ad already determined that
as soon as I reached the new land I would take my destiny into my own
hands.

I will never forget the damp journey to Glasgow and the misty landscape
viewed through the streaming window pane of a railway carriage. I was in
a wondrous state of elation. When we reached the great smoky city I was
lost in amazement not unmixed with fear. Never had I imagined such
crowds, such houses, such hurry. The three of us, Mother, Garry and I,
wandered and wondered for three days. Folks gazed at us curiously,
sometimes admiringly, for our cheeks were bright with Highland health,
and our eyes candid as the June skies. Garry in particular, tall, fair
and handsome, seemed to call forth glances of interest wherever he went.
Then as the hour of my departure drew near a shadow fell on us.

I will not dwell on our leave-taking. If I broke down in unmanly grief,
it must be remembered I had never before been from home. I was but a
lad, and these two were all in all to me. Mother gave up trying to be
brave, and mingled her tears with mine. Garry alone contrived to make
some show of cheerfulness. Alas! all my elation had gone. In its place
was a sense of guilt, of desertion, of unconquerable gloom. I had an
inkling then of the tragedy of motherhood, the tender love that would
hold yet cannot, the world-call and the ruthless, estranging years, all
the memories of clinging love given only to be taken away.

"Don't cry, sweetheart Mother," I said; "I'll be back again in three
years."

"Mind you do, my boy, mind you do."

She looked at me woefully sad, and I had a queer, heartrending prevision
I would never see her more. Garry was supporting her, and she seemed to
have suddenly grown very frail. He was pale and quiet, but I could see
he was vastly moved.

"Athol," said he, "if ever you need me just send for me. I'll come, no
matter how long or how hard the way."

I can see them to this day standing there in the drenching rain, Garry
fine and manly, Mother small and drooping. I can see her with her
delicate rose colour, her eyes like wood violets drowned in tears, her
tender, sensitive lips quivering with emotion.

"Good-bye, laddie, good-bye."

I forced myself away, and stumbled on board. When I looked back again
they were gone, but through the grey shadows there seemed to come back
to me a cry of heartache and irremediable loss.

"Good-bye, good-bye."

CHAPTER III

It was on a day of early Autumn w