There was a mingling of shouts, laughter, neighing of horses, scraping of turning buggies and clattering of dishes, harmonised by that wonderful power which the forest possesses of turning all discordant sounds within her bosom to perfect music. The young minister moved about from group to group with a pleasant word for all. He swung with Maggie Hamilton and Annie Fraser and Julia Duffy; he entered keenly into the young men's athletic competitions; he carried water for Miss Cotton and waited on the young ladies at the tables; and finally he strolled over towards the platform where the fathers of Glenoro were gathered. They sat on mossy logs or stumps, with drooping shoulders, smoking their pipes in solemn content, discussing crops and creeds, horses and heresies and enjoying life to the full. Old Andrew Johnstone was there; but Duncan Polite was not with him. Duncan never went anywhere except to church. The ruling elder seemed in a rather mild frame of mind in spite of the fact that the reins of government had been taken out of his hands. The young pastor could not know that Duncan Polite's influence had soothed his wrath. He sat beside the old man and chatted away genially, while Splinterin' Andra watched him solemnly and with a certain wistfulness in his stern face. But John Egerton did not rest long; he was beginning to wonder why Mr. Watson and his flock had not by this time startled them all into admiration by their appearance. The time set for their arrival had long passed and still the burst of music and the gleam of banners which was to herald their approach did not come. He arose and walked towards the road to see if they were in sight, when he saw the schoolmaster approaching alone and with a haste which betokened disaster. His friend hurried to meet him. "Why, what has happened?" he cried. "Where are the children?"