Young Peter slammed the furnace door and came up to get a breath of cool air. He put a black hand on Roderick's arm, "Say, I'm awful glad you're home, Rod," he said, smiling broadly. "And I'm just as awful glad to be home, Pete, old boy. I say, do you do all the work while the Ancient Mariner there smokes and orders you round?" The crew of the _Inverness_, consisting of an engineer and a fireman, was, whether in port or on the high seas, in a state of frank mutiny. The Ancient Mariner, as every one called Sandy McTavish, was the captain's elder brother, and he made no secret of the fact that he intended to run the _Inverness_ as he pleased, if he ran her to Davy Jones. Accordingly he smoked and spun yarns all day long in true nautical fashion, and young Peter McDuff did the work. But Peter looked at Roderick puzzled, and grinned good naturedly. He did not understand that there was anything unjust in the arrangement old Sandy had made of the work. Poor Peter had been born to injustice. His father was a drunkard and the boy had started life dull of brain and heavy of foot. His slow mind had not questioned why the burdens of life should have been so unevenly divided. But Roderick McRae felt something of the tragedy of Peter's handicapped life. He put his hands affectionately on the young man's heavy shoulders. They had been brought up side by side on the shores of Lake Algonquin, but how different their lots had been! "Ah, it's all a hard job for you, Pete, old boy!" he cried. Peter's dull eyes lit up. "Oh, no, it ain't! It will be a great job, Rod. Your father would be getting it for me. Your father's been awful good to us, Rod. Say, tell me about the city. Is it an awful big place?" Roderick studied the young man's heavy face, as he talked. Here was one of his father's neighbours of the Jericho Road. For twenty years or more, he could remember his father struggling to bring Peter Fiddle to a life of sobriety and righteousness and to bring up his son in the same. And what had he to show for it all? Old Peter was a worse drunkard than he had been twenty years ago, and poor Young Peter was the hopeless result of that drinking. Roderick's kindly heart sympathised with his father's efforts, but his head pronounced judgment upon them. He confessed he could see very little use in bothering with the sort of folk that were forever stumbling on the Jericho Roads of life. Peter went back reluctantly to the engine-room, and Roderick ran up on deck to see the _Inverness_ enter the Gates. He had not been home for a whole long year, and he was eager as a child to get the first glimpse of Algonquin and the little cove where the old farm lay.