Chapter IVThurly Macdonald’s mother, downstairs, after a long sorrowful look through a spot she had melted on the window pane, was down upon her knees keeping vigil with her child.
Not for nothing was she born a Thurly, daughter of a distinguished Scotch preacher, bred in the faith, trained to pray as naturally as to breathe. It was her refuge at all times in any care or anxiety.
And Thurly Macdonald was out in the wild storm.
Twice he stumbled and fell on his way back to the station, once he ran blindly against a tree when his flash light gave out and he essayed to get on without renewing the battery from those in his pocket. He was almost stunned for several minutes as he stood leaning against the encrusted trunk of the tree and tried to get his bearings. He finally succeeded in refil
