But before the necessity for declaring himself came upon him, the temperance campaign suffered a severe check. The trouble arose in an unexpected quarter, not from the enemy, but in the ranks of the advancing army itself. The temperance ship ran against the rock that threatened to split it altogether, on the last Sunday in November. This day was celebrated as St. Andrew's Sunday, the day when the society of the Sons of Scotland, with bonnets on their heads, plaidies on their shoulders and heather in their button-holes, paraded to church in a body and had a sermon preached to them by a minister brought up from the city for the purpose of glorifying Scotland and edifying her sons. As nearly all the Presbyterian congregation of Algonquin was Scotch, every one else was as much edified as the Sons themselves; but there was one prominent exception and that was J. P. Thornton. Mr. Thornton was an Englishman, born within the sound of Bow Bells, and, like a true Briton, intensely proud of the fact, and though he was as liberal in his general views as he was in politics, and had delivered many a fine speech on Imperialism, yet some stubborn latent prejudice arose in his heart and threatened to overflow every St. Andrew's Sunday. It was not that he objected so much to the tartan-and-heather bedecked rows occupying the front pews of the church, on St. Andrew's Sunday. He was inclined to look upon them with some lofty amusement, saying that if they liked that sort of child's play it was no affair of his and they might have it. But it was the sermon that always put him into a fighting humour. For never a preacher stood up there on St. Andrew's Sunday but made some unfortunate reference to Bannockburn and Scots Wha Hae, and a great many other things calculated to rouse any Englishman's ire. Mr. Thornton had never openly rebelled, however, and the St. Andrew's sermon came each year with only a few mild explosions following. But this year the celebration caused a serious disturbance, and as so often happened, it started with Lawyer Ed. That lively Irish gentleman had already joined almost every organisation in the town, and there suddenly came to him a great desire to join the Sons of Scotland also. His mother was a Scottish lady of Highland birth, and he himself had a deep-rooted affection for anything or anybody connected with the land o' cakes. So on the eve of this St. Andrew's celebration he joined the order and became a true Son of Scotland himself. Mr. Thornton had gone away for a couple of weeks on a business trip and knew nothing of this new departure of his friend. He came home late on Saturday night before St. Andrew's Sunday, and went to church the next morning, all unsuspecting that at that moment Ed was falling into line down at the lodge room, his plaidie the brightest, his bonnet the trimmest and his heather sprig the biggest of all the procession.