“M’Guire!”
There was a loud booming sound, the dyke was loosed, the ravine split into the swollen stream its choking mouthful of earth and rock; and a minute afterwards the path was clear to the top of Champak Hill. To it came the unharmed children and their mother, who, from the warm peak sent the wild duck “to the rose o’ the valley,” which, till the message came, was trembling on the stem of life. But Joy, that marvellous healer, kept it blooming with a little Eden bird nestling near, whose happy tongue was taught in after years to tell of the gift of the Simple King; who had redeemed, on demand, the promissory note for ever.
MALACHI
“He’ll swing just the same to-morrow. Exit Malachi!” said Freddy Tarlton gravely.
The door suddenly opened on the group of gossips, and a man stepped inside and took the only vacant seat near the fire. He glanced at none, but stretched out his hands to the heat, looking at the coals with drooping introspective eyes.
“Exit Malachi,” he said presently in a soft ironical voice, but did not look up.
“By the holy poker, Pierre, where did you spring from?” asked Tarlton genially.
“The wind bloweth where it listeth, and—” Pierre responded, with a little turn of his fingers.
“And the wind doesn’t tell where it’s been, but that’s no reason Pierre shouldn’t,” urged the other.