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Updated: June 18, 2025
The failure was only apparent; the success was this mighty one that he did not go lower, he did not leave Fentown Falls for the next town upon the river, a place called The Mills, where his life could have been much worse. He fell in love with Ann Markham; and although she was the daughter of the wickedest man in Fentown, she was according to the phraseology of the place "a lady."
In the days when there were not many people in Fentown Falls, and when much money was made by the lumber trade, Bartholomew Toyner's father grew rich. He was a Scotchman, not without some education, and was ambitious for his son; but he was a hard, ill-tempered man, and consequently neither his example nor his precepts carried any weight whatever with the son when he was grown.
They brought him home and buried him decently at Fentown for his daughter's sake. Toyner lay ill for weeks in the little wooden hospital at The Mills. When Toyner was well he came home again.
We, who believe in the truth of religion, must hold our own if we can." I was to be the master of the new schools. I pleased him with my assent. "I am rather sorry," he continued, "to tell the truth, that you should begin your social life in Fentown by visiting Mr. Toyner; but of course this afternoon it is merely a public reception, and after a time you will be able to judge for yourself.
"Until Markham is arrested, you know, and every one else at Fentown knows, that it is my duty to see that you don't communicate with him. You've fooled me to-night, and I'll have to keep closer watch; but if you don't want me to do the watching, I can pay another man." She had hoped faintly that he would have shown himself less resolute; now there was only one thing to be done.
"I have always been your friend, Ann," said Toyner sadly. Ann tossed her head. "Not with my leave." "No," he assented; "but I want to tell you now that if we can't get on Markham's track I shall have to spy on you. You'll help him if you can, of course." "I don't know where he is," said Ann sullenly. People in Fentown went to sleep early.
Yet just immediately at Fentown there is neither marsh nor dead tree; the river dashes over its ledge of rock in a foaming flood, runs shallow and rapid between green woods, and all about the town there are breezy pastures where the stumps are still standing, and arable lands well cleared. The little town itself has a thriving look.
Its public buildings and its villas have risen, as by the sweep of an enchanter's wand, in these backwoods to the south of the Ottawa valley. There was a day when I came a stranger to Fentown. The occasion of my coming was a meeting concerning the opening of new schools for the town schools on a large and ambitious plan for so small a place.
There was a young man in Fentown called David Brown, a comely young fellow, belonging to one of the richer families of the place. He was good-natured, and an athlete; he had of late fallen into the habit of dropping in frequently to drink Ann's beer. She felt no doubt that Christa was his attraction.
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