"Look at them!" cried the Reverend Harper Freeman, waving his hand
toward the kaleidoscopic gathering. "There's your Dominion Day oration
for you, Mr, Patterson."
"Most of it done in brown, too," chuckled his son, Harper Freeman, Jr.
"Yes, and set in jewels and gold," replied his father.
"You hold over me, Dad!" cried his son. "Here!" he called to Cameron,
who was standing aloof from the others. "Come and meet a brother Scot
and a brother piper, Mr. Sutherland from Zorra, though to your ignorant
Scottish ear that means nothing, but to every intelligent Canadian,
Zorra stands for all that's finest in brain and brawn in Canada."
"And it takes both to play the pipes, eh, Sutherland?" said the M.P.P.
"Oh aye, but mostly wind," said the piper.
"Just like politics, eh, Mr. Patterson?" said the Reverend Harper
Freeman.
"Yes, or like preaching," replied the M.P.P.
"One on you, Dad!" said the irrepressible Fatty.
Meantime Sutherland was warmly complimenting Cameron on his playing.
"You haf been well taught," he said.
"No one taught me," said Cameron. "But we had a famous old piper at home
in our Glen, Macpherson was his name."
"Macpherson! Did he effer play at the Braemar gathering?"
"Yes, but Maclennan beat him."
"Maclennan! I haf heard him." The tone was quite sufficient to classify
the unhappy Maclennan.
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