"Oh that would be Sandy." Duncan's face grew suddenly grave. "Yes, he
will be a great lumberman, and Donald will be coming home to-morrow to
help him"--he paused and looked at his guest. A great resolution
seized him. "Mr. Egerton," he said suddenly.

The young man looked up in some surprise. Duncan was leaning forward,
his thin hands trembling, his face aglow with eagerness.

"Yes?" inquired the visitor encouragingly.

Duncan's humility was almost overmastering him, but he struggled on.
"I will be very bold, to be asking you," he faltered. "It would be
about Sandy and the lads. They would be good lads, but jist a wee bit
careless, and I would be thinking they would be listening to the
minister----"

He had spoken the very thought which had been troubling the young man
on the road. "You mean you would like me to visit the camp?" he asked
kindly.

Duncan's eyes were burning with hope. "Yes, oh yes! An' jist to be
saying a word, you will be knowing best what."

He stopped, for his guest had started suddenly and was gazing eagerly
out at the window. Duncan did not know that his eye had caught a
bewitching glimpse of a blue velvet cap, with a wealth of golden brown
curls nestling beneath. Jessie was walking into the village alone!
The young man rose to his feet. He had scarcely had an opportunity to
see the girl or speak to her for nearly a month. Surely there would be
no harm in his taking this happy chance of a walk with her.

Donald would be home the next day, and it would be the last time.

"I am sorry I cannot stay and talk this matter over with you, Mr.
McDonald," he said kindly; "it is almost dark and I should have been
home much earlier. But if I have a moment to spare I shall run up to
the camp and see the boys. Good-night." He hurried to the door,
Duncan following him. "I hope your cough will soon be better," he
called over his shoulder as he strode down the path, "Good-night!"--and
then he was away through the gate and down the dusky road.

Duncan sat for a long time after he had left with his head bowed and
his face buried in his thin, trembling hands. A racking cough shook
his frame occasionally, but he did not rise to mend the dying fire.
The room grew chilly, and at last Collie rose and went to his master.

The old man arose slowly at the gentle touch of a cold nose against his
face. He replenished the fire, and moved listlessly about the room,
preparing his supper. His face lo