y that gave token that the memory of the wild days of his
youth and early manhood were never far away from him. He was eager to
serve in the work, and was a constant source of wonder to all who had
known him in his youth and early manhood. At all the different meetings
he was present. Nothing could keep him away. "Night cometh," he said to
his brother, who was remonstrating with him. His day's work was drawing
to its close.

But Ranald would not let himself see the failing of his father's health,
and when, in the harvest, the slightest work in the fields would send
his father panting to the shade, Ranald would say, "It is the hot
weather, father. When the cool days come you will be better. And why
should you be bothering yourself with the work, anyway? Surely Yankee
and I can look after that." And indeed they seemed to be quite fit to
take off the harvest.

Day by day Ranald swung his cradle after Yankee with all a man's
steadiness till all the grain was cut; and by the time the harvest
was over, Ranald had developed a strength of muscle and a skill in the
harvest work that made him equal of almost any man in the country. He
was all the more eager to have the harvest work done in time, that his
father might not fret over his own inability to help. For Ranald could
not bear to see the look of disappointment that sometimes showed itself
in his father's face when weakness drove him from the field, and it was
this that made him throw himself into the work as he did. He was careful
also to consult with his father in regard to all the details of the
management of the farm, and to tell him all that he was planning to do
as well as all that was done. His father had always been a kind of hero
to Ranald, who admired him for his prowess with the gun and the ax, as
well as for his great strength and courage. But ever since calamity
had befallen him, the boy's heart had gone out to his father in a new
tenderness, and the last months had drawn the two very close together.
It was a dark day for Ranald when he was forced to face the fact that
his father was growing daily weaker. It was his uncle, Macdonald Bhain,
who finally made him see it.

"Your father is failing, Ranald," he said one day toward the close of
harvest.

"It is the hot weather," said Ranald. "He will be better in the fall."

"Ranald, my boy," said his uncle, gravely, "your father will fade with
the leaf, and the first snow will lie upon him."

And then Ranald fa