e age, but he was stooped and
worn with a life of heavy toil.

"Well, Angus," Lawyer Ed was saying, his deep musical voice thrilling
with sympathy, "that'll make you comfortable for a while now, until
you're better, anyway. And there's no need for me, or any one, to tell
you not to worry over it."

The older man smiled. "No, no. Tut, tut! Worry! That would be but a
poor way to treat the Father's care, indeed." His dark eyes shone with
an inner light. "If He needs my farm, He'll show me how to lift the
mortgage. And if He needs me to do any more work for Him here, He'll
give me back my health. But if not--" he paused and his hand went
instinctively to the shoulder of the little boy looking up at him with
big wondering eyes--"if not--well, well, never fear, He knows the way.
He knows."

An old light wagon and a horse with hanging head were standing by the
sidewalk. The man clambered slowly to the seat and gathered up the
lines. Lawyer Ed picked up the little boy and swung him up beside his
father. He shook him well before he set him down, boxed his ears,
pulled his hair, and finally, diving into his pockets, brought out a
big handful of pink "bull's-eyes" and showered them into his hat. The
little fellow shouted with delight, and having crammed his mouth full,
he doubled up his small fists and challenged his friend to another
scuffle.

But Lawyer Ed shook his head.

"No! That's enough nonsense to-day, you young rascal! Good-bye,
Angus, and--" his musical voice became low and soft--"and God bless
you."

Angus McRae's smile, as he drove away, was like the sun breaking out
over Lake Algonquin, and the lawyer felt as if their positions were
reversed, and he had just put a mortgage on his farm and Angus were
trying to comfort him.

He stood for a moment on the sidewalk, his bright eyes grown misty, and
watched the pair drive down the hill. Then he looked across the street
and saw Doctor Archibald Blair climbing into his mud-splashed buggy,
satchel in hand. Lawyer Ed walked across to him, his shining boots
sinking in the soft mud.

By descent Lawyer Ed was partly Scotch, by nature he was entirely
Irish. He possessed a glib tongue of the latter order and his habit
was to address every one he met, be he Indian, Highland Scot, or French
Canadian, in the dialect which the person was supposed to favour. So
he roared out in his magnificent baritone, as he picked his way among
the puddles:

"Hoot! Los