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Updated: June 21, 2025
The moment he passed within the door all sense of depression was gone. Out of their bare little wooden house the McIntyres had made a home, a place of comfort and of rest. True, the walls were without plaster, brown paper with factory cotton tacked over it taking its place, but they were wind-proof, and besides were most convenient for hanging things on.
Before the McIntyres could realise the situation, their maid, Mary, darted into the sitting-room with terror in her round freckled face: "If you please, miss," she screamed, "your tiger has arrove." "Good heavens!" cried Robert, rushing to the door with his half-filled teacup in his hand. "This is too much.
Suppose there were a village composed entirely of McIntyres and McIntoshes, and suppose that fashion compelled every McIntyre to marry a McIntosh, and every McIntosh a McIntyre, whilst to marry an outsider, say a McBean, was bad form for McIntyres and McIntoshes alike; then the two clans would be exogamous in respect to each other, whereas the village as a whole would be endogamous.
And, indeed, there was much to depress in the first look at the little board building that made a home for the McIntyres, set down on the treeless prairie with only a little wooden paling to defend it from the waste that gaped at it from every side.
Dugald MacKinnon, master of mathematics in Muirtown Seminary, and known as Bulldog to three generations of Muirtown lads. The Seminary perfectly understood that, besides our two chief enemies, the "Pennies" and McIntyres, there were, in the holes and corners of the town, obscure schools where little companies of boys got some kind of education and were not quite devoid of proper spirit.
He was on intimate terms with the McIntyres now, and there were few days on which they did not see something of each other. They gladly accompanied him, all three, for such invitations were usually the prelude of some agreeable surprise which he had in store for them. "I have shown you a tiger," he remarked to Laura, as he led them into the dining-room.
A sub-lieutenant in the Navy, he was home on leave at present, and hardly an evening passed without his making his way from the Vicarage to Elmdene, where the McIntyres resided. To-day, however, a note had reached them to the effect that he had been suddenly ordered on duty, and that he must rejoin his ship at Portsmouth by the next evening.
"But upon my word, Barbara appeared more overcome by Jimmie's death than Helen." Mrs. Brewster did not reply at once; instead, she glanced carefully around. The room was generally the rallying place of the McIntyres.
He had governed them with an iron hand, and they had been proud to be governed, considering the wounds of Bulldog ten thousand times more desirable than the kisses of McIntyres', but they would have one big revenge and then Bulldog and his "fiddlers" would part for ever.
In Los Angeles is a preacher by the name of McIntyre, a type of the blatant Bellarmine who exiled Galileo a man who never doubts his own infallibility, who talks like an oracle and continually tells of perdition for all who disagree with him. Needless to say that McIntyre lacks humor. Personally, I prefer the McGregors, but in Los Angeles the McIntyres are popular.
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