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Updated: May 8, 2025
"What a Christmas Day!" was again his thought, while he dragged before his mind's eye old pictures of his English home, his dead mother, Santa Claus stockings, and all sorts of pathetic things. He resolved to quit Redford on the morrow, and spend the last hours of his leave in establishing his son elsewhere. Then Mary Pennycuick came out to him, with that son in her arms.
It looked like a murder case, and so Superintendent Sanders put our old friend Constable Pennycuick, who had unearthed O'Brien in the Yukon, on the trail of Cashel. Every detachment of the Police was put on the scent. In a while a man, answering Cashel's description, stole a diamond ring up in the edge of the mountains and, despite great cunning, was arrested by Constable Blyth at Anthracite.
Pennycuick traced Cashel's route from Belt's to near Calgary with Belt's clothes, horse, saddle and the aforesaid $50.00 gold certificate. But thus far there was no evidence that Belt was not alive somewhere, and so Cashel was tried for stealing and sentenced to the penitentiary.
Mr Pennycuick spat neatly and with precision over the verandah floor into a flower-bed. "But these mother's darlings you know them. If Mrs Dalzell could see him now, I daresay she'd be bursting with pride, for there's no denying that he's a smart-looking chap. But his father would be ashamed of him." "Daddy dear!" Mary gently expostulated. "So he would.
Frances Ewing was a shady name thereafter, to those "in the know". Pennycuick blood and pride notwithstanding, she seemed to lose her own sustaining self-respect when she lost the respect of the man she loved when he showed her with such barbarous and uncompromising candour the essential difference between a mistress and a wife.
With bent head and puckered eyelids, Guthrie peered under, and read: "Yours, M. C.," written on a space of paper hardly larger than a pin's head. "In my valentine that night," said Mr Pennycuick, "I'd asked her to have me. I didn't hide it up in this way; I knew, while I wondered that she took no notice, that she must have seen it. This was her answer.
"She's the best horsewoman in the country," Jim Urquhart commented slowly, after a still pause. He was a slow to some people a dull and heavy man, who talked little, and less of Deborah Pennycuick than of any subject in the world his world. "And what a howling beauty!" the sailor added, in the same whisper of awe.
She shall take the name of Pennycuick, and be my daughter, and my heiress, and the future representative of the family. And," she added, for her own inward ear, "we can live at home or somewhere, if necessary, where Breens and such will not have the chance to interfere with us." "As if I would give my baby away," Rose sweetly jeered her "even for a kingdom!"
Mrs Urquhart and Mrs Pennycuick, plain, brave, working women of the rough old times, wives of high-born husbands, incapable of companioning them as they companioned each other, had been great friends.
Oh, I don't understand it I can't; it's too monstrous except that I have her word for it. She says she did it, and so there it is. And, sir, I beg your pardon on behalf of the house that she has disgraced the house that reared her and thought her so different " He gulped, coughed, and gave Guthrie a chance to put in a word. "Mr Pennycuick, the simple fact is that I made love to your daughter "
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