ters, all crowded amicably into one single buggy, where
there was no room for denominational differences. Next came the choir,
spreading over three big democrats, and following them, the Hendersons'
hay wagon with the children piled into it three deep. Ordinary
individuals came next without any order of precedence, and as far down
the line as possible, Christina sat beside John in their single buggy.

The procession made a brave showing, with the long line of vehicles
stretching from the corner away up the hill and down the other side,
every one decorated with flags and streamers, and Piper Lauchie
standing up in the Holmes' car playing loud enough to be heard in
Algonquin.

But not all the rest of the procession together could compare in
display with Mrs. Johnnie Dunn's car where the three Aunties sat
arrayed as no even the Grant Girls had ever appeared in public. Auntie
Elspie wore a sea-green brocaded satin, trimmed with silk fringe;
Auntie Flora was in a dazzling silk of an ancient "changeable" variety,
that was now purple and now gold, and a wonderful beaded cape of black
velvet. And Auntie Janet was in her ruby velvet with a rose silk
fringed parasol that turned to flame when the sun struck it. And
beside they had the car filled with flowers and each Auntie carried a
little posie of rosemary and pinks, Gavin's favourites of all the
garden.

"We wanted him to smell the rosemary as soon as he got off the train,"
explained Auntie Flora, "and then he would feel he was at home."

The procession were a bright and beautiful sight, indeed, and the Grant
Girls' faces, so shining and young and eager, were the brightest thing
in all the gay throng that started out to bring Gavin home.

Mrs. Johnnie Dunn had them all put into their proper places at last and
away they went skimming down the sunny River Road, under the towering
elms that fringed the highway, with the golden harvest-fields, where
the khaki-coloured sheaves stood up like soldiers on guard, smiling on
either hand, and the winding reaches of the Silver Creek peeping out
from the green, here and there, with a flash like an unsheathed sword.

The Woman had arranged the programme to be given at the Crossing, so
that there was no possibility of anything going wrong. The choirs were
to line up, right in front of the place where the train would stop,
with the Piper behind them, ready to play at the first sight of the
train coming out of the swamp. Indeed the