In the talk of his boyhood days Gilbert was led to tell of his
early ambitions, and of the struggle he had had to get an education.

"I went to the public school until I was fourteen, and I always
cherished dreams of one day being a doctor. But our farm was small,
and our family large, and when father died we older boys had to turn
out to earn our living. I got a job that first summer working in a
sawmill near home, and there I met my fortune. There was a big,
warm-hearted, rollicking chap there, who was foreman, and I thought he
was the most wonderful man alive; and upon my word, I rather think so
yet. He was just the sort of fellow to be a tremendous hero in the
eyes of a youngster of fifteen. He could walk the logs on the river
any old way, and could jump and run and throw the shoulder-stone, and
do all manner of stunts, away ahead of everybody else. We kids thought
he was the greatest thing outside a dime novel; and I tell you, he was
a fine chap all through. I've met a good many people of all sorts
since those days, but I've never seen the equal of Martin Heaslip."

"Who?" His listener whirled around in her seat, her eyes startled, her
lips parted.

"Heaslip--Martin Heaslip. You don't happen to know him, do you?"

"Oh, no; not at all!" The answer came in hurried confusion. "I--it
was the name--I--please go on. I beg your pardon for the interruption."

"He was a Bluenose--one of those Scotch-Irish Nova Scotians, the best
kind going; but he had lots of relatives over in Bruce County; perhaps
you knew some of them?"

"No, oh, no! I--it was a mistake."

"Well, one day the poor old chap met with rather a serious accident.
He was walloping around the mill, as usual, singing a crazy old
lumberjack song about 'six brave Cana-jen byes,' who broke a lumber
jam. Martin was always whooping away at that dirge, I think I can hear
him yet. I'm not up in musical terms, but I think the tune was a kind
of Gregorian chant, and as mournful as a dog howling at night. It goes
something like this:

'_They broke the jam on the Garry Rocks,
And they met a wat-e-ry grave.'_

Martin could sing about as well as I can, so you may imagine what a
continuous performance of that sort was like. He was bellowing away at
this, as usual, never looking where he was stepping, when he stumbled,
and fell against the big saw, and the mill going at top speed. I
happened to be standing right behind him at the time, and I mana