master that
this encouragement to greater speed had long ago lost its real meaning
to her. She had come to regard its gentle reiteration as a sort of
pleasant lullaby, and jogged along more peacefully than ever.

They slowly rounded a curve in the road and came into view of their
home, the little weather-beaten house facing the lake, with Aunt
Kirsty's garden a glory of sweet-peas, the long rows of neat vegetable
beds sloping down to the water, the straggling lane with the big oak at
the gate. And there was Collie bounding down the lane, uttering
yelping barks and twisting himself almost out of joint in his efforts
to wag his tale hard enough to express his welcome. The Lad leaped
down and ran to open the gate; Collie knocked him over in his ecstasy,
and his father smiled indulgently as the two rolled over and over on
the grass.

"Run away in to Aunt Kirsty and tell her we are home, Lad," he cried,
as he drove past to the barn. The boy put the pin in the old gate and
went frolicking along the lane, the dog circling about him. The lane
ran straight past the house down to the water, hedged by an old rail
fence and fringed with raspberry and alder bushes. From it a little
gate led into Aunt Kirsty's garden, which surrounded the house. The
boy paused with his hand on the latch of the gate, looking down at the
water. And then he gave a loud, ecstatic "Oh!" that made Collie bark,
and stood perfectly still. He could see Lake Algonquin spread out
before him, stretching away to the north in lovely curves like a great
river. Its gleaming floor was dotted with green, feathery islands. To
the west, in a silver haze, lay the town; to the east, a low, wooded
shore where the spire of the little Indian church pointed up like a
shining finger out of the green. Great masses of clouds were piled
high in the west, where the sunset was turning all the world into
glory. But it was not the beauty of the scene that was holding the
little boy spellbound. Down there, straight ahead of him, was a most
marvellous thing, the fulfilment of his dreams. Across the radiant
water, stretching from some fairy island in the heavens, far over to
the opposite shore, hung a rainbow! And more wonderful still, right
down there at its foot, just beyond Wanda Island, gleaming and
beckoning, hung the pot of gold!

The Lad's heart gave a great leap. There it was, just as Peter Fiddle
had described it! Why should he not go after it, right now, a