"We'll jist do our best, an'
I'm sure, with Jake an' the Lord to look after us, we ain't likely to
come to want."

CHAPTER V

THE MILKSTAND CLUB

He that sees clear is gentlest of his words,
And that's not truth that hath the heart to kill.
--ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN.

The Cameron homestead could scarcely be said to belong to Elmbrook, but
formed a suburb all by itself. It was a comfortable-looking red-brick,
set away back in its orchards and fields, and was further cut off from
the village by the ravine where the mill-stream ran.

Perhaps this was partly the reason why the Cameron family seemed a
little exclusive. There was a deep suspicion throughout Elmbrook that
old lady Cameron, as she was called, thought herself above ordinary
folks, and unconsciously Elmbrook thought so, too. The father had died
when the children were all little, but she had kept them together
through poverty and hardship, imbuing them all with her splendid,
self-sacrificing spirit, until now the elder ones had each taken an
honorable position in life. James, the eldest, lived on the farm, and
had lately paid off the mortgage and built a new house and barn; Hugh
was a lawyer in a neighboring city; Mary was married to a minister--the
greatest achievement of all; Elsie promised to be a singer, and by
making special sacrifices the family had succeeded in giving her a
year's training under the best teachers in the land; Malcolm was going
to be a doctor, had finished his second year with honors, in fact; and
Jean and Archie were still to be given their chance.

Old lady Cameron's brother-in-law, Uncle Hughie, was the best-known
member of the family. He was the village philosopher, and spent his
time hobbling about the farm, doing such odd jobs as his rheumatism
would permit, and "rastlin'" out the problem of human life. He was
sitting on the milkstand just now, his small, stooped body almost
covered by his straw hat, his long beard sweeping his knees. He was
swinging his feet, and singing, in a high, quavering voice, his
favorite song, "The March o' the Cameron Men."

When Sawed-Off Wilmott started a cheese factory down on the Lake Simcoe
road each of his patrons had built, just at the gate, a small platform,
called a milkstand, from which the cans were collected. The Cameron
milkstand had a flight of steps leading up to it, and a grove of
plum-trees surrounding. It was a fine place to sit, of an evening, for
one co