n the crackling
underbrush could be heard. Scotty could discern a dim figure coming
towards his fire. He stood up as it approached. The old man with his
long white beard, his bare silver head, for he carried his hat
reverently, his tall, gaunt figure and piercing eye gave the young man
the impression of one of the great men of Bible times, Isaiah, or that
one who preached in the wilderness beyond Jordan and called to his
hearers to make straight the paths for the coming of the Messiah.

With the mutual feeling of friendship that arises between men in the
lonely places of the earth, the two met with outstretched hands.

A smile of pleasure at the open face and fine physique of his
unexpected host flashed over the old man's face.

"Big Malcolm MacDonald's grandson!" he cried, when Scotty had
introduced himself. "Oh, yes, indeed, I know Big Malcolm well,"--he
shook the young man's hand once more: "Ah yes, it was his eldest son's
funeral that first took me to the Oa. God moves in a mysterious way,
indeed. And you were but a child then, and now you are a man. And it
is a good thing to be standing upon the threshold of life, is it not?"

A good thing? Scotty would have given a most emphatic affirmative in
response some months before, but now he was doubtful.

"Yes," he said hesitatingly, "in some ways. But how do you happen to
be away back here alone, Mr. McAlpine?"

The minister explained his presence. He had been asked to go to Barbay
to assist with the sacrament on the following Sabbath, and had intended
to spend the night with a friend and take the stage out in the morning.

"But I could not wait," he concluded, "I was constrained to come on."
There was that strange gleam in his eye which had always so filled
Scotty with awe in his childhood. The young man understood. Mr.
McAlpine's burning restlessness, his erratic way of making arrangements
to be driven to certain places, and then suddenly setting out in the
dead of night to walk prodigious distances had been the wondering talk
of the Oa since he was a child. For this man carried a burden of souls
that gave him no rest day or night, and that even now, when he was
broken and aged, sometimes drove him to stupendous labour.

"But you will surely stay here to-night!" cried Scotty, feeling in the
capacity of host even in this wild tangle of forest growth. "I am
camping, but there is plenty of room in the shanty, and I can cook you
some supper."

The o