The Black-Bearded Barbarian | Page 4

picnic idea had languished, and the
stone-breaking grew more and more to resemble hard work.
The warm spring sunset had begun to color the western sky; the
meadow-larks had gone to bed, and the stone-breakers were tired and
ravenously hungry--as hungry as only wolves or country boys can be.
The visitors suggested that they ought to be going home. "Hold on,
Danny, just till this one breaks," said the older Mackay boy, as he set a
burning stick to a new pile of brush.
"This'll be a dandy, and it's the last, too. They're sure to call us to
supper before we've time to do another."
The new fire, roaring and snapping, sending up showers of sparks and
filling the air with the sweet odor of burning cedar, proved too alluring
to be left. The company squatted on the ground before it, hugging their
knees and watching the blue column of smoke go straight up into the

colored sky. It suggested a camp-fire in war times, and each boy began
to tell what great and daring deeds he intended to perform when he
became a man.
Jimmy, one of the visitors, who had been most enthusiastic over the
picnic side of the day's work, announced that he was going to be a
sailor. He would command a fleet on the high seas, so he would, and
capture pirates, and grow fabulously wealthy on prize-money. Danny,
who was also a guest, declared his purpose one day to lead a band of
rough riders to the Western plains, where he would kill Indians, and
escape fearful deaths by the narrowest hairbreadth.
"Mebbe I'm goin' to be Premier of Canada, some day," said one
youngster, poking his bare toes as near as he dared to the flames.
There were hoots of derision. This was entirely too tame to be even
considered as a career.
"And what are you going to be, G. L.?" inquired the biggest boy of the
smallest.
The others looked at the little fellow and laughed. George Mackay was
the youngest of the group, and was a small wiry youngster with a pair
of flashing eyes lighting up his thin little face. He seemed far too small
and insignificant to even think about a career. But for all the difference
in their size and age the bigger boys treated little George with a good
deal of respect. For, somehow, he never failed to do what he set out to
do. He always won at races, he was never anywhere but at the head of
his class, he was never known to be afraid of anything in field or forest
or school ground, he was the hardest worker at home or at school, and
by sheer pluck he managed to do everything that boys bigger and older
and stronger could do.
So when Danny asked, "And what are you going to be, G. L.?" though
the boys laughed at the small thin little body, they respected the daring
spirit it held, and listened for his answer.
"He's goin' to be a giant, and go off with a show," cried one, and they

all laughed again.
Little G. L. laughed too, but he did not say what he intended to do
when he grew big. Down in his heart he held a far greater ambition than
the others dreamed of. It was too great to be told--so great he scarcely
knew what it was himself. So he only shook his small head and closed
his lips tightly, and the rest forgot him and chattered on.
Away beyond the dark woods, the sunset shone red and gold between
the black tree trunks. The little boy gazed at it wonderingly. The sight
of those morning and evening glories always stirred his child's soul,
and made him long to go away--away, he knew not where--to do great
and glorious deeds. The Mackay boys' grandfather had fought at
Waterloo, and little George Leslie, the youngest of six, had heard many,
many tales of that gallant struggle, and every time they had been told
him he had silently resolved that, some day, he too would do just such
brave deeds as his grandfather had done.
As the boys talked on, and the little fellow gazed at the sunset and
dreamed, the big stone cracked in two, the fire died down, and still
there came no welcome call to supper from any of the farmhouses in
sight. The Mackay boys had been trained in a fine old-fashioned
Canadian home, and did not dream of quitting work until they were
summoned. But the visitors were merely visitors, and could go home
when they liked. The future admiral of the pirate-killing fleet declared
he must go and get supper, or he'd eat the grass, he was so hungry. The
coming Premier of