didn't."

"I know," said Donald dully. "It's all right; run off now. And look
here, Neil, not a word about this to anyone, remember, and you and the
other boys be at the platform when Mr. Watson wants you."

Neil promised and ran swiftly back to the river. Left alone, Donald
glanced about anxiously and was much relieved to see no one near.
Personally, he did not care if he had been seen, but he knew that
Duncan Polite's happiness would be at an end if he knew his nephew had
been fighting the minister. With a heavy heart he walked slowly back
to where the boys were pitching quoits. He was equally enraged at
himself for starting the fight and for not insisting upon finishing it,
yes, even though all the congregation of Glenoro Presbyterian Church,
elders included, had been watching. But above all, the sense of the
disgrace he had brought upon himself and all that his uncle held dear
weighed upon the boy's heart. Jessie was at leisure now, standing with
a group of girls near the swing, but he could not go and ask her to
swing with him after what he had done. He was tormented by the thought
that she might blame him if she knew. So he turned and wandered off
alone into the depths of the woods, farther down the river, full of
anger and misery.

The first tables were being filled when he returned. He found an
excited group gathered around one of them.

"Mr. Egerton's sick!" cried Wee Andra, as Donald approached; "Watson
took him home."

"I wonder if it was a sunstroke, poor young man!" exclaimed Mrs.
McNabb, bustling about with motherly anxiety. "I'm going to run home
and see, and if he isn't any better I'll not come back. Liza, you and
Mrs. Johnstone'll have to 'tend to those sandwiches. Dear, dear, isn't
it a dreadful pity!"

Mrs. Fraser was already on her way to the afflicted one, and in the
bustle and consternation Donald was able to hide his perturbation. He
was filled with compunction at the havoc he had unwittingly wrought,
for he knew the minister's disfigured face prevented his appearance in
public.

A gloom seemed to be thrown over the whole festivity. The minister's
sudden affliction was the one subject of conversation at the tea-table.
The usual mirth and jollity gave place to a quiet gravity which might
have satisfied even Splinterin' Andra. The schoolmaster did not
return, so the original programme was dropped altogether. Instead of
the grand-march and chorus which was to open the exerc