nties had ever been a time of
rejoicing in the community. The Macdonald gang were especially welcome,
for they always came back with honor and with the rewards of their
winter's work. There was always a series of welcoming gatherings in the
different homes represented in the gang, and there, in the midst of the
admiring company, tales would be told of the deeds done and the trials
endured, of the adventures on the river and the wonders of the cities
where they had been. All were welcome everywhere, and none more than Big
Mack Cameron. Brimming with good nature, and with a remarkable turn for
stories, he was the center of every group of young people wherever he
went; and at the "bees" for logging or for building or for cradling, Big
Mack was held in honor, for he was second in feats of strength only to
Macdonald Bhain himself. It was with no common grief that people heard
the word that they were bringing him home dead.

At the Sixteenth next morning, before the break of day, Ranald stood in
the gloom waiting for the coming of the teams. He had been up most of
the night and he was weary in body and sore at heart, but Macdonald
Bhain had trusted him, and there must be no mistake. One by one the
teams arrived. First to appear was Donald Ross, the elder. For years he
had given over the driving of his team to his boys, but to-day he felt
that respect to the family demanded his presence on such an errand as
this; and besides, he knew well that his son Dannie, Mack's special
chum, would expect him to so honor the home-coming of his dead friend.
Peter McGregor, fearing to leave his daughter for that long and lonely
day, sent his son John in his place. It was with difficulty that Mack's
father, Long John Cameron, had been persuaded to remain with the mother
and to allow Murdie to go in his stead.

The last to arrive was Farquhar McNaughton, Kirsty's Farquhar, with his
fine black team and new light wagon. To him was to be given the honor
of bearing the body home. Gravely they talked and planned, and then left
all to Ranald to execute.

"You will see to these things, Ranald, my man," said Donald Ross, with
the air of one giving solemn charge. "Let all things be done decently
and in order."

"I will try," said Ranald, simply. But Farquhar McNaughton looked at him
doubtfully.

"It is a peety," he said, "there is not one with more experience. He is
but a lad."

But Donald Ross had been much impressed with Ranald's capable manne