ng but the whole cake, and, besides, why expose
yourself to a system of everlasting blackmail, with the chance of
their getting angry some time and squealing anyhow? We've got to
force them to the wall some other way. When are you going to have
a council, and settle this thing?"

"To-morrow morning, my boy;" and the commissioner rose.

Donald noted, with a little pang of sorrow, that his father's face
looked older than he had ever seen it, and conjectured rightly that
beneath the surface this gruff man, who had raised himself to second
in command of the Company, was profoundly, abjectly miserable.

The elder McTavish rested his hand for a moment on his son's well
shoulder.

"I'm going out now," he said. "I've tired you enough. Try to rest,
or Craven will give me the deuce for rousing you... Oh, by the way,
Donald, I know all that's happened between you and Fitzpatrick.
Rainy told me. I sent old Bill Thompson up here to command
Fitzpatrick's presence, when I arrived. Pretty foxy fellow, old
Bill; seemed to tell everything, and hear nothing, when it was
really the other way about."

"So that was why he came up here so suddenly. Poor old man, he
died game."

"And he lived game, which is more than I can say of some people
higher up," was the gruff, self-condemnatory appreciation of the
dead.

The commissioner was just opening the door of the tent when a bustle
and shouting, mingled with the tinkle of sleigh-bells, announced
the arrival of a dog-train.

"Hello, father!" cried Donald, "who's that?"

"An old and loved friend of yours."

"If I've got a real friend except Peter Rainy, please show him in."

"It's Angus Fitzpatrick."

"Well, you can show him out; shoot him if you want to. By the way,
any one with him?" The sense of dry humor that characterized the
elder McTavish took in the situation at once. His eye twinkled
briefly.

"There's a round bundle of furs on the sledge. Why?"

"Well, you show that bundle of furs which is my tent, and watch it
come to life," was Donald's smiling order.

His father fussed and fumed in apparent rage for five minutes, and
finally snapped out:

"Well, all right! But I always told your mother you would be spoiled,
if she gratified every one of your whims." Wherewith, he disappeared
outside.

The next morning found a small and solemn gathering in the large
tent that Commissioner McTavish carried with him on his journeys
_de luxe_. Present were Maria who had been roote