sed in his swaggering
to survey the backs of his long white delicate hands, holding them side
by side before him, as if to make sure they were the same size. He was
letting the Deacon see his ring. Then pursing his chin down, with a
fastidious and critical regard, he picked a long fair hair off his left
coat sleeve. He held it high as he had seen them do on the stage of the
Theatre Royal. "Sweet souvenir!" he cried, and kissed it, "most dear
remembrance!"

The Deacon fed on the sight. The richness of his satiric perception was
too great to permit of speech. He could only gloat and be dumb.

"Waiting for Jack Gourlay," Aird rattled again. "He's off to College
again, and we're driving in his father's trap to meet the express at
Skeighan Station. Wonder what's keeping the fellow. I like a man to be
punctual. Business training, you see; yes, by Gad, two thousand parcels
a week go out of our place, and all of 'em up to time! Ah, there he is,"
he added, as the harsh grind of wheels was heard on the gravel at the
door. "Thank God, we'll soon be in civilization."

Young Gourlay entered, greatcoated and lordly, through the two halves of
that easy-swinging door.

"Good!" he cried. "Just a minute, Aird, till I get my flask filled."

"My weapon's primed and ready," Aird ha-haed, and slapped the breast
pocket of his coat.

John birled a bright sovereign on the counter, one of twenty old Gourlay
had battered his brains to get together for the boy's expenses. The
young fellow rattled the change into his trouser pocket like a master of
millions.

The Deacon and another idler or two gathered about the steps in the
darkness, to see that royal going off. Peter Riney's bunched-up little
old figure could be seen on the front seat of the gig; Aird was already
mounted behind. The mare (a worthy successor to Spanking Tam) pawed the
gravel and fretted in impatience; her sharp ears, seen pricked against
the gloom, worked to and fro. A widening cone of light shone out from
the leftward lamp of the gig, full on a glistering laurel, which Simpson
had growing by his porch. Each smooth leaf of the green bush gave back a
separate gleam, vivid to the eye in that pouring yellowness. Gourlay
stared at the bright evergreen, and forget for a moment where he was.
His lips parted, and--as they saw in the light from the door--his look
grew dreamy and far-away.

The truth was that all the impressions of a last day at home were bitten
in on his brain