ack
in alarm for fear she might be going to kiss him. The little girl
looked disappointed, nevertheless she smiled radiantly.

"I like you," she whispered, "an' I'm comin' to visit you next time I
go to Kirsty's; goo-bye!"

She danced off towards the sleigh, and was bundled in among the warm
robes. She waved her hand to Scotty as they dashed away, and turned
back to gaze at him standing on the step.

"Man," said Store Thompson, stamping the snow from his feet as he
entered, "Ah niver saw the Captain act like yon before. He was
jist,--aye, he was jist what Ah would call inimical; aye, jist
inimical, like!"

Store Thompson was more perturbed over the hearty Captain's strange
behaviour than he was over the commotion that had just taken place at
his door. Such affairs were of too frequent occurrence to call for
comment. But when Big Malcolm returned for Scotty, the fierce heat of
the conflict still blazed in his eyes and his friend suddenly
remembered what had happened.

"Eh, Malcolm, Malcolm, Ah'm sorry for this!" he cried. "These fichts
are no work for a Chreestian man!"

"And would I be sitting here, James Thompson, an' see that piece o'
Popish iniquity kill my son?" demanded Big Malcolm fiercely.

Store Thompson held up his hands. "What, what?" he cried, "would it be
the Murphys and the MacDonalds again?"

"It was a Fenian raid, James!" shouted Tom Caldwell, coming up to the
sleigh, with a proud swagger, "an' Malcolm here was helpin' us
Orangemen put it down, sure!"

Weaver Jimmie, his diffidence all vanished, threw his cap into the air
and shouted his old shibboleth, "They may take Canady, but they'll not
be taking Oro!"

"The Orangemen 'll kape Canada!" cried Tom Caldwell reassuringly.

"Hoh, him an' his 'kape Canada,'" cried Callum Fiach in disgust, as he
pitched himself into the sleigh. "Let's get out o' this!"

"Eh, eh!" cried Store Thompson, standing in the doorway to see them
depart, "ye MacDonalds are aye too ready wi' the neeves!"

Big Malcolm took the reins and drove away without another word. The
joy of battle was always succeeded by a season of depression. His old
friend's reproof had already begun to work repentance in his breast.

The homeward drive was silent and gloomy. Even Callum forbore to talk;
for he was uncomfortably conscious that he had had more to do with
setting the Orangemen and the Catholics against each other than he
would like Big Malcolm to know. He had not fo