shingles--were
marshalled to the scene of action. Then with the spring the masons and
framers appeared and began their work of organising from this mass of
material the structure that was to be at once the pride of the farm and
the symbol of its prosperity.

From the very first the enterprise was carried on under the
acknowledged, but none the less critical, observation of the immediate
neighbourhood. For instance, it had been a matter of free discussion
whether "them timbers of McLeod's new barn wasn't too blamed heavy,"
and it was Jack McKenzie's openly expressed opinion that "one of them
'purline plates' was so all-fired crooked that it would do for both
sides at onct." But the confidence of the community in Jack Murray,
framer, was sufficiently strong to allay serious forebodings. And by the
time the masons had set firm and solid the many-coloured boulders in
the foundation, the community at large had begun to take interest in the
undertaking.

The McLeod raising was to be an event of no ordinary importance. It
had the distinction of being, in the words of Jack Murray, framer,
"the biggest thing in buildin's ever seen in them parts." Indeed, so
magnificent were its dimensions that Ben Fallows, who stood just five
feet in his stocking soles, and was, therefore, a man of considerable
importance in his estimation, was overheard to exclaim with an air of
finality, "What! two twenty-foot floors and two thirty-foot mows! It
cawn't be did." Such was, therefore, the magnitude of the undertaking,
and such the far-famed hospitality of the McLeods, that no man within
the range of the family acquaintance who was not sick, or away from
home, or prevented by some special act of Providence, failed to appear
at the raising that day.

It was still the early afternoon, but most of the men invited were
already there when the mill people drove up in the family democrat. The
varied shouts of welcome that greeted them proclaimed their popularity.

"Hello, Barney! Good-day, Mrs. Boyle," said Mr. McLeod, who stood at the
gate receiving his guests.

"Ye've brought the baby, I see, Charley, me boy," shouted Tom Magee, a
big, good-natured son of Erin, the richness of whose brogue twenty years
of life in Canada had failed to impoverish.

"We could hardly leave the baby at home to-day," replied the miller, as
with tender care he handed the green bag containing his precious violin
to his wife.

"No, indeed, Mr. Boyle," replied Mr. McLe