minded."

"That's it!" cried Coonie. "That's the word I'm rummagin' for; he's a
sort o' sleigh-ridin', tea-meetin' parson. I didn't take much stock in
old Cameron when he was livin'; you couldn't take a chaw o' tobacco
without him knowin' about it, but all the same he was the genu-_ine_
article. It was uncomfortable times for sinners when he was 'round.
This chap's different grade; he needs a label on him."

Mr. Watson went out, banging the door in disgust, and Coonie kept
himself warm for many a mile past Glenoro, chuckling over his joke.

But the schoolmaster was too enthusiastic to be depressed by such
ignorant opposition. He felt that he was creating an epoch in Canadian
history; he was stirring up a sentiment which would permeate the whole
country from Halifax to Vancouver and from the international boundary
to the north pole, a sentiment which would fire the lukewarm blood of
this people and bring glory and honour upon Canada and George Watson.

If he had remained long enough in Glenoro, he might have witnessed a
condition of affairs which would have surprised him. Could he have
seen the boys he had taught in the school, grown to men, pushing and
jostling each other in their jealous and frantic efforts to be of the
glorious chosen few who marched away to uphold the old flag on the
African veldt, could he have foreseen that the disloyal young Neil, who
had been the first on that shameful Dominion Day to throw away his flag
and desert his country, would one day face a whole regiment for Queen
and Empire, he might have confessed that he had mistaken British
reticence for lack of sentiment. But the schoolmaster, though
whole-souled and well-meaning, was not by any means far-seeing, so he
went on stirring up a spirit of loyalty with an energy worthy of a
better cause.

Through it all John Egerton was dissatisfied and worried. He felt
positively grieved over the loss of an opportunity to show his
appreciation of Mr. Ansdell's friendship, and he knew that the elder
people of his own congregation blamed him. He had another trouble,
too, which he scarcely confessed to himself; it was the strange, subtle
change in Jessie Hamilton. When Donald ignored his humble letter, his
repentant mood had slowly vanished. He told himself the young man was
all he had suspected, and not worth his trouble. He would have resumed
his attentions to Jessie with a clear conscience, but was met by a
gentle but firm opposition. H