y was all shining with sweat, and sweat
dripped like water from his forehead. His eyes were on the keyrock and
the pile, alert, measuring, intent. At last he paused. He looked round
at the hills-down at the river, up at the sky-humanity was shut away
from his sight. He was alone. A long hot breath broke from his pressed
lips, stirring his big red beard. Then he gave a call, a long call that
echoed through the hills weirdly and solemnly.

It reached the ears of those above like a greeting from an outside
world. They answered, "Right, Macavoy!"

Years afterwards these men told how then there came in reply one word,
ringing roundly through the hills--the note and symbol of a crisis, the
fantastic cipher of a soul:

"M'Guire!"

There was a loud booming sound, the dyke was loosed, the ravine split
into the swollen stream its choking mouthful of earth and rock; and a
minute afterwards the path was clear to the top of Champak Hill. To it
came the unharmed children and their mother, who, from the warm peak
sent the wild duck "to the rose o' the valley," which, till the message
came, was trembling on the stem of life. But Joy, that marvellous
healer, kept it blooming with a little Eden bird nestling near, whose
happy tongue was taught in after years to tell of the gift of the Simple
King; who had redeemed, on demand, the promissory note for ever.

MALACHI

"He'll swing just the same to-morrow. Exit Malachi!" said Freddy Tarlton
gravely.

The door suddenly opened on the group of gossips, and a man stepped
inside and took the only vacant seat near the fire. He glanced at none,
but stretched out his hands to the heat, looking at the coals with
drooping introspective eyes.

"Exit Malachi," he said presently in a soft ironical voice, but did not
look up.

"By the holy poker, Pierre, where did you spring from?" asked Tarlton
genially.

"The wind bloweth where it listeth, and--" Pierre responded, with a
little turn of his fingers.

"And the wind doesn't tell where it's been, but that's no reason Pierre
shouldn't," urged the other.

Pierre shrugged his shoulders, but made no answer. "He was a tough,"
said a voice from the crowd. "To-morrow he'll get the breakfast
he's paid for." Pierre turned and looked at the speaker with a cold
inquisitive stare. "Mon Dieu!" he said presently, "here's this Gohawk
playing preacher. What do you know of Malachi, Gohawk? What do any of
you know about Malachi? A little of this, a lit