e in the homes of his comrades, for he was
ready with his tongue and clever with his fingers, but with the graver
and religious side of their lives he had little in common. It was,
perhaps, this feeling that drew him toward Macdonald Dubh and Ranald, so
that for weeks at a time he would make their house his home. He had "no
use for wakes," as he said himself, and had it not been that it was one
of the gang that lay dead within, Yankee would have avoided the house
until all was over and the elders safely away.

Of the elders, only four were present as yet: Donald Ross, who was ever
ready to bring the light of his kindly face to cheer the hearts of the
mourners; Straight Rory, who never, by any chance, allowed himself
to miss the solemn joy of leading the funeral psalm; Peter McRae, who
carried behind his stern old face a heart of genuine sympathy; and Kenny
Crubach, to whom attendance at funerals was at once a duty and a horror.

Donald Ross, to whom all the elders accorded, instinctively, the place
of leader, was arranging the order of "the exercises."

"Mr. McCuaig," he said to Straight Rory, "you will take charge of the
singing. The rest of us will, in turn, give out a psalm and read a
portion of Scripture with a few suitable remarks, and lead in prayer. We
will not be forgetting, brethren," said old Donald, "that there will be
sore hearts here this night.'

Straight Rory's answer was a sigh so woeful and so deep that Yankee
looked over at him and remarked in an undertone to Ranald, "He ain't so
cheerful as he might be. He must feel awful inside."

"It is a sad and terrible day for the Camerons," said Peter McRae.

"Aye, it is sad, indeed," replied Donald Ross. "He was a good son and
they will be missing him bad. It is a great loss."

"Yes, the loss is great," said Peter, grimly. "But, after all, that is a
small thing."

Straight Rory sighed again even more deeply than before. Donald Ross
said nothing.

"What does the old duck mean, anyhow?" said Yankee to Ranald.

The boy made no reply. His heart was sick with horror at Peter's
meaning, which he understood only too well.

"Aye," went on Peter, "it is a terrible, mysterious Providence, and a
heavy warning to the ungodly and careless."

"He means me, I guess," remarked Yankee to Ranald.

"It will perhaps be not amiss to any of us," said Kenny Crubach,
sharply.

"Indeed, that is true," said Donald Ross, in a very humble voice.

"Yes, Mr. Ross," said Pe