Woodside, happy home of Willie, old Bill the horse, Bella, mother Isabel (seated), Jennie, Max (seated), and Fanny (who is hiding under the table).

      A lawyer, newspaperman, and active Liberal politician, King admired reformers such as the speaker. He also held his wife’s father, William Lyon Mackenzie, in great esteem. Some people referred sneeringly to the leader of the Upper Canadian Rebellion of 1837 as a notorious rebel who had incited the people. King felt, however, Mackenzie was an example of those who fought for justice. As a newspaperman, mayor of York (which became Toronto), and a member of the Legislative Assembly, Mackenzie had witnessed the actions of the British government, which he felt were unfair in dealing with the people of the colony. He saw his fellow men as enslaved and oppressed at the hands of a few privileged people he dubbed the “Family Compact.” As an editor and politician he first tried to make changes peacefully, but by 1837 the time to seek reform quietly had passed. In 1837 Mackenzie urged armed action – rebellion!

      By 1874 Mackenzie had been dead for more than a dozen years. Although his brave attempt had failed, many of the reforms he believed in had come to pass. John King’s generation enjoyed the benefits of being able to vote for responsible government, but as the speaker that day pointed out, there were the issues that still required change. King himself might put up his fists to defend his personal honour, but he wasn’t such a hothead that he charged about with mobs waving pikes and pitchforks. After all, he and his wife were expecting their first child, William Lyon Mackenzie’s grandchild.

      Before King could settle into listening again, he felt an urgent tapping on his shoulder.

      “Mr. King, a message. It’s your wife. They’ve already sent for the doctor.”

      John stood up, half knocking over his chair. Something was very wrong. Isabel was not expected to have the baby for another month. He needed to be back at Benton Street as fast as a horse could get him there.

      John and Isabel already had a beautiful year-old daughter, Isabel or Bella. Bella had gone to John’s Uncle Dougall Macdougall’s house. There she would stay with her Grandmamma, John’s mother, Christina King, and his Aunt Flora. John was free to do a lot of pacing and hand wringing. It was a cold night. Fetching wood and stoking the fire in the wood stove kept him busy.

      Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Dr. Bowlby appeared in the bedroom door holding a bundle. “I’d like to announce the safe arrival of a baby boy!” he trumpeted. “Mother and baby are doing well.” The doctor neared the wood stove and unfolded a corner of the blanket.

      King peered at the red, scrunchy face of his newborn son. “Well, well, well,” he admired. “I have decided,” he told his wee lad softly, “and your mother agreed, that we shall call you William Lyon Mackenzie.” He glanced at Bowlby, his eyes twinkling merrily. “William Lyon Mackenzie King has a nice ring to it, an important ring, don’t you think?” And then he answered himself, “Why yes, it does.”