I liked Mr. Craig from the first. He had good eyes that looked straight out at you, a clean-cut, strong face well set on his shoulders, and altogether an upstanding, manly bearing. He insisted on going with Sandy to the stables to see Dandy, his broncho, put up.
‘Decent fellow,’ said Graeme; ‘but though he is good enough to his broncho, it is Sandy that’s in his mind now.’
‘Does he come out often? I mean, are you part of his parish, so to speak?’
‘I have no doubt he thinks so; and I’m blowed if he doesn’t make the Presbyterians of us think so too.’ And he added after a pause, ‘A dandy lot of parishioners we are for any man. There’s Sandy, now, he would knock Keefe’s head off as a kind of religious exercise; but to-morrow Keefe will be sober, and Sandy will be drunk as a lord, and the drunker he is the better Presbyterian he’ll be; to the preacher’s disgust.’ Then after another pause he added bitterly, ‘But it is not for me to throw rocks at Sandy; I am not the same kind of fool, but I am a fool of several other sorts.’
Then the cook came out and beat a tattoo on the bottom of a dish-pan. Baptiste answered with a yell: but though keenly hungry, no man would demean himself to do other than walk with apparent reluctance to his place at the table. At the further end of the camp was a big fireplace, and from the door to the fireplace extended the long board tables, covered with platters of turkey not too scientifically carved, dishes of potatoes, bowls of apple sauce, plates of butter, pies, and smaller dishes distributed at regular intervals. Two lanterns hanging from the roof, and a row of candles stuck into the wall on either side by means of slit sticks, cast a dim, weird light over the scene.
There was a moment’s silence, and at a nod from Graeme Mr. Craig rose and said, ‘I don’t know how you feel about it, men, but to me this looks good enough to be thankful for.’
‘Fire ahead, sir,’ called out a voice quite respectfully, and the minister bent his head and said— ‘For Christ the Lord who came to save us, for all the love and goodness we have known, and for these Thy gifts to us this Christmas night, our Father, make us thankful. Amen.’
‘Bon, dat’s fuss rate,’ said Baptiste. ‘Seems lak dat’s make me hit (eat) more better for sure,’ and then no word was spoken for quarter of an hour. The occasion was far too solemn and moments too precious for anything so empty as words. But when the white piles of bread and the brown piles of turkey had for a second time vanished, and after the last pie had disappeared, there came a pause and hush of expectancy, whereupon the cook and cookee, each bearing aloft a huge, blazing pudding, came forth.
‘Hooray!’ yelled Blaney, ‘up wid yez!’ and grabbing the cook by the shoulders from behind, he faced him about.
Mr. Craig was the first to respond, and seizing the cookee in the same way, called out, ‘Squad, fall in! quick march!’ In a moment every man was in the procession.