Down the road the Colonel could be seen driving a spanking team of bay roadsters in a light two-seated democrat, shoulders back, elbows squared, whip-aflourish, altogether making a very handsome appearance. At a smart pace he swung his bays into the churchyard and drew up at the alighting platform, throwing his foam-flecked steeds upon their haunches. “Look at that now!” exclaimed Tom Powers, sotto voce. “What’s the matter with the British Army?” As he spoke the young fellow stepped forward and gave his hand to the Colonel’s wife to assist her from the platform, then lifted Peg down from the wagon, swinging her clear over the platform to the grass. “Good morning, Mrs. Pelham. Mighty fine outfit, Colonel. You do the valley proud.” “Ah, how are you, Powers? What? Not too bad a match, eh?” He tchicked to the bays, holding them on a firm rein. Well they knew what was expected of them. On their hind legs they stood poised a moment or two, then in a series of dainty prancing steps they were off toward the shed. It was a part of the Colonel’s regular Sunday morning display. Following close upon the Pelhams came Gaspard and Paul. A murmur ran round the waiting group. Not for nearly four years had Gaspard been seen at church, not since the tragedy of his wife’s death which had shocked the whole valley. His presence today was the result of the efforts of his minister, Donald Fraser, formerly a great friend of his late wife, backed up by the persuasions of Paul who had refused for the past six months to go to church without his father. This was Paul’s birthday and as a treat for the boy he had finally consented to come. But there was more than his regard for his minister and his love for his son in his consenting to come. The past year had been one of stern discipline to Gaspard. Ill health, loneliness, the stress of poverty, the sense of ill desert had overwhelmed him in a flood of misery. Then came Donald Fraser back into his life, from which he had been vehemently driven out, refusing to abandon him. Every third week as the day of the Presbyterian service came round the buckboard and the yellow buckskin broncho drove up to the Pine Croft stables. “You need not glower at me, Gaspard,” he had said the day of his first appearance. “I am coming to visit you, for your sake because you need me and for your boy’s sake who wants me. No! I’ll not put my horse in. My duty does not make it necessary that I should force myself upon your hospitality.” But Gaspard had only sworn at him and replied, “Don’t be a bally ass, Fraser. I’m not taking much stock in your religion, but I don’t forget my—my family’s friends. Louis, put the minister’s horse up.”