"Ah, my lad, you are your mother's son and mine. Some day you may
go back. Who knows? But--no, no. Canada is your country. Go back."
The lad still clutched him. "Boy," said his father, steadying his
voice with great effort and speaking quietly, "with us, in our
country, we learn first, obedience."

The lad dropped his hold.

"Good!" said the father. "You are my own son. You will yet be a man.
And now farewell."

He kissed them again. The boy broke into passionate sobbing.
Paulina came forward and, kneeling at the father's feet, put
her face to the floor.

"I will care for the son of my lord," she murmured.

But with never a look at her, the father strode to the door and
passed out into the night.

"Be the howly prophet!" cried Tim, wiping his eyes, "it's harrd,
it's harrd! An' it's the heart av a paythriot the lad carries
inside av him! An' may Hivin be about him!"




CHAPTER VI

THE GRIP OF BRITISH LAW