Viola Gwyn | Page 6

this: My mother's heart was broken and so she died."
"'My mother's heart was broken and she--and so she died.'"
"You will never forget that either, will you, Kenneth?"
"No, sir."
"Now, I am going to tell you who stole your mother's husband away
from her. You know who your mother's husband was, don't you?"
"Yes, sir. My Pa."
"One night,--the night before you came up here to live--your Auntie
Rachel,--that is what you called her, isn't it? Well, she was not your real
aunt. She was your neighbour,--just as Mr. Collins over there is my
neighbour,--and she was your mother's friend. Well, that night she stole
your Pa from your Ma, and took him away with her,--far, far away, and
she never let him come back again. She took him away in the night,
away from your mother and you forever and forever. She---"
"But Pa was bigger'n she was," interrupted Kenneth, frowning. "Why
didn't he kill her and get away?"
The old Squire was silent for a moment. "It is not fair for me to put all
the blame on Rachel Carter. Your father was willing to go. He did not
kill Rachel Carter. Together he and Rachel Carter killed your mother.
But Rachel Carter was more guilty than he was. She was a woman and
she stole what belonged in the sight of God to another woman. She was
a bad woman. If she had been a good woman she would not have stolen
your father away from your mother. So now you know that your Pa did
not go to the war. He went away with Rachel Carter and left your
mother to die of a broken heart. He went off into the wilderness with
that bad, evil woman. Your mother was unhappy. She died. She is
under the ground up in the graveyard, all alone. Rachel Carter put her
there, Kenneth. I cannot ask you to hate your father. It would not be
right. He is your father in spite of everything. You know what the Good

Book says? 'Honour thy father and--' how does the rest of it go, my
lad?"
"'Honour thy father and thy mother that thou days may be long upon
thou earth,'" murmured Kenneth, bravely.
"When you are a little older you will realize that your father did not
honour his father and mother, and then you may understand more than
you do now. But you may hate Rachel Carter. You MUST hate her. She
killed your mother. She stole your father. She made an orphan of you.
She destroyed the home where you used to live. As you grow older I
will try to tell you how she did all these things. You would not
understand now. There is one of the Ten Commandments that you do
not understand,--I mean one in particular. It is enough for you to know
the meaning of the one that says 'Thou shalt not steal.' You must not be
unhappy over what I have told you. Everything will be all right with
you. You will be safe here with granny and me. But you must no longer
believe that your father went to the war like other men in the village. If
he were MY son, I would---"
"Don't say it, Richard," cried Kenneth's grandma, from the doorway
behind them. "Don't ever say that to him."

CHAPTER I
SHELTER FOR THE NIGHT
Night was falling as two horsemen drew rein in front of a cabin at the
edge of a clearing in the far-reaching sombre forest. Their approach
across the stump-strewn tract had been heralded by the barking of
dogs,--two bristling beasts that came out upon the muddy, deep-rutted
road to greet them with furious inhospitality. A man stood partially
revealed in the doorway. His left arm and shoulder were screened from
view by the jamb, his head was bent forward as he peered intently
through narrowed eyes at the strangers in the road.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" he called out.
"Friends. How far is it to the tavern at Clark's Point?"

"Clark's Point is three miles back," replied the settler. "I guess you must
have passed it without seein' it," he added drily. "If it happened to be
rainin' when you come through you'd have missed seein' it fer the
raindrops. Where you bound fer?"
"Lafayette. I guess we're off the right road. We took the left turn four or
five miles back."
"You'd ought to have kept straight on. Come 'ere, Shep! You, Pete!
Down with ye!"
The two dogs, still bristling, slunk off in the direction of the squat log
barn. A woman appeared behind the man and stared out over his
shoulder. From the tall stone chimney at the back of the cabin rose the
blue