Soon the little cabin was left behind and they were swinging out along the trail. The parson was quiet now. His old jocular spirit had departed, leaving him very thoughtful.
"The poor people! The poor people!" he ejaculated. "When will such things cease? Why will men dressed in a little brief authority try to crush those less fortunate? Dan, my boy, you may be a big man some day. You may get money, but never forget the poor. Be kind to them rather than to the powerful. They need kindness and sympathy, lad, more than others. My parents were poor, and I know how they toiled and slaved to give me an education. I well remember how they worked early and late until their fingers were knotted and their backs bowed. They are the noble ones who live in our midst, and though they may have little of this world's goods, they have great souls and are the real salt of the earth. Never forget that, boy."
Dan did not know how to reply to these words, but sat very still watching Midnight speeding on her way. The road wound for some distance through a wooded region and over several hills. At length it entered upon a settlement where the land was lean and rocks lifted their frowning heads above the surface. The few houses were poor, standing out grey and gaunt in the midst of this weird barrenness. But at every door Midnight was accustomed to stop. Well did she know the little voices which welcomed her, and the tiny hands which stroked her soft nose, or held up some dainty morsel of bread, potatoes or grass. But to-day there was none of this. She knew when the reins throbbed with an energy which meant hurry. Past the gateways she clipped with those long steady strides over the icy road, across a bleak stretch of country, down a valley, up a winding hill, and then away to the right through a long narrow lane to a lone farm-house.
As they approached a commotion was observed near the barn. Soon the cause was clearly manifest. Pete, assisted by someone, who proved to be Tommy Jones, had his rope about the horns of a black and white cow, and was endeavouring to lead her away. Mrs. Stickles and four little Stickles were filling the air with their cries of anger and protest. The cow, frightened by the noise, had become confused, and was trying to bolt towards the barn. Pete was tugging at the rope, while his assistant was belabouring her with a stout stick.
"Ye brutes!" Mrs. Stickles was shouting at the top of her voice. "What d'yez mean by thumpin' me poor Pansy in that way! But here comes the Lord's avengin' angel, praise His holy name! Stop 'em, Parson!" she shrieked, rushing towards the sleigh. "Smite 'em down, Parson, an' pray the Lord to turn His hottest thunderbolt upon Si Farrington's head!"
"Hush, hush, woman," Mr. Westmore remonstrated. "Don't talk that way. 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. I will repay.'"
By this time the refractory cow had been brought to a state of partial subjection, and stood blinking at her captors as if uncertain what course to pursue. Leaving the sleigh, Mr. Westmore strode over to where the three were standing and laid his hand upon the rope.
"What's the meaning of this, Pete?" he asked. "Why are you troubling this family?"
"It's them that's troublin' me, sir," was the reply. "I'm jist here on bizness, an' it's bizness I mean. If ye'll jist keep that whirlwind of a woman away an' them squaking kids so I kin git this cratur clear of the barn-yard, she'll walk like a daisy."
"But why are you taking the animal? Don't you know it's their only cow, and it's very important that Mr. Stickles, who is sick in bed, should have fresh milk every day?"