ggested
reproachfully.

"But why from you, of all men? I forbid you to go!" his mother
quavered. "You must have more respect for us. Why, what will people
say?"

"To hell with what people say! They'll say it, anyhow," roared old
Hector. Away down in his proud old heart he felt a few cheers rising
for his son's manly action, albeit the necessity for that action was
wringing his soul. "'Tis no time for idle spierin'. Away with you,
lad! Comfort the puir lass. 'Tis no harm to play a man's part. Hear
me," he growled; "I'll nae have my soncy lad abused."

"Dad's gone back to the Hielands. 'Nough said." Elizabeth had
recovered her customary jolly poise. Wise enough, through long
experience, to realize that when her father failed to throttle that
vocal heritage from his forebears, war impended, she gathered up her
knitting and fled to her room.

Jane ran to her mother's side, drew the good lady's head down on her
shoulder, and faced her brother.

"Shame! Shame!" she cried sharply. "You ungrateful boy! How could you
hurt dear mother so!"

This being the cue for her mother to burst into violent weeping,
forthwith the poor soul followed up the cue. Donald, sore beset,
longed to take her in his arms and kiss away her tears, but something
warned him that such action would merely serve to accentuate the
domestic tempest, so, with a despairing glance at old Hector, he left
the room.

"Pretty kettle o' fish you've left me to bring to a boil!" the old man
cried after him. "O Lord! O Lord! Grant me the wisdom of Solomon, the
patience of Job, and the cunning of Judas Iscariot! God help my
mildewed soul!"

XX

The instant the front door closed behind her son, Mrs. McKaye
recovered her composure. Had the reason been more trifling, she would
have wept longer, but, in view of its gravity, her common sense (she
possessed some, when it pleased her to use it) bade her be up and
doing. Also, she was smitten with remorse. She told herself she was
partly to blame for this scourge that had come upon the family; she
had neglected her son and his indulgent father. She, who knew so well
the peculiar twists of her husband's mental and moral make-up, should
not be surprised if he cast a tolerant eye upon his son's
philanderings; seemingly the boy had always been able to twist his
father round his finger, so to speak. She sat up, dabbed her eyes,
kissed Jane lovingly as who should say, "Well, thank God, here is one
child I can rely