they would
pardon a personal reference he would give them his reasons. He had come
to this country to make his fortune; now he was anxious to make enough
to enable him to go home with some degree of honour. His home held
everything that was dear to him. Between him and that home, between him
and all that was good and beautiful and honourable, stood whisky. 'I am
ashamed to confess,' and the flush deepened on his cheek, and his lips
grew thinner, 'that I feel the need of some such league.' His handsome
face, his perfect style of address, learned possibly in the 'Union,'
but, more than all, his show of nerve--for these men knew how to value
that--made a strong impression on his audience; but there were no
following cheers.

Mr. Craig appeared hopeful; but on Mrs. Mavor's face there was a look of
wistful, tender pity, for she knew how much the words had cost the lad.

Then up rose a sturdy, hard-featured man, with a burr in his voice
that proclaimed his birth. His name was George Crawford, I afterwards
learned, but every one called him Geordie. He was a character in his
way, fond of his glass; but though he was never known to refuse a drink,
he was never known to be drunk. He took his drink, for the most part,
with bread and cheese in his own shack, or with a friend or two in a
sober, respectable way, but never could be induced to join the wild
carousals in Slavin's saloon. He made the highest wages, but was far too
true a Scot to spend his money recklessly. Every one waited eagerly
to hear Geordie's mind. He spoke solemnly, as befitted a Scotsman
expressing a deliberate opinion, and carefully, as if choosing his best
English, for when Geordie became excited no one in Black Rock could
understand him.

'Maister Chairman,' said Geordie, 'I'm aye for temperance in a' things.'
There was a shout of laughter, at which Geordie gazed round in pained
surprise. 'I'll no' deny,' he went on in an explanatory tone, 'that I
tak ma mornin', an' maybe a nip at noon; an' a wee drap aifter wark in
the evenin', an' whiles a sip o' toddy wi' a freen thae cauld nichts.
But I'm no' a guzzler, an' I dinna gang in wi' thae loons flingin' aboot
guid money.'

'And that's thrue for you, me bye,' interrupted a rich Irish brogue, to
the delight of the crowd and the amazement of Geordie, who went calmly
on--

'An' I canna bide yon saloon whaur they sell sic awfu'-like stuff--it's
mair like lye nor guid whisky,--and whaur ye're never sure o' yer r