"for dere's no place lak our own place, don't care de far you're goin',

dat's what the whole worl's sayin', w'enever dey come here,

'cos we got de fines' contree, an' de beeges' reever flowin',

an' le bon dieu sen' de sunshine nearly twelve mont' ev'ry year."

—william henry drummond.

and surely the israelites, on the borders of canaan, felt no more joy than did the two voyageurs when they first sighted the green shores of canada. as they steamed up the st. lawrence dan's delight reached the dangerous stage. he was dying for a fight, and a fight he must have, he declared. and for this purpose he danced about the deck, brandishing his fists, and beseeching everyone within hearing to speak up and say that canady wasn't jist the flower garden of creation, barrin' ould ireland. before he succeeded in getting himself into serious trouble, scotty wisely put the wild irishman down upon the deck and sat on him until the first spasms of the home-coming ecstasy were over.

but when the boys reached the little railway station a few miles from glenoro, and saw hamish's kind, brown eyes and old pat murphy's red face beaming a double welcome, there were no noisy demonstrations. for as they drove up through the ever-changing panorama of hill and valley, with the flash of the river and the blue gleam of lakes peeping through the green, scotty had a choking lump in his throat—and even dan was silent. for they were home again, and oro was vocal with the joy of returning spring.

the pink-tinted buds were everywhere bursting into green, the marsh marigolds lit the dark borders of the swamp with their little golden lamps, the hepaticas and trilliums spangled the dun-coloured carpet of the woods; just the same, scotty thought, as in the happy days when he and isabel scampered among them. the air was deliciously laden with the exhilarating scents of the young green earth, the bluebirds flashed from bough to bough of the elm trees, and the robins, how they sang! dan declared the little spalpeens knew he was home, for what else would make them bust their foolish little throats wid shoutin'?

his quiet mood did not last long. the canadian air was getting into his blood again. a sudden whirr and flash, where a host of red-winged blackbirds arose in a cloud from the road, proved too much for him. he leaped from the buggy, yelling like a madman, and for the rest of the journey was quite beyond the limits of reason. he sat in the vehicle only on rare occasions, and spent his time scrambling over fences, tearing into the woods and back again, chasing squirrels and whooping like an indian, until his father privately questioned scotty as to the effect of the egyptian sun on the brain.

scotty sat beside hamish, laughing helplessly at poor old dan's madness, and in his quieter way revelling just as much in all the dear familiar sights. he was feeling how good it was to be a son of the north land, to live in this garden of lake and river, forest and meadow, and see it come to life afresh each year, and as they climbed a hill, and he stood up in the old buggy to catch his first glimpse of lake oro he realised solemnly that, though he might be called english, irish, scotch, indian, egyptian, what not, he was altogether and entirely and overwhelmingly canadian.

and at the brow of the hill came the murphy homestead, with all the murphys far and near assembled to greet the returned wanderer. scotty and hamish had intended to leave dan at his home and hurry away, but when the hero of the house of murphy was dropped into the arms of the excited crowd, they found leave-taking a difficult enterprise. irish hospitality, especially when transplanted to the land of canadian plenty, is a compelling force.

at first scotty's impatience to get home resisted all invitations, and old pat was about to reluctantly allow them to depart, when mrs. murphy, who until now had been weeping loudly on dan's broad shoulder, oblivious to everything but his return, suddenly awoke to the shameful fact that someone was about to leave her doors without stopping to eat. she issued no further invitation, but with her apron still to her eyes and still exclaiming over and over in muffled sobs, that "the darlin' had come back to his mother," she darted into the road; and snatching the horses' bridle, dragged her guests through the gate and up to the door, amid the applause of the assembled flats.

and so they had supper in the murphy home perforce, and all the great deeds of their expedition had to be recounted. scotty told how dan had disobeyed orders and run away at the battle of kirbekan; only, like a true irishman, he had run to, not from the fight. but when his friend returned the compliment and launched into an account of the midnight skirmish at the ruined temple, the hero of that event arose hastily, and declared they must be going.

there was much for hamish both to tell and hear on the road, so the afternoon was fading into evening when at last they reached the scotch line. they had taken a detour round the glen, for scotty did not want to be delayed by more friends. they passed the weaver's clearing, and hamish declared how jimmie and kirsty were such an agreeable pair as never was, for indeed the two lived in such a state of connubial felicity as was a wonder to all the neighbours. scotty caught a glimpse of the little path through the cedars, the path where he and isabel had walked so often in those magic days succeeding kirsty's wedding. and there was the boiling spring by the roadside where they had so often played, and the pools where they had gathered musk, and yonder in the fence-corner they had built their first house.

and then there came a turn in the road and there it was! his old home! it was just the same: the old garden in front with the rose bushes turning green, and the silver maple putting forth its pink buds above the roof! and there was granny at the door, shading her eyes with her hand; and beside her mary sandy, rory's sister-in-law, who was now her help; and grandaddy, who had been pretending to cut wood all afternoon, still holding the axe in his hand; yes, and even old farquhar, bobbing about as excited as any!

with the instinct of long custom, scotty jumped from the vehicle to open the gate, but his trembling fingers refused to pull out the pin, and the next moment he had cleared the bars in one mighty spring, leaving hamish, helpless with laughter, to shift for himself. before the gate was open he had charged up the hill like a whirlwind and caught granny off her feet.

and then such a time as there was with talking and hand-shaking and laughter and tears, for even mary sandy took to crying out of sympathy with her mistress, and scotty himself had some work to keep his eyes dry.

and no one could hear a word anyone else said, for as the long-absent one crossed the threshold, old farquhar burst into loud and joyous song. and what could do justice to the great occasion but "the grave of highland mary"? the old man's voice was strong with excitement, and he drowned both the noise of joyful greeting and the din of the barking dogs as he shouted triumphantly,—

"then bring me the sigh of a fond lover's bosom

and bring me the tear of a fond lover's e'e,

and i'll pour them a' doon on thy grave, highland may-ay-re,

for the sake o' thy bur-urns who sae dearly loved thee!"

when the excitement had slightly subsided they had to sit down and partake of such a supper as had never before been set out in that house; for granny would not listen to such foolish nonsense as that they had eaten at murphy's. she sat beside her boy, never touching her own food, but heaping his plate, clapping him upon the back and showering upon him all the endearing epithets she knew in a language that is famous for them.

big malcolm sat close to him on the other side, his old warlike spirit aroused, as his boy told his story. scotty softened the hardships for his grandmother's ears and said nothing of his own encounter in the desert. he was graphically describing the manoeuvres of the highlanders at kirbekan, much to his grandfather's delectation; when, as if to give point to his narrative, there suddenly arose from the direction of the road a splendid roar of pipes; and behold here came rory driving up the lane in a wagon, his whole family aboard; and he himself, forgetful of his dignity as the father of the family, standing up in the wagon and blowing up a tremendous pibroch on fiddlin' archie's sandy's bagpipes!

scotty flung out of doors to meet him and had scarcely time for a greeting when they sighted weaver jimmie and kirsty hurrying up the path from the bush. then a shout from the hill behind the barn attracted everyone's attention, and long lauchie's whole household appeared trooping down the slope; long lauchie himself plodding joyfully at the tail of the procession, full of bewildering prophecies and analogies, in which there was something about lake simcoe's being the red sea, and the oa, mount pisgah.

it was well that mary sandy merited her mistress's oft-repeated declaration that she was "jist the smartest, tidiest girl in the oa, indeed." the multitude had to be fed, in accordance with the laws of canadian hospitality, which alter not, no matter what the circumstances may be, and without kirsty's and mary lauchie's help even mrs. macdonald's paragon might have found herself inadequate.

big malcolm and his wife were quite helpless with excess of happiness. the latter moved about in a happy daze, making ineffectual efforts to assist her friends, picking up articles and putting them down again in a haphazard fashion.

at last kirsty declared that they must all clear out and let her do some work. yes, and mrs. malcolm was to go too, for how could she be of any use with a big gomeril like scotty clattering after her every step, as if he was a bairn, and mostly with big malcolm and rory's wee callum trailing behind. it was enough to put a body fair daft.

thus banished, scotty laughingly followed his grandmother out of doors. he was well pleased, for he was longing to get a word with her alone. he knew that her tender eyes had long ago read his heart's secret, and if she had any news for him she would surely give it without asking.

there was a new stone milk-house a few yards from the door, built since his departure; and he must needs see it, granny said. so she took him with her when she went for a jug of buttermilk for the guests. and when he had admired the place and the buttermilk had been procured, they stood in the cool, sweet dampness, and granny told him how all the friends had asked for him so often. the minister, indeed, came up several times just to inquire if they had had a letter, and store thompson's wife had said that whenever the captain himself came to the glen he always asked for him. then she went to the farther end of the little chamber and commenced a diligent search for something that was not there, and, with her back turned to him, remarked with elaborate carelessness that the captain's family were expected at the grange any day now. the captain had been away nearly all the time since he lost the election, he had been that disappointed, poor body. they had spent the last winter in toronto. the wee isabel hadn't been jist very well all winter, kirsty had said, and the aunt had wanted to take her to the seashore, but she had said that nothing but the oro air would do her any good, and kirsty was expecting her some of these days.

scotty drew a deep breath. she was coming back then! she would be at the grange, she might even come to kirsty's! and then kirsty herself darted in and snatched the pitcher of buttermilk from granny's hands and disappeared as quickly. neither of them noticed her, for scotty was in a rosy but hopeless dream, and granny was patting him lovingly upon the arm in expression of the sympathy she dared not speak. there was silence for a moment, the old woman still caressing him tenderly.

"eh, it would be the lord would be bringing you back to me, m' eudail bheg," she said at last. "he would be good to malcolm and me in our old age, for you would jist be our benjamin, whatever. and has it been well with granny's boy all this weary time?" she added in a whisper.

scotty put his hands upon her shoulders and looked long into her loving eyes.

"granny," he whispered, "do you remember the first day i went to school, and how i came through the swamp alone on the way home."

"eh, the wee man it was! and how would i be forgetting, indeed, for it would be the first time you would be leaving me!"

"and do you remember what i found a comfort then? the swamp was so lonely it frightened me, and i thought it must be like the valley of the shadow of death; so i said over the shepherd's psalm, because you had taught it to me and i knew it must be good, and i wasn't afraid any more. and now i've been away from you again, granny, in the valley of the shadow of death, yes, and worse than death often, but—the rod and the staff were always with me."

the tears were running down the old wrinkled face, happy tears, for granny had feared often for her boy; not so much the temporal ills; the arrow that flieth by day was not to her so dangerous as the "secret fear." but her fears had been happily disappointed, he had had the great keeper with him, and one more joy was added to her deep content.

the celebration at big malcolm's lasted half the night, and before it had ended scotty found he had yet one more draught to drink from his cup of happiness. the assembly was sitting round him breathless as he related the many incidents of his journey, when weaver jimmie, who was sitting in the doorway to allow his feet to hang in the greater freedom of outdoors, suddenly interrupted with an exclamation, "losh keep us, is yon the schoolmaster come back?" scotty came to the doorway with a spring and met the outstretched hands of his friend. monteith had heard the boys were expected and had journeyed all the way from barbay, where he now resided, to bid his pupil welcome. scotty was speechless over this last greeting, for in the long warm handshake of his old friend there was not the smallest hint of a past estrangement.