through with the esplanade along the lake front when they reached Peter McDuff's home. It was a forlorn old weather-beaten house with thistles and mullen and st.u.r.dy burdocks growing close to the doorway. An old gnarled apple-tree, weary and discouraged looking, stood at one side of the house, its blackened branches touching the ground. At the other lay a broken plow, on top of a heap of rubbish. A sagging wood-pile and a sorry-looking pump completed the dreariness.

And yet there were signs of a better day. The dilapidated barn was well-built, the fences had once been strong and well put together, and around the house were the struggling remains of an old garden, with many a flower run wild among the thistles. The history of the home had followed that of its owner. Peter Fiddle had once been a highly respected man, with not a little education. His wife had been a good woman, and when their boy came, for a time, the father had given up his wild ways and his drinking and had settled down to work his little farm. But he never quite gave up the drink, though Angus McRae's hand held him back from it many and many a time. But Angus had been ill for a couple of years, and Peter had gone very far astray when the helping hand was removed.

He had gone steadily downward until his powers were wasted and his health ruined. His wife gave up the struggle, when young Peter was but a child, and closed her tired eyes on the dirt and misery of her ruined home. Then Angus McRae had regained his health and his grip on Peter, and since then, with many disappointments and backslidings, he had managed to bring him struggling back to a semblance of his old manhood.

He was not redeemed yet. But old Angus never gave up hope.

Poor Young Peter had grown up dull of brain and heavy of foot, handicapped before birth by the drink. But he had clung doggedly to that one idea which Angus McRae had drilled into him, that he must, as he valued his life, avoid that dread thing which had ruined his father and killed his mother.

Lawyer Ed pulled up his horse before the house. Young Peter had not yet come in with the _Inverness_, but he looked about for Peter Fiddle.

He had been sober for a much longer time than usual in this interval, and both he and Angus were keeping an anxious, hopeful eye upon him.

"I wonder where Peter is," he said.

For answer Roderick pointed down the road before them. A horse and wagon stood close to the road-side. They drove up to it, and there, stretched on the seat of his wagon, his horse cropping the gra.s.s by the way-side, lay poor old Peter, dead drunk.

"Well, well, well!" cried Lawyer Ed in mingled disgust and disappointment. "He's gone again, and your father had such hopes of him!" He gave the lines to Roderick and leaped out.

"Hi, Peter!" he shouted, shaking the man violently. "Wake up! It's time for breakfast, man!"

But Peter Fiddle made no more response than a log. And then a look of boyish mischief danced into Lawyer Ed's young eyes.

"Come here, Rod!" he cried. "Let's fix him up and see what he'll do when we get back."

Roderick alighted and helped unhitch the old horse from the wagon.

They led him back to the house, watered him, put him into the old stable and fed him. When they returned, Peter still lay asleep on the wagon seat, and they drove off. Lawyer Ed in a fit of boyish mirth.

It was heavy news for old Angus when they sat around the supper table, eating Aunt Kirsty's apple pie and cream; but the good Samaritan was not discouraged. "Well, well," he said with a sigh, "he kept away from it longer this time than ever. He's improving. Eh, eh, poor body, poor Peter!"

"It would seem as if the work of the Good Samaritan is never done, Angus," said Lawyer Ed. "I suppose there will always be thieves on the Jericho Road."

"I was just wondering to-day," said Angus thoughtfully, "if, while we go on picking up the men on the Jericho Road, we couldn't be doing something to keep the thieves from doing their evil work. There's Peter now. If we can't keep him away from the drink, don't you think we ought to try to keep the drink away from him?"

"Lawyer Ed'll have to get a local option by-law pa.s.sed in Algonquin, Father," said Roderick.