the subject of his thoughts. Nancy was certainly
worth a stare; in spite of the fact that she was still at school, she
was quite one of the young ladies of the Flats, and when occasion
demanded could deport herself quite becoming the name. Her black,
curly hair was tied up with a scarlet ribbon that matched her cheeks,
her eyes were Irish blue, limpid and dancing, and she had a dimple in
the centre of her saucy chin.

Seeing Callum so absorbed, Scotty slid softly up to him. "That's
Nancy!" he whispered proudly.

"Is it?" said Callum, with an air of surprise. "Where?"

"Why, there beside Granny, where you're lookin'. Ain't she pretty?"

"Oh, I guess so." Callum showed an indifference that greatly
disappointed his nephew. Probably, though, he considered, Callum would
not think of admiring an Irish girl.

At that moment the girl raised her eyes and glanced in their direction.
She encountered Scotty's eager gaze, and returned it with a brilliant,
laughing glance; then her eyes met Callum's and she instantly turned
away with a coquettish toss of her head. Scotty felt she surely might
have smiled at Callum, too. He glanced up at the young man again and
was rather troubled. He was sure Callum must be very angry at either
him or Nancy, for he had never seen his face get red like that unless
he were in a rage.

But, meantime, Praying Donald had finished the interrupted psalm and
Roarin' Sandy had started the tune. The elder men caught it up, then
the women, and lastly the young men about the stove, and the song
swelled out slow and solemn, the deep, full-chested notes rolling out
into the winter night where the glittering stars and the solemn, silent
forest seemed to give back in grand reverberations the words:

"He put a new song in my mouth
Our God to magnify!"

In the hush that followed, Praying Donald read a chapter from the Holy
Word, read it in tones that arrested the most careless listener, and
even Scotty felt a little tingle go over him at the yearning words:

"As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after
thee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God."

And then they all knelt in prayer, old and young, serious and careless;
all bowed before the God for whom their souls, whether they realised it
or not, panted as the hart for the cooling streams.

The prayers were all the heartfelt repetition of the sentiment
expressed in the psalm. These pioneers were