d it be?

He had set his door open, owing to the warmth of the night, and through
it came the sound of ceaseless pouring of water. Sitting with his face
pressed against the pane, thinking of his high hopes of just one year
ago, he mournfully shook his head.

"The sacrifice," he murmured, "it must come, but, oh, my Father, must
it be Donal'? 'Bind ye the sacrifice with cords even unto the horns of
the altar.' Ah, it would be a message, a message--and will it be
Donal'? must I give him up, oh, my Father?" His hands clasped and
unclasped, his face stood out from the darkness of the room, white with
pain.

He had not noticed a little figure making its way rapidly down the
road; but his eye caught it as it entered the gate. His heart stood
still as he saw Archie, his sister's youngest boy, come running up the
path. "What will you be wanting, laddie?" he asked, almost in a
whisper, as the little fellow paused in the doorway.

"Oh, are you there, Uncle Duncan!" cried the child, groping his way
across the room. "It's so awful dark here. Jimmie Archie's folks is
sugarin' off to-night in the bush down alongside the river, and I want
to go over, an' mother she wouldn't let me go alone. Now, ain't that
mean, Uncle Duncan?"

Duncan breathed a great sigh of relief. "Will the boys not be down
with the logs yet?"

"Nop; Jimmie Archie said all the fellows Sandy and Don had was drunk at
the tavern to-day, an' the logs was all ready to bring out into the
river, mind ye, an' Crummie Bailey--it was at school, you know--an'
Crummie said he'd bet Don an' Sandy was drunker than 'em all; an' I
thumped him good, you bet, uncle, an' he's eleven an' I'm only ten an'
a half!"

Duncan put his hand upon the child's head with a feeling of helpless
woe. "Yes, yes, laddie," he said absently.

"Mother said I couldn't go to the sugar bush without somebody with me,"
Archie broke out again. "Aw, shucks, I ain't a kid!" The dignity of
ten years and a half was being sadly ruffled. He leaned upon the arm
of Duncan's chair and looked up coaxingly.

"I guess I'll have to stay away, 'cause there's nobody to go with me,
an' mother said I wasn't to ask you, 'cause it would make your cold
worse."

He sighed prodigiously over this self-denial, and with his
characteristic self-forgetfulness Duncan put aside his own trouble.
"Oh, indeed it is a great man you will be some day," he said. "But
what if I would be going with you?"

"Oh, man! b