h, yes. That
is why I would be so pleased that the Almighty would be sending me a
chance to help. For I would jist be grumblin' and a burden all the
days--eh, yes, yes, och, hoch!" His voice suddenly dropped to a
pitying, caressing tone, such as one might use to a hurt child. "Here
he is," he whispered. "Eh, the peety of it!"

A man was half sitting, half lying, on the grassy bank of the stream,
supported by a pile of balsam boughs. His long body, in its worn,
patched clothing, was pitifully emaciated. His face was ghastly, and
deeply marked with the sad lines that grief alone can trace. His hair
was white, and yet, somehow, he did not seem aged, except by suffering.
He opened his eyes as the young doctor bent over him. There was the
pathetic look in them of an animal that had received its death-wound.
But as the light of consciousness returned there was resentment in his
glance as well as pain. He looked like a man who had been pushed to
the edge of despair, but who could still fight, not in hope, but in
fierce anger against his lot.

"He must be moved to some house at once," the doctor announced after a
brief examination. "He seems to be suffering from exhaustion and
hunger."

Old Hughie Cameron was fussing about him, making inarticulate, pitying
remarks. "Oh, yes, yes, he will jist be coming with me, then," he
cried eagerly. "The Cameron door will always be on the latch indeed!
Oh, yes, the folks will be real pleased, whatefer."

The sick man looked up suddenly and spoke with unlooked-for strength.
"I will accept charity from no living man," he said curtly.

"Hoots, toots!" cried Uncle Hughie, in gentle remonstrance. "Charity!
It would jist be a bit of a neighborly act, man! Come away, now,
come." His voice was coaxing. "Here is the doctor, now, waiting to
help you. Yes, yes, a fine new doctor, indeed," he added enticingly.

"Come," said Gilbert authoritatively. "You must have food and shelter
at once. You can't stay here."

The man opened his eyes again. "I haven't a cent of money," he said
weakly, but defiantly. "But if you will take me to some place I can
rent, I will earn money and pay for it after. But I will enter no
man's house. I will stay here and die--it would be best, anyway." He
closed his eyes indifferently.

Old Hughie suddenly plucked the puzzled young doctor's sleeve. "There
will be an old shanty down the glen here, a wee step," he whispered,
"jist by the Drowned La