Nancy McVeigh of the Monk Road

by R. Henry Mainer

THE ANTAGONISM OF MISS PIPER.

Miss Sophia Piper had passed that period of life popularly known on the Monk Road as the matrimonial age. She had reached that second stage of unwed womanhood when interest in material things supersedes that of sentiment. She no longer sighed as she gazed down the stretch of walk, lined with rose hedge, that led from the verandah of her Cousin James' home to the Monk Road gateway, for there was no one in the wide world who might desire to catch her waiting on the step. Bachelors, especially young ones, were a silly set to her, useful only to girls who had time to waste on them. Her time was too precious, and she prided herself somewhat on the fact.

True, she had had her day. She well remembered that, and even boasted of it. Off-hand she could name a half-dozen men who once would have accepted the custody of her heart with alacrity, but she was too discerning. The Piper standard on the feminine side of the family was raised high, and he must be an immortal, indeed, who climbed to its dizzy height. She was past thirty-five, and had no regrets. She was a close student of the Bible, and brought one text from it into her own life. "When I was a child I played as a child, but now that I am old I have put aside childish things." She often quoted this in defence of her industrious maidenhood.

She really felt that she had an object in life to accomplish, one that was wider than personal benefit. She occupied the chair as President of the Church Aid. For five years she had been the delegate to the County Temperance Convention. She was also a regular contributor to the religious columns of a city newspaper, and she held many other responsible duties within her keeping. Then, her cousin, James Piper, had three children to bring up properly, and their mother was dead. This work, along with the superintendence of the domestic features of his home, gave her plenty to fill up any spare time which she might have had. She took a pardonable pride in her station in the little community that knew her, yet above all she strove to exercise a fitting humility of spirit.

Her face was a pleasant one to see, shapely almost to prettiness, but growing thin and sharp-featured; though bright, smiling eyes made her appear more youthful than her years. Her hair, smoothed back from her forehead, was streaked with grey, and harmonized perfectly with the purity of her countenance.

Despite her brave front and ever-abundant faculty to console others, she had known trouble of a kind that would have crushed others of weaker nature. From early girlhood she had been alone, her parents having died within a year of each other before she had passed her fifteenth birthday. She had no sisters, and her only brother had widened the gap between them by a life of recklessness.

Tom Piper was the exact antithesis of his sister. A good fellow with everybody, and liked accordingly; none too particular in his choice of comrades; a spendthrift, and unable to apply himself for long at any one occupation, 'twas a fortunate circumstance that Cousin James took in his orphan sister, otherwise she would have had the additional burden of poverty to harass her endeavors to sustain the respectability of the family. Tom might also have made his home with his cousin, but he showed no inclination to accept such charity. He was older than his sister, and quite able to take care of himself, so he thought. He secured work with a firm of timber contractors, and almost immediately disappeared into the wide expanse of pine in northern Ontario. Occasionally he wrote to his sister, and in his letters his big heart stood out so clearly that even her strict code of propriety could not stay the tears of sympathy which blotted his already bedaubed scribbling. When spring came, and the logs had been rafted down the river, leaving the timber men a few months of well-earned idleness, Tom's first action was to hasten out to the Monk Road to visit Sophia, and a very unconventional caller he proved to be. The rough life had taken off much of his exterior polish, but otherwise he was the same good-natured Tom, generous to a fault, and, therefore, blessed with but little to give. These were grand opportunities for Sophia, and she lectured him roundly for his loose habits. She told him that he could have a good position in the neighboring town, and society more in keeping with the ancestors of the Pipers, should he so desire. But he always answered her with a laugh that echoed strangely through the quiet decorum of Cousin Jim's big house, then he kissed her for her advice.

"Never fear, little girl, I will never do any great harm either to you or the family. It is my way of enjoying life, and I guess I am a free agent. But keep on in your good work, and it will do for the both of us. I have brought something with me to brighten your eyes, sister. This will buy new clothes for you."

While he spoke, he counted out and handed over to her a large share of his winter's wages. This always made Sophia cry, and she would forget her scoldings for the balance of his stay.

As Tom grew older, tales travelled ahead of him, of his reckless spending and his drinking while in town. Cousin Jim heard them first, and he took Tom to task sharply whenever he met him. Then Sophia learned the truth, and her heart was almost broken. She prayed for her brother, and wept over him when he came to see her, and was rewarded with promises which were broken as soon as her influence had worn off. Gradually a coldness grew between them. Tom, obstinately set in his way, and angry at the continued interference of his sister and cousin; Sophia hurt by his neglect and bitter from the sting of his disgraceful conduct; and Cousin Jim, hard, matter-of-fact business man that he was, refused to extend even the courtesy of a speaking acquaintance. So affairs ran along very unhappily, until, at last, Sophia determined to forget that Tom was her brother, and henceforth she put her whole soul into a crusade against sin, and Nancy McVeigh's tavern soon came under the ban of her displeasure.