and demanded angrily what in thunder it meant by trying to
eat all the grass off the roadside like a fool of an old cow, and then
he rose valiantly to the Lad's defence.

"Hut, tut, Angus!" he cried blusteringly. "Such nonsense! You know as
well as I do that the Lad didn't want to leave. I fairly drove him
away. Pshaw! never mind the Holy Land. We're all journeying to it
together, anyway. And as for my business--somebody else'll turn up. I
always felt Algonquin would be too small for Rod. You'll see he'll
make a name for himself that'll make us all proud."

He did it splendidly, and Angus was comforted. He blamed himself for
what he termed his lack of faith in the boy and in his Father. And
many a night, as he sat late by his fire, trying to reason himself into
cheerful resignation, he recalled Edward's words hopefully. Yes, he
surely ought to be proud and glad that the Lad was going out into a
wider service. He was leaving him alone, on his Jericho Road, here,
but that was only because the Father needed him for a busier highway,
where thieves were crueller and more numerous.

As the autumn passed and the time for leaving approached, the Lad ran
out very often to the farm. His visits were a constantly increasing
source of discomfort--both to heart and conscience. His father's
gallant attempts at cheerfulness, and his sublime assurance that his
son was going away to do a greater work for the Master stung Roderick
to the quick. That Master, whom he had long ago left out of his life's
plan, had said, "Ye cannot serve God and Mammon." And from even the
little Roderick had seen of the affairs of Elliot and Kent, he knew
only too well that to serve that firm and humanity at the same time
would be impossible.

There were others who did not possess his father's faith in his
purpose, and they spoke to him plainly on the matter. J. P. Thornton,
remembering indignantly all that Lawyer Ed had once given up for Old
Angus's sake, and further maddened by being forbidden to disclose it,
expressed his disapproval of Roderick's leaving so soon, in strong
incisive terms.

His remarks succeeded only in angering the young man, and making him
more determined in his course. Doctor Leslie was the next to speak
plainly on the matter, and his kindly, deep-searching words were harder
to set aside. Roderick was passing the Manse one day when Mammy Viney
hailed him.

"Honey, de minesta' want you," she called, in her soft r