ys. It was one of those things he would always be
fighting against, and Granny kept him back, too. He would be often
going to speak of the Captain, when she would stop him." Scotty's tone
was gloomy. This last surviving feud of his warlike grandfather
weighed heavily upon his soul. For, indeed, matters had gone sadly
wrong in Scotty's world lately, and life was proving a very hard and
sordid business.

Monteith said no more, but the next morning he set off for his friend's
house, determined to settle once for all those questions which had been
troubling him ever since he had learned that young Ralph Stanwell
lived. Something must be done with Ralph, and that right away. He had
taught him as far as he could, and the boy must not be allowed to waste
his talents in the backwoods.

The Grange, Captain Herbert's residence on the shore of Lake Oro, was a
different building from the homes of the people among whom the
schoolmaster lived; for its owner belonged to the fortunate class for
whom life during the early settlement of the country had been made easy
by money and political influence.

The house, a long, low, white stone building with plenty of broad
verandahs, stood close to the water's edge, sheltered by a stately oak
grove. It was surrounded by wide lawns and a garden, all now covered
with their winter blanket.

As Monteith went up the broad, well-shovelled path, a crowd of dogs of
all sizes came tearing round the house from the rear with a tumult of
barking. He stooped to fondle a little terrier, and when he looked up
the master of the house was coming down the steps with outstretched
hands.

"By Jove, Archie!" he cried, his face shining with pleasure, "I'd
almost come to the conclusion that the Fighting MacDonalds had eaten
you alive! Why, we haven't seen you since October, and I've been
blue-moulding for somebody to talk to. Well, I _am_ glad to see you.
Get down, you confounded brute! Come in. Come in. Why, you certainly
are a stranger. And just at the right moment, too! I'm all alone.
Brian drove Eleanor and Belle to Barbay this morning. Get out, you
infernal curs! Those dogs all ought to be shot!"

And so, talking loud and fast, as was his manner, the hearty Captain
led the way into the house. A small room at the left of the hall, with
two windows looking out upon the ice-bound lake, constituted the
Captain's private den. A bright wood fire blazed in the open grate.
The host drew up a