t before the gate, but the wild onslaught of some
fifty shrieking youngsters frightened the horse, and it dashed away
down the road, so he decided to leave his farewell with her to the last.

The bleak wind was sweeping down from the lake and the old board fence
and the frail houses on Willow Lane creaked before it. The water
roared up on the beach as he passed along the Pine Road, and the snow
drove into his eyes and half blinded him. The McDuff home was
deserted. There was no track to the door through the snow, no smoke
from the old broken chimney. Peter Fiddle was either out at the farm
or down in the warm tavern on Willow Lane singing and playing.

The dull pain in Roderick's arm had increased to a steady ache that did
not help to make the soreness of his heart any easier. The bare trees
along the way; creaked and moaned, cold grey clouds gathered and spread
across the sky.

Hitherto Roderick had felt nothing but impatience at the thought of
staying in Algonquin all his life to watch Old Peter and Eddie Perkins
and Mike Cassidy and their like, but now that the day had come for him
to leave, it seemed as though everything was calling upon him to stay,
every finger post pointing towards home. Doctor Leslie's farewell, a
warning to again consider. Lawyer Ed's patient, cheery acceptance of
the situation, J. P. Thornton's open disapproval, Helen Murray's smile
the other evening at the door of Rosemount, his father's love and
confidence in him, all pulled him back with strong hands. The rainbow
gold shone but dimly that day, and he would fain have turned his back
upon it for the sure chance of a life like his father's in Algonquin.

He found Old Angus watching for him at the window. His brave attempts
at cheerfulness made Roderick's trial doubly hard. He bustled about,
even trying to hum a tune, his old battle song, "My Love, be on thy
guard."

"I'll be back before you know I'm gone, Auntie," said the Lad, when
Aunt Kirsty appeared and burst into tears at the sight of him. He
tried to laugh as he said it, but he made but a feeble attempt. They
sat by the fire, the Lad trying to talk naturally of his trip, his
father making pathetic attempts to help him, and Aunt Kirsty crying
silently over her knitting. At last, as Roderick glanced at the clock.
Old Angus took out the tattered Bible from the cup-board drawer. It
had always been the farewell ceremony in all the Lad's coming and
going, the reading of a fe