"God preserve us！" Kenny Crubach ejaculated； but old Donald Ross rose and said， "Let us call upon the name of the Lord." From his prayer it was quite evident that for him at least all doubts and fears as to poor Mack's state were removed. And even Peter McRae， subdued not so much by any argument of Macdonald Bhain's as by his rapt vision， followed old Donald's prayer with broken words of hope and thanksgiving； and it was Peter who was early at the manse next morning to repeat to the minister the things he had seen and heard the night before. And all next day， where there had been the horror of unnamable fear， hope and peace prevailed.
The service was held under the trees， and while the mother and Bella Peter sat softly weeping， there was no bitterness in their tears， for the sermon breathed of the immortal hope， and the hearts of all were comforted. There was no parade of grief， but after the sermon was over the people filed quietly through the room to take the last look， and then the family， with Bella and her father， were left alone a few moments with their dead， while the Macdonald men kept guard at the door till the time for "the lifting" would come.
After Long John passed out， followed by the family， Macdonald Bhain entered the room， closed the lid down upon the dead face， and gave the command to bear him forth.
So， with solemn dignity， as befitted them， they carried Big Mack from his home to Farquhar McNaughton's light wagon. Along the concession road， past the new church， through the swamp， and on to the old churchyard the long procession slowly moved. There was no unseemly haste， and by the time the last words were spoken， and the mound decently rounded， the long shadows from the woods lay far across the fields. Quietly the people went their ways homeward， back to their life and work， but for many days they carried with them the memory of those funeral scenes. And Ranald， though he came back from Big Mack's grave troubled with questions that refused to be answered， still carried with him a heart healed of the pain that had torn it these last days. He believed it was well with his friend， but about many things he was sorely perplexed， and it was this that brought him again to the minister's wife.
CHAPTER XII第一章
SEED-TIME
The day after Big Mack's funeral， Ranald was busy polishing Lizette's glossy skin， before the stable door. This was his favorite remedy for gloomy thoughts， and Ranald was full of gloomy thoughts to-day. His father， though going about the house， was still weak， and worse than all， was fretting in his weakness. He was oppressed with the terrible fear that he would never again be able to do a man's work， and Ranald knew from the dark look in his father's face that day and night the desire for vengeance was gnawing at his heart， and Ranald also knew something of the bitterness of this desire from the fierce longing that lay deep in his own. Some day， when his fingers would be feeling for LeNoir's throat， he would drink long and fully that sweet draught of vengeance. He knew， too， that it added to the bitterness in his father's heart to know that， in the spring's work that every warm day was bringing nearer， he could take no part； and that was partly the cause of Ranald's gloom. With the slow-moving oxen， he could hardly hope to get the seed in in time， and they needed the crop this year if ever they did， for last year's interest on the mortgage was still unpaid and the next installment was nearly due.
As he was putting the finishing touches upon Lisette's satin skin， Yankee drove up to the yard with his Fox horse and buckboard. His box was strapped on behind， and his blankets， rolled up in a bundle， filled the seat beside him.
"Mornin'，" he called to Ranald. "Purty fine shine， that， and purty fine mare， all round，" he continued， walking about Lisette and noting admiringly her beautiful proportions.
"Purty fine beast，" he said， in a low tone， running his hands down her legs. "Guess you wouldn't care to part with that mare？""No，" said Ranald， shortly； but as he spoke his heart sank within him.
"Ought to fetch a fairly good figure，" continued Yankee， meditatively. "Le's see. She's from La Roque's Lisette， ain't she？ Ought to have some speed." He untied Lisette's halter.
"Take her down in the yard yonder，" he said to Ranald.
Ranald threw the halter over Lisette's neck， sprang on her back， and sent her down the lane at a good smart pace. At the bottom of the lane he wheeled her， and riding low upon her neck， came back to the barn like a whirlwind.
"By jings！" exclaimed Yankee， surprised out of his lazy drawl；"she's got it， you bet your last brick. See here， boy， there's money into that animal. Thought I would like to have her for my buckboard， but I have got an onfortunit conscience that won't let me do up any partner， so I guess I can't make any offer."Ranald stood beside Lisette， his arm thrown over her beautiful neck， and his hand fondling her gently about the ears. "I will not sell her." His voice was low and fierce， and all the more so because he knew that was just what he would do， and his heart was sick with the pain of the thought.
"I say，" said Yankee， suddenly， "cudn't bunk me in your loft， cud you！ Can't stand the town. Too close."The confining limitations of the Twentieth， that metropolitan center of some dozen buildings， including the sawmill and blacksmith shop， were too trying for Yankee's nervous system.
"Yes， indeed，" said Ranald， heartily. "We will be very glad to have you， and it will be the very best thing for father.""S'pose old Fox cud nibble round the brule，" continued Yankee， nodding his head toward his sorrel horse. "Don't think I will do much drivin' machine business. Rather slow." Yankee spent the summer months selling sewing-machines and new patent churns.
"There's plenty of pasture，" said Ranald， "and Fox will soon make friends with Lisette. She is very kind， whatever.""Ain't ever hitched her， have you？" said Yankee.
"No."
