Michael McGrath, Postmaster | Page 9

before a hand could be raised to prevent it, Ould Michael was struck to the floor and most brutally kicked. By this time McFarquhar had tossed back the crowd right and left and, stooping down, lifted Ould Michael and carried him out into the air, saying in a husky voice:
"He is dead! He is dead!"
But in a moment the old man opened his eyes and said faintly:
"Niver a bit av it, God save----"
His eyes closed again and he became unconscious. They gave him brandy and he began to revive. Then McFarquhar rose and looked round for the German. His hair was fairly bristling round his head; his breath came in short gasps and his little eyes were blood-shot with fury.
"You have smitten an old man and helpless," he panted, "and you ought to be destroyed from the face of the earth; but I will not smite you as I would a man, but as I would a wasp."
He swung his long arm like a flail and, with his open hand, smote the German on the side of the head. It was a terrific blow; under it the German fell to the earth with a thud. McFarquhar waited a few moments while the German rose, slowly spitting out broken teeth and blood.
"Will you now behave yourself," said McFarquhar, moving toward him.
"Yes, yes, it is enough," said his antagonist hurriedly and went into the saloon.
We carried Ould Michael to his cabin and laid him on his bed. He was suffering dreadfully from some inward wound, but he uttered not a word of complaint. After he had lain still for some time he looked at McFarquhar.
"What is it, lad?" asked McFarquhar.
"The flag," whispered poor Ould Michael.
"The flag? Do you want the flag?"
He shook his head slowly, still looking beseechingly at his friend. All at once it came to me.
"You want the flag hauled up, Michael?" I said.
He smiled and eagerly looked towards me.
"I'll run it up at once," I said.
He moved his hand. I came to him and bending over him caught the words "God save----"
"All right," I answered, "I shall give it all honor."
He smiled again, closed his eyes and a look of great peace came upon his face. His quarrel with his Queen and country was made up and all the bitterness was gone from his heart. After an examination as full as I could make, I came to the conclusion that there were three ribs broken and an injury, more or less serious, to the lungs; but how serious, I could not tell. McFarquhar established himself in Ould Michael's cabin and nursed him day and night. He was very anxious that the minister should see Ould Michael and, when the day came for Mr. Macleod's service in Grand Bend, I brought him to Ould Michael's cabin, giving him the whole story on the way. His highland loyalty was stirred.
"Noble fellow," he said, warmly, "it is a pity he is a Romanist; a sore pity."
His visit to Ould Michael was not a success. Even McFarquhar had to confess that somehow his expounding of the way of salvation to Ould Michael and his prayers, fervent though they were, did not appeal to the old soldier; the matter confused and worried him. But however much he failed with Ould Michael there was no manner of doubt that he was succeeding with McFarquhar. Long and earnest were their talks and, after every "season," McFarquhar came forth more deeply impressed with the grand powers of the minister. He Had already established the "family altar" in his home and was making some slow progress in instructing his wife and children in "the doctrine of grace," but as Ould Michael began to grow stronger, McFarquhar's anxiety about his state grew deeper. Again and again he had the minister in to him, but Ould Michael remained unmoved; indeed, he could hardly see what the minister would be at.
One evening as we three were sitting in Ould Michael's main room, McFarquhar ventured to express his surprise at Ould Michael's continued "darkness" as he said:
"My friend," said the minister, solemnly, "it has been given me that you are the man to lead him into the light."
"God pity me!" exclaimed McFarquhar. "That I could lead any man!"
"And more," said the minister, in deepening tones, "it is borne in upon me that his blood will be upon you."
McFarquhar's look of horror and fear was pitiable and his voice rose in an agony of appeal.
"God be merciful to me! you will not be saying such a word as that."
"Fear not," replied the minister, "he will be given to you for a jewel in your crown."
McFarquhar was deeply impressed.
"How can this thing be?" he inquired in despair.
"You are his friend!" The minister's voice rose and fell in solemn rhythm. "You are strong; he is