meetings when he wanted something, and always got what he wanted, too. So, although he had started early, it was rather late when at last he reached the home of his special friend, J. P. Thornton, and hammered loudly on the gate. So late, in fact, that J. P. had gone. He went on alone very much disappointed. When any one in Algonquin was in trouble he went to Lawyer Ed, but when Lawyer Ed was in trouble himself, he went to his old chum, J. P. Thornton. And he was in trouble this morning, none the less deep that it was another's. He looked down the street towards his office, knowing a big day's work awaited him there.

"You can just wait," he remarked to the trim red brick building. "I've got to get Angus off my mind;" and he whirled in at the Manse gate and went up the steps in two springs.

The Manse was a broad-bosomed, wide-armed house, opposite the church, looking as if it wanted to embrace every one who approached its big doorway. Its appearance was not deceiving. No matter at what hour one went inside its gate, one found at least half the congregation there, the sad ones sitting in the doctor's study, the happy ones spread out over the lawn. As Lawyer Ed remarked, the Lord had purposely given the Leslies no children, so that they might adopt the congregation and bring it up in the way it should go.

Mrs. Leslie was at the other end of the garden, cutting roses; she waved a spray at him, heavy with dew, and he took off his hat and made her a profound bow. He would have shouted a greeting to any other woman in Algonquin, but he never roared at Mrs. Leslie. There was something In the stately old-world atmosphere surrounding the lady of the Manse, that made even Lawyer Ed treat her with deference.

The door was open and he went straight in and along the hall towards the minister's study. As he did so a door at the opposite end of the hall opened suddenly and admitted a round black face and an ample red-aproned figure.

"Good mawnin', Missy Viney!" drawled the visitor. "I done wanta see de ministah, bress de Lawd!"

Viney's white eyeballs and shining teeth flashed him a welcome.

"Laws-a-me, Lawya Ed! Is you-all gwine get marrit?"

Viney was a fat, jolly young woman, whom Mrs. Leslie had lured from the little negro settlement in the township of Oro, a few miles from Algonquin. She felt the responsibility of her position fully, and showed a marked interest in the affairs of every one of the congregation. But of all living things she loved Lawyer Ed most. His presence never failed to put her in the highest spirits, and his bachelorhood was her perennial joke.

"Yassum," he answered, hanging his head shyly, "if you done hab me, Viney. I bin wantin' you for years, but I bin too bashful."

Viney screamed and flapped her red apron at him. "You go 'long, you triflin' lawya-man!" she cried, going off into a gale of giggles; but just then the study door opened, the minister's head came out, and the cook's vanished.

"Ah, I thought it was you, Edward, by the joyful noise," said Dr. Leslie, smiling. He took his visitor by the hand and drew him in.

"Come away, come. I was hoping you would drop in this morning."

They sat down, the minister in his arm-chair before his desk. Lawyer Ed balanced on the arm of another, protesting that he must not stay. It was his way when he dropped in at the Manse and remained a couple of hours or so, to bustle about, hat and stick in hand, changing from one chair to another, to assure himself that he was just going. Dr. Leslie understood, and did not urge him to sit down.

Though not an old man, the minister had seen Lawyer Ed grow up from the position of a scholar in his Sabbath School, and quite the most riotous and mischievous one there, to the superintendency of it, and to a seat in the session; and he had a special fatherly feeling towards his youngest elder. Dr. Leslie was the only man in Algonquin, too, folk said, whom Lawyer Ed feared, and to whose opinion he deferred without argument.

"And have you heard from Angus this morning,—or the wee lad?"

"Archie came home about an hour ago. The little rascal's all right, except for a sore arm. I guess he nearly put it out of joint, paddling. Angus was better, too; but I'm bothered about Angus, Dr. Leslie. That's what I came in for."

He moved about the room, fingering ornaments, picking up books and laying them down again.

"Archie Blair says the anxiety was so bad for his heart, that he's got to stop work right away, for all summer anyway, and perhaps longer. And his place is all planted, and yesterday, at my advice, he put a mortgage on it."

He stopped before his minister and looked at him with appealing, troubled eyes. "I feel as if I shouldn't have let him, but I didn't anticipate this."

Dr. Leslie sat drumming his fingers on the table, his face very grave.

"We can't see Angus McRae want, Edward. We're all indebted to him for something—every one of the session, and the minister most of all."

"The session!" Lawyer Ed jumped off the arm of the sofa where he had just perched. "There's an idea. If you laid it before them, they'd do something; and J. P. and I'll push it and Archie Blair will help."

The minister shook his head. "The session is a big body, Edward, and—" he smiled,—"it has wives and daughters. This must not be talked about. If we help Angus, we mustn't kill him at the same time by hurting his Highland pride."

Lawyer Ed whacked a sofa cushion impatiently with his cane.

"There it is, of course! Hang Scotchmen, anyway! You can't treat them like human beings. That abominable thing they call their pride—always clogs your wheels whichever way you go."

"Don't revile the tree from which you sprung, Edward," said the Scotchman, smiling.

"Thank the Lord, the limb I grew on had a few good green Irish shamrocks mixed with the thistles. If Angus had been as fortunate we'd have him out of distress to-morrow."

"Angus McRae will be the least distressed of us all. I thought of Paul last night when I saw him, 'troubled on every side, yet not distressed, perplexed but not in despair.' We must think of some way in which we can help him quietly—so quietly he may not know it himself. Who has the mortgage?"

"Jock McPherson, of course, who else?"

The minister's face brightened. "Jock McPherson! Well, well, that is fortunate, Edward. Jock's heart is big enough to put the whole church inside provided you find the right key."

"Yes, but it's a ticklish job fitting it when you do find it. Some small item in the business will strike him the wrong way and he will get slow and stiff and arise to the occasion with, 'I feel, Mister Moterator, that it is my juty to object.'"

His imitation of Mr. McPherson's deliberate manner, when in his sadly frequent rôle of objector in the session, could not but bring a smile to the minister's face.

"I have no fear of your not being able to overcome his objections, should any arise. Now, sit down just a few minutes, and let us see what is to be done."

The two talked far into the morning, and laid their plans well. Mr. McPherson was to be persuaded to remove the mortgage, and instead, as Angus was in need of the money, to rent the farm. Lawyer Ed was to see that it was let for a goodly sum that would keep its owner beyond anxiety, and whatever Jock stood to lose by the bargain was to be returned to him in whole or part by a little circle of friends. It was a great scheme, worthy of a legal mind, Dr. Leslie said, and Lawyer Ed went away well pleased with it.

He went two blocks out of his way, so that he could reach J. P. Thornton's office without passing his own, and spent another hour laying the scheme before him.

So, when he finally got to his place of business, irate clients were buzzing about it like angry bees. But little cared Lawyer Ed. He laughed and joked them all into good humour and dropping into the chair at his desk, he drove through a mass of business in an incredibly short time, telephoning,