begging her to
notice Sandy's claim. But there came no answer, and Mr. Huntley, the
lawyer, laughed at him, saying by the time he had done business with
that lady as long as he had he'd know better. Mr. MacAllister offered
Sandy work in the mill, with pay commuted the long way. Noah Clegg
invited both him and Eppie to share his home until such time as he
could look about him for a new place. For, though the two
Sunday-school superintendents were wont to sit up all night arguing
fiercely on points of doctrine, in the day of affliction all
differences were forgotten. Jake Martin even loudly declared himself
powerful sorry, but then business was business, and he supposed there
would always be shiftless folk like Sandy in the world who could never
get on.

Wully Johnstone came next. He strolled over through the woods one
afternoon and casually remarked that that old house of his by the
spring was just fair totterin' for lack of care, and he wished to peace
some obleegin' body would move intil it an' save him all the worry.

But Sandy would accept no man's hospitality, however delicately
offered. He was proud, even for a Highlander, and not Noah Clegg
himself, who was his closest friend, might extend to him charity.

Besides, as time went on, it would appear that he stood in little need
of it. When the Jarvis property had been put up for sale, Mr. Martin
had looked with a longing eye upon the Teeter farm, where The Dale
stood. But Tom's claim had been safely established, and great was his
wrath when he heard of his neighbor's machinations. Oro's Orator was a
fighter in other beside forensic fields. He had a true Irish
resentment against the law, and understood that somehow Jake Martin, in
league with the lawyers, had outraged justice; therefore, he, Mr.
Teeter, would ignore the lawyers and settle Jake, see if he wouldn't.
Mr. Martin had voted Tory at the last election anyhow, and was badly in
need of being settled.

So there broke out a war in Forest Glen which raged all autumn. When
Jake Martin finally appeared at Sandy's door to formally assert his
ownership, Mr. Teeter met him. He carried an ancient piece of firearms
that had not been loaded since the day, some thirty years before, when
the last bruin of Forest Glen had come ambling up out of Wully
Johnstone's swamp.

Mr. Martin, not knowing how harmful the weapon might be, but being only
too well aware that the man behind the gun was always to be fear