The Building of Jalna. Mazo de la Roche

receiving, stared at the paneling on which a vacant space by degrees claimed her attention. Her eyes widened still more as her brain took in the fact that the childish portrait of Adeline was missing from the wall. It seemed too bad to be true! With a cry that was almost a scream, Bridget struggled in that strong embrace. Adeline held her close. In fact, feeling the tempest that was surging through Bridget, Adeline held her closer.

      “Let me go,” screamed Bridget in a fury. “Let me go!”

      The men stared at the two in consternation. With Bridget’s great crinoline vibrating about them, their bosoms pressed together, their arms clutching each other, they were a troubling sight.

      “What in God’s name is the matter?” demanded Renny Court.

      “He has given her the picture!” cried Bridget.

      “What picture?”

      “The portrait of Adeline! Corry has given it to her. It’s gone!”

      Everyone now looked at the wall. Corrigan turned pale. “I have done no such thing,” he declared. “If it’s gone, she took it.”

      Adeline was driven to release Bridget, who now faced her in fierce accusation.

      “You have taken it,” she said. “It is in one of your boxes. Peter!” she called out to a manservant. “Unload the boxes from the wagonette.”

      “Let them be,” said Adeline. She turned calmly on her cousins. “I did not take the picture,” she said, “but I only took what was my own, so let’s have no more fuss about it.”

      Peter stood, holding a trunk in his arms, not knowing whether to put it down or put it up. His sandy side-whiskers bristled in excitement.

      “Now, look here,” said Philip, “I’m willing to buy the picture if Adeline wants it so badly.”

      “And I’m willing to sell,” said Corrigan.

      “But I am not!” cried the wife. “I demand to have those boxes unpacked and the picture back on the wall!” She ran down the steps and took one end of the trunk which Peter was still holding, and tugged at the strap that bound it.

      Adeline flew after her. They struggled over the trunk. Adeline was the stronger but Bridget was in an abandon of rage. She stretched out her hand and, taking hold of one of Adeline’s smooth plaits, pulled it loose.

      “Now, now, don’t do that!” exclaimed Philip, in his turn running down the steps. “I won’t have it.” Never in his life had he been involved in such a scene as this. He caught Bridget’s wrist and held it a while, with the other hand, he tried to make Adeline let go of the trunk.

      Renny Court looked on, laughing.

      “Kindly restrain your wife,” said Philip to Corrigan.

      “Don’t you lay a finger on me, Corry Court!” cried Bridget. He moved warily between her and Adeline.

      Philip spoke sternly to Adeline. “We’ll have no more of this. Tell me which box the picture is in.”

      With a trembling finger she pointed to the box which Peter held.

      “Put it down,” said Philip to the man. He did so. Philip opened it and there on the top lay the picture! He took it out and handed it to Corrigan. The child face looked out of the frame in innocent surprise. Corrigan looked from it to Adeline and back again. His expression was one of profound gloom.

      Renny Court directed a piercing glance into the trunk.

      “Did you ever see such extravagance!” he exclaimed. “Is it any wonder she left me bankrupt? Look at the gold toilet articles — the sable cloak! And there is my father-in-law’s snuffbox! By the Lord Harry, she’s got that too!”

      “He gave it her,” said Philip tersely. With a set face he put down the lid of the trunk and buckled the strap. He turned to Adeline who stood like a statue looking on, one hand grasping her riding crop.

      “Come,” he said. “Make your good-byes. You did wrong to take the picture but I must say that I think Mrs. Court has treated you very badly.”

      “Good-bye, Corry,” said Adeline, tears running out of her eyes, “and God comfort you in your marriage, for your wife is a vixen — if ever there was one!” With a graceful movement she turned to her horse. Philip lifted her to her saddle. Her father sprang to his. Embarrassed good-byes were exchanged. Then Adeline turned for a last look at Bridget.

      “Good-bye, Biddy Court!” she called out. “And may you live to be sorry for the way you’ve used me! Bad luck to you, Biddy! May the north wind blow you south, and the east wind blow you west till you come at last to the place where you belong!” She gave a flourish of her crop and galloped off, one long auburn plait flying over her shoulder.

      Old Peter, rattling behind them with the luggage, exclaimed: —

      “Ah, ’t was a quare dirty trick to do to her, and she as innocent as she was on the day the pictur’ was painted!”

      That was not the last of their visits. They went to the house of Adeline’s married brother. They stayed with the old Marquis himself but nothing they saw or did weakened their desire for the New World. There was in them both an adventurous pioneer spirit that laughed at discouragement, that reached out toward a freer life.

      The day came when all preparations were complete for their sailings westward.

      Philip had taken passage on a sailing vessel because he believed it would be quicker and cleaner than the steamship. Adeline’s parents and little Timothy were to come to the port to see them off.

      Patsy O’Flynn, the coachman, had made up his mind to accompany Adeline to Canada. He was unmarried. He had spent his life in one small spot. Now he was out for adventure. Also something chivalrous in him urged him to add another protector to her train, though he scarcely looked on her two young brothers as protectors. But he was convinced that they were going to an uncivilized country where wild animals and Indians prowled close to every settlement.

      Patsy made an extraordinary figure as he stood waiting on the dock. Though the morning was mild and fair he wore a heavy topcoat for he thought that was the best way to carry it. Other bundles, from a huge one sewn up in canvas to a small one tied in a red handkerchief, were mounded upon his shoulders. His small humourous face peered out with a pleased and knowing expression, as though he alone, of all the passengers, knew just what difficulties lay ahead and how to deal with them.

      In one hand he carried a heavy blackthorn stick, polished and formidable-looking. From the other hung the parrot’s cage, in which the bright-coloured occupant disported himself from perch to perch, or hung head downward from the ceiling and flapped his wings in a transport of excitement. Boney had not forgotten the voyage from India. The sight of the sea and the ship exhilarated him almost beyond bearing. At times he poured forth a stream of Hindu. At others he uttered a succession of piercing cries. Never was he still. He attracted a crowd of ragged, dirty children who screamed when he screamed, and jumped up and down in their excitement. When these pressed too close, Patsy would flourish his blackthorn at them and drive them off, shouting at them in Gaelic.

      The ayah had taken a fancy to Patsy. To her he seemed a macabre being but somehow benevolent. She stood close beside him, her draperies blowing gracefully in the breeze, her infant charge in her arms. The stay in Ireland had done little Augusta good. Her cheeks had filled out and she was less pale. Her hair had grown long enough to make a silky black curl on her forehead, gazing in wonder at the scene, but when her eyes rested on Patsy she would show her four milk-white teeth in a smile of delight. She had had the milk from one goat during her stay in Ireland and the goat had been given to her to take to Canada, so that no change of milk might upset her digestion. The goat, held on a halter by a shock-headed boy, stood immobile, regarding with equanimity, even with cynicism, what was going on. It had been named Maggie and Lady Honoria had tied a small bell to its neck, and the vicissitudes of the voyage were accented by its silvery tinkle.

      Augusta’s young uncles had been carefully