Early in the afternoon the crowds began to gather to MacBurney's woods, a beautiful maple grove lying midway between the Haleys' farm and Maplehill village, about two miles distant from each. The grove of noble maple trees overlooking a grassy meadow provided an ideal spot for picnicking, furnishing as it did both shade from the sun and a fine open space with firm footing for the contestants in the games. High over a noble maple in the centre of the grassy meadow floated the Red Ensign of the Empire, which, with the Canadian coat of arms on the fly, by common usage had become the national flag of Canada. From the great trees the swings were hung, and under their noble spreading boughs were placed the tables, and the platform for the speech making and the dancing, while at the base of the encircling hills surrounding the grassy meadow, hard by the grove another platform was placed, from which distinguished visitors might view with ease and comfort the contests upon the campus immediately adjacent.
Through the fence, let down for the purpose, the people drove in from the high road. They came in top buggies and in lumber wagons, in democrats and in "three seated rigs," while from the city came a "four-in-hand" with McGee, Cahill, and their backers, as well as other carriages filled with good citizens of London drawn thither by the promise of a day's sport of more than usual excellence or by the lure of a day in the woods and fields of God's open country. A specially fine carriage and pair, owned and driven by the honourable member of Parliament himself, conveyed Piper Sutherland, with colours streaming and pipes playing, to the picnic grounds. Warmly was the old piper welcomed, not only by the frisky cheery secretary, but by many old friends, and by none more warmly than by the Reverend Alexander Munro, the douce old bachelor Presbyterian minister of Maplehill, a great lover of the pipes and a special friend of Piper Sutherland. But the welcome was hardly over when once more the sound of the pipes was heard far up the side line.
"Surely that will be Gunn," said Mr. Munro.
Sutherland listened for a minute or two.
"No, it iss not Gunn. Iss Ross coming? No, yon iss not Ross.
That will be a stranger," he continued, turning to the secretary, but the secretary remained silent, enjoying the old man's surprise and perplexity.
"Man, that iss not so bad piping! Not so bad at all! Who iss it?" he added with some impatience, turning upon the secretary again.
"Oh, that's Haley's team and I guess that's his hired man, a young fellow just out from Scotland," replied the secretary indifferently.
"I am no great judge of the pipes myself, but he strikes me as a crackajack and I shouldn't be surprised if he would make you all sit up."
But the old piper's ear was closed to his words and open only to the strains of music ever drawing nearer.
"Aye, yon's a piper!" he said at length with emphasis. "Yon's a piper!"
"I only wish I had discovered him in time for a competition," said Fatty regretfully.
"Aye," said Sutherland. "Yon's a piper worth playing against."
And very brave and gallant young Cameron looked as Tim swung his team through the fence and up to the platform under the trees where the great ones of the people were standing in groups. They were all there, Patterson the M.P.P., and Dr. Kane the Opposition candidate, Reeve Robertson, for ten years the Municipal head of his county, Inspector Grant, a little man with a massive head and a luminous eye, Patterson's understudy and generally regarded as his successor in Provincial politics, the Reverend Harper Freeman, Methodist minister, tall and lank, with shrewd kindly face and a twinkling eye, the Reverend Alexander Munro, the Presbyterian minister, solid and sedate, slow to take fire but when kindled a very furnace for heat. These, with their various wives and daughters, such as had them, and many others less notable but no less important, constituted a sort of informal reception committee under Fatty Freeman's general direction and management. And here and there and everywhere crowds of young men and maidens, conspicuous among the latter Isa MacKenzie and her special friends, made merry with each other, as brave and gallant a company of sturdy sun-browned youths and bonnie wholesome lassies as any land or age could ever show.
"Look at them!" cried the Reverend Harper Freeman, waving his hand toward the kaleidoscopic gathering. "There's your Dominion Day oration for you, Mr, Patterson."
"Most of it done in brown, too," chuckled his son, Harper Freeman, Jr.
"Yes, and set in jewels and gold," replied his father.
"You hold over me, Dad!" cried his son. "Here!" he called to Cameron, who was standing aloof from the others. "Come and meet a brother Scot and a brother piper, Mr. Sutherland from Zorra, though to your ignorant Scottish ear that means nothing, but to every intelligent Canadian, Zorra stands for all that's finest in brain and brawn in Canada."
"And it takes both to play the pipes, eh, Sutherland?" said the M.P.P.
"Oh aye, but mostly wind," said the piper.
"Just like politics, eh, Mr. Patterson?" said the Reverend Harper Freeman.
"Yes, or like preaching," replied the M.P.P.
"One on you, Dad!" said the irrepressible Fatty.
Meantime Sutherland was warmly complimenting Cameron on his playing.
"You haf been well taught," he said.
"No one taught me," said Cameron. "But we had a famous old piper at home in our Glen, Macpherson was his name."
"Macpherson! Did he effer play at the Braemar gathering?"
"Yes, but Maclennan beat him."
"Maclennan! I haf heard him." The tone was quite sufficient to classify the unhappy Maclennan. "And I haf heard Macpherson too.
You iss a player. None of the fal-de-rals of your modern players, but grand and mighty."
"I agree with you entirely," replied Cameron, his heart warming at the praise of his old friend of the Glen Cuagh Oir. "But," he added, "Maclennan is a great player too."
