CHAPTER XIII.
Anyone passing the Corners that evening would have quickly seen that something important was on. Vehicles of all kinds lined the roadway, drawn in toward the fence, to the rails of which the horses were tied. Some had evidently come from afar, for the fame of the revivalist was widespread. The women, when they arrived, entered the schoolhouse, which was brilliantly lighted with oil lamps. The men stood around outside in groups, while many sat in rows on the fences, all conversing about every conceivable topic except religion. They apparently acted on the theory that there would be enough religion to satisfy the most exacting when they went inside. Yates sat on the top rail of the fence with the whittler, whose guest he had been. It was getting too dark for satisfactory whittling, so the man with the jack-knife improved the time by cutting notches in the rail on which he sat. Even when this failed, there was always a satisfaction in opening and shutting a knife that had a powerful spring at the back of it, added to which was the pleasurable danger of cutting his fingers. They were discussing the Fenian question, which at that time was occupying the minds of Canadians to some extent. Yates was telling them what he knew of the brotherhood in New York, and the strength of it, which his auditors seemed inclined to underestimate. Nobody believed that the Fenians would be so foolhardy as to attempt an invasion of Canada; but Yates held that if they did they would give the Canadians more trouble than was expected.
“Oh, we’ll turn old Bartlett on them, if they come over here. They’ll be glad enough to get back if he tackles them.”
“With his tongue,” added another.
“By the way,” said the whittler, “did young Bartlett say he was coming to-night? I hope he’ll bring his sister if he does. Didn’t any of you fellows ask him to bring her? He’d never think of it if he wasn’t told. He has no consideration for the rest of us.”
“Why didn’t you ask him? I hear you have taken to going in that direction yourself.”
“Who? Me?” asked the whittler, quite unconcerned. “I have no chance in that quarter, especially when the old man’s around.”
There was a sound of singing from the schoolhouse. The double doors were wide open, and as the light streamed out the people began to stream in.
“Where’s Macdonald?” asked Yates.