as filled with a deep disapproval. He was an energetic,
well-meaning young man, rather injudicious and fiercely patriotic after
the spread-eagle manner of his cousins across the international
boundary. The Glenoro picnic struck him as being nothing short of
disloyal. There was not a flag to be seen anywhere in the woods, only
one of the speakers mentioned the fact that it was Dominion Day, and
then in a mere incidental way, and at the closing they actually sang
"Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow" instead of "God Save the
Queen!" The schoolmaster made up his mind that if he lived till the
next first of July, he would show the people what a Dominion Day
celebration ought to be. For this purpose he sought the co-operation
of the minister. Old Andrew Johnstone was ruining the rising
generation, he explained, and it was time somebody showed him that he
and his old-fashioned ideas were antediluvian. John Egerton hesitated
at first. He did not like the idea of running counter to his ruling
elder, but he secretly agreed with Mr. Watson that that old man had too
much to do with the affairs of the church. He felt also that this
would be a fine opportunity to come in touch with the boys and girls;
so, after some demurring, he finally yielded and consented to give a
helping hand in the patriotic demonstration.

Mr. Watson set to work with wonderful zest. As the picnic was for the
Sabbath school, the children should properly be the entertainers, he
declared, so the public school pupils were detained every day after
school hours and the minister came down and helped drill them in
patriotic songs and exercises. Of course, they needed a musical
instrument, so they hired the Temperance Society's organ, and Jessie
Hamilton was asked to play. The whole arrangement proved highly
satisfactory to the young minister. He found himself looking forward
to the practise hour with pleasure, for he would walk down to the
Hamiltons', call for Jessie, and together they would stroll across the
bridge and up the river road beneath the trees to the school house
where they spent an hour in each other's company.

The undertaking had its drawbacks as well as its pleasure, however.
The chief one was young Neil Neil, a worse imp than Sandy even, and an
unfailing source of disorder. He and his bosom companion in iniquity,
a wild Irishman from the Flats by the name of Patrick Regan, conspired
to make the practise hour a burden to both their