ou, John
McIntyre. Oh, yes, indeed, never fear. I will be thinking He will be
meaning you some good yet. Oh, yes, yes, never you fear----

"_'Oh, there's many a man o' the Ca----'_"

His voice broke on the high note, and he did not start again, for a
figure was coming down the street toward the bridge. It was Silas
Long, storekeeper, postmaster and astronomer, with his telescope under
his arm. He paused on the bridge, where he was joined by several
others. They came straying down the street in aimless fashion, hands
in pockets, shoulders drooping. It was the custom to assemble in the
most casual manner, for it would never do to confess, even to oneself,
that one had started deliberately to spend an evening in idleness.

The group straggled slowly forward, Silas Long, William Winters, the
blacksmith, Jake Sawyer, and a new member of the club, a very small
person, whose red, curly hair shone like a halo in the light of the
evening sun. Holding this little figure by the hand, Jake Sawyer
walked along with a tremendous swagger, the proudest man in the county
of Simcoe.

Another man was strolling toward them across the golden-lighted pasture
field. It was John Cross, Jake Sawyer's partner, called Spectacle
John, to distinguish him from a half dozen other John Crosses who
didn't wear spectacles. At sight of him Uncle Hughie sniffed, and
ejaculated "Huts!" Spectacle John was an Irishman, of a rather
frivolous turn of mind, and the philosopher disapproved of him, and
discouraged his attendance. Moreover, he and Silas Long were always at
variance, and when the two met the milkstand lost its dignity and
became a center of futile argument.

One by one they arrived, and dropped upon the steps of the milkstand or
the pile of stones by the gate, with a casual remark about the weather.
In Elmbrook one did not say "Good-morning" or "Good-evening," in
greeting; but "Fine day," "Cold night," as the case might be. So as
each man sank into his place, with a sigh for the long day's toil, he
remarked "Fine night," looking far off at the horizon, and Uncle Hughie
also examined that boundary, and remarked "Fine." As Jake Sawyer
seated himself, and raised the youngest orphan to his knee, he added
proudly, "An' a fine boy, too, eh, folks?"

"Oh, yes, indeed! And indeed, yes!" cried Uncle Hughie, patting the
little, curly head, and resorting to the Gaelic for terms sufficiently
endearing.

"And how many are there in yo