And Donald,--Donald would be held responsible! This jam must have
resulted through his carelessness. Before the world he would be
disgraced; before his Maker--the thought struck the old man with a
paralysing fear. He stood for a moment motionless, watching the
shifting, heaving, rumbling mass,--and then life seemed suddenly to
return.

"Run to the Glen, Archie!" he cried to the frightened boy. "Run,
laddie, and tell the folk at Peter McNabb's shop there will be a jam at
the Narrows!"

Archie was off down a cross track like a hare, Collie after him.
Duncan stooped down, feeling among the underbrush, and caught up a
stout pole. Grasping it he made his way hurriedly down the bank and
along the water's edge to the quaking, seething mass. Cautiously he
climbed out upon it, the water hissing about him in angry, spurting
jets. He could feel the pile rising beneath him with fearful rapidity.
A swift examination convinced Duncan of two startling truths--first,
the jam must be broken immediately, or it would be too late, and
second, he might break it, even with the small pole he held, but he was
neither young enough nor nimble enough to do it and save his own life.

And then, of a sudden, a thought struck him, as if a great light had
broken over his soul, an illumination which chased away all the dark,
weary shadows and fears of the past months. _The Sacrifice_! The
trial he had been dreading! Was this it? Merely the giving of a poor,
worn-out life, and the promised blessing would descend? He had failed
to save Donald and his father's home from sin and worldliness; but now
if he gave his life to save his boy from life-long regret and despair,
and his friends from sudden death, would not the Father accept this and
send the reward? A sense of overwhelming joy and hope seized the old
man. He grasped his pole tightly and went resolutely forward.

With the skilled eye of an old river-driver he soon discovered the
"key." Right beneath him lay the log that could unlock the huge,
groaning gateway, and let the impeded tide sweep safely down the
valley. Duncan leaned forward and pried at it with his pole, putting
into the work a strange strength he had not felt for many a year. The
mass creaked ominously. A gust of wind caught his old Scotch bonnet,
sending it whirling away into the darkness and tossing his white hair.
He struggled on, throwing his whole weight upon the pole with a
desperate energy, and praying with a