se, his
wife, promoted to the dignified title of Mammy Viney, had returned with
her little girl to the Algonquin Manse, and there she was still.

"And your father has you home at last, Roderick," said the minister,
rubbing his hands with pleasure and surveying the young man's fine
honest face with affection. "He has lived for this day. I hope you
won't get so absorbed in your practice that you won't be able to run
out to the farm often."

"Aunt Kirsty will see to that," laughed Roderick.

The minister beamed. "I'm afraid I shall get into her bad books then,
for I am going to keep you here as often as possible. You are just the
young man I want in the church, Roderick--one who will be a leader of
the young men. Algonquin is changing," he added sadly. "Perhaps
because it is growing rapidly. I am afraid there is a rather fast set
of young men being developed here. It makes my heart ache to see fine
young fellows like Fred Hamilton and Walter Armstrong learning to
gamble, and yet that is just what is happening. There's a great work
here for a strong young man with just your upbringing, my boy. We must
save these lads from themselves--'Who knoweth,'" he added with a smile,
"'but thou hast come to the Kingdom for such an hour.'"

There was a great deal more of the same earnest call to work, and
Roderick went away conscious of a slight feeling of impatience. It was
just what his father was always saying, but how was he to attend to his
work, if he were to have all the responsibility of the young men of the
town and all the people of Willow Lane upon him? He was inclined to
think that every man should be responsible for himself. He was
kind-hearted and generous when the impulse came, but he did not want to
be reminded that his life's work was to be his brother's keeper. His
work was to be a lawyer. He did not yet realise that in being his
brother's keeper he would make of himself the best kind of lawyer.

The next evening, when he prepared to go home, Lawyer Ed declared he
must just take his horse and drive him out to the farm and have a visit
with Angus and a drink of Aunt Kirsty's butter-milk. So, early in the
evening, they drove through the town down towards the Pine Road.
Willow Lane still stood there. The old houses were more dilapidated
than ever, and there were more now than there used to be. Doctor
Blair's horse and buggy stood before one of them. Willow Lane was on
low, swampy ground, and was th