The Silver Maple. Mary Esther Miller MacGregor

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       Mary Esther Miller MacGregor

      The Silver Maple

      Published by Good Press, 2021

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066131319

Table of Contents

       I

       IN THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS

       II

       A NEW NAME

       III

       WINNING HIS SPURS

       IV

       "CAPE CANADA"

       V

       THE REFORMATION

       VI

       AN IGNOMINIOUS TASK

       VII

       THE AVENGING OF GLENCOE

       VIII

       THE END OF THE FEUD

       IX

       RALPH STANWELL AGAIN

       X

       IN THE REALMS OF GOLD

       XI

       THE WEAVER'S REWARD

       XII

       A WELL-MEANT PLOT

       XIII

       THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS

       XIV

       THE VOYAGEURS

       XV

       THE SECRET OF THE NILE

       XVI

       RE-VOYAGE

       XVII

       THE PROMISED LAND

I

      IN THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS

       Table of Contents

      Like the great rest that cometh after pain,

       The calm that follows storm, the great surcease,

       This folding slumber comforts wood and plain

       In one white mantling peace.

       —WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL.

      The storm was over, the snow had ceased falling, and under its muffling mantle, white and spent with the day's struggle, lay the great swamp of the Oro. It seemed to hold in its motionless bosom the very spirit of silence and death. The delicately traced pattern of a rabbit or weasel track, and a narrow human pathway that wound tortuously into the sepulchral depths, were the only signs of life in all the white stillness. Away down the dim, cathedral-like aisles, that fainted into softest grey in the distance, the crackling of an overburdened twig rang startlingly clear in the awesome hush. The tall firs and pines swept the white earth with their snow-laden branches, the drooping limbs looking like throngs of cowled heads, bent to worship in the sacred stillness of a vast temple. For the forest was, indeed, a place in which to wonder and to pray, a place all white and holy, filled with the mystery and awe of death.

      But suddenly into this softly curtained sanctuary came a profaning sound; a clear, joyous shout rang through the sacred aisles; and, down the narrow pathway, leaping over fallen logs, whipping aside the laden branches and scattering their snow-crowns in a whirling mist about him, destroying, in his ruthless progress, both the sanctity and the beauty of the place, came a human figure, a little figure, straight and sturdy, and as lithe and active as any other wild, forest-creature. His small, red-mittened hands, the scarlet woollen scarf about his neck, and his rosy cheeks made a bold dash of colour in the sombre gloom, as his abounding life disturbed the winter death-sleep.

      On he came, leaping from log to log like a hare, and setting the stately forest arches ringing to a rollicking Scottish song, tuneful and incongruous,—

      "Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a',

       Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a',

       We'll up an gie them a blaw, a blaw!

       Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'!"

      But as he plunged down the hill into the grey depths he suddenly ceased singing. The awe of the place touched his child's spirit. Reared in the forest though he had been, he suddenly felt strangely unfamiliar with his surroundings. He had never before experienced anything like fear in the woods. The rigours of seven Canadian winters had bred a hardy spirit in this little backwoodsman, and besides what was there to dread in the forest? It had been his playground ever since he was first able to steal away from Granny and toddle off to "the bush" to gather blue flags and poke up the goggle-eyed frogs from their fragrant musk-pools. But here was something unfamiliar; a strange uncanny place the swamp seemed to-day; and, being Nature's intimate, he fell into sudden sympathy with her awe-stricken mood.

      He sped silently forward, glancing fearfully down the dim, shadowy aisles, so ghostly, so mysterious, dreading he knew not what.

      "Eh, eh, it will be a fearsome place," he whispered. "It's jist,—eh, it must be the 'valley of the shadow'!" And then he suddenly remembered the psalm that Granny had taught him as soon as he could speak,—

      "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

       I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me."

      He whispered it over from beginning to end, not because he comprehended its meaning as applied to his case, but because it was associated with Granny and all things good, and, therefore, gave him a sense of comfort. For he felt as though he were home by the fireside, and she was smoothing his curls and singing those words, as she so often did when he was falling asleep.

      "And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

      As he whispered the last line he reached the top of the hill and suddenly emerged from the valley of shadows and fears into the light of day. Just ahead lay a clearing,