cKaye, his son was assuming his heritage, casting aside,
without one longing backward glance, a brighter, busier, and more
delightful world.

Although his son's new arena of action was beautiful and The Laird
loved it with a passionate love, he was sufficiently imaginative to
realize that, in Port Agnew, Donald might not be as happy as had been
his father. Old Hector was sufficiently unselfish to have harbored no
resentment had this been so. It had been his one anxiety that Donald
might take his place in the business as a matter of duty to himself
rather than as a duty to his father, and because he had found his
lifework and was approaching it with joy, for The Laird was
philosopher enough to know that labor without joy is as dead-sea
fruit. Indeed, before the first day of his retirement had passed, he
had begun to suspect that joy without labor was apt to be something
less than he had anticipated.

The Laird observed in his son's eyes, as the latter took his place at
table, a look that had not been there when Donald left for the mill
that morning. His usually pleasant, "Evening, folks!" was perfunctory
to-night; he replied briefly to the remarks addressed to him by his
mother and sisters; the old man noted not less than thrice a slight
pause with the spoon half-way to his mouth, as if his son considered
some problem more important than soup. Mrs. McKaye and the girls
chattered on, oblivious of these slight evidences of mental
perturbation, but as The Laird carved the roast (he delighted in
carving and serving his family, and was old-fashioned enough to insist
upon his right, to the distress of the girls, who preferred to have
the roast carved in the kitchen and served by the Japanese butler), he
kept a contemplative eye upon his son, and presently saw Donald heave
a slight sigh.

"Here's a titbit you always liked, son!" he cried cheerfully, and
deftly skewered from the leg of lamb the crisp and tender tail.
"Confound you, Donald; I used to eat these fat, juicy little lamb's
tails while you were at college, but I suppose, now, I'll have to
surrender that prerogative along with the others." In an effort to be
cheerful and distract his son's thoughts, he attempted this homely
badinage.

"I'll give you another little tale in return, dad," Donald replied,
endeavoring to meet his father's cheerful manner. "While we were away,
a colony of riffraff from Darrow jumped old Caleb Brent's Sawdust
Pile, and Daney was weak eno