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Updated: July 18, 2025
He closed his eyes to shut out that picture, his hands clenched on the arms of his chair. "No," he said, raising his hand in solemn affirmation, "as the Lord God liveth, while I stay he stays." "Come in," he said, in answer to a timid tap at the office door. Mr. Wickes laid a file before him. It needed only a rapid survey of the sheets to give him the whole story.
Yes, by Jove, it was worth it all to be able to give a man like Stephen Wickes to his country. For Stephen Wickes was a fine stalwart lad, a good soldier, steady as a rock, with a patient, cheery courage that nothing could daunt or break. But for a man's self was it worth while? Jack had no thought of wife and family. There was Adrien.
"A what? A Grievance Committee!" he exclaimed to Wickes, when the old bookkeeper came announcing such a deputation. "That's what they call themselves, sir," said Wickes, his tone of disgust disclaiming all association with any such organization. "A Grievance Committee?" said Mr. Maitland again. "Well, I'll be! What do they want? Who are they?
"Well, look here, Master Wickes; you chose a good time. If I had had trousers on, and waterproof leggings over them, do you know where you would be at the present moment? You would be having an interesting conversation with a number of lobsters at the bottom of the sea off the Colonsay shores. And so you thought because I had my kilt on, that I could fish you out of the water?"
A child, for instance, flying in a paroxysm of fear from Sam's hideously contorted face furnished acute satisfaction. It fell naturally enough that little Steve Wickes, the timid, shrinking, humpbacked son of the dead soldier, Stephen Wickes, afforded Sam many opportunities of rare pleasure.
Wickes stood silent, overwhelmed in dismayed self-condemnation. "It seems difficult somehow to get orders through, sir, these days," he said after a pause. "Difficult? What is the difficulty? The men are there, the machines are there, the material is in the yard. Why the delay? And look at this. Here is a lot of material gone to the scrap heap, the finest spruce ever grown in Canada too.
On the side of the high road, along which the car of Jagganath is dragged every year, the missionaries purchased a site and built a preaching place, a school, a house for Gokool, and a room for the old widow, at the cost of Captain Wickes, who had rejoiced to witness their baptism.
The two men stood facing each other for a few minutes, with hands clasped, Maitland's face stern and set, Wickes' working in a pitiful effort to stay the tears that ran down his cheeks, to choke back the sobs that shook his old body as if in the grip of some unseen powerful hand. "We must find a way," said Maitland, when he felt sure of his voice. "Some way, but not that way. Sit down.
"You have made a lot out of it and you gave as fine a boy as ever stepped in uniform to your country. We were all proud of Stephen, every man of us." "I know that, sir, and he often wrote the wife about you, sir, which we don't forget, sir. Of course, it's hard on her and the boys just coming up to be somethin' at the school." "By the way, Wickes, how are they doing? Two of them, aren't there?
Macleod got into Castle Dare by a back way, and changed his clothes in his own room. Then he went away upstairs to the small chamber in which Johnny Wickes lay in bed. "You have had the soup, then? You look pretty comfortable." "Yes, sir," said the boy, whose face was now flushed red with the reaction after the cold. "I beg your pardon, sir." "For tumbling into the water?" "Yes, sir."
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