ir winter's wages at a little old tavern, a remnant of earlier
and rougher days, which stood where the river left Lake Oro. Under any
other circumstances Donald would have exercised a restraining influence
upon Sandy and the boys of his acquaintance, but just now his heart was
angry and reckless. So the wild revelry suffered no abatement because
of his presence.

Duncan Polite waited anxiously for the boys' return, the dread of
impending disaster hanging over his spirit. The weather changed to
sudden warmth, however, and brought to the old man a renewal of
strength and the hope that Donald would soon be with him. He was well
enough to go to church the next Sabbath, the first time in many months.
Andrew Johnstone was so pleased to have his old friend with him again
that his stick never moved from its peaceful position in the rear, and
he even forbore to make any caustic remarks about the minister.

His spirits were only in keeping with the day. Spring had descended
upon the world with a sudden dazzling rush. The air was clear and
intoxicatingly fresh; blinding white clouds raced joyously across the
radiant blue. As Duncan passed through the gate an early robin,
swinging in the tall elm, poured out his ecstatic little heart in
hysterical song. Everywhere was water, water, rushing down the hills
in a thousand mad rivulets, flashing in the sunlight like chains of
diamonds and filling the air with their song of wild freedom. And
through the valley came the river, a monster now, roaring down its
narrow channel and swirling out past the church as if it would carry
away the village.

As the two old men walked slowly up the hill on the way home they heard
the news for which Duncan had been anxiously waiting: the ice on the
lake had broken, and the boys intended to bring down their lumber on
the morrow.

The next day passed, warm and sunshiny, but Donald Neil's logs did not
appear in the Glenoro millpond. Duncan sat at his window in the dusk
of the evening, expecting every moment to see Donald coming up the path
to tell him their work was finished. But the night was descending, and
Donald had not come. A great dread had taken hold of the old man's
heart, a dread he could not explain. He knew that both Donald and
Sandy were expert river drivers, but he could not reason himself out of
the fear that the crisis had come. This sacrifice towards which he had
been looking for so many months, was it near? And what woul