seven o'clock
The Laird of Tyee had thought he had long since plumbed the heights and depths of the joys and sorrows of fatherhood . The tears came presently . A streak of moonlight filtered into the room as the moon sank in the sea and augmented the silver in a head that rested on two clasped hands , while Hector McKaye , kneeling beside his chair , prayed to his stern Presbyterian God once more to save his son from the folly of his love . It had been Donald McKaye 's intention to go up to the logging-camp on the first log-train leaving for the woods at seven o'clock on Monday morning , but the news of Dirty Dan 's plight caused him to change his plans . Strangely enough , his interview with his father , instead of causing him the keenest mental distress , had been productive of a peculiar sense of peace . The frank , sympathetic , and temperate manner in which the old laird had discussed his affair had conduced to produce this feeling . He passed a restful night , as his father observed when the pair met at the breakfast-table .