and solemn. Once he distinguished
Grandaddy's voice, broken as though with weeping, and Granny's, too,
speaking as though she were comforting him, but with a sound in it that
made the child's tender heart contract with pain. There seemed an
awesomeness about the strange, soft movements below that sent a chill
over him. None of the boys had come to bed yet; the light from below
shone up through the cracks in the floor, and he crept to the hatchway
and listened. And then he distinguished Praying Donald's low, deep
voice raised in supplication; then Grandaddy had been fighting again
and they had come to pray for him. The boy crept miserably back to his
bed and, childlike, soon fell asleep.

He awoke in the rosy dawn, when the shadows of the forest still
stretched up to the doorstep, and found to his surprise that Hamish was
sitting by his bedside. He remembered with a chill the anxiety of the
day and the awesomeness of the night before, and asked suddenly,
"Where's Callum?"

But Hamish did not answer directly; only said that he must be good and
quiet and not ask Granny any questions, and added after a second
question that Callum was gone away. And when would he be back? He
would not be back, Hamish whispered, with his eyes upon the floor.
Would not be back? Scotty stared uncomprehending. And where was
Nancy? Nancy was with him. Had they gone to the old country? he asked
in a whisper, but Hamish shook his head and turned away. The boy's
heart seemed held by an awful dread. He wanted to ask another
question, and yet he dared not. But as the young man turned to go down
the stairs something in his white face opened a flood of awful
intelligence upon the boy's mind.

"Hamish," he cried in a sharp whisper, "is--is--Callum--dead?"

But Hamish made no reply, only gave him a glance as though he had been
smitten with a mortal wound, and went hurriedly down the stairs.

But Weaver Jimmie told him all about it as soon as he descended. For,
to his surprise, Scotty found not only Jimmie there, but many others of
the neighbours. Store Thompson's wife sat by the bed in the corner,
and Granny lay upon it white and silent. Something lay in another
corner, stretched upon boards, a figure so muffled and still that,
without knowing why, Scotty glanced at it with a feeling of terror.
Grandaddy was nowhere to be seen; but Praying Donald was there, reading
by the window. His deep voice, hushed to a solemn, low rumble, fil