ugged constitution than is the possession of the
average pioneer. His face was handsome, with regular, clearly cut
features and a pair of wonderful eyes, dark and deep set, with a wealth
of kindness in their brown depths and a mysterious pathos which spoke
of a poetic soul beneath.

Duncan Polite, the people of the neighbourhood called him, partly
because the name was descriptive of his gentle, courteous nature, and
partly because, among the many McDonalds of these Canadian Highlands,
to which clan he belonged, names were so often repeated that the only
appellation of any use to a man was the special and distinguishing one,
complimentary or otherwise, bestowed upon him by his neighbours.
Indeed, such was the dearth of original names that it is on record that
old Ian McAllister, the first schoolmaster in the McDonald settlement,
was often compelled as he flung his tawse across the room at some
focussed point of mischief behind the stove, to pause even at the
boiling-point of his wrath, to deliver himself of some such explanation
of the case as:

"Fiddlin' Archie's Archie, an' Squintin' Archie's Duncan, an' you,
Black Sandy More, come up here or Ah'll smash every curse o' a McDonald
in the school!"

But among all the McDonalds there was only one whose character demanded
such a title as belonged to Duncan Polite. He stood for a moment this
morning, in his doorway, gazing over the sun-bathed fields, all green
and gold in their early summer dress, then went back into the room,
returning the next moment carrying an old leather-bound Bible. He
spread his big red handkerchief upon the doorstep to protect his
Sabbath clothes from possible contact with dust, and seated himself
upon it, the open Book on his knee.

Everything in his little bachelor domain was in perfect order; the path
to the gate, with its bright border of flowers, was swept as clean as
the spotless floor within the log shanty; the old stove in the centre
of the kitchen, the big, high cupboard with its rows of shining dishes,
the old clock ticking in a solemn muffled tone from its place on the
dresser, and the bare pine table were all in a condition of beautiful
dazzling cleanliness. A condition befitting the day, Duncan felt, for
it was Sabbath morning, and now he sat awaiting the coming of his old
friend, with whom it had been his custom, for more than thirty years,
to walk down the valley to church, rain or shine, snow storm or blazing
heat.

Collie