"Oh, my dear sir, no. None of them are as pretty as he was." Such is the opinion of the shepherdess. "We see only one like him in a lifetime," she testifies. A wee, blue chair is vacant in the first row at the end--clearly the place of honor. A withered wreath lies on the chair. The man's eyes are fastened on that spot. Here is a world of which he knew nothing. Here he follows in the very footsteps. "Listen, listen," says the motherly teacher. "This is Davy's father." Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed. Strange power of human pity! [Illustration: Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed.] "Little Davy is with Jesus," says the shepherdess. "Now all you who want to be with Jesus, raise your hands." Every right hand is up. Their faith is implicit, but many a left hand is pulling a neighboring curl. Busy is that long shepherd crook, to defeat those wicked left hands. A head obtrudes in the door. "Excuse me," says the political boss. "Mr. Lockwin, can you spare a moment? Hello, Jessie! no, papa will not be home to-night. Tell mamma, will you?" A curly head is saddened. Lockwin thanks the shepherdess, and follows his boss. "The train goes East at 4:45. Don't lose a moment. Lucky I found you." The newspaper press is in possession of a sensation. On Monday morning we quote: "A plot has been revealed which might have resulted in the loss of the First district, and possibly of Congress, just at the moment the re-apportionment bill was to be passed. Notice of contest has been served on Congressman Lockwin as a blind for subsequent operations, and yesterday the newly elected member left hurriedly for Washington to consult with the attorney general. It is evident that the federal authorities will inquire into the high-handed outrages which swelled the votes of Corkey and the other unsuccessful candidates on election day. "The time is coming," concludes the article, "when lynch law will be dealt out to the repeaters who haunt the tough precincts at each election day." The prominent citizens say among themselves: "We ought to do something pretty soon, or these ward politicians will be governing the nation!" CHAPTER XII IN GEORGIAN BAY Corkey is at Owen Sound. The political bee is buzzing in his bonnet. Collector of the port--this office seems small to a man who really polled more votes than Lockwin. The notion has taken hold of Corkey that, by some hook or crook, Lockwin will get out and Corkey will get in. When he thinks of this, Corkey rises and walks about his chair, sitting down again. This is a gambler's habit. There follows this incantation an incident which flatters his ambition. Having changed his tobacco from the right to the left side of his mouth, he strangles badly. It takes him just five minutes to get a free breath. This is always a good sign. Thereupon the darkest of negro lads, with six fingers, a lick, left-handed and cross-eyed, enters the barroom of the hotel.