ed his life, had he really come between him and Jessie?
Then there were those wild young men at the lumber camp; he knew most
of them personally. As their pastor, should he not go to them? That
would be rather difficult with Donald there. And then, he asked
himself bitterly, what good would he do if he did go? He had always
been a good fellow among the boys, but what more? His conscience
forbade a satisfactory answer, and his spirits sank to a very low ebb.

He was aroused from his melancholy heart-searchings by the sight of
Duncan Polite's little shanty by the roadside, with the sunset glow
reflected in flame from the window panes. He must call and see if the
old man's cold were better. He was not at all remiss in his duties of
this sort and was so kind and sympathetic in time of sickness that he
was always welcome. But he had not visited Duncan Polite very often,
though the old man had been ill all winter. Ever since the night John
Egerton had heard him wrestling in prayer, and had guessed dimly at
what manner of man the silent old hermit was, he had felt uncomfortable
in his presence. But to-night he realised that he should not pass
without dropping in just a moment to see how he was progressing.

Duncan Polite answered his knock. He had an old plaid of the McDonald
tartan over his shoulders, his face was white and emaciated, and a
cough frequently interrupted his utterance. But his eyes were as
bright as ever, and his face full of kindness. He welcomed his young
pastor warmly.

"Eh, Mr. Egerton," he cried, smiling brightly at this young man who was
breaking his heart. "Indeed it would be kind to come and see an old
man, and the roads breaking up, whatever. Come away in, come away;" he
drew up his best chair to the fire, and set his guest into it, bustling
around and in every way he could ministering to his comfort.

The young man put his feet upon the damper of the stove, and tilted his
chair back in the free and easy manner which had charmed Glenoro. "And
how's that troublesome cough to-day, Mr. McDonald? better, I hope?"

"Oh jist, jist! It will be nearly gone, indeed. Betsey will be giving
me drugs; but hoots, toots, the weemen must be potterin' about a body.
I will not be sick at all, oh no indeed."

The minister knew that he ought to ask after Donald, but he could not
bring himself to do so. Instead, he said, "I hear your nephew has a
fine quantity of logs to bring down to the mill."