in' up!"

"Ye'll sing it, lassie, won't ye?" whispered Pete to Constance, when
Keith had played over the air of "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing."

"I'll help," she replied in an abstracted manner.

From the moment when Pete had brought forth the violin and handed it to
Keith for the last hymn, she had not taken her eyes off of the
instrument. It fascinated her, and brought back a flood of memory.
She sang almost mechanically the first verse, and had begun the second.

"Mild He lays His glory by,
Born that man no more may die,
Born----"

Snap! went one of the strings, and the singing suddenly stopped. Keith
moved close to the table and endeavored to repair the damage. As he
did so the light fell upon a bright piece of metal. Constance saw it,
and, with a cry, she rushed forward, and, stooping down, gazed
earnestly at the small, letters engraved thereon. Then she looked
around the room, as if seeking for some special person.

In her eyes was an expression which the men never forgot, and which
formed the topic of conversation for nights afterward.

"When she looked at me with those beseeching eyes of hers," said one
husky fellow, "I felt that I had done something wrong, and I wanted to
drop right through the floor, that's what I did."

"Well, I tell you I didn't," replied the young chap whose feet had been
frozen, "I just longed to be her brother, that was the way I felt."

"Wanted to be her brother!" ejaculated the other. "And what for? Ye
didn't think those pretty arms would encircle yer scrawny neck, did ye,
or her sweet lips touch yer rough face?"

"I only f-felt sorry for her, and wanted to comfort her," stammered the
youth, blushing to the roots of his hair, at which a hearty laugh
ensued at his expense.

But Constance had no thought of the pretty picture she made. It was
only of Kenneth she was thinking.

"Oh, Pete!" she cried, "tell me what it all means!"

"What's wrong, lassie?" he replied, somewhat embarassed by her
searching look.

"The violin! It's my brother's! I gave it to him for a Christmas
present two years ago. See, here are his initials upon this small
silver plate," and she held the violin up close to his eyes.

"Waal, waal, so it is as ye say. Who'd a thought it?"

"But where is he? Do you know? Oh, please tell me!"

"I don't know much meself," and Pete scratched his head. "I met the
chap who owned that fiddle last Fall, on the trail way yon East. He
give it