Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, May 25, 1902, Page 16

e | | | | | 18 CHAPTER XXX~(Continued.) (Copyright, 1901, by 8. R. Crockett.) Anton McMillan did mot reply at onee. Be seemed to be in a brown study. So John had perforce to repeat his question. “Have you come with a message from pour master?” “Aye, frae my maister!” sald Anton with ald John, tugging flercely at the Sast knot and rather wishing that the taci- turn herd bad chosen some other time for Bts visit. “Ye will permit me (o ask a question?” said Anton. The young minister nodded without look- g up. “Ask away!" he sald cheerfully. Yo are to be quit o' the manse by noon ow 1" ““That is the notice I have got from the slerk of presbytery,” said John, succinctly. “Aye?" sald Anto ‘'Weel, what may ye be thinkin' o' doin “Doing?" sald John Glendonwyn; ‘“‘well ffor the present I thought of taking lodgings #n the town of Kilgour and walking out to wisit any who might desire my ministra- tion: “That will be verra inconvenfent,” sala the herd, with grave deliberation. “Doubt sald John, a little irritably, Mut you ses, Anton, beggars cannot be P omas At g THE OMAHA DAILY BEE: SUNDAY, MAY 25, 1902, BL hand, has mair nor doobled. He has led farms by the score, an’ as far as it may be sald o' ony mortal withoot offence, the cat- tle on a thoosand hills are his. Gin Greg- ory Glendonwyn, your faither, were to threaten to pit him oot o' Benangower, it |18 odde that he wad answer him as he did Nellson o' Clatterinshaws. ‘Sir, he wad y, ‘T will mak' you an offer to tak’ your hale estates at valuation!' Bigger odds | still that he wad juist haud at him, wi' a golly o' muckle braid oaths as coorse Kilmarnock. Therefore, dinna think o that! Gin ae door ehuts, anither will open for Anton. 1 am a lanely man, and bae gotten a guld wage for near on saxty yea Auld Anton will no want. But there stands his bit hoosie—and prood will his faithe son be to welcome ye there, till siccan time the fowk draw aboot ye, and ve hae a | bonnier manse biggit than the yin ye are leavin' for conscience sake.” “I thank you, Anton,” sald John Glen- donwyn, touched to the heart, “you are to | me as Aaron and Hur for the upholding of my hands." The old Cameronian herd quickly. “Ye will na mistakt’, will ye, sir, will | ye?" he sald a little anxlously. “I and all I have are yours, as gin ye were son to me | that son hae nane. But when it comes to the Sabbath morn I wull gang doon the rae looked up [P TS VSRR VT SN phoosers. It is that or nothing. There is Mot & man In Gower that dares take me In— mot a house taht will shelter me and mine.” “Aye, there is—" sald Anton, suddenly, with a lift of his mountainous brows, and a gloam of the fearless hillman's eye; “there 4s one man that isna feared o' the wrath © kings—let alane Gregory Glendonwyn o Castle Gower. There Is bae bit herd's Bouse {' the pairish where ye are welcome— you and your; aye, even your auld leddy there, wha has dootless been used to some- thing far different!” Letting go the box John Glendonwyn #tood up in astonishment. “But you are not of the Kirk,” he cried, *you do mot bold with us who have re- “And what o' sald Anton the hord, ‘To the Jews yo maun come!' guoth ‘Clreums sald Paul. And withstood him to his face, the furious Wee ettercap that he was, him wi' the lame Jeg. So let it be wi' you and me, minister! *Coavenants or nocht!’ says I ‘Speeritual independence!’ says you. ‘Render unto Qaesar!’ says you. ‘Plague the doit,’ says L ‘Have at ye!' says you, wi' your nelves up. And I wad be willin’! But consider #in Paul cam’ to Jerusalem and thae dell's Birkies o' temple officers were hard at his #all, wadna Peter tak' him to you door he Kens gae weel, an| let him into the secret @ the knock that brings out the young lass %0 blithe and ready? Wad he no slip him ‘n, think ye? And gin Peter cam’ to Da- mascus, wad Paul no gle him a lend o' Bis basket, for a' the bit difference that Bad been aewten them—?" “That wad he mo,”" cried Babby Lock- suddenly, “and T wull tell ye for why basket wad hae been broken doom, , rib and wattle by the wecht of the ry Paul wad hae been haulin’ up and in't. Nae sauchwands that ever were #rown by Abana and Pharper, rivers of Da- ‘Sascus, wad hae stood it for an hour!” “S0," sald the herd, disregarding her in- t interruption, “‘this is the message my malister that I hae gotten—no frae ‘Malster Habbleshaw o' Bennangower, but frae a Higher Han'.—'Gang doon, as the JLord has prospered you,' sald the Volce to ‘me late and early, ‘an’ offer to the min!ster the sheiter o' your bit hoose. It's no muckle, Malster Glendonwyn, but O ye are ‘Welcome as the first green grass on the Bllls o' smaw to the hungry yowes. Come ‘your ways up, man. There's graund caller on Bennangower, a BIt burnle to wash 1n wi' poole that wad droon ye were A8 big as Samson and his weaver's beam. And beaps o' mutton hams and oatmeal for Pabby to bake into cake. And there's the “bearcom' for you, and your buiks and your #tudyin'—the heather growin' bonny up to $he verra windows, and the larks tellin’' ye &' the day lang hoo to praise God wi the Wpspringin’ heart. Come your ways up wi’ wam Ye ken auld Anton that has ye weel a' your days. What he Means he says. And what he says he " " Jobu clasped the hand held out and #tood salt in his eyes. “But,” he sald, slowly and thoughttully, ®will not your master turn you away? Bea- wer belongs to my father, and you what he has threatened! Why should you meddle in a quarrel which is not your owat’e “.N old man threw back his head with :nn of a covenauter before the Star the “True it 1, be sald, “that Abram Hal Bleshaw o' Bennangower mich cast off the Servant that has served him and his tather Saxty year o' yowes aod lambe at the " o' Gregory Glendonwyn. But I B0. And for this reason. Abram W, great billyln’ cult as he is, Js servont (o ooy mas. His father Was & rich man—and what e store I ’}m b “DUMB-STRICKEN SAT GREGORY GLENDONWYN. and hie me ower the lang muir and up by the Cross Roads to the Kirk o' the Coave- nants at Causeyend. '‘According to the flesh, I dinna like Maister Osborne as weel as you, But, ye see, him and me ‘grees aboot the Coave- nants and the Paying o' the Cess an’ the Ceevil Magistrate and things like that— things that ye care nae mair aboot than ye do whetcher my coille Tyke has a rough coat or a smooth. But whilk are the breath o' life to auld Anten that was bred to that way even frae his youth up. “With that, or with anything that con- cerns the conscience, I think you will not find me meddle,” sald John Glendonwyn. “But the fear in my heart is that there will be but few in the parish who see as I do, or who will desire that I should con- tinue among them. The old man took a quick look over hie shoulder to see if Babby were still in the room. But she had disappeared to finish her own preparations, having now the prospect of a better ‘‘doonsittin’ " (as she called it), than in “toon lodgings,” where 11 she would have to do would just be to see that the ladladdy did not cheat her laddie or eat his butter behind his back. Happy landlady, sound ought to be your sleep in the town of Kilgour this night, considering what you have escaped! “Maybe there's mair wi' ye than ve wad think, sir,”” he said, “like a’' things it juist needs a beginnin'. And noo that ye are to hae an abidin’ place in the parish itsel’ (sie as It is), there’s mony the yin will stand by ye in the quarry-hole on SBabbath morning. Fear ye never that. The Lord hall rise up a folk for Himsel’, and the auld seed o' the Covenant and the mos: hog shall be sown amang ither kirks al It was in this way and with these ad- vertisemonts of lcome that John Glen- donwyn went to bide in the herd's house of Anton McMillan, the Cameronian ehep- herd of Bennangower. And on the follow- ing Sabbath day, judge ye with what feel- ings John Glendonwyn arose and went out to meditate upon the side of the mountain. It was early. Farm and cothouse and farm steading lay there in the unbroken SBabbath quiet. The pecullar brooding silence, the hush and awe of that day affected John Glendonwyn keenly. His was the only foot, ve those of the black-faced sheep, which that day had trod the great solitudes his eyes wandered over, or scattered the morn- ing dew upon these purpling ridges. So thought John Glendonwyn, but he was wrong. There were two and perhaps three already astir and ready in the anmclent Scots phrase, “compassing the throne of grace” for him. He had not gone far from the house when the sound of a volce speak- ing in the profound silence stayed and held him. It came out of a great bush of heather and broom, as from an oratory. ‘The minister of Gower, today the minister of Gower no more, stole up and listened. It was the Cameronlan eld who was speaking. “Thou with Whom {s all wisdom and direction,” he was saying, “grant to the young man this day that he may speak Thy word, without fear, in all simplieity, in the love of it. Be a mouth unto him and wisdom, and raise up about bim an hearing people in this parish of Gower that needs siclike sairly— John stepped back. The Cameronian was pleading for him, but he bad no right to listen to the words. They were not ad- dressed to his ear. Yet as he wended his Way up the little brown trickles of sheep walks and brushed the dew from the bracken-bourochs, he felt fnfinitely re. freshed and strengthened. “The prayer of & righteous man availef much,” so ran his meditation. And how much more would he have been alded had he known that down on the edges of the woods opposite Kilgour, near that shining white speck to which bis eyes turned so often, still apparently smokeless and life- ' éy-S.R.C:«h:t? i who had slipped out of a shut and dark- ened house to breathe the morning air, to watch and to pray. “God bless Jobhn today. I wish I were with him. Please make him feel that I am thinking of him."” And Falrlle Glendenning, who had prayed | these words almost unconsclously, looked lingeringly up at the side of Bannangower. For she had news of John's removal thither, and with her face still in that direction she pulled a white rose from the little tree by her bower, and, first kissing it, she threw is as far as she could over the tall beech hedge in the direction of the white speck among the heather of the hiliside. Also at the window of a certain room in a square, white-walled manse on the oppo- | site side of the river there was standing a tall, white-robed figure. The window was open and sweet airs were stealing in across the water off the great wastes of heather. There was a whaup flying over the town, uttering his wild ery. But so early is it that there is no noise in the Sabbath-qulet streets to utter bondsmen to Gregory Glendonwyn and & few stanch pillars of kirk and state to be seen making a contrary trickle in the direction of the steepled knowe beside the empty manse. “They are come out to see what shall be don sald John; ‘“‘so much is well. But it will not last—it cannot last Nevertheless for that day his heart wa sufficlently elate within him. For he thought, “At least I am not wholly alone in this the hour of my trial.” The brief entry underneath s taken trom the diary of one who was present upon the oocaslon and shows the effect produced by the young minister's first appearance as a fleld preacher: “I went to the Old Quarry Hole and found a strange thing Many of the coun- try lads and cotters from the Yarms had been cutting out and arranging eeats, some on the bage rock, some on QuArTy stones excavated but abandoned, and still more on an amphitheater of turf, in front of which the preaching box had been set up. “There were, so far as I could see, nei onto 600 persons present, some doubtles drawn from curiosity from Kilgour and other neighboring parishes, but most of them tepants and cotters on the Gower should be present on an occasion which they knew might affect their livellhooa. At last the young minister, Mr. John Glendonwyn, was seen approaching over the hill. He looked tall and siim, blue of | than one who, after being a placed minis- | ter of the Kirk of Scotland in onme of its best parishes, had made himself separate from his own kith and kin and damaged | his prospects, eo far, at least, as these were in the power of his father to hurt or 0 help. “The first pealm had just been given out, scare him back to his airy domicile. Veronica Caesar looked around. Two of her sisters and a little brother were asleep in the same room. She looked out again, sighed, shook her head, and, murmuring, “No—no—I know it can never be!" turned and went quietly about the house, laying aside the worn week-day clothes and looking out those which are donned fresh and fresh every Sabbath morning— uniform, in fact, of the Caesarian legion- aries. Then she smiled, eyes were wet. “This 1s what I was meant for, evi- dently,”” she sald, and brushed harder at the bottoms of Henry's trousers, which bore the stains of muddy ways and ca lesa feet. Which, In its way, was a prayer every bit as good as the other two. For If self-sacrifice be not the matter and es- sence of prayer, it s one of the strong pinions that 1ift it heavenward. though somehow her CHAPTER XXXII. Nec Tamen Cousumebatur, ‘That was a etrange Sabbath day In Soot- land when in 470 pulpits th was elther silence and emptiness or the volce of a stranger—nothing like it since the “Drucken’ parllament of the restored Charles stilled the kirk services over all the south and west, and set the heather on fire with those fleld preachings which in time were to bring down the mighty from their seats. The disruption was accomplished. The ministers had done their part—would the people follow them, or, lke the kirk jack- dawe, ide by the waa's?” It was a day of testing. house of Ben- 1 that morning. John Glendonwyn was thinking of his firat service a minister outside the Kirk of Scotland. The Cameronian elder, baving done the thing which alone was in his power to do, wae silent out of sympathy— a very fine gentleman was this herd of Bennangower. At last the hour hand of the great eight- day clock approached 11, and it would take the better part of an hour to reach the Quarry Hole in front of the village of Gower where the service was to be held. The Cameronian and the self-outed min- ister walked still and silent together until they reached the little stile where the road down to the Quarry separated from the track which wimpled onward through the heather toward the towa of Kilgour. There John and the elder shook bands and looked a moment in each other's eyes ~—the look, which meant, ““Good speed. Go thy way—a good way, though mot mine!" And so do men differ with good and commendable Aifferences about religion throughout Seotland. Men do not differ about that to which they are indifferent Let the Blue Banner wi and the Bush Burn yet unconsumed, and St. Andrew with his crozier be set on high, and half a dozen steeples be seen in every village athwart the land! Let men argue and brother turn his back upon brother on the Sabbath morn, each traveling to his own particular Zion to hear the gospel preached according to his desire and conscience. If the hives are healthy let there be more and more. Good and not evil has come to the Kirk of Scotland threugh its divisions. Advereity and not prosperity hath made It great. High kirk, Low kirk, Glddling kirk, Broad kirk, Pealm kirk, Hymn kirk and even Laodican Paraphrase kirk, let them emulate each other to good works and stimulate one another to the best and least somnolent purpose. What & dull fusionless place Scotland would be without its religious rivairies and emulations! It was & striking sight which greeted John that glorious June day, high-arched wnd resplendent of sun. From every side the people poured in—all making for the | THR REBELLION HAD COME VERY NEAR HIS THRONE." | eye and pale of face—more like a student | | estates, for whom it sald no little that they | His feeling increased in force and acri- mony when he heard that his son Bad ob- tained a site for his church in the village of Gower ftself-—no other indeed than that house and garden which he, Gregory Glen- donwyn, had bestowed upon the falthful Babby Lockhart and her heirs for her care and diligence in rearing this ungrateful son. It was Factor Halliday who brought the news to his master and he had entered ex- pecting to provoke a great outbreak of furious anger. None, however, came, which disappointed him. Gregory Glendonwyn sat with a gray set face thinking, and the fac- tor had perforce to elip out with no news to carry elther to the servants’' hall or to the higher vehmegerecht of the head gard- ener, the head gamekeeper and the chief forester of the estates, the vassals and vavasours of the feudality ot Gower. Now to such a pass had this hatred come that the matter of Gregory Glendonwyn's thinking was frightful even to himself. ““No—"" he was repeating over and over to himself, “not It 1 disown him—mnot if I am compelled to use againet him the last weapon in my power, shall & penny of my money, a penny of my wife's money be epent on defying me, brow-beating me In the face of my own people. I will show him what it 18 to thwart his father, to join himself with beggarly showmen and po- litical mountebanks. He has given up the stipend of his parish. He can have little from the company of scarecrows and beg- gars who will dare to favor him In Gower. For the rest—I will keep him from ever getting a penny out of the Gower estates. He has signed away his own property and Inheritance like a fool. But I will hound him from Gower. I will cast him off as a son. And, by heaven and Him who dwells there, T will take the inheritance he is sure of out of his hand. I can and I will!"” And Gregory Glendonwyn, belng a man of action, rose up at once and proceeded to carry out his threat. For a great idea had occurred to him, a thought at once so striking and far-reach- ing, yet so mortifying to his own pride, that only the desperate hatred which he had been ‘cultivating agalnst his son In and while the people were singing I saw @ great many people turn round and some few put up their plaids and shawls about their heads as 1f they did not wish to be recognized. But the elders and those who had taken a prominent part with the young minister stood boldly bareheaded beside him, singing to the tume ‘Fremch’ the psalm which begins, ‘I to the hills will lirc my ald, from whence doth come mine ald." Presently 1 heard a carriage drive up and top. Then as soon as the singing of the psalm was over I saw Mr. Glendonwyn pushing a way through the throng, which made way for him readily. There was a little broad-bodied, lawyer-looking man with him, but it was Mr. Glendonwyn, who appeared most keen upon the business. “‘By what right do you hold this meet- ing in this place? he called out in & loud ol he came near the preaching box. “Then the young minister looked calmly down, and answered with a great quiet it won the respect of all: Sir, we ‘are advised that the place is public. It has not been fenced for forty years, nor have the quarry stones been worked within the memory of man. We belleve that we have & right to worship here according to our consclences.’ “‘Then you believe a lle, which will be nothing new to you!' cried Mr. Glendon~ wyn, lifting his hand threateningly, i he would have smitten his son to the ground, ‘but we will soon show you. My friend here has an interdict which will settle that matter.’ “‘Sir,’ sald the minister gravely, ‘this is the Lord's day morpiog, and no time for the service of any legal document. Tomor- row I and my office bearers will be at the gentleman's service.’ “Then he lifted up his hands and sald, very reverently, ‘Let us pray.’ “At which Mr. Glendonwyn turned and stamped his way back through the con- course in a great and high anger, declar- ing in the hearing of all that he would cast his son off forever, and that he would live to repent that day's work—with other ches which I need not set down here. ohn's sermon that day was on the he Lord Hath Dome Great Things of Which We Are Glad.” And he spoke with much fervor of the reforma. tion of John Knox, of the intrusion of bishops, of the high s of Presbytery, of the twenty-five years' of persecution and ot the long deadness of prosperity which fol- lowed. I cannot mind all he said, but at the last, when near his concluding, he had this enlargement of the spirit. Speak- 4ng of the sacrifices which might yet be required, he said: ‘‘There are many things agalost us—many strong things and many powerful men. But there is one thing which may encourage us—when we that are on the earth shall depart and the gate of the eternal looms before us— though the portals be high as the heavens, we shall find the itself small and mean and low, while over its lintels shall be written in letters of gold the words, ‘As & Little Chila.’ " “A word which many took as an answer to the reflections which had been so freely made upon Mr. John that he should have t himself up to be wiser than Dr. Cuesar and Mr. Afblins and his own father, being, as it were, a young man and but a child 1n the service of the kirk.” Meantime in his tower of gray stone high over the sea-edge Gregory Glen- donwyn sat, eating his heart out with anger for the disappointment of his hopes, but with the open deflance of his surviving won for the last bitter drop in his cup. He had no longer any fear of bim. The papers which Johu had signed so hastily bad been suficient to enable Gregory Glendonwyn to procure the sum requisite for his immedi- ate needs and to cover Rupert's defalca- tions. It did mot matter to him that John was left absolutely penniless. Indeed that rather added the bitter stimulsnt of mer- ited punishment to his pateroal medita- Bad, Abiaia, beln' blessed wi' the Eeitin’|less 1n the morning sun, there was & girl | village, only o wender sprinkling of the | Hods e his heart could have brought him even to consider it. CHAPTER XXXIIL The Snarl of the G¥ay Wolf. These amiable thoughts with regard to bis son caused Gregory Glendonwyn to make up his mind to pay a visit of some importance to the story—one to which he himselt looked forward with no great an- ticipations of pleasure. Indeed so little did he desire to make it for its own sake that he opened his mind that night to a certain Mr. Christopher Ingalls (of Sharp, Smart & Ingalls, W. S., of Edinburgh), who was staying with him at the castle. Mr. Ingalls bad recently made himeelf exceedingly use- ful to Mr. Glendonwyn—in fact ever since Mr. McCrosty had declined to have any- thing to do with Gregory's irregular and unlawful intromissions with his younger son’s maternal inheritance. He it was who obtained and served the interdict shatting the quarry to the newly- formed Free Presbyterian congregation and driven them triumphantly forth to worship on the roadside, where next Sabbath he In- tended to have half a dozen county officers on hand with Instructions to keep them moving. Mr. Ingalls had also gained much favor with his principal by discovering a flaw in the deed by which Mr. Glendonwyn had handed over the cottage and garden to Babby Lockhart. At least the litigation (and Mr, Glendonwyn meant to carry it to the bitter end, to the House of Lords if necessary) would take several years, and he anticipated more money than a strug- gling country congregation could afford to spend on the matter. It was an interview he had with Dun- can Grierson, however, which finally de- clded him to proceed to extremities with his eon and to take the desperate resolu- tion which he was now, in company with Mr. Ingalls, about to put into execution. Dupcan had come up on the Sabbath morning after breakfast and requested on his own behalf and on the part of a certain number of the upper servants of the House of Gower an interview with their master. “What is it Grierson?” Mr. Glendonwyn cried, looking up testily. “This ls Sunday and I have much on my mind today.” It was the morning of the service in the 0ld Quarry Hole. “So have we, sir, so have w sald Grierson, and without further preliminary he opened the door and ushered In Banner- man, the head gardener; Cuthbertson, the forester; Mrs. Malr, the housekeeper, and two of the upper house servants to the presence of the master of Castle Gower. ‘This is most unseemly and untimeous,™ sald Gregory Glendonwyn. “But speak out. Let me hear what you have to say! Have you any complaints to make?" “Sir,” sald Duncan Grierson, “being the oldest servant in the castle as well as on the estates, | am asked to speak for those others who are here. Sir, we have had our disputings in public, our searchings of heart in private, with regard to matters of religion, and we have come to ask your permission to attend the services of the Free Presbyterian Kirk of Scotland in this parish upon such days as we have had heretofore our ordinary liberty of attend- ance upon ordinances. We do not think it 18 a matter which ought to come between master and servant, but we have been long with you—serving you, as far as in us li falithfully, and we would not do enything secret or (as it were) underband with you!" Dumb-stricken sat Gregory Glendonwyun. The rebelllon had come very near his throne. For a moment he could not sn- #wer because of the furious snger which swelled in his breast. Then the tempest broke forth in its full trenzy. That day and hour they should leave his dwelling. They had been suborned by his son, one who rejolced in stirring up strite, who set the most sacred obligations own vain glory. He, Gregory Glendonwy Then, i Mr. | ftor Glendennin said his vie- would pay them their wages and they nowlse abashed, “I am come to have should go. an important interview with you—" Then {t was that Duncan Grierson | ‘I desire none!" quoth David, with & bowed himselt before his master with the | €nap of determined jaw, like the Gray ceremony of an Oriental and after that promptly erected himselt and looked the Wolf, after which he was named, when he grips a thigh bone laird of Gower in the face with the spirit I trust I shall be able to satisty you of & Boottish fres maS. that what 1 ask is for your good,” eaid “No, Mr. Glendonwyn," he said, “not | Mr. Glendonwyn, “and—I may add, for the llke stranger dogs will we be driven from benefit of those belonging to you." the doors we have entered so long. We I ken of no possible benefit that T or families, which I thank God I have no We will serve you faithtully to the limits of our notices—I myself for a month and to time we will abstain from any declaration of our sentiments and from attendance on ordi- nances according to the way that our con- the others for six months, according their agreements. During that sciences approve—'" “Your consclence, Grierson,” master, “of a truth it must days!™ The old man bowed his head. “I thank God I have tried amends for some of the ill I have done he sald. up to me, sir. not copy my past. from Mr. Joho—" “‘Slence!” shouted Mr. Glendonwyn, * you name that name in this house I wi knock you down-aye, 100 years’ service instead of fifty. 1 bave learned so muc! galls. tles according to your consciences, but if get my way you sball have some way to travel in order to do it. All which things and many others, You can go. of Gregory Glendonwyn. for all make an end of his son. As means to an end he set out with his new friend and man of business, Mr. ning and his daughters, Little was sald by the way. Mr. Glen donwyn was full of his intention, and as fo Mr. Ingalls, he was engaged in estimating what this new connection would be worth to his firm—enough, he thought, being a pushing man, to buy out Sharp and Smart, who were both oldish men and would be content to retire to one of these estates of a few thousand country acres each, o which there were so many just now in the in market—and espectally such clever practitioners Smart and Ingall 8o in the clear, the hands o Writers to the Signet. globe of ground gla knocked firmly and determinedly with the knob of his cane. knob and was fully parish as the owner himself. The Flower Cot was gay and brilliant as ever with geraniums and slipperwort of strange, uncanny shapes, speckled and ring- The air was white and purple, and streaked llke tropic fruits. delicate with lila Fairlle's white ro: “‘A sweet place, about him. donwyn?" But the m reply to the ill-omened query. looking rather anxiously about. clambered over all. He wi an answel deny them lves to him? Or, worst of al for his present purpose, had they carried his own former directions and gone away? ation of the there variously streaked in blue and orange and scarlet, a tall man with gray locks of hair about his But no—at the third ap gold knob to the blistered panel came forth from a low door, face, which escaped, oddly enough, froni underneath the flat paper cap he wore, and the strangest eyes, looking out from under which were in their turn This shaggy brows, subject to the strangest twitchings. gaunt figure, hollow of cheek and flery of eye, moved quickly along till slightly stooped and the threatening mlll tant countenance were interposed between Gregory Glendonwyn and the creeper-hung door of the Flower Cot at which he had been knocking. “You are Mr. David Glendenning?"” sald Gregory Glendonwyn, lifting his hat po litely. “I am salutation. all good servants with our characters to 1ok to and these men have wives and sneered his have been growing in tenderness during these last to make 'You have a right to cast that But at least my future shall it you could claim And as for the rest of you—I will deal with you tomorrow morning—that is, I and Mr. In- You shall have liberty—all the lib- erty you like to exercise your religious du- slight but infinitely galling to a pround and ar- bitrary man, worked like fire In the veins He would once Christo- pher Ingalls, to call upon David Glenden- Messrs. Sharp, sifted a light of a June forenoon when the clouds were like a semi- these two gentlemen walked into the blue double leaf of David Glendenning's door and the taller of them thereon It had a gold well known in the 14 the lawyer, looking ““Yours of course, Mr. Glen- er of Gower Castle did not He knocked the second time without receiving Did the Glendennings mean to the bony arms and multi-scarred hands, the shoulder " replled the threatening figure with grim brevity, without returning the mine could be glad to receive from you or yours, Gregory Glendonwyn,” answered the t. | Jolner of Boatcroft, “save that ye should | gang oot through that yett and never set | oot on my doorstep again.” “But persisted Mr. Glendonwyn, suavely, “it is » matter which concerns not only you, but your children and children's children—indeed all who come after you!" A sudden access of fury selzed the old man. He lifted a small vicloue-headed American ax which was standing by the side of the wall. “Gin ye do not tell me by what right ye speak of my children's children,” he shouted, “by the Lord that is on high, I will cleave you to the breats-bane!" Singularly devold of courtesy was this grim Old Grey Wolf. “‘Concerning that I can satisty you to the h full,” sald Gregory Glendonwyn, who, on bis part, certalnly did not lack his share of the family courage, for he never 1 [blanched at the near gleam of that threat- ening edge or at the swelling muscles of that mighty arm. “Permit me to epeak with you apart for half an hour only. This is my legal adviser, Mr. Christopher In- galls of Edinburgh. He will tell you that the matter is both urgent and private.” “1 have nothing that needs to be held private with you or with any of your race,” sald David, “nor shall ye enter my hoos while there is breath o' life in my body. But yonder is the woodshed—it ye chooss to pass in, T will not prevent ye." “I thank you,” sald Gregory, gravely, going on before. Mr. Christopher Ingal whose apprenticeship to the law had no included precedents for dealing with Inter- dicts in the shape of American axes, fol- 1 lowed him, not a little bewildered. “Now, speak your mind, and be briet," the ax ©|quoth David. And standing thus, handle still in his hand the head g up from a great block of chipped an hardwood, the Old Gray Wolf looked the very type of an executioner waiting to do his office. ““Sir,” sald the Laird of Gower, whom no display of force could either daunt or de- flect from his purpose, ‘I have come to In- vite my late son's wife and his infant son to take their due positions in my house, and to be acknowledged before all men as their position befits, and as I am willing and anxious to receive them." For a moment David Glendenning stood, as it had been, stricken dumb with the sur- prise of the words. He had been ready to resent insult, and now, so far as his house's enemy knew how to do it, honor was done to him and his. It was some time before the old Grey Wolf spoke. He stood llke a statue carved in yellow ivory, all, that is, save the great bushy gray eyebrows, which kept workiag strangely, like mercury “pumping’” before a storm And still Gregory Glendonwyn was mot warned, though (as it were) all the four storm-cones were belug hoisted at once. Then suddenly it came. The old carpenter of Boatcroft extended his arm like some gaunt semaphore. “Go,” he cried, “there lles your way! Marriage, I ken naught of any marriage. I ken o' no daughter of mine that is a wite to a son of yours. If I did I would brain 1| them and their offspring with this ax. I will have no dealings with you or yours. Go—while by God's grace I can restraln myselt—gol" “8ir,"” sald Gregory Glendonwyn, “this is not a matter for anger or dispute. It is a matter of right and justice. Your daugh- ter Catherine is my late son's wife. That n | they were married admits of no doubt, though once, I own, I doubted it. I have the names of the witnesses. It is equally certain that the child born upon the ieland was—nay, is, the heir to the estates of t | Gower." With a volce more doggedly grave than ever, David Glendenning replled: -| “I ken nothing of heirs and marriages I acknowledge none. I scorn you and your name, your landse and your heirships. I would rather that my daughter should live and dle shamed than that she should bear, even by common repute, the name of a das- - | tard and a coward, a ravisher of daughters from their father's hearth, a traitor to the woman that trusted him and to the love he professed—!" (To be Continued.) 4 t 1 ‘Stearns’ Electric Rat and Roach Paste and die out of the house. One ingredieat dries up their bodies, leaving no odor. It is a safe and sure Water Bugs, Croton Bugs vermin. 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