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 shame