The Silver Maple

by Mary Esther Miller MacGregor

The Glen was a small community at a bend in the River Oro, just a mile east of the schoolhouse. Though it was near his home, Scotty had not been in it since he was a baby. He was wildly eager to see the place. To him it was a great metropolis, for it contained a tavern and a store, yes, and a real mill where they made flour. And Hamish had promised to show him the great water wheel that made the mill go, and they were to spend an hour at Thompson's store, and most of all he was anxious to learn the outcome of the boys' mysterious plans of the night before.

The day was delightful, with all the world a gleam of blue and silver, the glittering landscape softened here and there by the restful grey tints of the forest. The blue skies with their dazzling white clouds, and the shimmering white earth with its bright blue shadows, were so bewilderingly alike that one might well wonder whether he was in heaven or on earth. The air was electric, setting the blood tingling, and, as the sleigh slipped along down the winding road that led to the river, Scotty churned up and down on the seat and could with difficulty restrain himself from leaping out and turning somersaults in the snow.

The highway suddenly emerged from a belt of pine forest and descended into a little round valley made by the bend in the river. Here lay "the Glen," the central point of the surrounding communities. Scotty grew quieter and his eyes bigger as they followed the winding steep road that led into its depths. There was the mill by the river, giving out a strange rumbling sound; and beside it the house of old Sandy Hamilton, the miller; and there, on the northern slope of the river bank, was Weaver Jimmie's little shanty, with the loom clattering away inside; and right at the corner stood Thompson's store and opposite it Peter Nash's tavern.

So many houses all in one clearing! Scotty could scarcely believe his eyes. And yet the poor little place had, after all, a greater importance than the child could imagine. The Glen was to the grown part of the community what the school was to the younger portion. It lay within the boundaries of the four different settlements, and as clearings began to widen and social intercourse became easier, it had gradually become a place where men met for mutual help or hindrance, as the case might be. Here the several nationalities mingled, and though they did not realise the fact, here they were laying the foundations of a great nation. Such a vast work as this could scarcely be carried on without some commotion; the chemist must look for explosions when he produces a strange new compound from diverse elements; and it was, therefore, no wonder that the crucible in the valley of the Oro was often the scene of much boiling and seething. Then the tavern came, with its brain-destroying fire, and sometimes after harvest, when the Fighting MacDonalds and the belligerent Murphys met before it, the noise of the fray might be heard in the farthest-off clearing of the Oa.

Scotty's eyes rested fearfully on the tavern. It was a common log building, wider than the ordinary ones and with a porch in front and a lean-to behind. To the boy its appearance was a great surprise and some disappointment. Grandaddy always spoke of it as "a den of iniquity"; and Scotty's fancy had pictured such a den as Daniel had been cast into, which he had seen many times in Granny's big Bible.

He was rather sorry they did not stop there, the inside might be more romantic; but he soon forgot it in the excitement of other scenes; for they went to the mill and Sandy Hamilton, all floury and smiling, took him down to where the water came thundering over the big wheel; and then, while the boys went off with the team, Big Malcolm took his grandson to the most wonderful place yet, the store.

This was the most important place in the Glen, and the man who kept it, James Thompson, or Store Thompson, as the neighbours called him, was the most important and influential member of the community. He was a fine, upright, intelligent man and was known far and wide for his learning. He possessed a vocabulary of polysyllables that never failed to confound an opponent in argument, and all the township could tell how he once vanquished a great university graduate, who was visiting Captain Herbert at Lake Oro. He was often identified by this illustrious deed, and was pointed out to strangers as, "Store Thompson, him that downed the Captain's college man."

Big Malcolm and Store Thompson, though the latter was a Lowlander, had been fast friends ever since they had come to Canada. They were slightly above the average pioneer in intelligence and had many interests in common; so for this reason, as well as a matter of principle, Big Malcolm avoided the tavern and spent his leisure moments with his friend.

As they entered, Store Thompson was busy weighing out sugar for a customer, and glanced up. He was a tall man, with a kind, intelligent face and a high, bland forehead. He wore steel-rimmed spectacles, but, when not reading, had them pushed up to the scant line of hair on the top of his head, and his pale blue eyes blinked kindly at all around. He stopped in the midst of his calculations to welcome his friends.

"Eh, eh, Malcolm, an' is yon yersel'?" he cried heartily. "It's jist a lang, lang time since Ah seen ye, man; aye, an' it's the wee man ye hae. It's a lang time since ye've been to the Glen; jist an unconscionably lang time; aye, jist that, jist unconscionably like!" He lingered over the word as he shook hands, and then, after inquiring for the wife and family, he turned his attention to Scotty, remarked upon his wonderful growth, and his sturdy limbs, asked him how he was getting on at school and if he could spell "phthisis."