stopped
overcome.

Donald turned away; he felt guilty of the worst brutality. He put on
his overcoat silently, and then came back to the old armchair. "I've
been nothing but a burden and a trouble to you all my life," he said
bitterly.

"Wheesh, wheesht, laddie!" cried Duncan Polite. "What would my life be
without you? You must not be saying such things, child, for you would
be a credit to us all, indeed. And I will jist be praying that the
Shepherd will be leading you to the fold."

Donald went away, humble and heart-sore. His home-coming had been a
double grief to him. His faint hopes of a reconciliation with Jessie
had been crushed, and now he was wounding most cruelly his best friend.
He took no thought of another Friend, still kinder, whom he was
wounding. And indeed had Donald been able, by an effort of his will,
to be at that moment all his uncle desired, he would have done so. But
he had cast away his anchor, in a moment of self-sufficiency and it
would be hard to find it again. He could not know that a season was
coming swiftly upon him, a season of storm and stress, when that
discarded anchor would be his only stay, and the nearness with which he
came to missing his hold upon it forever changed his whole future life.

XV

THE SACRIFICE

If Donald could have guessed that someone in Glenoro was watching and
waiting for him in alternate hope and fear, he might not have been in
such haste to get away. But he remained only one day at home, and
then, without even visiting the village, set off to join Sandy at the
camp.

He found the men ensconced in a rough shanty in the woods north of Lake
Oro. A large belt of timber in that region belonged to the Neil boys
and Sandy had taken the contract of supplying the Glenoro mill with
logs for the coming season. But he found that commanding such an
enterprise was no easy task, and he handed over the responsibility with
much relief to Donald. The cutting and hauling had been almost
completed, and now all that was needed was an open lake to float the
logs across to the river and thence down to the village. The Oro was
already free of ice, rushing along, high and swollen with the melting
snow. A few days more of sun and wind would clear the lake also, and
send its winter fetters crashing up on the shore.

So when Donald arrived the camp was not very busy, though it was
exceedingly lively. The men had plenty of leisure, and they spent it
and the