doot." So, Ben and Serlizer rolled away with Bangs, and Nash's coffin;
and Matilda and her son accompanied Rawdon's remains, in Mr. Newberry's
waggon. At the same time, with the sad, grey-haired woman as chief
mourner, and Mrs. Carmichael beside her, a funeral procession passed
from Bridesdale to the post office, and thence to the English
churchyard, where old Styles and Sylvanus dug the double grave, around
which, in deep solemnity, stood the Captain and Mr. Terry, the minister
and the lawyer, while Mr. Perrowne read the service, and two victims of
Rawdon's crime and treachery were committed, earth to earth, dust to
dust, and ashes to ashes. Immediately the grave was covered in, the
doubly-bereaved woman slipped away, and was never again heard of. There
appeared no evidence, far or near, that she had done away with herself;
it was, therefore, concluded that she had a child or children elsewhere,
and had gone to hide the rest of her wasted life with them. The two
clergymen went their ways to their lodgings, and the Bridesdale party
walked silently and sorrowfully home.

Mr. Bigglethorpe wanted to go back with the Richards, so that he might
have another morning's fishing; but Mrs. Carruthers thought he had
better take Mr. Bangs' room, and nurse his eyes and other burned parts
before going home. Marjorie and her young cousins dragged him off, after
his green shade was put on, to the creek, and made him rig up rods and
lines for them in the shape of light-trimmed willow boughs, to which
pieces of thread were attached with bent pins at the other ends.
Fishing with these, baited with breadcrumbs, they secured quite a number
of chub and dace, and made the valley musical with their laughter at
each success or mishap, by the time the Bridesdale people returned from
the impromptu funeral. The Squire was busy in his office, looking over
Nash's legacy, preparatory to sending it to Bangs, who had begged him to
forward the documents without delay. The only thing of note he found
was, that Rawdon did not bank his money; he had no bank account
anywhere. Where did he stow away the fortune he must have made? There
was a note of the casual conversation of an assumed miser with Rawdon,
in which Rawdon was represented as saying: "Dry sandy soil, well drained
with two slopes, under a rain-shed, will keep millions in a cigar box."
That the Squire noted; then he sealed up the rest of the papers, and
addressed them to Hickey Bangs, Esq., D.I.R., ready for the post in the
morning. The colonel, Mrs. and Miss Du Plessis were all in Wilkinson's
room. The colonel was commenting upon the four poor souls that had gone
before God's judgment seat, three of them, probably, with murder on
their hands; and thanked God that his boy had died in the war, brave and
pure and good, with no stain on his young life. "When my boy was killed,
my deah Fahquhah, I felt like the Electoh Palatine of the Rhine, when
young Duke Christopheh, his son, fell at Mookerheyde, accohding to
Motley: he said ''Twas bettah thus than to have passed his time in
idleness, which is the devil's pillow.' Suh, I honouh the Electoh
Palatine foh that. What melancholy ghaves these pooah creatuhes fill."
Then Mrs. Du Plessis wept, mildly, and Miss Du Plessis, and they all had
to wipe a few tears out of Wilkinson's eyes. Had Coristine been there,
he would have been scandalized. The lawyer's lady-love was engaged in
very prosaic work in the sewing-room, with her aunt, running a
sewing-machine to make much-needed clothes for the unhappy woman, whom
the coroner's jury, by a euphemism, called Rawdon's wife. The two had
seen her off in charge of good old Mr. Newberry, and had promised to
send her the work, which she herself had begun; and, now, they were
toiling with all their might to redeem the promise, as early as
possible, in spite of the tears that would come also into their foolish
eyes, blurring their vision and damping their material. Coristine, who
longed for a sight of fresh young life after the vision of death, did
not know what kept that young life within, and, like an unreasonable
man, was inclined to be angry. He was overwrought, poor fellow,
sleepless and tired, and emotionally excited, and, therefore, ready for
any folly under the sun.

Mrs. Carmichael had entered the house, with the Captain and Mr. Terry.
The lawyer remained alone in the garden, waiting for something to turn
up. Something did turn up in the shape of the stage on its way to the
post office, which dropped its only passenger at the Bridesdale gate.
The passenger was a young fellow of about twenty-five, rather over than
under middle height, of good figure, and becomingly dressed. His
features were good enough, but lacked individuality, as did his combined
moustache and side whiskers, that formed a sort of imperfect W across
his face. He held his nose well up in the air, spoke what, in his
ignorance, he fondly imagined to be aristocratic English, and carried,
with an apologetic and depressed air, a small Gladstone bag. The
newcomer dusted his trouser legs with a cane utterly useless for walking
purposes; then, adjusting his eye-glass, he elevated it towards the
solitary occupant of the garden, as he entered the gate. "Haw, you sir,"
he called out to him; "is this, haw, Mr. Corrothers' plaice?" Coristine
was nettled at the style of address, but commanded himself to reply as
briefly as possible that it was. "Miss Morjorie Cormichael stoying
here?" continued the stage passenger. "Miss Carmichael is here,"
responded the lawyer. "Haw, I thort so. Just you run in now, will you,
ond tell Miss Morjorie thot on old friend wonts to speak to her." The
lawyer was getting furious, in spite of himself. Taking his pipe out of
his pocket, and proceeding to fill it with all apparent deliberation and
calmness, he replied: "So far as I have the honour of Miss Carmichael's
acquaintance, she is not in the habit of receiving visitors out of
doors. There are both bell and knocker on the door before you, which
servants will probably answer; but, if that door doesn't suit you, you
will probably find others at the back." With this ungracious speech, he
turned on his heel, lit his pipe, and puffed vigorously along the path
towards the meadow gate. Then, he strolled down the hill and met the
returning fishers, the two youngest in Mr. Bigglethorpe's arms, and with
their arms about his neck. Coristine indulged in a kissing bee with the
rest of them, so as to assure himself that he was the true old friend,
the genuine Codlin, while the other man was Short. "Marjorie," he said,
as that fishing young lady clung to him, "there's a duffer of a dude,
with an eye-glass, up at the house, who says he's an old friend of your
cousin Marjorie; do you know any old friend of hers?" Marjorie stopped
to think, and, after a little pause, said: "It can't be Huggins." "Who
is Huggins, Marjorie?" asked the lawyer. "He's the caretaker of
Marjorie's school."

"Oh no, this dude is too young and gorgeous for a caretaker."

"Then, I think I know; its Orther Lom."

"Who is Orther Lom?"

"I don't know; only Auntie Marjorie said, she wouldn't be astonished if
Orther Lom was to come and find cousin Marjorie out, even away up here.
It must be Orther Lom."

This was all the information the lawyer could obtain; so he and Marjorie
joined Mr. Bigglethorpe and the other anglers, and talked about making
domestic sardines and smelts of the chub and dace they had caught.

The summons to tea greeted the wanderers before they had had time to
cleanse their hands of fishy odours; consequently Mr. Bigglethorpe and
the lawyer were a minute or two late. They found the man of the
eye-glass seated on one side of Miss Carmichael, and, as she beckoned
the fisherman to the other, she introduced her protegé to him as Mr.
Arthur Lamb, a very old friend. Miss Halbert made way for Coristine
beside her, and he congratulated her on the doctor's reappearance at the
table.

"Mr. Coristine," said Miss Carmichael, and the lawyer, with a somewhat
worn society face, looked across.

"Mr. Lamb, who is an old friend of ours, tells me he met you in the
garden, but you did not introduce yourself. Let me introduce you, Mr.
Lamb, Mr. Coristine."

Coristine gave the merest nod of recognition, and went on talking to
Miss Halbert. He thought Perrowne was right; there was some
satisfaction conversing with a girl like that, a girl with no nonsense
about her. The minister's gloves had got fishy, handling Marjorie's
catch, so he had taken them off when preparing himself for tea, and had
left them in his room. Miss Carmichael looked at the burnt hands, and
felt disposed to scold him, but did not dare. Perhaps, he had taken the
gloves off intentionally. She wished that ring of his were not on her
finger. Between Mr. Lamb and Miss Halbert, she felt very uncomfortable,
and knew that Eugene, no, Mr. Coristine, was behaving abominably. The
colonel and his belongings had been so much about the wounded dominie
all afternoon, that Mrs. Carruthers insisted on her right, as a hostess,
to minister to him, while her sister-in law presided in her stead.
Coristine at once rose to help the hostess, and regained his spirits,
while rallying his old friend over the many attentions he was receiving
at the hands of the fair sex. He could hardly believe his eyes and ears
when he beheld the meek and helpless creature who had once been the
redoubtable Wilkinson. How had the mighty fallen! "We'll put you in a
glass case, Wilks, like the old gray horse that was jined to the
Methodis, and kicked so high they put him in the museum."

"Corry," interrupted the still correct dominie, "I have no sympathy with
that rude song; but if you will quote it, please adhere to the original.
It was 'my old aunt Sal that was joined to the Methodists,' not the old
gray horse."

"Thanks, Wilks, thanks, I'll try and remember. Any more toast or jam,
old boy?"

"No, I have a superabundance of good things."

"Well, see you again, sometime when I have a chance. You're pretty well
guarded you know. Au revoir."

Coristine followed Mrs. Carruthers down stairs; while the dominie
sighed, and said: "It seems as if nothing will give that boy stability
of character and staidness of demeanour."

"Who is going to service to-night?" asked the Squire. Mrs. Carruthers
could not, because of the children; the doctor was unfit to walk; and
the colonel and Mrs. Du Plessis had so much to say to each other over
their dear boy that they desired to be excused. Mr. Bigglethorpe said
he was a church-going man, but hardly cared to air his green shade in
public; whereupon Mr. Terry volunteered to remain and smoke a pipe with
him. Mrs. Carmichael and her daughter signified their intention of
accompanying the Squire, and Mr. Lamb at once asked permission to join
them. Miss Halbert stated that she would like to go to week service, if
anybody else was going. Of course, the lawyer offered his escort, and
Miss Du Plessis and the Captain begged to be included. Thus, four of the
party set out for Mr. Perrowne's mid-week service, and four to Mr.
Errol's prayer meeting. Mr. Lamb did not get much out of Miss Carmichael
on the way, and Miss Halbert thought her escort unusually absent-minded.
Coming home, Mr. Perrowne deprived Coristine of his fair charge, and Mr.
Errol relieved the Squire of his sister. Accordingly, the freed
cavaliers drew together and conversed upon the events of the day. Good
Mr. Carruthers was startled, when the lawyer expressed his intention of
leaving in the morning, as he could be of no further use, and felt he
had already trespassed too long upon his generous hospitality.

"Noo, Coristine," he said, falling into his doric, "what ails ye, man,
at the lassie?"

"My dear Squire, I have none but the kindest and most grateful thoughts
towards all the ladies."

"Weel, weel, it's no for me to be spierin', but ye maun na gang awa
frae's on accoont o' yon daft haveral o' a Lamb."

"Who is this Mr. Lamb?"

"I ken naething aboot him, foreby that he's a moothin' cratur frae the
Croon Lans Depairtment, wi' no owre muckle brains."

Dropping the subject, the Squire proceeded to tell what he had found in
Nash's papers, and proposed an expedition, ostensibly for fishing, in
which the two of them, providing themselves with tools, should prospect
for the hidden treasure of the former master of the Select Encampment.
As it was unlikely that any claimant for Rawdon's property would appear,
all that they found would belong to Matilda and her boy, unless it were
judged right to indemnify Miss Du Plessis for any injury done to her
land. There was no reason for the lawyer's departure. He had another
week of leave, which he did not know how to put in. True, he could not
remain until Wilkinson was perfectly well, but it would seem heartless
to desert him so soon after he had received his wound. He had thought of
writing the Squire about Miss Carmichael's position as her deceased
father's next of kin, but it would save trouble to talk it over. All
things considered, Mr. Carruthers did not find it a difficult task to
make his pleasant new acquaintance reconsider his decision and commit
himself to an indefinite prolongation of Bridesdale hospitality. Yet, as
he entered the gate, he almost repented his weakness, on hearing the
eye-glassed Lamb say: "What ohfully jawlly times we hod, Morjorie, when
you and I were sweethorts." He wished that he could recall some
frightfully injurious and profane expression in a foreign tongue, with
which to anathematize the wretched, familiar, conceited Crown Lands
Department cad. While the Squire joined the doctor and the Captain in
the office, he went over to a corner in which the pipes of the veteran
and Mr. Bigglethorpe were still glowing, and, lighting his own, listened
to their military and piscatorial yarns.

Rufus had remained at Bridesdale, at the urgent entreaty of his sisters
and the Pilgrims; but the sight of the people going to prayer meeting
smote his conscience. He knew his father and mother would be at meetin'
in their own church, and that there would be a good deal of work to do.
Besides he hadn't brought home the team from Mr. Hislop's since the bee.
Nothing would stop him, therefore; he shouldered his gun, and, bidding
all good bye, started for home. Nobody was left in the kitchen but the
two maids and the two Pilgrims. Yes, there was one more, namely Mr.
Pawkins, who was afeard his duds warn't dry. The nettrelized citizen of
Kennidy was telling stories, that kept the company in peals and roars of
laughter, about an applicant for a place in a paper mill, who was set to
chewing a blue blanket into pulp, who was given a bottle of vinegar to
sharpen his teeth with, and who was ignominiously expelled from the
premises because he didn't "chaw it dry"; about a bunting billy goat;
and a powerful team of oxen, that got beyond the control of their
barn-moving driver, and planted the barn on the top of an almost
inaccessible hill. Mr. Pawkins complimented the young women, and drew
wonderful depths of knowledge out of Sylvanus and Timotheus. But, when a
vehicle rolled into the stable yard that brought the constable and
Maguffin to join the party, the quondam American citizen waxed jubilant,
and beheld endless possibilities of amusement. "Good evenin',
consterble," said Mr. Pawkins, blandly.

"Good evening, sir, at your service," replied the pensioner.

"Pawkins is my naum, consterble, kyind er Scotch, I reckin. They say
pawky means sorter cute an' cunnin', like in Scotch. Never was thar
myself, to speak on, but hev seed 'em."

"The Scotch make good soldiers," said Mr Rigby.

"Yaas; I reckin the oatmeal sorter stiffens 'em up."

"There are military authorities who assert that the Scotch are the only
troops that can reform under fire; but that is a mistake. In that
respect, sir, the Guards are equal to any other Household Troops."

"Fer haousehold trooeps and reformin' under fire, you had orter ha seen
aour fellers at Bull Run. When the shooten' begun, all the Bowery plug
uglies, bred to cussin' and drinkin' and wuss, dropped ther guns and
fell on ther knees a reformin'; then, when they faound they couldn't
reform so suddent, they up on ther two feet and started fer the
haoushold. Eurrup ain't got nuthin' ter ekal aour haousehold trooeps."

"You mistake me, Mr. Pawkins; the Household Troops in infantry are the
Guards and Highlanders, whose special duty it is to guard the royal
household."

"Is it big?"

"Is what big, sir?"

"Why, the household! How many storeys is ther to it besides the attic
and basement? Hev it got a mansard?"

"The Household, sir, dwells in royal palaces of great dimensions. It is
the royal family and their attendants over whom the Guards watch."

"That's the Black Guards, ain't it?"

"No, sir; you are thinking of the Black Watch, a name of the
Forty-second Highlanders."

"D'ye hear that, you Sambo? You orter go and git draafted inter that
corpse, and go araound breakin' the wimmin's hyearts in a cullud flannel
petticut."

"There are no negroes, sir, in the Black Watch," interposed the
corporal.

"See heah, yoh Yankee Canajiun," answered Mr. Maguffin with feeling,
"fo' de law ob this yeah kintry I'se jess es good a man as yoh is. So
yoh jess keep yoh Samboo in yoh mouf atter this. Specks yoh'se got a
mighty low down name yohsef if t'was ony knowed by respeckable pussons."

"My name, Mr. Julius Sneezer Disgustus Quackenboss, my name is Pawkins,
great grandson of Hercules Leonidas Pawkins, as was briggidier ginral
and aijicamp to George Washington, when he drummed the haousehold
trooeps, and the hull o' the derned British army, out'n Noo Yohk to the
toon o' 'Yankee Doodle.'"

The constable turned pale, shivered all over, and swayed about in his
chair, almost frightening the mendacious Yankee by the sight of the
mischief his words had wrought. Tryphena, however, quickly filled the
shocked corporal a hot cup of tea, and mutely pressed him to drink it.
He took off the tea at a gulp, set down the cup with a steady hand, and,
looking Mr. Pawkins in the face, said: "I regret, sir, to have to say
the word; but, sir, you are a liar."

"That's true as death, consterble," remarked Timotheus, who did not
share the hostile feelings of Sylvanus towards Corporal Rigby; "true as
death, and the boys, they ducked him in the crick for't, but they's no
washin' the lies out'n his jaws."

Mr. Pawkins looked as fierce as it was possible for a man with a merry
twinkle in his eyes to look, and roared, "Consterble, did you mean that,
or did you only say it fer fun like?"

Mr Rigby, glaring defiance, answered, "I meant it."

"Oh waall," responded the Yankee Canadian, mildly, "that's all right;
because I want you to know that I don't allaow folks to joke with me
that way. If you meant it, that's a different thing."

"What your general character may be, I do not know. As for your remarks
on the British army, they are lies."

"I guess, consterble, you ain't up in the histry of the United States of
Ameriky, or you'd know as your Ginral Clinton was drummed aout o' Noo
Yohk to the toon o' 'Yankee Doodle.'"

"I know, sir, that a mob of Hanoverians and Hessians, whom the Americans
could not drive out, evacuated New York, in consequence of a treaty of
peace. If your general, as you call him, Washington, had the bad taste
to play his ugly tune after them, it was just what might be expected
from such a quarter."

"My history," said Tryphosa, "says that the American army was driven out
of Canada by a few regulars and some French-Canadians at the same time."

"Brayvo, Phosy!" cried Timotheus.

"I assert now, as I have asserted before," continued Corporal Rigby,
"that the British army never has been defeated, and never can be
defeated. I belong to the British army, and know whereof I speak."

"Were you in the American war, Mr. Pawkins?" asked Tryphena.

"Yaas, I was thar, like the consterble, in the haouse hold trooeps. When
they come araound a draaftin', I skit aout to Kennidy. I've only got one
thing agin the war, and that is makin' every common nigger so sassy he
thinks he's the ekal of a white man. Soon's I think of that, the war
makes me sick."

"It is the boast of our Empire," remarked the pensioner, grandly, "that
wherever its flag floats, the slave is free."

"It's a derned pity," said Mr. Pawkins; "that there boy, Julius Sneezer
Disgustus Quackenboss, ud be wuth heaps more'n he is, if his boss jest
had the right to lick him straight along."

"Who," shrieked Maguffin; "who'se yar Squackenbawsin' an' gibbin' nigger
lip ter? My name's Mortimah Magrudah Maguffin, an' what's yourn?
Pawkins! Oh massy! Pawkins, nex' thing ter punkins. I cud get er punkin,
an' cut a hole er two in it an' make a bettah face nor yourn, Mistah
Pawkins, candaberus, lantun jaw, down east, Yankee white tresh. What you
doin' roun' this house, anyway?"

"Arrah, hush now, childher!" said Mr. Terry, entering from the hall.
"The aivenin's the time to make up aall dishputes, an' quoiet aal yer
angry faylins afore yeez say yer worruds an' go to shlape, wid the howly
angels gyardin' yeez. Good aivenin', Corporal."

"Good evening, Sergeant-Major."

"Mr. Terry," asked Tryphosa, timidly, "will you play a game at Cities,
Rivers and Mountains? We were waiting for even numbers to begin." The
veteran, who knew the game, agreed. Gallantly, the gentlemen asked the
two ladies to choose sides, whereupon Tryphena selected Mr. Pawkins,
Maguffin and Sylvanus; Mr. Terry, the constable, and Timotheus fell to
Tryphosa. Peace once more reigned, save when the great-grandson of the
brigadier general was detected in looking over his opponent's cards and
otherwise acting illegally.

Bigglethorpe and the lawyer entered the house, not far from bed time.
The company was in the drawing-room, and a lady was at the piano
singing, and playing her own accompaniment, while Mr. Lamb was standing
beside her, pretending to turn over the music, of which he had as little
knowledge as the animal whose name he bore. The song was that beautiful
one of Burns,

     O wert thou in the cauld blast
     On yonder lea, on yonder lea,

and, though a gentleman's song, it was rendered with exquisite taste and
feeling. The singer looked up appealingly at Mr. Lamb twice, solely to
invoke his aid in turning the music leaf. But, to Coristine's jealous
soul, it was a glance of tenderness and mutual understanding. Four long
days he had known her, and she had never sung for him; and now, just as
soon as the Crown Land idiot comes along, she must favour him with her
very best. He would not be rude, and talk while the singing was going
on, but he would let Lamb do all the thanking; he wasn't going shares
with that affected dude. The music ceased, and he turned to see whom he
could talk to. Mrs. Carmichael and Miss Halbert were busy with their
clerical adorers. The colonel and Mrs. Du Plessis had evidently bid
their dear boy good night, for they were engaged in earnest
conversation, in which he called her Terésa, and she called him Paul as
often as colonel. Miss Du Plessis was turning over the leaves of an
album. He went up to her, and asked if she would not favour the company
with some music. "Instrumental or vocal, Mr. Coristine?" she asked. "Oh,
vocal, if you please, Miss Du Plessis; do you sing, 'Shall I wasting in
despair,' or anything of that kind?" Miss Du Plessis did not, but would
like to hear Mr. Coristine sing it. He objected that he had no music,
and was a poor accompanyist. Before the unhappy man knew where he was,
Miss Du Plessis was by Miss Carmichael's side, begging her dear friend
Marjorie to accompany Mr. Coristine. She agreed, for she knew the song,
and the music was in the stand. Like a condemned criminal, Coristine was
conducted to the piano; but the first few bars put vigour into him, and
he sang the piece through with credit. He was compelled, of course, to
return thanks for the excellent accompaniment, but this he did in a
stiff formal way, as if the musician was an entire stranger. Then they
had prayers, for the gentlemen had come in out of the office, and,
afterwards, the clergymen went home. As the inmates of Bridesdale
separated for the night, Miss Carmichael handed the lawyer his ring,
saying that since his hands were fit to dispense with gloves, they must
also be strong enough to bear its weight. He accepted the ring with a
sigh, and silently retired to his chamber. Before turning in for the
night, he looked in upon Wilkinson, whom he found awake. After enquiries
as to his arm and general health, he said: "Wilks, my boy, congratulate
me on being an ass; I've lost the finest woman in all the world by my
own stupidity." His friend smiled at him, and answered: "Do not be
down-hearted, Corry; I will speak to Ceci--Miss Du Plessis I mean, and
she will arrange matters for you." The lawyer fervently exclaimed: "God
bless you, Wilks!" and withdrew, not a little comforted. We cannot
intrude into the apartment of the young ladies, but there was large
comfort in their conversation for a person whose Christian name was
Eugene. If he only had known it!

By the constable, Ben Toner, and other messengers, Mr. Bigglethorpe had
acquainted his somewhat tyrannical spouse that he was staying for a
while at the Flanders lakes to enjoy the fishing. Mr. Rigby had brought
from the store his best rods and lines and his fly-book. He was,
therefore, up early on Thursday morning, lamenting that he was not at
Richards, whence he could have visited the first lake and secured a mess
of fish before breakfast. He was sorting out his tackle in the office,
when Marjorie, an early riser, came in to see if Uncle John was there.
When she found out the occupant, she said: "Come along, Mr. Biggles, and
let us go fishing, it's so long before breakfast." Fishing children
could do anything with Bigglethorpe; he would even help them to catch
cat-fish and suckers. But he had an eye to business. "Marjorie," he
asked, "do you think you could find me a pickle bottle, an empty one,
you know?" She thought she could, and at once engaged 'Phosa and 'Phena
in the search for one. A Crosse and Blackwell wide-mouthed bottle,
bearing the label "mixed pickles," which really means gherkins, was
borne triumphantly into the office. Mr. Bigglethorpe handled it
affectionately, and said: "Put on your hat, Marjorie, and we'll go
crawfish hunting." Without rod or line, the fisherman, holding the
pickle bottle in his left hand, and taking Marjorie by the right, walked
down to the creek. On its bank he sat down, and took off his shoes and
socks, an example quickly and joyfully followed by his young companion.
Then he splashed a little water on his head, and she did the same; after
which they waded in the shallow brook, and turned up flat stones in its
bed. Sometimes the crawfish lay quite still, when Mr. Bigglethorpe,
getting his right hand, with extended thumb and forefinger, slily behind
it, grasped the unsuspecting crustacean at the back of his great
nippers, and landed him in the bottle filled with sparkling water.
Sometimes a "craw," as Marjorie called them, darted away backward in a
great hurry, and had to be looked for under another stone, and these
were generally young active fellows, which, the fisherman said, made the
best bait for bass. It was wild, exciting work, with a spice of danger
in it from the chance of a nip from those terrible claws. Marjorie
enjoyed it to the full. She laughed and shrieked, and clapped her hands
over every new addition to the pickle bottle, and Mr. Biggles was every
bit as enthusiastic as she was. Soon they were aware of a third figure
on the scene. It was the sleepless lawyer. "Come in, Eugene," cried
Marjorie; "take off your shoes and stockings, and help us to catch these
lovely craws." He had to obey, and was soon as excited as the others
over this novel kind of sport.

Coristine looked up after securing his twelfth victim, and saw four
figures sauntering down the hill. Three were young ladies in print
morning gowns; the fourth was the ineffable dude, Lamb. At once he went
back, and put himself into socks and boots, turning down his trouser
legs, as if innocent of the childish amusement. "Haw," brayed Mr. Lamb,
"is thot you, Cawrstine? Been poddling in the wotter, to remind yoursolf
of the doys when you used to run round in your bare feet?" Outwardly
calm, the lawyer advanced to meet the invaders. Bowing somewhat too
ceremoniously to the three ladies, who looked delightfully fresh and
cool in their morning toilets, he answered his interlocutor. "I am sure,
Mr. Lamb, that it would afford Mr. Bigglethorpe and Marjorie additional
satisfaction, to know that their wading after crawfish brought up
memories of your barefooted youth. Unfortunately, I have no such
blissful period to recall." Mr. Lamb blushed, and stammered some
incoherencies, and Miss Carmichael, running past the lawyer towards
Marjorie, whispered as she flitted before him, "you rude, unkind man!"
This did not tend to make him more amiable. He snubbed the Crown Land
gentleman at every turn, and, more than usually brilliant in talk,
effectually kept his adversary out of conversation with the remaining
ladies. "Look, Cecile!" said Miss Halbert; "Marjorie is actually joining
the waders. "Mr. Lamb stroked his whisker-moustache and remarked: "Haw,
you know, thot's nothing new for Morjorie; when we were childron
together, we awften went poddling about in creeks for crowfish and
minnows." Then he had the impertinence to stroll down to the brook, and
rally the new addition to the crawfishing party. To Coristine the whole
thing was gall and wormwood. The only satisfaction he had was, that Mr.
Lamb could not summon courage enough to divest himself of shoes and
stockings and take part in the sport personally. But what an
insufferable ass he, Coristine, had been not to keep on wading, in view
of such glorious company! What was the use of complaining: had he been
there she would never have gone in, trust her for that! Wilkinson and he
were right in their old compact: the female sex is a delusion and a
snare. Thank heaven! there's the prayer gong, but will that staring,
flat-footed, hawhawing, Civil Service idiot be looking on while she
reattires herself! He had half a mind to descend and brain him on the
spot, if he had any brains, so as to render impossible the woeful
calamity. But the fates were merciful, sending Mr. Lamb up with Marjorie
and Mr. Bigglethorpe. Now was the angry man's chance, and a rare one,
but, like an angry man, he did not seize it. The other two ladies
remarked to each other that it was not very polite of three gentlemen to
allow a lady, the last of the party, to come up the hill alone. What did
he care?

At breakfast, Miss Carmichael sat between Messrs. Bigglethorpe and Lamb,
and the lawyer between Miss Halbert and the veteran. "Who are going
fishing to the lakes," asked the Squire, to which question the doctor
replied, regretting his inability; and the colonel declined the
invitation on account of his dear boy. Mr. Lamb intimated that he had
business with Miss Du Plessis on Crown Land matters, as the department
wished to get back into its possession the land owned by her. This was a
bombshell in the camp. Miss Du Plessis declined to have any conference
on the subject, referring the civil servant to her uncle, to Squire
Carruthers, and to her solicitor, Mr. Coristine. The lawyer was disposed
to be liberal in politics, although his friend Wilkinson was a strong
Conservative; but the contemptible meanness of a Government department
attempting to retire property deeded and paid for in order to gain a few
hundred dollars or a new constituent, aroused his vehement indignation,
and his determination to fight Lamb and his masters to the bitter end of
the Privy Council.

"Mr. Lamb," said the colonel, "is yoar business with my niece
complicated, or is it capable of being stated bhiefly?"

"I can put it in a very few words, Colonel," replied the civil service
official; "the deportment hos received on awffer for Miss Du Plessis'
lond which it would be fawlly to refuse."

"But," interposed the Squire, "the department has naething to dae wi'
Miss Cecile's land: it's her ain, every fit o't."

"You don't know the deportment, Squire. It con take bock lond of its
own deed, especially wild lond, by the awffer of a reasonable equivolent
or indemnity. It proposes to return the purchase money, with five per
cent. interest to date, and the amount of municipal toxes attested by
receipts. Thot is regorded os a fair odjustment, ond on Miss Du Plessis
surrendering her deed to me, the deportment will settle the claim within
twelve months, if press of business ollows."

"Such abominable, thieving iniquity, on the pairt o' a Government
ca'ain' itself leeberal, I never hard o' in aa my life," said the
indignant Squire.

"Do you mean to say, Arthur," asked Mrs. Carmichael, "that your
department can take away Cecile's property in that cavalier fashion, and
without any regard to the rise in values?"

"I'm ofraid so, Mrs. Cormichael."

"What have you to say to that, Mr. Coristine, from a legal standpoint?"
enquired Mrs. Carruthers.

"A deed of land made by the Government, or by a private individual,
conveys, when, as in this case, all provisions have been complied with,
an inalienable title."

"There is such a thing as expropriation," suggested Mr. Lamb, rather
annoyed to find a lawyer there.

"Expropriation is a municipal affair in cities and towns, or it may be
national and provincial in the case of chartered railways or national
parks, in all which cases remuneration is by arbitration, not by the
will of any expropriating body."

"The deportment may regord this as a provincial offair. Ot any rate, it
hos octed in this way before with success."

"I know that the department has induced people to surrender their rights
for the sake of its popularity, but by wheedling, not by law or justice,
and, generally, there has been some condition of payment, or something
else, not complied with."

"Thot's simple enough. A few lines in the bookkeeping awffice con
involidate the deed."

"One or two words, Mr. Lamb, and I have done; the quicker you answer,
the sooner Miss Du Plessis' decision is reached. Do you represent the
commissioner, the minister?"

"Well, not exoctly."

"Were you sent by his deputy, the head of the department?"

"Not the head exoctly."

"Is the name of the man, for whom your friend wants to expropriate Miss
Du Plessis' land, called Rawdon, Altamont Rawdon?"

"How did you know thot? Ore you one of the deportment outriggers?"

"No; I have nothing to do with any kind of dirty work. You go back, and
tell your man, first, that Rawdon is dead, and that in life he was a
notorious criminal; second, that Miss Du Plessis' land has been
devastated by the fire in which he perished; and, third, that if he, or
you, or any other contemptible swindler, moves a finger in this
direction, either above board or below, I'll have you up for foul
conspiracy, and make the department only too happy to send you about
your business to save its reputation before the country."

As Ben Toner and his friends in the kitchen would have said, Mr. Lamb
was paralyzed. While the lawyer had spoken with animation, there was
something quite judicial in his manner. Miss Carmichael looked up at him
from under her long lashes with an admiration it would have done him
good to see, and a hum of approving remarks went all round the table.
Then, in an evil moment, the young lady felt it her duty to comfort the
heart of poor Orther Lom, whom everybody else regarded with something
akin to contempt. She talked to him of old times, until the man's
inflated English was forgotten, as well as his by no means reputable
errand. The young man was quite incapable of any deep-laid scheme of
wrong-doing, as he was of any high or generous impulse. He was a mere
machine, educated up to a certain point, able to write a good hand, and
express himself grammatically, but thinking more of his dress and his
spurious English than of any learning or accomplishment, and the
unreasoning tool of his official superiors. He had been checkmated by
Coristine, and felt terribly disappointed at the failure of his mission;
but the thought that he had been engaged in a most dishonest attempt did
not trouble him in the least. Yet, had he been offered a large bribe to
commit robbery in the usual ways, he would have rejected the
proposition with scorn. Miss Carmichael, knowing his character, was
sorry for him, little thinking that his returning vivacity under her
genial influence smote Coristine's heart, as the evidence of double
disloyalty on the lady's part, to her friend, Miss Du Plessis, and to
him. Tiring of her single-handed work, she turned to Mr. Bigglethorpe,
saying: "You know Mr. Lamb, do you not!" The fisherman answered: "You
were kind enough to introduce us last night, Miss Carmichael, but you
will, I hope, pardon me for saying that I do not approve of Mr. Lamb."
Then he turned away, and conversed with the Captain. When the company
rose, the only person who approached the civil servant was the colonel,
who said: "I pehsume, suh, aftah what my kind friend, Mr. Cohistine, has
spoken so well, you will not annoy my niece with any moah remahks about
her propehty. It would please that lady and me, as her guahdian, if you
will fohget Miss Du Plessis' existence, suh, so fah as you are
concehned." This was chilling, but chill did not hurt Mr. Lamb. The
little Carruthers, headed by Marjorie, were in front of the verandah
when Miss Carmichael and he went out. Marjorie had evidently been
schooling them, for, at her word of command, they began to sing, to the
tune of "Little Bo Peep," the original words:--

     Poor Orther Lom,
     He looks so glom.

Miss Carmichael seized her namesake and shook her. "You naughty, wicked
little girl, how dare you? Who taught you these shameful words?" she
asked, boiling with indignation. Marjorie cried a little for vexation,
but would not reveal the name of the author. Some said it was the
doctor, and others, that it was his daughter Fanny; but Miss Carmichael
was sure that the lawyer, Marjorie's great friend, Eugene, was the
guilty party, that he ought to be ashamed of himself, and that the
sooner he left Bridesdale the better. Coristine was completely innocent
of the awful crime, which lay in the skirts of Marjorie's father, the
Captain, as might have been suspected from the beauty of the couplet.
The consequence of the poetic surprise was the exclusive attachment of
Miss Carmichael to the Crown Lands man, in a long walk in the garden, a
confidential talk, and the present of a perfectly beautiful button-hole
pinned in by her own hands.

CHAPTER XVII.

     The Picnic--Treasure Trove--A Substantial Ghost
     Captured--Coristine's Farewell--Ride to Collingwood--Bangs Secures
     Rawdon--Off to Toronto--Coristine Meets the Captain--Grief at
     Bridesdale--Marjorie and Mr. Biggles--Miss Du Plessis Frightens Mr.
     Lamb--The Minister's Smoke--Fishing Picnic.

After his Parthian shot, the Captain ordered Sylvanus to get out the
gig, as he was going home. Leaving Marjorie in the hands of her aunt
Carmichael, he saluted his daughter, his niece, and his two sisters in
law, and took their messages for Susan. There was grief in the kitchen
at the departure of Sylvanus, who expected to be on the rolling deep
before the end of the week. Mr. Pawkins and Constable Rigby had already
taken leave, travelling homeward in an amicable way. Then, Doctor
Halbert insisted on his vehicle being brought round, as there must be
work waiting for him at home; so a box with a cushion was placed for his
sprained leg, and he and Miss Fanny were just on the eve of starting,
when Mr. Perrowne came running up in great haste, and begged to be
allowed to drive the doctor over. With a little squeezing he got in,
and, amid much waving of handkerchiefs, the doctor's buggy drove away.
Mr. Lamb exhibited no desire to leave, and Miss Carmichael was compelled
to devote herself to him, a somewhat monotonous task, in spite of his
garrulous egotism. Timotheus, by the Squire's orders, harnessed the
horses to the waggonette, and deposited therein a pickaxe and a spade.
Mr. Bigglethorpe brought out his fishing tackle, joyous over the
prospect of a day's fishing, and Mr. Terry lugged along a huge basket,
prepared by his daughter in the kitchen, with all manner of eatables and
drinkables for the picnic. The lawyer made the fourth of the party,
exclusive of Timotheus, who gave instructions to Maguffin how to behave
in his absence. The colonel was with Wilkinson, but the ladies and Mr.
Lamb came to see the expedition under way. It was arranged that
Timotheus should drive the Squire and the lawyer to the masked road and
leave them there, after which he was to take the others to Richards
place, put up the horses, and help them to propel the scow through the
lakes and channels. Accordingly, the treasure seekers got out the pick
and shovel, and trudged along to the scene of the late fire. As they
neared the Encampment, their road became a difficult and painful one,
over fallen trees blackened with fire, and through beds of sodden ashes.
At the Encampment, the ground, save where the buildings had stood, was
comparatively bare. The lofty and enormously strong brick chimney was
still standing in spite of the many explosions, and, here and there, a
horse appeared, looking wistfully at the ruins of its former home.
There, the intending diggers stood, gazing mutely for a while on the
scene of desolation.

"'Sandy soil, draining both ways, and undercover,' is what we want,
Coristine," said the Squire. The two walked back and forward along the
ridge, rejecting rock and depression and timbered land. They searched
the foundations of houses and sheds, found the trap under Rawdon's own
house that led to the now utterly caved-in tunnel, and tried likely
spots where once the stables stood, only to find accumulations of
rubbish. A steel square such as carpenters use, was found among the
chips in the stone-yard, and of this Coristine made a primitive
surveyor's implement by which he sought to take the level of the ground.
"Bring your eye down here, Mr. Carruthers," he said. "I see," answered
the Squire; "but, man, yon's just a conglomeration o' muckle stanes."
The lawyer replied, "That's true, Squire, but it's the height of land,
and that top stone lies almost too squarely to be natural. Let us try
them at least. It will do no harm, and the day is young yet." They went
forward to a spot beyond the stone yard, on the opposite side from the
burnt stables, which they saw had once been railed off, for the
blackened stumps of the posts were still in the ground. It was a
picturesque mass of confusion, apparently an outcrop of the limestone,
not uncommon in that region. But the lawyer probed the ground all about
it. It was light dry soil, with no trace of a rocky bottom. Without a
lever, their work was hard, but they succeeded in throwing off the
large flat protecting slab, and in scattering its rocky supports. "Man,
Coristine, I believe you're richt." ejaculated the perspiring
Carruthers. Then he took the pick and loosened the ground, while the
lawyer removed the earth with his spade. "There's no' a root nor a
muckle stane in the haill o't, Coristine; this groond's been wrocht
afore, my lad." So they kept on, till at last the pick rebounded with a
metallic clang. "Let me clear it, Squire," asked the lawyer, and, at
once, his spade sent the sand flying, and revealed a box of japanned
tin, the counterpart of that discovered by Muggins, which had only
contained samples of grindstones. A little more picking, and a little
more spading, and the box came easily out. It was heavy, wonderfully
heavy, and it was padlocked. The sharp edge of the spade loosened the
lid sufficiently to admit the point of the pick, and, while Coristine
hung on to the box, the Squire wrenched it open. The tin box was full of
notes and gold.

"There's thoosands an' thoosands here, Coristine, eneuch to keep yon
puir body o' a Matilda in comfort aa' her days. Man, it's a graun'
discovery, an' you're the chiel that's fund it," cried the Squire, with
exultation. The lawyer peered in too, when, suddenly, he heard a shot, a
bullet whizzed past his ear, and, the next moment, with a sickening
thud, Carruthers fell to the ground. Coristine rose to his feet like
lightning, and faced an apparition; the Grinstun man, with pistol in one
hand and life preserver in the other, was before him. Without a moment's
hesitation he regained his grasp of his spade, and stretched the ghost
at his feet, mercifully with the flat of it, and then relieved his
victim of pistol and loaded skull-cracker. He heard voices hailing, and
recognized them as those of the veteran and the fisherman. He replied
with a loud cry of "Hurry, hurry, help!" which roused the prostrate
spectre. It arose and made a dash for the tin box, but Coristine threw
himself upon the substantial ghost, and a struggle for life began. They
clasped, they wrestled, they fell over the poor unconscious Squire, and
upset the tin box. They clasped each other by the throat, the hair; they
kicked with their feet, and pounded with their knees. It was Grinstun's
last ditch, and he was game to hold it; but the lawyer was game too.
Sometimes he was up and had his hand on his opponent's throat, and
again, he could not tell how, he was turned over, and the heavy squat
form of Rawdon fell like an awful nightmare on his chest. But he would
not give in. He saw his antagonist reach for a weapon, pistol,
skull-cracker, he knew not what it was, but that reach released one hand
from his throat. With a tremendous effort, he turned, and lay side to
side with his enemy, when Timotheus dashed in, and, bodily picking up
the Grinstun man in his arms, hammered his head on the big flat stone,
till the breathless lawyer begged him to stop. Up came Mr. Bigglethorpe
and Mr. Terry in great consternation, and gazed with wonder upon the
lately active ghost. "Make him fast," cried Coristine with difficulty,
"while I look after the poor Squire." So, Timotheus and the fisher took
off Rawdon's coat and braces, and bound him hand and foot with his own
belongings. But the veteran had already looked to his son-in-law, and,
from the picnic stores, had poured some spirits into his lips. "Rouse
up, John, avic," he cried piteously, "rouse up, my darlint, or Honoria
'ull be breakin' her poor heart. It's good min is scarce thim toimes,
an' the good God'll niver be takin' away the bist son iver an ould man
had." The Squire came to, although the dark blood oozed out of an ugly
wound in the back of his head, and the amount of liquor his affectionate
father-in law had poured into him made him light-headed. "Glory be to
God!" said the old man, and all the others gratefully answered "Amen."

The lawyer explained the circumstances, the excavation, the money, the
assault, to his deliverers; but the resurrection of the Grinstun man was
a mystery which he could not explain. Without being told, Timotheus,
whose arrival had been so opportune, ran all the way to Richards, and
brought from thence the waggon, along with Harry Richards, who
volunteered to accompany him, and Mr. Errol, who was visiting in the
neighbourhood. Young Richards brought an axe with him, and cleared some
of the obstructions of the once masked road, so that the vehicle was
able to get up within reasonable distance of the encampment. It was
desirable to get the Squire home, lest his injuries should be greater
than they supposed, and the prisoner ought to be in Mr. Bangs' hands at
once. Accordingly, Mr. Errol and Harry Richards offered to stay with Mr.
Bigglethorpe and carry out the original picnic, it being understood that
Timotheus would either call or send for them about four o'clock.

"Gin I'm gaun to be oot on the splore, I maun hae a bit smokie. Wha's
gotten a bit pipe he's no usin'?" asked the usually sedate minister.
Coristine handed over to him his smoking materials, penknife included;
and Mr. Errol, taking off his coat, sat down on a stone to fill the
pipe, saying, "Nae mair pastoral veesitation for me the day. Gin any
body spiers whaur I am, just tell them I'm renewin' my youth." Timotheus
and Harry carried the prisoner to the waggon, while the veteran and the
lawyer followed, leading the Squire, and carrying the box of treasure.
The fishermen came to see them off, and, then, they descended to the
lake shore and began the sport of the day. Timotheus drove, and the
Squire sat up between him and his affectionate father-in-law. The lawyer
was in the rear seat with the prisoner, who, for greater security, was
lashed to the back of it. Rawdon's revolver was in his captor's hand,
and his skull-cracker in a handy place. Several times, shamming
insensibility, the prince of tricksters endeavoured to throw his
solitary warder off his guard, but the party reached Bridesdale without
his succeeding in loosening a single thong. There was great
consternation when Timotheus drove up to the gate. The children had been
at their old game of the handkerchief, and Miss Carmichael was actually
chasing Orther Lom, to their great glee, and to Coristine's intense
disgust. Of course, they stopped when they saw the waggon and the
Squire's pale face. The colonel, who had been smoking his morning cigar
on the verandah, came forward rapidly, and, with Mr. Terry, helped the
master of Bridesdale to alight. Then, his wife and sister took the
wounded man in charge, and led him into the house, for he was thoroughly
dazed and incapable of attending to any business. "If you will allow me,
colonel," said the lawyer, "I will take charge of legal matters in this
case," to which Colonel Morton answered, "Most cehtainly, my deah suh,
no one moah competent."

Maguffin had come round to see if his services would be required, and
was appointed to mount guard over the prisoner in company with
Timotheus. To Mr. Terry the lawyer gave the heavy cash box, with orders
to put it in a safe place in the Squire's office. Then, Coristine went
up-stairs, washed and brushed away the traces of conflict, and knocked
at Wilkinson's door. A lady's voice told him to enter, and, on his
complying with the invitation, he beheld Miss Du Plessis sitting by the
bedside of his friend, with a book, which was not Wordsworth, in her
hand. "Please to pardon my intrusion, Miss Du Plessis; the Squire is
hurt, and we have captured Grinstuns, who was not burnt up after all. I
must see the prisoner safely caged, and have other business to attend
to, so that I have come to say good-bye. I am sure that you will take
every care of my dear friend here." After this little speech, hard to
utter, the lawyer shook his friend by the well hand, saying: "Good-bye,
Wilks, old boy, and keep up your heart; any messages for town?" Before
he had time to receive any such commissions, he shook hands warmly with
the lady, and vanished. Replacing Maguffin over Rawdon, he told him to
saddle a horse, and bring it round. His orders to Mr. Terry and
Timotheus were to secure their prisoner between them in some lighter
vehicle, and bring him with all speed to Collingwood, whither he would
precede them on horseback. He found the Squire in an easy chair in the
sitting room with three lady attendants. Shaking hands with the
half-unconscious man, he assured him that he would attend to the
business of the day, and then, with a few words of grateful recognition
to Mrs. Carruthers, bade all the ladies good-bye. "Hasten back," they
all said, and the kind hostess added: "We will think long till we see
you again." Walking back into the kitchen, he bestowed a trifle in his
most gracious manner, on Tryphena and Tryphosa, and then went forth to
look for Marjorie. As he kissed her an affectionate farewell in the
garden, the little girl intuitively guessed his absence to be no common
one, and begged her Eugene to stay, with tears in her eyes. But he was
obdurate with her and all the little Carruthers, on whom he showered
quarters to buy candy at the post office. Maguffin was there with the
horse, and, near the gate, was Miss Carmichael with that ineffable ass
Lamb. Looking at the latter as if he would dearly love to kick him, he
raised his hat to his companion, and extended his hand with the simple
words "Good-bye." Miss Carmichael did not offer hers in return; she
said: "It is hardly worth while being so formal over an absence of a few
hours." Coristine turned as if a serpent had bitten him, slipped some
money into Maguffin's hand, as that worthy held open the gate for him,
and vaulted on his horse, nor did he turn to look round so long as the
eyes of Bridesdale were on his retreating figure.

The lawyer rode hard, for he was excited. He went by Talfourd's house
like a flash, and away through the woods he had traversed on Nash's
beast that last pleasant Sunday morning. At the Beaver River he watered
his horse, and exchanged a word with Pierre and Batiste bidding the
former look out that no attempt at rescuing the prisoner should be made
in that quarter. Away he went, with madame's eyes watching him from
afar, up the ascent, and along the road to where the Hills dwelt at the
foot of the Blue Mountains. He doffed his hat to the old lady as he
passed, then breasted the mountain side. For a moment, he stood on the
summit to take in the view once more, then clattered down the other
side, and away full pelt for the town. Soon he entered Collingwood, and
sought the police headquarters without delay. Where was Mr. Bangs? He
was told, to his great delight, that the detective was in town, and
would report at four o'clock. It was now half-past three. Putting up his
horse at the hotel, the lawyer partook of a hasty meal at a restaurant,
and returned in time to meet Bangs on the very threshold. "Whet ere you
doing here, Lawyer Coristine?" he asked.

"You will never guess, Mr. Bangs."

"Any more trebble et Bridesdele?"

"No, but I'll tell you; we've caught Rawdon."

"Why, the men's dead, berned to a cinder, you know."

"No, he is not; that was some other man."

"Ere you shore, Mr. Coristine?"

"Perfectly. Mr. Terry and Timotheus are bringing him here now."

"Whet, only the two of them, and kemming pest the Beaver too?"

"Yes; there were no more to send. I warned Pierre Lajeunesse to be on
the lookout."

"Is your beast fit to trevel eny more?"

"I think so; it seems a strong animal."

"Then get on hersebeck quick! Here, kensteble, hend me two betons, and a
kerbine!"

When the lawyer returned with his hard-ridden steed, he found Mr. Bangs
mounted, with a baton by his side and a carbine slung behind him. Off
they went along the shore and up the hill. Descending, they saw the
buggy approaching slowly in the neighbourhood of the Hills' log shanty,
attended by four persons who seemed to be armed. Hastening down the
slope, they came up to it, and found the prisoner safe but awfully
profane. The foot guards were Ben Toner, Barney Sullivan, and Rufus
Hill, under the command of Monsieur Lajeunesse. They were relieved of
their self-imposed duty with many thanks, and Coristine shook hands with
the honest fellows, as he and the detective replaced them in escort
duty. Then Timotheus whipped up his horse, and they drove and rode into
town, an imposing spectacle for the eyes of the youth of Collingwood.

Bangs could hardly believe his eyes, and could not conceal his delight,
on beholding the murderer of his now buried friend. No pains were spared
for the safe-keeping of the notorious criminal. In the presence of a
magistrate, Coristine and Mr. Terry made affidavit as to his crimes and
capture. The latter and Timotheus also related his attempts to bribe
them into giving him his liberty, offering large sums and promising to
leave the country. "Now, Mishter Corstine," says the veteran, "it's
hoigh toime we was gettin' home. The good payple 'ull be gettin' onaisy
about yeez, 'an spashly Miss Carrmoichael that was gravin' sore to think
she niver said good-boye to yeez. Come, now, come away, an' lave the
baste in the shtable, for it's toired roidin' ye must be."

"I am not going back, Mr. Terry. I said good-bye to them all at
Bridesdale, and must hurry away to business. Perhaps Timotheus will ride
the horse, while you drive."

"Thet pore enimel isn't fit fer eny more werk to-night, Mr. Coristine.
I'll tell you, Mr. Terry, whet I'll do. I shell be beck here to-morrow
evening, end will ride the horse to Bridesdele. I've got a weggon and
team of the Squire's here, which yeng Hill will drive beck for me. Then
he ken ride pore Nesh's horse, and I ken get my own. Strenge they didn't
give you one of thowse beasts instead of the colonel's, Mr. Coristine."

"Is this the colonel's horse?"

"I should sey it is. You down't think eny ether enimel could hev brought
you elong so fest, do you?"

"God bless the kind old man!" ejaculated the lawyer.

"Mishter Corstine, dear, it'll be breakin' aall the poor childer's
hearts an' some that's growed up too if you 'll be afther lavin' us this
way," continued Mr. Terry; and Timotheus, whom his Peskiwanchow friend
rewarded, added his appeal: "I wisht you wouldn't go fer to go home
jess' yet. Mister." But all entreaties were unavailing. He and Mr. Bangs
saw the buggy off, and then retired to the hotel to get some supper. On
the way thither, he invested in a briar root pipe and some tobacco to
replace those he had given to Mr. Errol. They would be home from fishing
long ago, and perhaps good Bigglethorpe would take Miss Carmichael away
from that miserable Orther Lom. After supper, the two sat over their
pipes and a decoction of some kind in the reading-room, talking over the
sad and wonderful events of the past few days. Mr. Bangs took very
kindly to the lawyer, and promised to look him up whenever he came to
town. He advised him to keep silent about the discovery of Rawdon's
money, as the crown might claim it, and thus deprive poor Matilda Nagle
of her only chance of independence. He said also that he would instruct
the Squire in the same direction on the morrow.

That night, two gaol guards armed to the teeth arrived in police
quarters to take charge of Davis, but the bigger criminal was placed in
their care. Early in the morning there was a stir in the railway
station, when the handcuffed prisoners were marched down under strong
escort, and securely boxed up with their guards and Mr. Bangs. Many
rough characters were there, among whom the lawyer recognized Matt of
the tavern, and Bangs and he could have sworn to the identity of others,
whom the former had met in the cavalry charge on the masked road and
whom Coristine had seen and heard in the Richards' scow the night of the
catastrophe. They scowled, but attempted no rescue. Thanks to the
lawyer's generalship, things had been pushed through too quickly for
them to combine. For some time, Coristine travelled alone. There were
other people in the car, but he did not know them, nor did he care to
make any new acquaintances. All his friends were at Bridesdale, and he
was a homeless exile going back to Mrs. Marsh's boarding-house. At
Dromore, however, he caught sight of the wide-mouthed barrel of a
blunderbuss, and knew the Captain could not be far off. Soon that naval
gentleman got on board, helping Mrs. Thomas up to the platform, followed
by Sylvanus with the saluting weapon. They were to be his companions as
far as Barrie, and much the lawyer enjoyed their society. Marjorie was
the great subject of conversation, although, of course, the Captain had
to be enlightened in many points of recent history. He still thought
Wilkinson a sly dog, but wondered greatly at Coristine's going away.
Mrs. Thomas explained the relationship of Orther Lom. He had been a poor
neglected boy, when Marjorie Carmichael was a little girl, whom her
father, the member, had interested himself in, giving him an education,
and supporting him in part while at the Normal School in Toronto. Just
before he died, he exerted his influence to obtain a Government berth
for him, and that was the whole story. The lawyer saw it all now, and
learned too late what a foolish fellow he had been. Of course, there
were old times, and they had much to talk of, and she could not help
being civil to him, and being angry when he had reminded her father's
protegé of his early poverty. Coristine sighed, and felt that, if Lamb
had been present, he would have apologized to him. To cheer him up, the
Captain invited him to join Mrs. Thomas and himself on a cruise in the
_Susan_. He would have enjoyed it immensely he said, but, having made so
many assertions of pressing business in the city, he had to be
consistent and miserable. At Barrie, he bade his last friends adieu,
parted affectionately with The Crew, and then gazed longingly at the
spars of the _Susan Thomas_ in Kempenfeldt Bay. If only the Captain had
brought the two Marjories for a cruise, he would have shipped with him
for a month, and have let business go to the dogs. There were no more
objects of interest till he arrived in Toronto, took a streetcar, and
deposited himself, much to that lady's astonishment, in his bachelor's
quarters at Mrs. Marsh's boarding-house. After a special lunch, he sat
down to smoke and read a little Browning.

It was very late when Mr. Terry and Timotheus arrived at Bridesdale. All
the ladies had retired, with the exception of Mrs. Carruthers, who had
staid up to await her father's arrival. The gentlemen of the party were
the Squire, quite clear in head and not much the worse of his crack on
the skull, Mr. Bigglethorpe, and Mr. Errol, who had been induced to
continue his splore in the office. He was still renewing his youth, when
the veteran entered all alone, and said he didn't mind if he did help
Mr. Bigglethorpe with that decanter, for it was tiresome work driving.

"Where is Mr. Coristine, grandfather?" asked the Squire.

"It's in Collinwud he is an his way to Teranty."

"What! do you mean to say he has left us, gone for good?"

"That's fwhat it is. Oi prished 'em, an' porshwaded 'em, an' towld 'em
it was desprut anggery an' graved yeez wud aall be. Says he Oi've bud
'em aall good-boye an' Oi'm goin' home to bishness. It was lucky for
you, Squoire, that it wasn't lasht noight he wint."

"It is that, grandfather. I'd have been a dead man. He maun hae focht
yon deevil like a wild cat tae get oot o' the way o's pistols and
things."

"'Twas Timawtheus as kim up furrust an' tuk the thafe av a Rawdon out av
his arrums, for he grupped 'em good an' toight."

"Well done, Timotheus!" said Mr. Errol. "He's a fine lad, Mr.
Bigglethorpe, though a bit clumsy in his ways."

"We can't all be handsome, sir," answered that gentleman. "If he's got
the good principle in him, that's the mine thing, so I always say."

Mrs. Carruthers put her head into the smoke, coughed a little, and said:
"Come, father, supper is waiting for you in the breakfast room." The
veteran followed his daughter, and, over his evening meal, gave her a
detailed account of the proceedings of the afternoon. "And to go away
without a bite to eat, and ride all that distance, and leave his
knapsack and his flowers and I don't know what else behind him, what is
the meaning of it, father?"

"Honoria, my dear, I aalways thought women's eyes was cliverer nor
min's. There's a little gyurl they call Marjorie, an' she's not so
little as aall that, if she isn't quoite the hoighth av Miss Ceshile.
That bhoy was jist dishtracted wid the crool paice, that goes aff
philanderin wid the Shivel Sharvice shape av a Lamb. He didn't say it
moind in wurruds, but I see it was the killin' av 'em, an' he jist
coulden' shtand it no langer. Smaal blame to him say Oi!"

So grandfather got his supper, and went back to the office to finish his
pipe and his tumbler, while Timotheus was entertaining Tryphosa in the
kitchen. Mrs. Carruthers retired, but, first, she visited the young
ladies' apartment, and said, in a tone which she meant to be reproachful
as well as regretful: "Mr. Coristine has left us never to return." The
kindest-hearted woman in the world, having thrown this drop of
bitterness into her niece's cup, left her to drink it to the dregs.
Meanwhile Orther Lom was dreaming that he could not do better than marry
the Marjorie of his youth and begin housekeeping, in spite of tailors'
bills.

The sun rose bright on Friday morning, and, peeping in upon Mr.
Bigglethorpe in his room and upon Marjorie in the nursery bedroom, awoke
these two early birds. They met on the stairs and came down together.
The fisherman said he thought he would get his things bundled up,
meaning his gun and rods, and walk home to breakfast, but Marjorie said
he just wouldn't, for Eugene was gone, and, if he were to go, she would
have nobody. Well broken in to respect for feminine authority, save when
the fishing fit was on, Mr. Bigglethorpe had to succumb, and travel down
to the creek after crawfish, chub and dace. He told his youthful
companion fishing stories which amused her; and confided to her that he
was going to train up his little boy to be a great fisherman. "Have you
got a little boy, Mr. Biggles?" she asked, and then added: "How funny!"
as if her friend ought to have been content with other people's
children, and fish.

"What is his name, Mr. Biggles?" she enquired.

"He hasn't been christened yet, but I think I'll call him Isaac Walton,
or Charles Cotton, or Piscator. Don't you think these are nice nimes?"

"No, I don't. Woollen and Cotton and what Mr. Perrowne belongs to are
not pretty. Eugene is pretty."

Mr. Bigglethorpe laughed, and said: "I didn't say Woollen but Walton,
and I said Piscator, which is the Latin for fisher, not Episcopalian,
which Mr. Perrowne is."

"Why do you want to call him a fisher? It is like a Sunday School story
Marjorie read me, a Yankee book, about a little baby boy that was left
on a doorstep, and the doorstep man's name was Fish, and he had him
baptized Preserved because he was preserved, and he grew up to be a good
man and was called Preserved Fish. Wasn't that awful?"

"Oh very streinge! If my boy had been a little girl, I would have nimed
her Marjorie."

"See, Mr. Biggles, here she comes again, and Cecile, and, O horrors!
Orther Lom."

It was too true. The young ladies had come out to enjoy the morning air,
and, after a turn in the garden, had rushed to the hill meadow to escape
the Departmental gentleman, whose elegant morocco slippers they had
heard on the stairs. Spite of the morning dew he had pursued them, well
pleased with himself, and doubtful whom to conquer with his charms.

"O Mr. Biggles," continued Marjorie, "that horrid man got me a naughty,
cruel shaking, and he's sent my dear Eugene away never to come back any
more. I know, because I went into aunty's room when I got up; and she
told me."

"It's too bad, Marjorie. Who mide that little song on Mr. Lamb?"

"You'll never tell?"

"No."

"'Pon your honour?"

"'Pon my honour."

"It was papa, you old goosey."

"Not Mr. Coristine?"

"No, of course not."

"My I sy that it wasn't Mr. Coristine?"

"O yes, don't let them think any bad things about Eugene, poor boy."

"Good morning, Miss Carmichael," said Mr. Bigglethorpe, or rather he
bawled it; "will you come here a minute, please?"

Miss Carmichael gladly skipped down, leaving her companion a prey to the
gentleman of the morocco slippers.

"I want to clear our friend, Mr. Coristine, of a suspicion which you may
not have shired," said the fisherman. "He didn't mike that little piece
of poetry on Mr. Lamb that Marjorie and the other children sang
yesterday morning."

"Thank you, Mr. Bigglethorpe; I am very glad to hear it."

"Nasty pig!" said Marjorie to herself; "she drove Eugene away all the
same."

Meanwhile, Mr. Lamb was conversing with Miss Du Plessis.

"You don't seem to mind the doo, Miss Cecile."

"Oh, but I do," she answered.

"Your shoes are parfectly wat, sowking I should think."

"No, they are not wet through; they are thicker than you imagine."

"By the bye, where is his high mightiness, the lawyer, this mawrning?"

"Mr. Coristine has returned to the city."

"Haw, cawlled oway to some pettifogging jawb I suppowse?"

"Such as your Crown Lands case."

"Naw, you down't say, Miss Cecile, thot he's awff ofter thot jawb?"

"I cannot tell what Mr. Coristine may have to do in addition to that. He
did not confide his business to me."

"I wonder whot time the stage goes awff at!"

"It will pass the gate," said Miss Du Plessis, consulting her watch, "in
ten minutes."

"Haw, ofally onnoying you know, but I'll hov to pock up and leave before
breakfost. Please remember me to Morjorie, will you Cecile, if I shont
hov time to see her before I gow."

Mr. Lamb took his morocco slippers back to the house, and soon
reappeared at the gate, Gladstone bag and cane in hand, looking at the
approaching stage. It was filled up with a roughish crowd, all except
one seat in the back, into which he jumped. The driver flicked his
horses, and Bridesdale was relieved of the presence of Orther Lom.

"Marjorie," said Miss Du Plessis, "I have bad news for you."

"What is it, Cecile?"

"Your young man has called me by my Christian name, without even putting
Miss before it."

"Have you killed him and dug his grave with those eyes of yours?"

"No, I simply told him that Mr. Coristine had returned to Toronto,
perhaps on Crown Land business."

"Well?"

"It terrified him so, that he packed his valise forthwith and is gone."

"But how?"

"By the stage. Did you not hear the horn just now?

"No, I was too busy with that delightful Mr. Bigglethorpe. But do you
mean to tell me that Arthur has left without a farewell word to
anybody?"

"He said, 'Please remember me to Marjorie, will you, Cecile?' What do
you think of that?"

"What odious impertinence! I am glad the silly creature has gone, and,
were it not for the safety of your land, I wish he had never come."

"It was not he who saved my land, Marjorie."

"Oh, don't I know? Don't talk to me any more! You are hateful, Cecile!"

"If you can forget fifty acts of disinterested kindness, Marjorie, it
does not follow that I am to do the same." By which it will appear that
Miss Du Plessis had her orders to rub it in pretty hot to her friend,
and was rubbing it in accordingly, even though it did smart. Miss
Carmichael broke away from her, and ran to the house, leaving her once
dear Cecile to follow with Marjorie and Mr. Bigglethorpe.

At breakfast the Squire appeared quite picturesque, with a silk
handkerchief tied over his head to conceal and hold on what Marjorie
called a plaster of vinegar and brown paper, having reference to the
mishaps of Jack and Jill.

"Marjorie," said Mr. Carruthers, "ye ken what Jill got for lauchin' at
Jock's heed and the plaister."

"Yes, Uncle John, but mother isn't here to do it."

"Papa said I was to be your mother now, Marjorie," said Mrs. Carmichael.

"You've got a Marjorie of your own, Auntie, that needs to be punished
worse than me."

The colonel looked round the table anxiously, and then addressed the
hostess: "I fail to pehceive my deah friend, Mr. Cohistine, Mrs.
Cahhuthehs; I sincehely trust he is not unwell afteh his gallant fight?"

"I am sorry to say, Colonel, that Mr. Coristine has left us, and has
gone back to Toronto."

"O deah, that is a great loss; he was the life of our happy pahty,
always so cheehful, so considehate, ready to sacrifice himself and lend
a hand to anything. I expected him back on my hohse."

"Timotheus tells me that Mr. Bangs is going to bring your horse over
this evening."

"I'm gey and gled to hear 't, gudewife. I'd like weel tae hae anither
crack wi' Bangs. But it's an awfu' shame aboot Coristine; had it no'
been for his magneeficent pluck, fleein' on yon scoundrel like a lion,
I'd hae been brocht hame as deed as a red herrin'. Isna that true,
granther?"

"It's thrue, ivery worrud av it. Savin' the company, there's not a
jantleman I iver tuk to the way I tuk to that foine man, and as
simple-harrted and condiscindin' as iv he wor a choild."

"Where is that lazy boy Arthur, I wonder?" asked Mrs. Carmichael;
whereupon Miss Du Plessis told her story, and all joined in a hearty
laugh at Mr. Lamb's fright and sudden retreat.

Mr. Errol, feeling none the worse of the previous day's splore, and
still renewing his youth over the fish he and Mr. Bigglethorpe had
caught, suddenly remembered and confessed: "Dear me, Mrs. Carmichael, I
forgot that I had Mr. Coristine's merschaum, and his tobacco and
penknife. Puir lad, what'll he dae withoot his pipe?"

"You naughty man, Mr. Errol, is it possible that you smoke?"

"Whiles, mem, whiles."

"How many pipes a day, now, Mr. Errol?"

"Oh, it depends. When I'm in smoking company, I can take a good many, eh
Mr. Bigglethorpe?"

"Yesterday was a very special occaision, Mr. Errol. You called it
renewing your youth, you know, and nimed the picnic a splore."

"I felt like a laddie again at the fishing, Mrs. Carmichael, just as
light-hearted and happy as if I were a callant on the hills."

"And what do you generally feel like? Not an old man, I hope?"

"I'll never be a young one again, Mrs. Carmichael."

"Perfect nonsense, Mr. Errol! Don't let me hear you talk like that
again."

"Hearin's obeyin'," meekly replied the minister, showing that he was
making some progress in his mature wooing.

After breakfast, the company sat out on the verandah. The colonel had to
smoke his morning cigar, and courteously offered his cigar case to all
the gentlemen, who declined with thanks. "If it were not that I might
trouble the ladies," said the minister, "I might take a draw out of poor
Coristine's meerschaum." Mrs. Carmichael at once said: "Please do so,
Mr. Errol; the doctor smoked, so that I am quite used to it. I like to
see a good man enjoying his pipe."

"You are quite sure, Mrs. Carmichael, that it will not be offensive? I
would cut off my right hand rather than be a smoking nuisance to any
lady."

"Quite sure, Mr. Errol; go on and fill your pipe, unless you want me to
fill it for you. I know how to do it."

So, Mr. Errol continued the splore, and smoked the Turk's head. Mr.
Terry lit his dudheen, and Mr. Bigglethorpe, his briar. The Squire's
head was too sore for smoking, but he said he liked the smell o' the
reek. While thus engaged, a buggy drove up, and Miss Halbert and Mr.
Perrowne alighted from it, while Maguffin, always watchful, took the
horse round to the stable yard. The doctor had heard of Rawdon's
capture, and had sent these two innocents to see that all was right at
Bridesdale. Miss Halbert sat down by Miss Du Plessis, and the parson
accepting one of the colonel's cigars, joined the smokers. He also
regretted the absence of Coristine, a splendid fellow, he said, a
perfect trump, the girl will be lucky who gets a man like that,
expressions that were not calculated to make Miss Carmichael happy. Mr.
Perrowne had proposed and had been accepted. He was in wild spirits,
when Mr. Bigglethorpe startled the company by saying, "I've got an
idear!"

"Howld on to it, Bigglethorpe, howld on; you may never get another,"
cried the parson.

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Carruthers, who was shooing the children away
to Tryphosa.

"It's a united picnic to the likes. Who's got to sty at home?"

"I have for one," answered the Squire; "yon deevil o' a Rawdon has gien
me a scunner at picnics."

"I cannot go," said his wife, "for I have him and the children to keep
me."

"Paul, you must go, and Cecile also," interposed Mrs. Du Plessis; "I
will attend to the wants of our patient."

"Then," spoke up the fisherman, "we shall have Mrs. Carmichael and Mr.
Errol, Miss Halbert and Mr. Perrowne, the colonel and Miss Carruthers,
Mr. Terry and Miss Du Plessis, and, please Mrs. Carmichael, Marjorie and
me. Can ten get into one waggon?"

"O aye," replied the Squire, "the waggon'll haud nine, and Marjorie can
sit on Mr. Bigglethorpe's knees. Hi, Timotheus, get oot the biggest
waggon wi' three seats, quick, man!"

Once more, the mighty ham was carved into sandwiches, and others were
made of sardines and marmalade. Chickens were hastily roasted, and pies
and cakes, meant for dinner and tea, stowed away in baskets, with
bottles of ale and cider and milk, and materials for tea-making, and a
huge chunk of ice out of the ice-house, and a black bottle that Mr.
Terry eyed affectionately. "This is for you old men, grandpapa," said
Mrs. Carmichael to the veteran; "now, remember, none for these boys,
Errol and Perrowne." Mr. Terry replied: "To be sure, ma'am," but thought
in his heart, would it be him that would deprive the boys of a bit of
innocent recreation at such a time. Such a looking out there was of hats
and wraps, of guns and fishing tackle. The colonel was to drive in
person. Mr. Terry was to be chief of the commissariat under Mrs.
Carmichael. Mr. Bigglethorpe was to direct fishing operations, and
bring, with the assistance of Mr. Terry, the scow and Rawdon's boat to
the Encampment lake. Marjorie was wild with delight, and insisted on
going with the grandfather and dear Mr Biggles. It was ten o'clock when
all the preparations were concluded, and Timotheus brought round the
capacious waggon. All the household assembled to see the picnic party
off, and the young Carruthers lifted up their voices and wept. The whole
ten got in, but there was no free rollicking Irish voice to sing:--

     Wait for the waggon.
     And we'll all take a ride.

CHAPTER XVIII.

     At the Encampment--Botany--Fishing--Matilda--The New
     Lake--Tillycot--Luncheon--After Recreation--New Visitors to
     Tillycot--Edifying Talk--Songs on the Way Home--Mr. Bigglethorpe's
     Departure--Uncle and Niece--Mr. Bangs and Rufus--Ladies Catch a
     Burglar--The Constable Secures Him--Muggins' Death--Burglars
     Repulsed--Rebecca Toner--The Clergy Hilarious--A Young Lady Finds a
     Poem.

Mr. Bigglethorpe, Mr. Terry and Marjorie, with part of the picnic
material, got off the waggon at the Richards' place, and proceeded to
the lake. They found the punt there, but saw no sign of the skiff.
Marjorie inherited her father's love of the water, and greatly enjoyed
even the slow progress made by the paddles of her boatmen in the
unwieldy craft. Meanwhile, the waggon arrived as near the encampment as
it was possible to get; the company descended to the blackened ground;
and Mr. Perrowne found a path for the ladies up to the ruins. The
horses, sedate, well-behaved animals, were unhitched, and allowed to
pick about where they pleased, after which the three gentlemen carried
the wraps and picnic baskets and pails to where the ladies stood,
inspecting the ravages of the fire. Muggins had come with Mr. Perrowne,
and sniffed about, rediscovering the treasure hole which had so nearly
proved fatal to the Squire. It was agreed to go down to the water's
edge, and encamp upon some green spot, near good fishing, over which the
bush fire had not run. Such a place was found to the right of the
caved-in tunnel, a broad patch of fine-leaved native grass, shaded by
oaks and maples of second growth. There the provisions were deposited,
and, the rugs being spread over the grass, the ladies sat down to await
the arrival of the boat party. A good three-quarters of an hour passed
before they heard the splash of the paddles, and Muggins ran barking to
meet the intruders upon the sabbath stillness of the scene. While
waiting, Mrs. Carmichael and Mr. Errol took a stroll in the dark woods
adjoining, and brought back some floral specimens in the shape of
Prince's Pines, Pyrolas, and Indian Pipes, which were deposited in the
lap of the finder's daughter, with a suggestiveness that young lady felt
disposed to resent. However, Marjorie's voice was heard just then, and
thoughts and conversation were turned into other channels. "Where is the
skiff?" asked the fisherman, but nobody could enlighten him; they simply
answered that it was not there. The colonel remarked that its absence
looked suspicious, and bade them be on their guard. He, accordingly,
inspected the arms of the expedition, and finding them to consist of two
fowling pieces, those of Messrs. Perrowne and Bigglethorpe, and two
pistols borne by Mr. Terry and himself, was comforted. As the fisherman
had inaugurated the picnic, it was obviously his duty to act as master
of ceremonies. He proposed making two fishing parties, one off the scow,
and another off a pier, which he and the gentlemen were about to build
out from the shore below the picnic ground.

A large pine had been felled many years before, probably by lumbermen,
and two lengths of it, each about eight feet, had been rejected as
unsound. These the gentlemen, colonel included, got behind, and rolled
down into the water. Mr. Perrowne and the fisherman doffed their shoes
and socks, rolled up their trouser legs, and waded in to get the logs in
position as sleepers. Three spars of driftwood, bleached white, were
found along the bank, and were laid over the logs at right angles, and
kept in their places, as were the logs, by stakes hammered into the lake
bottom. Mr. Errol and Mr. Terry produced some planks, saved from the
fire that devoured the stables, and laid them over the erection, making
a substantial pier, that would have been the better of a few spikes to
steady the boards. Mr. Bigglethorpe provided rods and lines, and baited
the hooks for the ladies, with grasshoppers, frogs, crawfish and
minnows. The last were provided by Marjorie. At the fisherman's
suggestion, she had got from Tryphena a useless wire dish-cover that had
lost its handle, a parcel of oatmeal, and a two-quart tin pail. Mr.
Bigglethorpe had fastened a handle cut out of the bush to the dish
cover, thus converting it into a scoop-net. Barefooted, Marjorie stood
in the shallow water, scattering a little oatmeal, when up came a shoal
of minnows eager for the food thus provided. At one fell swoop, the
young fisherwoman netted a dozen of the shiny little creatures, and
transferred them all alive to the tin pail. Mr. Errol had a great mind
to join her in this exciting sport, but was not sure what Mrs.
Carmichael would think of it. The possibility that he might have become
Mr. Coristine's father-in-law also tended to sober the renewer of his
youth. As Marjorie had practically deserted her friend for the minnows,
Mr. Bigglethorpe invited her cousin to accompany him, with Miss Halbert
and Mr. Perrowne, in the scow, which paddled off to try how the fishing
was at the narrows. The colonel did not care to fish; it was too dirty
work for him. Neither did the remaining ladies show any appetite for it;
but Mr. Errol and the veteran manned the lately constructed pier, and
beguiled some bass that came seeking shelter from the sun beneath it.
While the gentlemen were thus engaged, the colonel lying on his back
near Marjorie's fishing ground, indulging in a second cigar, the two
ladies strolled away, followed by Muggins, to look for more flowers.
After they had gone about a hundred yards to the right, the dog ran on
before them, barking furiously. Mrs. Carmichael clutched her companion's
arm and stood still. "It may be a wild beast, Cecile, or some of those
terrible men. Let us go back at once." But Miss Du Plessis calmly
answered, "It may be only a bird or a squirrel; dogs often make a great
fuss over very little." So they stood and waited.

Muggins' barking ceased. The reason was apparent in the sound of a
gentle voice they both knew, saying, "Poor Muggins, good doggie, has he
come back again to his old friends?" It was the voice of Matilda Nagle,
and she seemed to be alone. Taking heart, the two ladies went in its
direction, and, guided by Muggins, who came back to lead them, they
descended to a little bay with a sandy beach, where, in the skiff, sat
the woman they sought. She was neatly dressed, and wore a large straw
hat. When they greeted her, she showed no astonishment, but invited them
to enter the skiff and see the pretty place she had back there. Miss Du
Plessis hardly cared to accept the invitation, but the curiosity of the
older lady was aroused and she pressed her companion to comply. Bringing
the bow of the skiff into the shore, Matilda told them to enter the boat
and walk back to the stern. When they had taken their seats, the stern
was depressed, and the bow floated clear of the sand. Then, with every
motion of an accomplished oarswoman, she rowed the skiff along the
shore, altogether out of sight of the other picnickers in scow and on
pier. After a few strokes, she told her companions to lower their heads,
and, ducking her own, shot the boat through what had seemed a solid bank
of foliage, but which was a naturally concealed channel, out into one of
the loveliest little lakes eye ever rested upon. No fire had touched its
shores, which were wooded down to the sandy margin, the bright green
foliage of the hardwood in the foreground contrasting with the more
sombre hues of the pines and hemlocks beyond. In little bays there were
patches of white and yellow water lilies, alternating their orbed
blossoms with the showy blue spikes of the Pickerel weed, and, beyond
them, on the bank itself, grew many a crimson banner of the Cardinal
flower. Another little bay was passed with its last rocky point, and
then a clearing stood revealed, void of stump or stone or mark of fire,
covered with grass and clover, save where, in the midst of a little
neglected garden, stood the model of a Swiss chalet. "Do not be afraid!"
said the woman, catching sight of Mrs. Carmichael's apprehensive look;
"there is nobody in it or anywhere near. We are all alone; even Monty
would not leave his work to come with me." Thus reassured, the party
landed, gathered a few late roses and early sweet peas, and then
proceeded to inspect the chalet. The whole building and everything in it
was in admirable taste, even to the library smoking-room, which was only
disfigured by ugly spittoons and half-burned cigars. Many books were
there, chiefly on chemistry, geology and mineralogy, and there was a
large cabinet full of geological specimens, betokening much research and
abundant labour in their preparation and classification.

The whole thing was so unexpected, so surprising, that the picnic ladies
had to rub their eyes to be sure that it was not a dream; but their
astonishment was increased when the woman turned to the younger one and
said, "I know you are Miss Du Plessis, for I heard you called so at
Bridesdale." Miss Du Plessis answered that she was right. Then Matilda
said, "This is all your land, and of course, the land carries the
buildings with it. I have forgotten a great many things, but I remember
that, you see. So Tillycot is yours too; besides I do not want to stay
here any more. Good-bye, I am going home to Monty." At first, the two
ladies were afraid she was going to take the skiff away and leave them
in the house, but she did not. In spite of their entreaties, she walked
quickly up the grassy slope at the back, and disappeared in the forest
beyond. "Is it not wonderful?" asked Miss Du Plessis. "Come, Cecile,
hasten back, or those poor people will be starving," answered the more
practical Mrs. Carmichael.

On their return to the skiff, the presiding matron, while Miss Du
Plessis rowed, unfolded a long piece of yellow leno she had picked up in
one of the rooms. The channel was quite visible from, what may now be
called, the Tillycot end, but when the passengers ducked their heads and
emerged, they saw there would be difficulty in finding it from the other
side. Accordingly, Mrs. Carmichael bade her companion keep the boat
steady, while she stood up, and fastened the strip of gauze to two
saplings, one on either side of the opening, making a landmark visible
immediately the point was passed that intercepted the picnic party from
their view. Rowing round this point, the two travellers appeared, to the
astonishment of the fishers on punt and pier. The colonel was stretched
out on the grass asleep, and Marjorie, having deserted her minnows, was
tickling him about the ears with a long blade, greatly enjoying his
occasional slaps at the parts affected, and his muttered anathemas on
the flies.

"Oi'm thinkin', Mishtress Carrmoikle, it's gettin' toime fer the aitin'
an' drhinkin', wid your lave, mum; but fwhere did yez foind the
skifft?" Brief explanations followed to the veteran and Mr. Errol, who
were at once put under orders, the one to light a fire and produce the
tea-kettle, the other to fill two pails with clean water, and put a
piece of ice in one of them. Soon the colonel and Marjorie came to help,
the cloth was laid, the sandwiches, chickens, pies and cakes, placed
upon it, and everything got in readiness for the home-coming of the
punt. "O Aunty," said Marjorie, "this would be so lovely, if only poor
Eugene were here too."

"So it would, dear," answered the sympathetic aunt and mother, "but we
must try to make the best of it without him."

The kettle boiled under Mr. Terry's superintendence, the tea was infused
in the little Japanese tea-pot, and the colonel, taking from his
waistcoat pocket a silver whistle that had done duty for a cavalry
trumpet in former days, blew a signal for the information of the
punters. In a minute they arrived, bearing two grand strings of fish,
only the strings that went through the gills of the bass were hazel
twigs. Then there was washing of hands without soap, Mr. Bigglethorpe
showing his companions how to improvise a substitute for Pears' by
pulling up the pretty little water-lobelia and using the unctuous clay
about its spreading roots for the purpose. All sat about the
table-cloth, Mr. Perrowne said, "For what we are about to receive," and
the _al fresco_ repast began. Mrs. Carmichael dispensed the tea, and was
displeased with Mr. Errol for declining a cup just then, because he was
busy with a corkscrew and an ale bottle. Mr. Perrowne joined him with
another; but the fisherman said ale made him bilious and his name was
not William. So Mr. Terry produced his special charge, and treated the
colonel first, then Mr. Bigglethorpe, and finally his honoured self. The
boys, as the matron had termed the two clergymen, seemed to be happy
with their beer, somewhat to his sorrow. "It takes moighty little,
cornel, to shatishfy some payple, but there's aall the more av it for
the risht av us."

Miss Halbert said that Basil had eaten ten sandwiches, two plates of
chicken, and an extra drumstick in his hand, a whole pie, and she
couldn't count the cake. There were also some empty beer bottles at his
feet. He said he was perfectly ashamed of Fanny's appetite, and would
have to petition the Bishop for an allowance from the mission fund, if
she was going through life at the same rate.

"If we only had ouah deah boy with us, Cecile, what a pleasuhe it would
be," remarked the colonel in a personal way, that caused even the
stately Miss Du Plessis to blush.

"Eugene would be better than the whole lot," added Marjorie, with an
injured air, and added: "If some people I know hadn't been pigs, he
would have been here, too." Mrs. Carmichael called her niece to order,
and told the gentlemen they might go away to their pipes and cigars,
while she and the young ladies put away the things. The black bottle
trio adjourned to a shady nook by the shore, and carried three tumblers
and a pail of iced water with them. The bottle revealed its neck from
Mr. Terry's side pocket. The colonel handed his cigar case again to Mr.
Perrowne, who selected a weed, but could not be prevailed upon to fetch
a tumbler. Mr. Errol also declined the latter, having the fear of Mrs.
Carmichael before his eyes, but, withdrawing a short distance in his
brother clergyman's company, he filled the Turk's head, and said he felt
twenty years younger. All sorts of banter and pleasant talk went on
between the smoking gentlemen and the working ladies. Mr. Errol
distinguished himself above his brethren by bringing up water from the
lake and by carrying pailfuls of dishes down to it, for which he
received great commendation. Mr. Perrowne had his ears boxed twice by
Miss Halbert, it was said, for cheek. Mr. Terry was called upon to
deliver up his sacred charge, but demurred. When the ladies made a raid
upon his party to recover it, he fled, but Marjorie caught him by the
coat-tails, and the spoil was wrested from him, although not before he
had poured himself out a final three fingers in his tumbler. Filling it
up with ice-water, he drank to the success of the picnic, and especially
to absent friends. Mr. Bigglethorpe had been so long fishing in the sun
that he thought a rest would do him good. Accordingly, he lay down on
his back with his hat drawn over his eyes, and composed himself to
sleep. Finally, the clergymen went over to where Mrs. Carmichael was
sitting with Miss Halbert and Marjorie, while Miss Du Plessis, having
had a chat with Miss Carmichael, invited her uncle and the veteran to
go for a row in the skiff. At first, these gentlemen were disposed to
decline, but, when they learned that there was something to be seen,
they changed their minds, and accompanied her and Miss Carmichael to the
shore.

The colonel was entranced with the little lake, the clearing, and the
chalet, as were Miss Carmichael and Mr. Terry. It was decided that a
guard, in the form of a caretaker, should be put over the place as soon
as possible, and it was suggested that Timotheus and Tryphena would make
an ideal pair of guardians. While much of the land round about might be
cleared to advantage, it was agreed that the wood around Tillycot lake
should be left intact, save the breadth of a road to the main highway.
Then they fell to discussing Rawdon, a man plainly of extensive reading,
of scientific attainments, of taste in architecture and
house-furnishing, and yet an utterly unprincipled and unscrupulous
villain. "One would think," said Miss Carmichael, "that the natural
beauties of a place like this would be a check upon evil passions and
the baser part of one's nature." But the colonel answered, "In the
wahah, Miss Cahmichael, I have seen soldiehs, even owah own soldiehs,
wilfully and maliciously destyoying the most chahming spots of scenehy,
without the least pohfit to themselves or matehial injuhy to the enemy.
The love of destyuction is natuhal to ouah fallen human natuhe." Mr.
Terry corroborated this statement, and added, "Faix, it sames to me
there's jist two sarts an koinds av payple in the wurruld, thim as
builds up an' thim as batthers down. For moy paart, I'd lafer build a
log shanty an' clane a bit land nor pull a palish to paces." Miss Du
Plessis assented, but drew attention to the fact that Rawdon had
cleared, built up, and beautified the place, and improved his mind on
the one hand, while he was warring against society and law, robbing and
even murdering, on the other. "Mr. Errol said once," rejoined Miss
Carmichael, "that there are two opposite natures, an old man and a new,
in all human beings, as well as in those who are converted, and that no
contradiction of the kind is too absurd for human nature." "Mistah Ehhol
is quite right, my deah Miss Mahjohie, as all expehience attests. Bret
Hahte has shewn it from a Califohnian standpoint. I have seen it in
times of wanah and of peace, bad men, the bent of whose lives was
destyuction, risking evehything to save some little memohial of a dead
motheh or of a sweetheaht, and good men, the regular couhse of whose
cahheah was to do good, guilty of an occasional outbuhst of vandalism."

"Thrue fer yez, cornel, ivery bit. There was a little whipper-snapper av
a Shunday Shcool shuperintindent out in a lake, about a hundrid moiles
frum the city, wid some dacent lads; and, afore they knowed where they
was, the cratur had sit a foine grane oisland a foire for the fun, he
sid, av sayin' the blaze. Oi'd loike to have had the shuperintindin' av
him fer foive minutes."

The explorers were making their way back to the skiff when the colonel,
who had gone back for his handkerchief which he had dropped, said:
"There is a pehson coming down towahds the house, a woman appahently."
Miss Du Plessis looked up the hill, and saw who it was. "It is Matilda
Nagle," she said; "see, she is going back again." At once Miss
Carmichael ran up the hill after the retreating figure, and, as she was
a good runner, and the poor wanderer was tired, she soon overtook her.
Taking both her hands in her own, and kissing the woman, she said: "Come
with us, Matilda, and we will drive you home." The half-witted creature
responded to the caress, and allowed herself to be led to the boat. "I
lost my way," she said. "It is a new road I had never been on before,
and I got turned round and came back here three times, and I am very
tired." The colonel and Mr. Terry made her enter the boat before them,
and then Miss Du Plessis and the veteran rowed the party back to the
picnic ground, Miss Carmichael, at her friend's suggestion, removing the
landmark put up by her mother as they passed out of the channel. At once
Matilda was taken to the shady retreat where Mrs. Carmichael and Miss
Halbert were, and all the ladies waited upon her with what was left of
the eatables and drinkables, in spite of Mr. Perrowne's appetite. Then,
Mr. Terry and Mr. Bigglethorpe went after the horses, and harnessed them
to the waggon. The fisherman came back to summon the party and help to
carry the baskets. Mr. Errol and Mr. Perrowne agreed to row the punt
back to the Richards, and walk the rest of the way, as the addition of
Matilda to the company would make riding uncomfortable if they did
otherwise. The picnickers were safely seated, the baskets and the
strings of fish stowed away, and the Colonel again took the reins for
his party of nine. The two clergymen returned to the scow and paddled
home, singing songs, one of which Mr. Perrowne gave in genuine cockney
style to a Primitive Methodist hymn tune

     "Oh we was rich and 'appy once,
     And we paid all we was due,
     But we've sold our bed to buhy some bread,
     And we hain't, got nowt to do;
         We're all the way from Manchesteher.
         And we hain't got nowt to do.

     "Oh him as hoppresses the pooer man
     Is a livin on humin' lives,
     An I will be sarved in tohother land
     Like Lazarius and Dives,
         And will be sarved in tohother land
         Like Lazarius and Dives."

Mr. Errol applauded the song, but thought it was hardly right to put a
hymn tune to it. He said he "minded an auld Scotch song aboot the
barrin' o' the door." So he sang:--

     "It fell aboot the Martimas time,
     And a gay time it was then O,
     When our gude wife got puddins to mak',
     And she biled them in the pan O.
         The barrin' o' oor door weel, weel, weel.
         And the barrin' o' oor door, weel."

Thus, lightening the journey, they arrived at the last lake, said
how-d'ye-do to the Richards, and tramped home. "How are you feeling now,
Mr. Errol?" asked his comrade. "Man, it's just as I tellt ye, I'm
renewin' my youth."

It was just about six when the pedestrians arrived at Bridesdale. Mr.
Newberry had been there, anxious about his charge, and had joyfully
hailed her appearance in the waggon. Mr. Bigglethorpe insisted on going
home; so, after a whispered consultation with Miss Halbert, Mr. Perrowne
offered him the doctor's carriage, if he would call in and tell Dr.
Halbert that his daughter and all the Bridesdale people were safe, which
he agreed to do. The colonel and Miss Du Plessis were up with the dear
boy, whose name and virtues Miss Carmichael could hardly hear mentioned
with civility. Marjorie fairly wept over the leave-taking of Mr.
Biggles, but commanded herself sufficiently to beg that he would not
christen that baby Woollens, Cottons or Piscopalian. He said
emphatically that he would not, and then departed, taking home a string
of bass to propitiate Mrs. Bigglethorpe. The tea party, spite of Miss Du
Plessis' marvellous story of Tillycot, was very slow. The newly engaged
couple were full of each other. Mrs. Du Plessis, her daughter and the
colonel had Wilkinson on the brain, Mrs. Carmichael and the minister
were self-sufficient, and Mr. Terry was discoorsin' to his daughter,
Honoria. The only free person for Miss Carmichael was the Squire, and
happily she sat at his left.

"Marjorie, lassie," said Uncle John, "you're no lookin' weel."

"That's not very complimentary, uncle; but I am quite well."

"Yon block o' a Lamb has been wearin' ye, I'm thinkin'."

"Not at all, uncle; his gifts and graces are not adequate to that."

"Did Coristine tell ye o' that adverteesment in the Barrie paper?"

"Yes."

"Did he say he had dune onything aboot it?"

"Yes, he said he had written to the Edinburgh lawyer and to other people
about it."

"That was unco gude o' the lad, Marjorie."

"Yes, it was very kind."

"What garred the laddie gang awa before the time, lassie?"

"How should I know, uncle?"

"Wha sud ken were it no you, Marjorie, my pet?"

"I am not in Mr. Coristine's confidence."

"I'se warrant ye, Marjorie, he's just bitin's nails to the quick at yon
Mrs. Swamp's that's he no here the nicht."

"Oh nonsense, uncle, why should he be so foolish? If he wanted to stay,
there was no one to hinder him."

"Weel, weel, lassie, we'll hear frae him sometime aboot yon neist o' kin
business. Aiblins, ye'll be a braw leddy wi' a gran' fortune yet, and
turn up your bonnie bit nose at puir lawyer chappies."

"I don't want to turn up my nose at Mr. Coristine, uncle. I think it
was very splendid of him to fight for you as he did; but I knew nothing
about that when he said good-bye, and I wouldn't shake hands with him."

The Squire put up his hand and stroked his niece's hair. "Puir lassie!"
he said, "it's a gran' peety, but ye're no feelin' half as bad as he is
the noo, gin I ken the lad, and I think I dae."

It was ten when Mr. Bangs brought home the colonel's horse, and Rufus
rattled the missing waggon and team into the stable yard. The latter
joyfully saluted his sisters, shook hands with Timotheus, and
courteously responded to the greeting of Maguffin. Mr. Bangs, declining
any solid refreshment, entered the office, where, besides the Squire,
Mr. Errol and the veteran were established. The picnic ladies were tired
and had gone to rest, and the colonel was relating the events of the day
to the wakeful dominie. Mr. Bangs gave his company an account of the
safe lodgment of Rawdon and Davis, and mentioned incidentally that he
had seen Mr. Coristine alight from the train at Toronto and go up town.
He also cautioned the Squire against divulging the secret of the exhumed
box of money, if he wished to save it for Matilda Nagle.

"Squire," he said, "I don't went to elerm you, bet I'm efreid there's
gowing to be more trebble to-night; I saw thet tevern-keeper from
Peskiwenchow, Devis' brether, et the stetion this merning, with sem of
the fellows we fought et the Enkempment. They're not in Kellingwood now,
end yeng Hill tells me he saw strenge men kemming this way in the
efternoon. I towld yeng Hill to bring his gen, and I brought my mounted
petrol kerbine."

"This is terribly vexatious, Mr. Bangs, just as we thought all our
troubles were over."

"It is, bet I think it will be their lest ettempt, a final effort to get
meney and revenge. We must wound es many ef them es we ken, end ellow
the survivors to kerry off the dead end wounded. Thet will be the end of
it. I met Toner, end he tells me old Newcome is ep and eway. Toner kent
come, for Newcome hes threatened to bern down his house."

A gentle rap at the door interrupted the conversation. The Squire went
to open it, and saw his niece in night attire, with a pale, scared
face, hardly able to speak. "What is the matter, Marjorie?"

"There's a man in Mr. Coristine's room, either in the cupboard-wardrobe
or under the bed," she answered, and slipped quietly upstairs to her own
apartment.

Quickly the information was imparted, and the detective at once took
command.

"Mr. Terry, I know you are a good shot. Tek my kerbine which is loaded,
and wetch the windows of Mr. Coristine's room outside. Give Mr. Errol a
pistol, Squire, and kem on. Ah, Mr. Perrowne, we went you, sir; bring
that lemp end follow us."

All obeyed, and slipped up stairs with as little noise as possible. Mr.
Bangs opened the door and listened. Intuitively, he knew that Miss
Carmichael was right; somebody was in that room. Whispering to Mr. Errol
to guard the door, and to the Squire to stand by the wardrobe, he took
the lamp from Mr. Perrowne and flashed it under and over the bed. There
was nobody there. In a moment, however, the wardrobe door burst open,
the Squire was overturned, the light kicked over and extinguished, and
Mr. Errol pushed aside, when three feminine voices called: "Help,
quick!" and, tumbling over one another into the hall, the clever lookers
for burglars found their man in the grasp of three picturesque figures
in dressing gowns. They were at once relieved of their capture, and many
anxious enquiries were made as to whether they had received any injuries
from the felonious intruder. It appeared that they had not received any
of importance, and that Miss Carmichael was the first to arrest the
flight of the robber.

The household was aroused. The colonel came down with his pistols.
Timotheus, Rufus and Maguffin awaited orders, so he ordered them to arm,
and posted them as sentries, relieving Mr. Terry from his watch on the
windows. Then the examination of the prisoner began. He was the youth
who had driven the buckboard over for the doctor on the eventful Monday
morning. His name was Rawdon, but he was not the son of Altamont Rawdon.
His father's name was Reginald, who was Altamont's brother.

"Where is your fether?" asked Mr. Bangs.

"I dunno," he answered, sulkily.

"Then I ken tell you. He is dead, berned to death by yore precious encle
Eltemont."

"O my God!" exclaimed the youth; "is that so?"

"Esk any of these gentlemen, end they will tell you that yore fether end
old Flower were berned to death, end thet a keroner's jury set on their
remains, which are buried."

"You say as 'ow my huncle Haltamont did that?"

"Yes, I do, end, whet's more, you know it."

Having terrorized his victim, and antagonized him to Rawdon, the
detective drew from him the information that five men, three of Rawdon's
old employees, the tavern-keeper Matt, and Newcome, were coming at
midnight to burglarize the house and get possession of the dug-up
treasure. He confessed that he had slipped into the house while the
party was away picnicking, and, knowing that Coristine had left without
his knapsack, had looked round till he found a room with knapsacks in
it. There he intended to remain till his confederates should require his
services to open the house to them.

"Who towld you thet awful lie ebout Rawdon's meney being in this house?"

"Matt knew. Uncle Monty guv it 'im by signs, I guess. Oh, he's O.K., he
is."

"Well, sir, yore a prisoner here, end if things don't turn out es you
sey, I'll blow yore brains out."

"For goodness sake don't be aisty, mister. I've told you the 'ole truth,
I swear."

Mr. Bangs next found out that the robbers were coming in a waggon, which
would halt some distance to the left of the house, and that their plan
was to set one man at the end of the hall to hinder communication with
the servants' quarters, and two on the upper landing to command the
front and back stairs, while the remaining burglars ransacked the office
and any other rooms in which plunder might be found. The youth's
appointed mission was to fire the house, when the search was completed.
Hardly had this information been received when Maguffin's challenge was
heard, and a well-known voice in military accents replied "A friend."
The colonel went out, and brought in Corporal Rigby, panting for want of
breath.

"You've been running, Rigby," said the astonished Squire.

"Duty required it, sir," replied the constable, saluting; "I have come
at the double, with trailed arms, all the way from Squire Halbert's.
This is his rifle I am carrying. The enemy is on the move, sir, in
waggon transport." "You are jest in time, kenstable," remarked Mr.
Bangs. "Miss Kermichael and the ether ledies hev jest keptured an
impertent prisoner. Hev you yore hendkeffs?"

"I have, sir, and everything else the law requires." Mr. Terry handed a
glass to the breathless constable, who bowed his respects to the company
generally, smacked his lips as a public token of satisfaction, and
proceeded to handcuff and search his prisoner. Several blasting
cartridges with long fuses, and other incendiary material, were the
results of the last operation.

"If I had my way with him, sergeant-major," the constable remarked,
while taking his man under the veteran's command, to the stable, "I
would borrow an old chair from the back kitchen, not the front,
sergeant-major, tie him to it, and set off all these cattridges under
him. He would not go to heaven, sergeant-major, but they would help him
a bit in that direction. The man that would cattridge a house with
ladies in it should be made a targate out of, sergeant-major."

"Poor, deluded crathur!" replied Mr. Terry, "it's but a shlip av a bhoy,
it is, wid a burnt up father, that's been shet on to mischief by thim as
knows betther. Kape him toight, Corporal Rigby, but be tindher wid the
benoighted gossoon." Mr. Bangs ordered all lights out, save one in the
thoroughly darkened office, and another in the closet back in the hall,
which had no window. He called in the three sentries, ordered the
constable to maintain silence in the stable, and slipped out to
reconnoitre. The colonel, the Squire and Maguffin prepared their pistols
for the first volley on the housebreakers. The clergymen, with Timotheus
and Rufus, got their guns in order for the second. It was almost on the
stroke of midnight when the detective slipped in and closed the door
after him. "They are here," he whispered; "wait for me to ect! Now, not
another word." Silent, as if themselves conspirators, the eight men
crouched in the darkened hall, listening to steps on the soft grass of
the lawn. There was the low growl of a dog, a short bark, and then a
muttered oath, a thud, and a groan that was not human. Poor Basil
Perrowne ground his teeth, for he had heard the last gasp of the
faithful Muggins. A hand was on the outside knob of the door. Mr. Bangs
turned the key and drew back the catch of the lock, when two men thrust
themselves in. "Ware's the lights, you blarsted fool?" one of the
ruffians asked. The detective drew back, and the others with him, till
all five had entered. Then Mr. Perrowne threw open the office door, and
Timotheus that of the linen closet. In the sudden light cast on the
scene the pistol men fired and the burglars tumbled back, two hanging on
to three. "Don't shoot," cried Mr. Bangs to the gunners, "but kem on,
fellow them up." After the fugitives they went, not too quickly,
although the bereaved parson was longing for a shot at the murderer of
Muggins. The burglars were on the road, and the waggon, driven by a
woman, was coming to meet them. "Now then," said the detective, as a
couple of revolver shots whizzed past him, "give the scoundrels thet
velley, before there's any denger of hitting the woman." The four guns
were emptied with terrible effect, for the woman had to descend in order
to get her load of villainy on. The detective gave but one minute for
that purpose, and then ordered a pursuit; but the waggon had turned,
and, spite of screams and oaths that made hideous the night air, the
woman drove furiously, all unconscious, apparently, that her course
betrayed itself by a trail of human blood. "Nen ere killed outright,"
remarked Mr. Bangs, "bet I downt believe a single mether's sen of them
escaped without a good big merk of recognition."

"Do you think we have seen the last of them, Bangs?" asked the Squire.

"Certainly! This wes a lest desperate effort of a broken-up geng."

"I wonder who that woman can have been," said Mr. Errol. "I know most of
the people about here by sight."

"She's a very clever yeng woman," Mr. Bangs answered, evasively.

"It'll no be Newcome's daughter?" half asked the Squire.

The detective drew Mr. Carruthers aside, and said: "It wes to hev been
Serlizer, bet she wouldn't gow, even if Ben hed ellowed her; bet a nice
gel from wey beck, a cousin of Ben's, whom he had never seen before, end
who hed just called on Mrs. Towner in the efternoon, offered to take her
place. Her neme is Rebecca Towner, a very nice young person."

"Losh me, Bangs, you're an awfu' man! What deevilment is this ye've been
at?"

"I didn't went you to shoot Rebecca Towner, because, next to pore Nesh,
she is our best female personater, end her name, when she takes off
these clowthes, is Cherley Verley."

"So, you brocht thae villains here by deputy?"

"Yes; they hed to kem, you know, bet I didn't know anything ebout thet
boy end their plans, except in a general way. Rebecca woun't leave the
pore fellows till they're pretty sick."

Bridesdale was lit up again, for nobody cared to go to bed. The ladies
came down to see that the belligerents were safe, and Miss Carmichael
and her brave companions received the meed of praise and thanks their
splendid services deserved. Sorry for the injuries of the would-be
robbers, and perhaps murderers, the Squire was nevertheless relieved in
mind by the success of the night's work. In his satisfaction he entered
the kitchen, and ordered late supper for his allies in that quarter.
Then he summoned Constable Rigby from the stable, bidding him bring his
prisoner with him, and give him something to eat. The constable declined
to sit in a prisoner's presence in an unofficial capacity, but had no
objection to feeding him. When, therefore, the young intruder had eaten
his supper, his gaoler standing by, he was reconducted to the separate
stable, handcuffed, chained, and locked in, the key being deposited in
the constable's pocket. Then, and only then, did Mr. Rigby unbend, and,
after supper, indulge with his five companions, male and female, in the
improving geographical game of cards. The dining room bell occasionally
called Tryphosa away, when, as a matter of course, Timotheus played for
her. The colonel, with a cigar in his lips, and a substitute for fine
old Bourbon in his hand, went up-stairs to enlighten his dear boy as to
the doings of the night, and, especially as to dear Cecile's magnificent
courage. The dominie was terribly concerned about that lady's
single-handed contest with the desperate robber, and would not be
satisfied until she came in person to let him know she was not hurt in
the least, that Marjorie deserved all the credit of the capture, and
that the unhappy youth had seemed so taken aback by the character of his
hall assailants as to be almost incapable of resistance. The colonel
smoked, and sipped, and smiled incredulously, as much as to say, You may
believe this young person if you like, my dear boy, but there is
somebody who knows better, and can make allowance for a young lady's
charming self-depreciation. Mrs. Carruthers, grateful for the safety of
her husband and her father, and Mrs. Carmichael, for that of her brother
and Mr. Errol, were prepared to be hospitable to a degree. The minister
had another opportunity of praising the toddy which the latter lady
brewed, and Mr. Perrowne said: "It isn't half bad, you know, but I
down't know what Miss Crimmage's Band of Howpe would think of it, if she
knew the two temperance champions were imbibing at three o'clock in the
morning." The minister remarked that he didn't care for all the
Crimmages in the world, nor the Crummages either, whatever he meant by
that, for there was no such name in the neighbourhood. "Basil," said
Miss Halbert, "you had better take care. I shall not allow you any
toddy, remember, but shall subscribe for the Montreal _Weekly Witness_".
Mr. Perrowne put a little out of the decanter into his tumbler, with a
practised air very unlike that of a Band of Hope patron, saying:
"Drowned the miller, Fanny! Must take time by the forelock, if you are
going to carry out your threats. But I think I'll drop you, and ask Mrs.
Carmichael to have compassion on me. She wouldn't deprive a poor man of
his toddy, would you now, Mrs. Carmichael?"

"Mrs. Carmichael," said Mr. Errol, answering for that lady, "would hae
mair sense," which shut the parson effectually out of conversation in
that quarter.

Miss Carmichael listened to the conversation, and beheld the minister
renewing his youth. She heard Mr. Bangs entertain her uncle with
stories about a certain Charley Varley, and Mr. Terry say to Mrs Du
Plessis, "Whin I was in Sout Ameriky wid the cornel, God save him." She
saw her friend Fanny exciting the lighter vein in the affianced
Perrowne, and knew that Cecile was upstairs, the light of the dominie's
eyes. There was a blank in the company, so she retired to the room in
which she had found the burglar, and looked at the knapsacks there. She
knew his; would it be wrong to look inside? She would not touch Mr.
Wilkinson's for wealth untold. If he had not wanted his knapsack opened,
he should not have left it behind him. But it was open; not a strap was
buckled over it. The strap press was there, and a little prayer-book,
and a pocket volume of Browning, some cartridges and tobacco, and an
empty flask, and a pair of socks and some collars. What was that? A
sheet of paper that must have fallen out of Browning. It had fluttered
to the floor, whence she picked it up, and it was poetry; perhaps the
much-talked-of poem on the Grinstun man. No, it was another, and this
was how it ran, as she read it, and hot and cold shivers ran alternately
down her neck:--

     The while my lonely watch I keep,
     Dear heart that wak'st though senses sleep
       To thee my heart turns gratefully.
     All it can give to thee is given.
     From all besides, its heartstrings riven.
       Could ne'er be reft more fatefully.

     For thou art all in all to me,
     My life, my love, my Marjorie,
       Dow'ring each day increasingly
     With wealth of thy dear self. I swear
     I'll love thee false, I'll love thee fair.
       World without end, unceasingly.

"O, Eugene, Eugene," she sobbed to herself, "why would you go away, when
everybody wanted you, and I most of all?" Then she put the things back
into the knapsack, all but the sheet of paper, which she carried away,
and thrust into the bosom of her dress, as she saw Miss Du Plessis
approaching. In common with the other ladies of the house, they retired
to their rooms and to bed, leaving the gentlemen to tell stories and
smoke, and otherwise prepare themselves for an unsatisfactory breakfast
and a general disinclination for work in the morning. In the back of
the house, geographical studies continued to flourish, the corporal and
Maguffin contending with the ladies for educational honours, now being
lifted up to the seventh heaven of success, and, now, depressed beneath
the load of many adverse books. All the time, a little bird was singing
in Miss Carmichael's sleeping ear, or rather in that which really does
the hearing, certain words like, "My life, my love, my Marjorie," and
then again "I'll love thee false, I'll love thee fair, world without
end, unceasingly." When she awoke in the morning, the girls told her she
had been crying in her sleep, and saying "O Eugene!" which she
indignantly denied, and forbade them to repeat.

CHAPTER XIX.

     The Glory Departed--The Mail--Coristine's Letters to Miss
     Carmichael, Mrs. Carruthers and the Dominie--Sylvanus to
     Tryphena--Burying Muggins--A Dull Week--A Letter From Coristine and
     Four to Him--Marjorie's Letter and Book--Telegram--Mr. Douglas and
     Miss Graves--Reception Parties--The Colonel and Marjorie.

After breakfast on Saturday morning, Mr. Bangs departed, riding his own
horse, while Rufus bestrode that of his late friend Nash. As the colonel
had no need for the services of Maguffin, that gentleman drove the
constable and his prisoner in a cart between these two mounted guards.
The clergymen went home to look over their sermons for the morrow, and
to make good resolutions for pastoral duty in the week to come, not that
either of them was disposed to be negligent in the discharge of such
duty, but a week of almost unavoidable arrears had to be overtaken. The
Squire was busy all day looking after his farm hands, and laying out
work to be commenced on Monday morning; and Mr. Terry went the rounds
with him. The colonel's time was spent largely in conversation, divided
between his dear Farquhar and his dearer Teresa. When not engaged in
helping the hostess and her sister in-law in the press of Saturday's
household work, the young ladies were in consultation over the new
engagement, the ring, the day, the bridesmaids, the trousseau, and other
like matters of great importance. Marjorie took her young cousins
botanizing in honour of Eugene, and crawfishing in memory of Mr.
Biggles; then she formed them into a Sunday school class, and instructed
them feelingly in the vanity of human wishes, and the fleeting nature of
all sublunary things. Even Timotheus could not be with Tryphosa as much
as he would have desired, and had to console himself with thoughts of
the morrow, and visions of two people in a ferny hollow singing hymns
out of one hymn-book. The glory seemed to have departed from Bridesdale,
the romance to have gone out of its existence on that humdrum Saturday.
The morning passed in drudgery, the dinner table in prosaic talk, and
the hot afternoon was a weariness of the flesh and spirit. Just about
tea time the mail waggon passed the gate; there was nobody in it for
Bridesdale. When the quiet tea was over, the veteran lit his pipe, and
he and Marjorie went to the post office to enquire for letters, and
invest some of Eugene's parting donations in candy. Half the mail bag
and more was for the Squire, the post-mistress said, and it made a large
bundle, so that she had to tie it up in a huge circus poster, which,
being a very religious woman, she had declined to tack up on the
post-office wall. "Marjorie," whispered Mr. Terry, so that the
post-mistress could not hear, "I wudn't buoy any swates now, for I
belave there's a howll box iv thim in the mail for yeez." Accordingly,
they left without a purchase, to the loss of the candy account at the
store.

The circus poster and contents were deposited on the office table, and
Mr. Carruthers called big Marjorie to sort the mail. So Miss Carmichael
appeared, and gave him his own letters and papers. There were two from
India for Mr. Terry, that had been forwarded from Toronto, and one from
the same quarter for aunt Honoria. Some United States documents were the
colonel's property, and a hotel envelope, with a Barrie postmark, bore
the name of Miss Tryphena Hill. The bulk of the mail was in one
handwriting, which the Bridesdale post-mistress had seen before. Only
two letters were there, a thick one for aunt Honoria, and one of
ordinary size for Mr Wilkinson, but there were several papers and
magazines for that invalid, and at least half a dozen illustrated papers
and as many magazines or paper-bound books for herself, which she knew
contained material of some kind in which she had expressed an interest.
Then came three large thick packages, one marked "Misses Marjorie,
Susan, and Honoria Carruthers," another "Masters John and Michael
Carruthers," and the third "Miss Marjorie C. Thomas and Co." The young
lady with the Co. laid violent hands upon her own property; but that of
the young Carruthers was given to their mother, along with her letters.
Miss Du Plessis, failing to receive anything of her own, carried the
dominie's spoil to him, and found that some of the magazines, though
sent to his name, were really meant for her, at least dear Farquhar said
so. Mrs. Carruthers opened her Toronto letter and read it over with
amusement. Then she held up an enclosure between forefinger and thumb,
saying, "You see, Marjorie, it is unsealed, so I think I must read it,
or give it to your mother to read first, in case it should not be right
for you to receive it." But Miss Carmichael made a dash at the document,
and bore it off triumphantly to her own room, along with her literary
pabulum. It was dated Friday afternoon, so that he could not have been
long in the city when he wrote it, and ran thus:--

     _My Dear Miss Carmichael_,--I wish to apologize to you very humbly,
     and, through you, but not so humbly, to Mr. Lamb, for any harsh,
     and apparently cruel, things I said to or about him. Your aunt,
     Mrs. Thomas, whom I met, with the Captain and Sylvanus, on their
     way to the schooner, enlightened me regarding Mr. Lamb's history,
     of which I was entirely ignorant while at Bridesdale. I should be
     sorry to think I had been guilty of wilfully wounding the feelings
     of anyone in whom you take the slightest interest, and I trust you
     will pardon me for writing that, apart from my natural gratitude
     for your patience with me and your kindness to me, a mere stranger,
     there is no one in the world I should be more sorry to offend than
     yourself.
     Believe me,

                     My dear Miss Carmichael,
                               Ever yours faithfully,
                                               EUGENE CORISTINE.

     P.S.--I have taken the liberty of addressing to you some trifles I
     thought might interest the kind friends at Bridesdale.     E.C.

The note was satisfactory so far as it went, but there was not enough of
it; no word about the gloves, the ring, the half confession, the
promise, no word about coming back. Still, it was better than nothing.
Eugene could be dignified too; she would let everybody see that letter.

"I hope you had a nice letter, Marjorie?" asked Mrs. Carruthers. "You
would like, perhaps, to read what Mr. Coristine has to say to me." Her
niece replied that the letter was quite satisfactory, and the ladies
exchanged documents. That of Mrs. Carruthers read:--

     _Dear Mrs. Carruthers_,--Since I left your hospitable mansion I
     have been like a boy that has lost his mother, not to speak of the
     rest of the family. I look at myself like the poor newsboy, who was
     questioned about his parents and friends, and who, to put an end to
     the enquiries, answered: "Say, mister, when you seen me, you seen
     all there is on us." Please tell Marjorie Thomas, and your own
     little ones, that, perhaps, if I am good and am allowed, I may run
     up before the end of next month, to see if the fall flowers are
     out, and if they have left any crawfish and shiners in the creek.
     Will you kindly give the inclosure to Miss Carmichael, with whom,
     through my foolishness, I had an awkward misunderstanding that
     still troubles me a good deal. If I had known I was offending her,
     I would not have done it for the world. I cannot sufficiently thank
     you for your great kindness to my friend Wilkinson and me, nor
     shall I soon forget the happiest days of my life in your delightful
     home. Please make my sincere apologies to the Squire, and any other
     dear friends whom I may have left abruptly, under the peculiar
     circumstances of my departure. Remember me gratefully to Mrs.
     Carmichael, Mrs. Du Plessis, and the young ladies, and give my love
     to all the children.
                      I am, dear Mrs. Carruthers,
                              Very sincerely and thankfully yours,
                                                       EUGENE CORISTINE.

     P.S.--Please forgive me for sending a few bonbons for the children
     by this mail.                                            E.C.