s Christianity."

"Can't help it," he replied doggedly. "We're going to be thoroughbreds
about this, no matter how much it hurts."

She sighed. "And you're only half Scotch, Donald."

XLIV

By noon of the following day, Port Agnew was astounded by news brought
by the crew of one of the light draft launches used to tow log rafts
down the river. Donald McKaye was working for Darrow. He was their
raftsman; he had been seen out on the log boom, pike pole in hand,
shoving logs in to the endless chain elevator that drew them up to the
seas. As might be imagined, Mrs. Daney was among the first to glean
this information, and to her husband she repeated it at luncheon with
every evidence of pleasure.

"Tut, tut, woman," he replied carelessly, "this is no news to me. He
told me yesterday after service that he had the job."

The familiar wrinkle appeared for an instant on the end of her nose
before she continued: "I wonder what The Laird thinks of that,
Andrew?"

"So do I," he parried skilfully.

"Does he know it?"

"There isn't a soul in Port Agnew with sufficient courage to tell
him."

"Why do you not tell him?"

"None of my business. Besides, I do not hanker to see people squirm
with suffering."

She wrinkled her nose once more and was silent.

As Mr. Daney had declared, there was none in Port Agnew possessed of
sufficient hardihood to inform the Laird of his son's lowly status and
it was three weeks before he discovered it for himself. He had gone
up the river to one of his logging camps and the humor had seized him
to make the trip in a fast little motor-boat he had given Donald at
Christmas many years' before. He was busy adjusting the carburetor,
after months of disuse, as he passed the Darrow log boom in the
morning, so he failed to see his big son leaping across the logs,
balancing himself skilfully with the pike pole.

It was rather late when he started home and in the knowledge that
darkness might find him well up the river he hurried.

Now, from the Bight of Tyee to a point some five miles above Darrow,
the Skookum flows in almost a straight line; the few bends are wide
and gradual, and when The Laird came to this home-stretch he urged the
boat to its maximum speed of twenty-eight miles per hour. Many a time
in happier days he had raced down this long stretch with Donald at the
helm, and he knew the river thoroughly; as he sped along he steered
mechanically, his mind occupied in a considera