"Well, perhaps that will help to even things up a little," he said brightly. "Come, are you willing to call it quits?" Scotty put out his big hand swiftly, and felt it caught in a strong bony grip. And as their hands met Monteith's stern face suddenly broke out into an unexpected smile, a smile so brilliant and kindly that the boy felt it illuminate his whole being, and from that moment he was the new master's friend. "And now," said the man, suddenly becoming grave again, "will you tell me how you come to have two names? How does a Highland Scot like you happen to have such a name as Stanwell?" Scotty gasped; was he going to ignore the whitewashing altogether? "It would be my father's," he answered simply, "but I would always be living here with my grandfather, and I was always called MacDonald." "Ralph Stanwell, Ralph Stanwell," repeated the schoolmaster ruminatingly, "I've heard that name before. Why, yes; I wonder if you are any relation to the Captain Ralph Stanwell I once met in Toronto. The name is not common." "My father died there, and my mother, too," was the answer. The new master stared. "Surely, surely," he was saying, half to himself, "it couldn't be possible; but his wife's name was MacDonald too! And Herbert always said the child died!" Under the man's steady gaze Scotty fidgeted with his axe in combined amazement and embarrassment. "Was your father's second name Everett?" "Yes, and that will be mine, too." The new master stared harder. "Well, well, well," he muttered, "I wonder if he knows!" The boy stood lost in a wild speculation. By some queer trick of memory he was back once more in Store Thompson's shop, a little curly-headed fellow, and felt a man's kind, playful hand upon his curls; and at the sound of his name saw a smiling face grow suddenly grave with amazement, fear and defiance chasing one another across it. How was it that, all through his life, his English name seemed always to produce consternation? Monteith shook himself as though awakening from a dream. "I beg your pardon," he said hastily, "your name called up some old memories. And now, I must be going." He held out his hand again. "Good-bye, and I thank you for your generosity." "But--but you will not be leaving without your supper!" cried Scotty aghast. "Thank you, but your grandparents are not expecting me, and----" Scotty stared. "But what difference would that be making?" he asked artlessly. "It will be all the better." The new master smiled again at the unconscious hospitality of the remark, and this time accepted the invitation. Scotty instantly flung aside his axe, and led the way around to the door. Monteith had already learned to expect a warm greeting from the inhabitants of the Oro Highlands, but he had yet to experience a true Scottish-Canadian welcome, and was almost overwhelmed by the one he received in the old house under the Silver Maple.