Then Ranald went home, feeling well repaid for his long hours of anxiety
and toil.

CHAPTER XI

THE WAKE

The wake was an important feature in the social life of the people of
Indian Lands. In ancient days, in the land of their forefathers, the
wake had been deemed a dire necessity for the safeguarding of the dead,
who were supposed to be peculiarly exposed to the malicious attacks
of evil spirits. Hence, with many lighted candles, and with much
incantation, friends would surround the body through the perilous hours
of darkness. It was a weird and weary vigil, and small wonder if it
appeared necessary that the courage and endurance of the watchers should
be fortified with copious draughts of "mountain dew," with bread and
cheese accompaniments. And the completeness of their trust in the
efficacy of such supports was too often evidenced by the condition of
the watchers toward the dawn of the morning. And, indeed, if the spirits
were not too fastidious, and if they had so desired, they could have
easily flown away, not only with the "waked," but with the "wakers" as
well.

But those days and those notions had long passed away. The wake still
remained, but its meaning and purpose had changed. No longer for the
guarding of the dead, but for the comfort of the living, the friends
gathered to the house of mourning and watched the weary hours. But
Highland courtesy forbade that the custom of refreshing the watchers
should be allowed to die out, and hence, through the night, once and
again, the whisky, bread, and cheese were handed around by some close
friend of the family, and were then placed upon the table for general
use. It was not surprising that, where all were free to come and
welcome to stay, and where anything like scantiness in providing or
niggardliness in serving would be a matter of family disgrace, the wake
often degenerated into a frolic, if not a debauch. In order to check
any such tendency, it had been the custom of late years to introduce
religious services, begun by the minister himself and continued by the
elders.

As the evening fell, a group of elders stood by the back door of Long
John Cameron's sorrow-stricken home, talking quietly over the sad event
and arranging for the "exercises" of the night. At a little distance
from them sat Yankee, with Ranald beside him, both silent and listening
somewhat indifferently to the talk of the others. Yankee was not in his
element. He was always welcom