← catalogue

Under Sealed Orders

by H. A. Cody · English · Gutenberg #16714 · 460,205 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Under Sealed Orders
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Under Sealed Orders

Author: H. A. Cody


        
Release date: September 17, 2005 [eBook #16714]
                Most recently updated: December 12, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16714

Credits: E-text prepared by Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER SEALED ORDERS ***


E-text prepared by Al Haines



UNDER SEALED ORDERS

by

H. A. CODY

Author of
The Frontiersman, The Long Patrol, The Chief of the Ranges, etc.

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

1917







To all "Spuds," successful or unsuccessful; to all "Fools," wise or
unwise; and to all of "The Devil's Poor," not forgetting authors, this
book is sympathetically dedicated.







CONTENTS


CHAPTER

      I.  THE LURE OF FALLING WATER
     II.  TO THE LOWEST BIDDER
    III.  ONE, AT LEAST, RINGS TRUE
     IV.  A LITTLE CABIN
      V.  UNMASKED
     VI.  OUT OF BONDAGE
    VII.  AT THE CLOSE OF A DAY
   VIII.  THE SHADOW OF MYSTERY
     IX.  UNITED FORCES
      X.  WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE
     XI.  CURIOSITY AND ANXIETY
    XII.  PYRAMID ROCK
   XIII.  THE DISTURBING LETTER
    XIV.  SUBTLE INFLUENCE
     XV.  THE "CUT OFF"
    XVI.  CHRISTMAS EVE
   XVII.  THE NIGHT SUMMONS
  XVIII.  THE WILD NOR'EASTER
    XIX.  DEVELOPMENTS
     XX.  BUSINESS DETAILS
    XXI.  HARNESSED POWER
   XXII.  IN THE PATH OF DESTRUCTION
  XXIII.  RESCUED
   XXIV.  GATHERING CLOUDS
    XXV.  MYSTERY
   XXVI.  UNDER SUSPICION
  XXVII.  IN THE TOILS
 XXVIII.  LIGHT BREAKS
   XXIX.  LOIS GOES TO THE CITY
    XXX.  A STRANGE COMMISSION
   XXXI.  PAPER NUMBER TWO
  XXXII.  THE TABLES TURNED
 XXXIII.  THE REAL HAVEN




UNDER SEALED ORDERS


CHAPTER I

THE LURE OF FALLING WATER

It was evening and a late April wind was whipping down the valley.  It
swayed the tops of the tall pine and spruce trees as they shouldered up
from the swift brook below.  It tossed into driving spray the water of
Break Neck Falls where it leaped one hundred feet below with a
thundering roar and swirl.  It tossed as well the thin grey hair, long
beard, and thread-bare clothes of an old man standing upon a large rock
which towered high above the stream.

The entire scene was wild and made weird by the approach of night.  But
the old man did not seem to notice anything except the falling of the
waters.  His eyes glowed with an intense light as he kept them fixed
upon the leaping and swirling columns below.  His face was like the
face of a lover turned toward the object of his affection.

For some time the man stood there drinking in the scene before him.
Then he took a step forward which brought him perilously near the edge
of the steep rock.  His lips moved though no sound could be heard for
the tumult of the falls which was rending the air.  What connection had
such a man with his surroundings?  No boor or clown was he, for the
simple dignity of face and manner marked him as one of Nature's true
gentlemen.

It was almost dark when he at last reluctantly left the rock and
entered the thick woods where a trail led away from the falls.  Along
this he moved with the unerring instinct of one who had travelled it
often and was sure of his bearings.  But ever and anon he paused to
listen to the sound of the falling waters which followed him like the
voice of a loved one urging him to return.

"Yes, you want me," he at length cried, as he once more paused.  "I
hear your voice calling, and I know its meaning.  Others need you, too,
but they do not know it.  You have been calling to them for years, but
they have not understood your language.  It was left for me to listen
and take heed.  They will some day, and then you will show your power.
I can see what you will do, beautiful falls, and the changes which will
come to this fair land when your luring voice is heeded."

He stood for awhile as if entranced after uttering these mystic words.
Then he continued on his way and night wrapped more closely about him
her dark mantle.  He had to walk very cautiously now for the trail was
rough, and there were sharp stones and roots ready to strike his feet
and trip him up.

At length the trail ended and he reached the smooth surface of the
broad highway.  Along this he sped with the quick elastic step of one
who has seen a vision.  The fire of a great idea was burning fiercely
within him which caused him to take no heed to his surroundings.

He had not gone far, however, ere some strong impulse caused him to
pause again and listen to that fascinating sound of falling waters far
off in the distance.  It was on an elevation in the road where he
stopped, and here the shadows which enwrapped the forest were not so
heavy.  The lingering light of departing day was still in the west and
touched this part of the highway with its faint glow.  It brought out
into clear relief the silhouette of the old man as he stood there with
his right hand placed to his ear so as not to miss the least sound
drifting down the valley.

So intent was he upon what he heard that he did not notice the sounds
of approaching footsteps, so when a man stopped a few yards away and
watched him curiously, he was completely unaware of his presence.
"Ring on, sweet waters," he cried.  "Your voice follows me no matter
how far I go.  I alone can understand your language, and know what you
are saying.  All are deaf but me.  They hear but do not know your
meaning."  He ceased, and again listened for a few seconds.

A strange half-mocking laugh startled him, and caused him to look
quickly around.  Seeing that he was observed, he was about to hurry
away, when a man stepped forward.

"Pardon me," he began.  "I did not mean to offend you.  But your words
seem so strange, that I could not help laughing."

"And were you listening to the voice?" the old man eagerly asked.  "Do
the falling waters speak to you as they do to me?  Is that why you are
here?"

"Yes, I hear them," was the reply.  "But they do not bring any special
message to my mind."

"And they do not tell you of power, of the wonderful things they are
ready and willing to do when men will heed what they are saying?"

"No, I can't say that they do.  They make a noise up there among the
trees, but I do not know what they are saying."

"Strange, strange," and the old man placed his hand to his forehead.
"You are like all the rest, then.  You hear but you do not understand."

"What do you hear?" the newcomer asked, thinking that he was talking to
a weak-minded creature.

"I hear great things, which will be for the welfare of the whole
community.  The waters tell me what they will do.  They will make life
worth living.  They will give light and power to the people all along
the river and revolutionise their daily tasks.  Instead of hard labour
by the sweat of the brow, the waters will do the work.  People will be
happy, and have time for the beautiful things of life.  Grinding toil
and sorrow will be banished forever."

"Umph!  So that is what you hear, eh?  What is the good of hearing such
a voice, if you have no power to make it come true?"

"But the people will hear and understand," the old man insisted.  "I am
telling them about it."

"Yes, I know you are, and they think you are a fool for your efforts.
They laugh at you, and call you crazy."

"But they will come to see that I am right.  They, too, will hear the
voice, and then they will not be able to resist its pleadings."

"If you had the money they would listen to you, for that is the only
voice people will heed to-day.  If you came here with an abundance of
gold, people would hear anything you asked them to in the falls up
yonder.  But because you are poor, like myself, your ideas will have no
more weight with them than the lightest feather.  Back your visions
with money and people will crowd around you, and you will be heeded.
But try to get along without money, and, bah! you are a fool."

Scarcely had these words left his lips ere a raucous honk up the road
startled him.  Then an auto with blazing lights leaped out of the
night.  The old man was standing right in its way, unconscious of his
danger.  Almost instinctively two strong hands clutched him and hurled
him into the ditch as the car swept past.  Shouts of merriment sounded
forth upon the night air from the occupants of the car.  The fright
they had given the two by the side of the road evidently gave them much
amusement.  Their laughter caused the rescuer to straighten suddenly
up, and clutch the old man fiercely by the arm.

"Did you hear them?" he asked, and his voice was filled with suppressed
emotion.

"Yes," was the reply.  "They are only thoughtless youths having a good
time, I suppose."

"It's just what money does, though.  I know who they are, for I caught
a glimpse of them as they sped past.  It's money that talks with them;
that is the only voice they hear.  They will ride over the less
fortunate, and crush them down as worms beneath their feet.  They have
been doing it for ages, and look upon it as their right.  What do they
care about the meaning of the falling waters when they are always
listening to the voice of money.  Curse them.  Why should they revel
and sport with ill-got gains, when honest men can hardly get enough to
keep breath in their bodies."

The young man was standing erect now on the side of the road.  His
companion shrank away somewhat fearful lest he should turn upon him and
smite him.

"You seem to have suffered," he at length remarked.  "You appear to be
annoyed at people who have money."

"And why shouldn't I?" was the savage reply.  "Haven't I suffered at
their hands, young as I am?  Haven't I been scorned by them to the
limit of all endurance?  Haven't they made a mock of me for years,
calling me names behind my back?  And why?  Just because I happen to be
poor, and have tried honestly to make my way in life.  But there,
enough of this.  What's the use of talking about such things?  It will
do no more good than the voice of the waters which you are continually
hearing."

Along the road the two walked in deep silence.  The old man found it
hard to keep up with his companion, and he was at last forced to fall
behind.  Soon he was alone, and then his thoughts went once more back
to the falls, and the glorious vision which was in his mind.

It was only when he reached a small building by the side of the road
that he stopped.  Pushing open the door, he entered.  All was dark and
silent within.  The strange loneliness of the place would have smitten
any one else with the feeling of dread.  But the old man never seemed
to mind it.  Fumbling in his vest pocket, he found a match.  This he
struck and lighted a tallow dip which was stuck into a rude
candle-stick upon a bare wooden table.  One glance at the room revealed
by the dim light showed its desolate bareness.  Besides the table there
were two small benches and a wash-stand, containing a granite-iron
basin.  A small broken-down stove stood at one end of the room, by the
side of which was a couch.  Not a scrap of mat or rug adorned the
floor.  There were no blinds or curtains to the cheerless, windows, and
not a picture adorned the walls.

But the old man did not notice the desolation of the place.  It was
quite evident that he was beyond the influence of earthly surroundings
for the moment.  Going at once to the couch, he brought forth a roll of
paper hidden away beneath the pillow.  Carrying this over to the table,
he sat down upon one of the benches and spread the paper out before
him.  By the light of the candle it was easy for him to study the
carefully-made lines upon the large sheet.  Eagerly he scanned the
drawings, and then placing the forefinger of his right hand upon one
central point, he moved it along one line extending farther than the
rest until it stopped at a small square in which was the word "City."
This action gave him much satisfaction and a pleased expression lighted
up his face.  "Power, power," he murmured.  "Ay, quicker than thought,
and bright as the sun shining in its strength.  Great, wonderful! and
yet they do not realise it.  But they shall know, and understand."

Along the other lines he also ran his finger, pausing at the end of
each where was marked "Town," "Village," or "Settlement."  He talked
continually as he did so, but it was all about "glory" and "power."
Over and over again he repeated these words, now in a soft low voice,
and again in a loud triumphant manner.

At length he rose from the bench, crossed the room, opened the door,
and stepped outside.  Not a star was to be seen, and the wind was
stronger than ever.  It was keen, piercing.  But the man heeded neither
the one nor the other.  He was listening intently, and the faint sound
of Break Neck Falls drifting in from the distance was to him the
sweetest of music.

And as he stood there a sudden change took place.  His dead drooped,
and he leaned against the side of the building for support.  A shiver
shook his body, and as he turned and entered the house his steps were
slow, and he half-stumbled across the threshold.  He looked at the
wood-box behind the stove, but there was not a stick in it.  He next
opened the door of the little cupboard near by, but not a scrap of food
was there.  Almost mechanically he thrust his hand into his pocket and
brought forth a purse.  This he opened, but there was nothing inside.
Half-dazed he stood there in the centre of the room.  Then he glanced
toward the paper with the drawings lying upon the table, and as he did
so a peculiar light of comprehension shone in his eyes.




CHAPTER II

TO THE LOWEST BIDDER

There was an unusually large number of people gathered in front of
Thomas Marshall's store one morning about the last of May.  Women were
there as well as men, and all were talking and laughing in a most
pleasant way.  The cause of this excitement was explained by a notice
tacked on the store door.


"The Board, Lodging, and Clothing of David Findley, Pauper, will be let
to the lowest bidder for a period of one year, on Wednesday, May 30th
inst., at Thomas Marshall's store, Chutes Corner, at 10 o'clock A. M.

  "Signed

  "J. B. FLETCHER
   T. S. TITUS
   O. R. MITCHELL
   _Overseers of Poor_."


This notice had been posted there for about two weeks, and had
attracted the attention of all the people in the parish.  It was out of
the ordinary for such a sale to take place at this season of the year.
Hitherto, it had occurred at the last of December.  But this was an
exceptional case, and one in which all were keenly interested.

"I hear he is stark crazy," Mrs. Munson was saying to a neighbour,
Peter McQueen, "and that he has a funny notion in his head."

"Should say so," McQueen replied.  "Any man who has lived as he has for
months must be pretty well off his base.  Why, he didn't have a scrap
of food in the house when he was found by Jim Trask one morning the
last of April.  Jim has been keeping him ever since."

"Isn't he able to work?" Mrs. Munson inquired.

"Seems not.  I guess he's a scholar or something like that, and did
some book-keeping in the city until he drifted this way.  He must have
had a little money to live as long as he has.  He's always been a
mystery to me."

"And to everybody else, I guess."

"Yes, so it appears.  But it's a great pity that we've got to be
burdened with the likes of him.  Our taxes are heavy enough now without
having to take care of this strange pauper.  We've got too many on our
hands already for our good."

"But do you know anything about that queer notion of his, Pete?" Mrs.
Munson asked.

"Ho, ho, I've heard about it, and I guess it's true all right.  He's in
love with Break Neck Falls, and makes regular trips there every day,
and sometimes at night.  Jim followed him once, and saw him standing
upon that high rock right by the falls.  He kept waving his hands and
shouting to the water, though Jim could not make out what he was
saying.  He has some writing on a piece of paper which he keeps very
close.  He has told, though, that his plan will do wonderful things for
the city and the whole surrounding country.  He once said that we don't
know what a valuable thing we have right in our midst.  I guess we've
lived here longer than he has, and should know a thing or two.  It is
not necessary for a half-cracked old man to come and tell us of our
possessions.  But, say, here he is now, coming along in Jim Trask's
farm waggon."

As the team drew near, all eyes were turned in its direction, for the
first glimpse of "Crazy David," as he was generally called.  There was
no difficulty about seeing him for he was sitting by Jim's side on the
rough board seat.  He looked much older and careworn than the night he
had awakened from his dream, and found his wood-box, cupboard, and
pocket-book empty.  He had sat huddled on the seat for most of the way
up the road, but when near the store he lifted his eyes and fixed them
curiously upon the people before him.  There was something pathetically
appealing in the expression upon his face.  He seemed like a man trying
to recall something to his mind.  He appeared strangely out of place in
that rough farm waggon.  Even his almost ragged clothes could not hide
the dignity of his bearing as he straightened himself up and tried to
assume the appearance of a gentleman.  The people saw this effort on
his part, and several wondered and spoke about it afterwards.

At first the old man did not seem to realise the purpose of the
gathering.  But when he saw the auctioneer mount a box alongside of him
and call for bids, the truth of the entire situation dawned upon him.
He was to be sold as a pauper to the lowest bidder, so he heard the
auctioneer say.  For an instant a deep feeling of anger stirred within
his bosom, and he lifted his head as if to say something.  But seeing
the eyes of all fixed upon him, he desisted.

"What am I offered for the keep of this old man?" the auctioneer cried.
"The lowest bid gets him."

"Two hundred dollars," came from a man not far off.

"Two hundred dollars!" and the auctioneer turned fiercely upon him.
"You're out for a bargain, Joe Tippits.  Why, he's worth that to any
man for a year's work.  He'll be able to do many an odd job.  Come, you
can do better than that."

"One seventy-five," came from another.

"Too much," the auctioneer cried.  "The parish can't stand that."

"One fifty, then."

"That's better, Joe.  Try again.  You're a long way off yet."

"I'll take the critter fer one hundred dollars, and not a cent less."

At these emphatic words all turned and stared hard at the speaker.  A
perceptible shiver passed through the bystanders, while several
muttered protests were heard.

"Oh, I hope he won't get him, anyway," Mrs. Munson whispered to a
neighbour.  "Jim Goban isn't a fit man to look after a snake, and if he
gets Crazy David in his clutches may God have mercy upon the poor old
man."

"One hundred dollars I am offered," again the voice of the
auctioneer rang out.  "Can any one do better than that?  One
hundred dollars.  Going at one hundred dollars.  I shan't dwell.
One--hundred--dollars--and--sold to Jim Goban for one hundred dollars."

This inhuman traffic did not seriously affect the people who had
gathered for the auction.  When it was over, they quickly dispersed, to
discuss with one another about the life Jim Goban would lead Crazy
David.  It was an incident of only a passing moment, and mattered
little more to them than if it had been a horse or a cow which had been
sold instead of a poor feeble old man.

It was the custom which had been going on for years, and it was the
only way they could see out of the difficult problem of dealing with
paupers.

When Jim Goban reached home with his purchase, dinner was ready.  There
were five young Gobans who stared curiously upon David as he took his
seat at the table.  Mrs. Goban was a thin-face, tired looking woman who
deferred to her husband in everything.  There was nothing else for her
to do, as she had found out shortly after their marriage what a brute
he was.

David was pleased at the presence of the children and he often turned
his eyes upon them.

"Nice children," he at length remarked, speaking for the first time
since his arrival.

"So ye think they're nice, do ye?" Jim queried, leaning over and
looking the old man in the eyes.

"Why, yes," David replied, shrinking back somewhat from the coarse
face.  "All children are nice to me, but yours are especially fine
ones.  What nice hair they have, and such beautiful eyes.  I suppose
the oldest go to school."

"Naw.  They never saw the inside of a school house."

"You don't say so!" and David looked his astonishment.  "Surely there
must be a school near here."

"Oh, yes, there's a school all right, but they've never gone.  I don't
set any store by eddication.  What good is it to any one, I'd like to
know?  Will it help a man to hoe a row of pertaters, or a woman to bake
bread?  Now, look at me.  I've no eddication, an' yit I've got a good
place here, an' a bank account.  You've got eddication, so I
understand, an' what good is it to you?  I'm one of the biggest
tax-payers in the parish, an' you, why yer nothing but a pauper, the
Devil's Poor."

At this cruel reminder David shrank back as from a blow, and never
uttered another word during the rest of the meal.  The iron was
entering into his soul, and he was beginning to understand something of
the ignominy he was to endure at this house.

"Now look here," Jim began when they were through with dinner, "I've a
big pile of wood out there in the yard, an' I want ye to tote it into
the wood-house an' pile it up.  I'll show ye where to put it.  I'm
gittin' mighty little fer yer keep, an' I expect ye to git a hustle on
to help pay fer yer grub an' washin'."

"Don't be too hard on him, Jim," Mrs. Goban remarked.  "He doesn't look
very strong."

"Don't ye worry, Kitty, I'll attend to that.  I know a wrinkle or two."

David was accordingly taken to the wood-house and Jim explained to him
how and where he was to pile the wood.  "Ye needn't kill yerself," he
told him in conclusion.  "But I want ye to keep busy, fer when that
job's through I've got something else on hand.  Ye can sit down when ye
feel a little tired, but don't sit too long or too often, see?"

For about half an hour David worked patiently at the wood, piling it as
neatly as possible.  The work was not hard, and he was quite satisfied
with his task.  He was alone, anyway, and could think about his beloved
falls.  His hands, however, were soft, and ere long they were bruised
and bleeding from the rough sticks.  At length a sharp splinter entered
his finger, and he sat down upon a stick to pull it out.  In trying to
do this, it broke off leaving a portion deeply embedded in the flesh,
which caused him considerable pain.  Not knowing what to do, he sat
looking upon the finger in a dejected manner.

"What's the matter?  You seem to be in trouble."

At these words David looked quickly around, and saw a young girl
standing by his side.  Though her dress was old and worn, her face was
bright, and her eyes sparkled with interest.

"Here, let me take that splinter out," she ordered, as she sat down by
his side, and drawing forth a needle, began to probe into the flesh.
"There, I've got it!" she cried in triumph.  "My! it's a monster.
You'll have to be more careful after this.  You should have gloves."

"Thank you very much," David replied.  "To whom am I indebted for this
kindness?"

"Oh, I'm Betty Bean, that's all."

"And you live here?"

"No.  I'm just dying here."

"Dying!" David exclaimed in surprise.  "Why, you don't look like a
dying person."

"Maybe I don't, but I am.  I'm just staying here because I have to.  My
mother's a widow, and I want to earn some money to help her, and as
this was the only place I could get I had to take it."

"So you do not like it, then?"

"Who would like any place where there is such a brute as Jim Goban?
My, I'm sorry for you.  To think of any man getting into his clutches."

"But surely I won't be any worse off than you are."

"I'm not so sure about that.  You see, I'm about boss here, and do and
say just what I like."

"How's that?"

"Well, I'm the only person Jim can get to work here.  All the girls for
miles around know what kind of a creature he is, and they wouldn't come
for any amount of money.  They're scared to death of him.  But I'm not,
and I tell him right to his face what I think of him, and the way he
treats his poor wife.  He would like to horsewhip me, but he knows that
if I leave no one else would come in my place.  But I'm glad now that I
am here so I can look after you."

"Look after me!"

"Yes.  I guess you'll need me all right.  I know who you are, and I'm
sorry for you.  I'm going to stand between you and Jim Goban.  He's
scared to death of me, for I'm the only one who dares give him a
tongue-lashing, and I do it whenever it is necessary, which is quite
often."

"You're a brave girl," and David looked with admiration upon the slight
form by his side.  "How old are you?"

"Fifteen last March.  But one's age is nothing.  I've done a woman's
work ever since I was ten.  I stand up for my rights now, though.  When
I first came here Jim was bound that I should work all the time.  But
at last I told him that I was going to have every Saturday afternoon
off, especially in summer, so I could go home or out upon the river.
Can you row?" she suddenly asked.

"A little," was the reply.

"That's good.  Now, look, I'm going to take you out in the boat next
Saturday, and you're going to meet somebody there you'll like."

"Somebody I like," David repeated.  "Who is it?"

"It's a woman, that's who it is.  But I'm not going to tell you her
name.  She only came here last week, and she is so fond of the water,
and spends so much time upon it.  Oh, you'll like her when you see her.
She's a beauty, with such lovely eyes and dark hair.  And she's not a
bit stuck up, either.  She just talks in a friendly way, and makes you
feel easy all over.  There, now, I guess you'd better pile some more
wood.  I have a bit of work to do, and when I'm through I'll come out
and give you a hand.  I like to be with you.  I know we're going to be
friends."

The girl rose, and was about to leave.  She paused, however, and looked
inquiringly into the old man's face.

"Do you smoke?" she asked.

Into David's eyes came an eager expression, which Betty was not slow to
see.

"I know you do," she cried, "but you have no tobacco."

"I have a pipe," and David fumbled into a pocket of his coat.  "But I
haven't had a smoke for weeks, because----"

"I know, I know," the girl hastily replied.  "I'll get you some in a
jiffy."

She was gone only a short time when she returned, and handed David half
a fig of tobacco.

"There, take that," she said.  "It's a piece Jim left on the kitchen
window-sill."

"But is it right for me to take it?" David asked.

"Sure it's right.  Didn't Jim agree to feed and lodge you for one year?
You can't live without tobacco.  It's a part of your food, see?  If Jim
says anything about it, I'll soon settle him."

"You are a good girl," David returned, as with trembling hands he
hastily whittled off a few slices of tobacco with an old knife, and
filled his pipe.  "This will put new life into me.  I can never repay
you for your kindness."




CHAPTER III

ONE, AT LEAST, RINGS TRUE

With the small boat pulled well upon the beach, Lois Sinclair stood for
a few moments looking out over the water.  Her eyes were fixed upon a
little boat in the distance containing two people, an old man and a
young girl.  The wind, which was steadily increasing, tossed her wavy,
luxuriant hair over her brow, while several tresses fell across her
cheeks, flushed by the recent rowing.  She knew that she should be
home, for supper would be waiting and her father would be impatient.
But she hesitated.  Her thoughts were out there on the water where she
loved to be.  The twang of the wind as it swept through the trees along
the shore, and the beat of the surf upon the gravelly beach were music
sweet to her ears.

At length, with one more lingering glance out upon the river, she
turned and walked along a path leading from the shore.  She moved
slowly, for she was not at all anxious to reach the house situated
about two hundred yards beyond.  And yet it was an attractive house,
well-built, and cosy in appearance, designed both for summer and winter
use.  A spacious verandah swept the front and ends, over which
clambered a luxuriant growth of wild grape vines.  Large trees of ash,
elm, and maple spread their expansive branches over the well-kept lawn,
providing an excellent shade when the sun was hot.  Altogether, it was
a most delightful spot to spend the summer months away from the smoke
and confusion of the city.

The place, however, did not altogether appeal to Lois Sinclair.  If she
had needed rest, the situation would have been ideal.  But it was
activity she desired, and not luxurious ease such as so many crave,
especially two young men lolling on the verandah awaiting her coming.
Even though one was her brother, she could not restrain a feeling of
contempt as she looked upon their white faces, soft hands, and
immaculate clothes.  Why should men, she asked herself, be so ready and
willing to give themselves completely up to effeminate habits when
their blood was hot within them, and the great Open was calling them
with such a strong insistent voice?

The young woman's arrival brought one of the young men to his feet,
with the offer of a hammock.

"Please do not trouble yourself," she told him.  "I must hurry and get
ready for dinner.  I know that father is very angry with me."

"He is not the only one who is angry, I can assure you," Sammie Dingle
remarked.  "We have been furious with you for leaving us this afternoon
when we needed your company so much in the car.  I cannot understand
how you can enjoy yourself alone out on the river in that nasty boat."

"No, I suppose you cannot," Lois replied, and so infatuated was Sammie
with the young woman that he did not notice the slightest sarcasm in
her words.

"Hurry up, Lois," her brother ordered, "I'm almost starved.  Dad's got
it in for you."

"All right, Dick," was her reply.  "I shall be down in a few minutes.
Why did you wait for me?  You had better go to dinner at once, if you
are so hungry."

It took Lois but a short time upstairs, and when she came down she
found the three men in the dining-room.  Her father was in one of his
surly moods, and this she could tell at the first glance.  He was a
short man, somewhat stout, and pompous both in appearance and manner.
Fortunate it was that his only daughter had inherited none of his
qualities, but was more like her mother, whose memory she cherished
with undying affection.  Since her death home had been more of a prison
to her than anything else.  Neither her father nor her only brother had
understood her, and she was forced to depend more and more upon her own
reliant self.

"What kept you so late, Lois?" her father asked as soon as she had
taken her place at the table.  "You know very well that I do not like
to wait for dinner."

"I am very sorry, father," was the reply, "but I became so greatly
interested in an old man and a girl out on the river that I had no idea
how time was passing."

"Who were they, Lois?" her brother enquired.

"What new creatures have you picked up now?  You haven't run out of
homeless cats and dogs, have you?"

The colour mounted to Lois' temples at these words, for it was not the
first time she had been sneered at for her tenderness of heart for all
suffering creatures.  With difficulty she restrained an angry reply,
and went on calmly with her dinner.

"Come, Lois," Sammie urged, "never mind Dick.  He must have his little
joke, don't you know.  He was only in fun."

"A joke with a sharp thorn in it isn't much fun," and Lois looked
Sammie full in the eyes.  "One might do far worse than take an interest
in such people as I met this afternoon out upon the river.  They
appealed to me very much and I am not ashamed to confess it.  The man
is a perfect gentleman, while the girl is so pretty, and full of life
and fun."

"What's her name?" Dick asked.  "I'm getting quite excited over her."

"She's Betty Bean, so she told me, and the old man is David Findley."

"What, Crazy David, that miserable pauper?" Mr. Sinclair asked.  "And
you call such a creature a gentleman?"

"Certainly, and why not?  His face is so beautiful, and his whole
manner shows that he has moved much in refined society."

"Ho, ho, that's a good one," and Dick leaned back in his chair and
laughed aloud.  "Crazy David a gentleman, with a beautiful face, and
refined manners!  Think of that, dad."

"Lois evidently doesn't know that Crazy David is a pauper, the Devil's
Poor, and was sold to Jim Goban to board and lodge for a year.  He went
pretty low, so I understand."

At these words an expression of surprise came into Lois' eyes, mingled
with indignation.  She looked keenly into her father's face, thinking
that he must be merely joking.

"I can hardly believe that what you say is true," she at length
remarked.  "I did not know that such things were carried on in a
Christian community.  Is it possible that an old man such as that was
sold like a cow or a horse to the lowest bidder!"

"Well, what else could have been done with him, then?"

"Wasn't there any one in the whole parish, willing to take care of him?"

"H'm, I guess people have all they can do to look after themselves
without being burdened with a half-cracked creature such as that.  It
was the best thing they could do.  It would not be fair for one person
to have the entire expense of keeping him, so by this method all have a
share in his support."

"But I call it degrading," Lois insisted, "not only to the old man
himself, but to the people living here.  He seems such a gentleman,
that I was drawn to him this afternoon."

"Going to take him under your wing, eh?" Dick bantered.  "He'll be as
interesting as your other protégé, I assure you.  By the way, I saw him
this afternoon, and he looked his part all right, ho, ho," and Dick
laughed as he gulped down his tea.

"Who's that, Dick?" Mr. Sinclair inquired.

"Oh, Lois knows," was the reply.  "She can tell you all about 'Spuds'
as well as I can, and maybe better."

"Why should I know?" his sister asked, somewhat sharply.  "I only met
him once, and that was years ago."

"But you always take his part, though, so he seems to be somewhat under
your care."

"And why shouldn't I?  He deserves great credit for what he has done,
and it is very unbecoming of you to make fun of him."

"I wish you could have seen him this afternoon, though," and Dick
glanced across the table at Sammie.  "We were speeding along in the car
when we saw him hoeing potatoes in a field by the road.  His clothes
were all soiled, his sleeves rolled up, and he looked like a regular
bushman.  I called out to him as we sped past, and you should have seen
the expression on his face when he saw us.  It was like a thunder
cloud.  I guess he felt pretty well cut up at being caught at such
work, ha, ha."

"Whom are you talking about, anyway?" Mr. Sinclair demanded.  "What's
all this about 'Spuds,' I'd like to know?"

"Oh, it's only that country chap we met several years ago, don't you
remember?" Dick explained.  "His real name, I believe, is Jasper
Randall, though we have always called him Spuds, because he was digging
potatoes when we first met him."

"You don't mean that big overgrown boy who helped us to carry Lois home
the day she sprained her ankle at Daltan Creek?"

"The very same, dad.  And you remember what fun we had at the way he
sat and drank his tea out of the saucer?"

"But I didn't."  Lois spoke sharply, while a flush mantled her cheeks.

"Oh, no, you didn't make fun," Dick laughed.  "You were mad through and
through, and gave us a good solid lecture afterwards."

Lois made no reply, so while the men talked, she let her mind dwell
upon that scene of years ago.  She saw again the lank awkward lad who
was so concerned about her accident.  While helping to carry her home,
he had been much at his ease, and his eyes glowed with a sympathetic
light.  But when once in the house, his natural shyness had come upon
him, and he did not know what to do with himself in the presence of
strangers.  One thing stood out above everything else, and that was his
look of indignant defiance when Dick laughed because he drank his tea
out of the saucer.  She liked the way he had straightened himself
suddenly up, while his eyes flashed with a peculiar light.  The next
that she heard of him was several years later when he entered college
in Dick's year.  Then every time her brother had come home he had such
stories to tell her about Spuds.  And so he was now living near working
on a farm.  Why did he not go home? she asked herself.  She wondered
also what he looked like now.  Was he lank and awkward as when she saw
him?  She longed to ask Dick several questions, but desisted, knowing
that it would be to little purpose.  Her brother would only make fun of
him, and she would be sure to get angry.

When supper was over, the men sauntered out upon the verandah for a
smoke.  Lois went, too, but sat somewhat apart with a piece of
needlework in her hands.  She preferred to be alone that she might
think.  She thought first of old David, and his pitiable condition.
What could she do to help him? she asked herself.  It was not right
that he should be kept as a pauper while there were several people in
the parish who could provide for him without the least trouble.  Her
father was one of them, and she was determined to speak to him just as
soon as she could.

From old David it was only natural that her mind should turn to Jasper
Randall.  She recalled his animated face the day her ankle had been
sprained.  He was but a big overgrown boy then, and she had just
graduated from school.  She had never forgotten him, and had followed
his career while at college as well as she could from what her brother
told her.  And so he was now working on a farm nearby.  A longing came
upon her to see him, and to learn if he had changed much since that day
years ago.  As she glanced toward her brother and Sammie, so effeminate
in their manner, and dressed with such scrupulous care, a feeling of
contempt smote her.  They disdained honest toil, and would scorn to
soil their soft white hands with manual labor.  But over there was a
young man toil-worn, and no doubt sunburnt, clad in rough clothes
earning his living by the sweat of his brow.  Such a person appealed to
her.  He would form an interesting study, if nothing else.  There must
be some connection between that potato patch and the college, she told
herself, and she was determined to find out what it was.

As she thus sat and worked, her thoughts keeping time to her fingers,
Sammie came and took a seat by her side.  She glanced quickly up, with
a shade of annoyance on her face.  They were alone on the verandah, for
her father and Dick were nowhere to be seen.

"You are very quiet this evening, Lois," the young man began.  "I have
been watching you for the last half hour, and you never looked our way
once, nor took any interest in what we were saying.  You are not
offended, are you?"

"Offended!  At what?" Lois asked as she let her needlework fall upon
her lap.

"At me.  Have I done anything to annoy you?"

"I wasn't thinking about you at all, Sammie," and Lois looked him full
in the eyes.  "My mind was upon more important things."

"And you don't consider me important?" the young man demanded, visibly
embarrassed.

"Why should I?  What have you done that you should be considered
important?"

"But my father is rich, and we belong to a good old family.  I am a
gentleman, and that should count for much."

"So you seem to think," was the somewhat sarcastic reply.  "I do not
for a moment deny that such things are valuable, but they count for
very little in my estimation of a true man.  He must prove his worth in
the battle of life, and show to the world that he is something apart
from how much money his father may have or his family history.  Now
what have you done that I should consider you important?"

"Nothing at present, Lois, for I am not through college yet.  But I am
going to do great things some day, and then you will change your
opinion of me."

"I hope so," and Lois gave a sigh as she picked up her work.

"You don't believe what I say?" and Sammie reddened.

"Not until I see you settle down to something definite.  You do not
know how to work, and how, then, can you expect to succeed?"

"But you would not want to see me working like Spuds, for instance,
would you?"

"And why not?  He is not afraid to soil his hands at honest labor.  Why
he is doing so I do not know, but there must be some good reason."

"Oh, I know.  He wants money to help him to finish his college course.
He left very suddenly, so I understand.  Of course, he was not in our
set, and so I know very little about him.  He studied hard, and kept
much to himself, so he has always been somewhat of a mystery.  But say,
Lois, never mind talking about him.  I want to ask you something, for I
am going away to-morrow."

"What is it, Sammie?" and again Lois laid down her work.  She had an
idea what he wanted to say, though it did not affect her in the least.

"I--I want to s-say," the young man stammered, "that you are the
o-only----"

Sammie was suddenly arrested in his protestation of love by Dick's
voice at the door.

"Say, come inside," he called.  "It's beginning to rain, and it's
spoiled my ride this evening.  It's going to be confounded dull
to-night, so give us some music, Lois, to liven things up a bit."

With an amused smile, his sister willingly obeyed.  Sammie followed her
into the house, mentally cursing Dick for his untimely interruption.




CHAPTER IV

A LITTLE CABIN

Betty and old David had a great afternoon out upon the water in the
small row-boat.  They were delighted with Lois, and after she had left
them they watched her until she disappeared within the house.

"Isn't she wonderful!" Betty exclaimed, as she at length picked up the
oars which had been lying unused in the bottom of the boat.

"Who is she, anyway?" her companion asked, for it was evident that he
was as much lost in admiration as was the girl.

"Oh, she's Miss Sinclair, Lois, they call her, and her father is very
rich.  He is president, or something like that, of the street railway
and the electric light company in the city.  Ma knows all about him,
and she has told me a whole lot.  He was very poor once, so she says.
He's awful mean and stuck up and won't have anything to do with the
people he knew when he was young.  But his daughter isn't a bit like
him.  She takes after her mother, so I understand, who was a very fine
woman."

"Does Mr. Sinclair live here all the time?" David inquired.  "I never
heard of him before."

"Oh, no.  He has a big house in the city.  He only bought this place
last summer.  Lois has never been here before.  She came two weeks ago
and I think she is going to stay till fall.  I hope she does, anyway.
Won't it be great to have her here, so we can meet her and talk to her
every Saturday afternoon?"

"She seems to be a very fine young woman," David assented.

"Indeed she is, and she's a nurse, too.  She's been away training in
some hospital for several years, and has just got through."

"Why should she want to be a nurse?" David asked.  "If her father has
plenty of money why should his daughter want to earn her own living?"

"It's because she's so independent, that's why.  She believes every one
should earn her own living, and I guess she's right."

A pained expression suddenly overspread the old man's face at these
words.  But so engrossed was Betty with her own thoughts that she
noticed nothing amiss.

"I am going to be a nurse some day," the girl continued.  "Just as soon
as I am old enough I am going to enter a hospital.  Then when I get
through I can earn so much money and be such a help at home.  And I'm
going to help you, too," she added as an afterthought.

"No, child, that will not be necessary then," David replied.  "I shall
have plenty of money of my own by the time you are a nurse.  I shall be
manager of the biggest company the country has ever known, for it
cannot be long now before people realise how wonderful is the scheme I
have worked out.  They have been very slow to see, but I am sure that a
great change is soon to take place."

"But you might be sick, though," the girl insisted, "and will need me
to nurse you.  I won't charge you anything, for I shall gladly do it
for nothing because it will be you."

"Oh, I wouldn't let you do it for nothing," was the reply.  "I shall
pay you well and make up for all your kindness to me now when I am so
poor."

In this manner the two sat and talked.  Happy were they for the time,
thinking and planning of the future which looked so bright in their
eyes.  Neither did they notice for a while where they had drifted, for
a stiff wind had risen and was drawing down the creek.  It was Betty
who first realised their situation.

"Oh, look where we are!" she cried, seizing the oars, and placing them
in the row-locks.  "We can never get back against this wind, and the
water is getting rougher all the time.  I believe it is going to rain."

"Let me row," David suggested.  "I should be stronger than you."

"Did you ever row?" the girl asked.

"Only once.  But I think I could do it, though."

"Well, I don't think you could.  You're not nearly as strong as I am."

With that she settled herself to the task of pulling back into the
creek against the wind which was dead ahead.  For some time there was
silence as she toiled steadily at the oars.  Gradually, however, her
strokes became weaker, and she was forced to rest.

"I can't do it," she gasped.  "The wind is too strong."

"What are we to do, then?" David asked.

"Land on that shore over there.  I guess we can reach it all right."

Again seizing the oars, she swung the boat partly around and pointed
for the shore.  It was much easier now, and she made considerable
progress.  The wind increased in strength, and at times the water
dashed over the side of the boat.  To add to their discomfort the rain
began to fall, and by the time the shore was reached their clothes were
wet, and David felt cold.

"Help me pull up the boat," Betty ordered.  "We'll tie it to that tree,
and then we'll look around for some shelter.  There's a raftsman's
cabin not far away, and maybe we can stay there."

With the boat securely fastened, they made their way along the shore
until they came to a path leading up from the water.  Following this
through the bushes, they soon reached an open space, and there before
them appeared a small building covered with tarred paper.

"That's the place," Betty exclaimed, "and I know there is a stove there
for I was in it once.  The raftsmen used it this last spring.  We can
build a fire and dry our clothes before we go home."

Betty was the first to reach the cabin, and as she pushed open the door
she gave a cry of surprise.

"What's the matter?" David inquired, thinking that she had been
frightened.

But Betty did not at once reply.  She stood in the middle of the room,
looking around in a bewildered manner.

"Well I never!" she at length declared.  "Why the place is all fixed
up, and somebody must surely be living here.  Who can it be, for I
never heard a word about it, and I thought that I knew everything that
was going on in this parish.  Just look at that table now, with the
dishes all washed so clean.  And there are books, too," she added, "and
pictures on the wall.  I never knew a man could keep a room so neat."

"How do you know that it is a man?" David asked.  "Perhaps it is a
woman."

"Why, that's easy enough," and Betty looked around the room.  "Don't
you see a man's boots there, his clothes hanging up by the stove, and a
package of tobacco on the window-sill?  I guess it's a man all right."

"Perhaps you are right," David assented.  "You know more about such
things than I do.  Anyway, it's nice to be here out of the storm.  But
do you think the man will mind when he comes back and finds us here?
He might be very angry with us."

"Let him get angry, then," and Betty gave her head a slight toss.  "I
don't care for angry men.  If I can match Jim Goban, I guess I can
handle any man who comes here.  Leave that to me, and don't you worry.
I'm going to do a little exploring, anyway.  I want to see what's in
that other room.  Ah, just what I thought," she continued, when she had
opened the door and entered.  "It's the bed-room, and the bed is not
made.  That shows all right that a man lives here.  A woman would never
think of going away and leaving the bed like that.  I'm going to open
the window and air the room.  Men always keep the windows shut tight,
and the house gets so stuffy.  There, that's better," she panted, as
after some difficulty she forced the window up.  "I'm going to make up
that bed just as soon as I get the fire going."

There was a box full of dry wood behind the stove, and soon she had a
fire burning brightly.  She next partly filled a small kettle with
water and set it upon the stove.

"You had better take off your wet coat," she suggested to David.
"You'll get your death of cold if you keep it on much longer."

"Can't I help you?" the old man inquired, as he stood watching with
admiration the girl's light step and the skilful way she did
everything.  There was a longing in his eyes as well, for he wanted to
be of some use but did not know how.

"Yes, you can help me," and Betty smiled upon him, "by taking that coat
off and sitting down upon that nice cosy place near the stove.  It was
certainly made for comfort, and the man who owns this building must
spend his evenings there.  What a lot of books he has.  He must read a
great deal."

David was only too glad to obey, so after he had taken off his coat and
hung it up back of the stove to dry, he stretched himself at full
length upon the settle.

"This does feel good," and he gave a sigh of relief.

"You're tired, that's what's the trouble with you," Betty replied.
"You shouldn't have a bit of work to do.  You're too old, and you
should have some one to look after you all the time."

"How nice it would be if we could live in a place like this, and not go
back to Jim Goban's.  Would you be willing to take care of me?" David
asked.

"Sure, I would like nothing better.  But, then, there are some things
in the way."

"What are they?"

"Well, you see, there's the question of money.  We haven't any
ourselves, and I don't think any one is likely to drop it at our feet
in a hurry.  And besides, Jim's got you for a year and he wouldn't want
to give you up; he's going to get a lot of work out of you, so he
plans."

"I know that only too well, Betty.  But when I get rich, I mean.  If I
had a little place like this you would look after me, would you not?  I
would pay you well, and we could be so happy."

"Indeed we could.  But you haven't the money yet and we must try to be
as happy as we can in the meantime.  That's what ma says, and she
really does practise it.  So I've got to look after you now when you
can't pay me.  I'm going to see if I can't find something to eat.  The
man who lives here surely doesn't live on air.  He must have some food
in the house."

It did not take Betty long to find the cupboard.  This was nothing more
than a box nailed to the wall, on which a rude door had been fastened.
There were three shelves and on these were a loaf of bread, some cold
meat, potatoes, eggs and cheese.

"Isn't this great!" she exclaimed, as she brought forth what she
needed.  "I can warm up these potatoes, and we shall have a grand
supper."

"I am worrying about the man who owns those things," David remarked.
"He might not mind our using his house, but when it comes to making
free with his provisions, it might be a different matter.  Do you think
it is right for us to touch them?"

"We won't take all," and Betty stood before the table eying the meat
and potatoes.  "We can leave enough for him.  If he is a kind man he
will not mind our taking some of his supper.  How dark it is getting,"
she added.  "I shall light that lamp.  Now, isn't that better," she
continued when this had been accomplished.  "We shall have supper in a
short time."

While Betty busied herself about the stove, David remained stretched
out upon the settle.  Outside, the storm increased in fury, and the
rain heat against the window.  Within, all was snug and warm.  The girl
even hummed softly to herself as she went on with her work.

When supper was ready, Betty spoke to David.  As he made no reply, she
went to his side and, to her surprise, found that he was asleep.  An
expression of tender compassion came into the girl's eyes as she
watched him.  She knew how tired he was and she would not wake him.  It
was better, so she thought, that he should sleep.  Drawing up a chair,
she sat down by his side.  A feeling came to her that it was her duty
to care for this old man who was so helpless.  She could not do much,
but when Betty Bean had once made up her mind it was seldom that she
could be turned from her purpose.




CHAPTER V

UNMASKED

All the morning Jasper Randall was busy hoeing potatoes in the large
field near the main highway.  He liked the work, for he was alone and
could give himself up to thought as he drove the hoe into the yielding
earth.  His task suited him well, and as he tore out innumerable weeds,
slashing down a big one here and another there, he was in reality
overcoming and defeating opponents of the brain.  They were all there
between the rows, and he could see them so plainly.  The lesser ones he
could sweep away at one stroke, but that quitch grass was more
difficult to conquer.  He could cut it off, but its roots would remain
firmly embedded in the ground and would spring forth again.  It was a
nasty, persistent weed.  Little wonder that he attacked it most
fiercely, for it reminded him of the weed of injustice with which he
had been contending for years.  Other enemies, like the smaller weeds,
he could overcome, but injustice, that quitch grass of life, was what
stung him to fury.  Little did Simon Squabbles, the tight old
skin-flint, realise that the lone man working in his potato field was
doing the work of two men that morning, and at the same time slaying a
whole battalion of bitter enemies.  The contest was continued during
the afternoon.  The quitch grass was thicker now, and the struggle
harder.  With savage delight Jasper had just torn out a whole handful
and had shaken it free from its earth as a dog would shake a rat, when
the honk of an auto caused him to look toward the road.  As he did so,
his face underwent a marvellous transformation.  The car was only a few
seconds in passing, but it was sufficient for him to recognise the
occupants, see the amused expression upon their faces, and hear their
salutation of "Spuds," as they sped by.  His strong, supple body
trembled as he leaned for a while upon his hoe and gazed down the road
after the rapidly disappearing car.  He must have remained thus for
several minutes oblivious to everything else.  Neither did he see his
hard taskmaster watching him in the distance.  But when he again
resumed his hoeing he worked more fiercely than ever, and there was
danger at times lest the frail hoe should break beneath his tremendous
strokes.  Up one row and down another he moved all the afternoon.  He
seemed like a giant tearing up the earth, rather than a man performing
a prosaic task.  When toward evening the sky darkened, the wind began
to blow and the rain to fall, he hardly noticed it at first.  Only when
the earth became mucky and stuck constantly to his hoe, did he leave
his work and go across the field toward the barn.  It was time, anyway,
to help with the chores.  He was anxious to get through that he might
go home.  He was glad that it was Saturday, for he would have the next
day free.

It was dark by the time his tasks were done, and then he went to the
house for his week's pay.  He had agreed to work for a dollar and a
half a day, and get his own breakfast and supper at home.  Thus he had
nine dollars coming to him for his week's work.  He was surprised,
therefore, when Simon Squabbles handed him out only eight dollars and
fifty cents.

"There is some mistake here," Jasper remarked as he counted over the
money.  "I want fifty cents more."

"That's all you're goin' to get," Simon replied.  "I saw ye loafin'
this afternoon when ye should have been workin', an' 'no work, no pay'
is my motto."

"Loafing, do you say?" Jasper asked, thinking that he had not heard
aright.

"Sure.  Didn't I see ye leanin' on yer hoe watchin' that car which went
down the road?  An' ye stood there a long time, too."

Into Jasper's eyes leaped an angry fire.  He understood now the man he
had to deal with.  So he had been watching him, and he had taken no
account of the work he had done all day.

"You were spying upon me, eh?" he retorted.  "Didn't you see how I did
the work of two men to-day?"

"All I know is that you were loafin' when I saw ye, an' that was
enough."

"Look here, Simon Squabbles," and Jasper stepped close to his employer,
"if you were not as old as you are, I'd tie you into a bowknot in the
twinkling of an eye.  You're not fit to be called a man, and not
another stroke of work do you get from me.  Keep the fifty cents, if it
will do you any good.  I am trying to make an honest living, but
creatures such as you are the ones who make it almost impossible."

The blood surged through Jasper's veins as he plodded along the muddy
road towards his humble cabin.  The rain beat upon him and soaked his
clothes, but he did not seem to heed it, so filled was his mind with
the contemptible meanness of old Squabbles.  He was in no pleasant
mood, and his hands often clenched hard together as he moved through
the darkness.  What he was to do in the future, he did not know.
Neither did he much care.  A reckless spirit was upon him.  The whole
world was seething with injustice, so he believed.  He had tried to be
honest, to make his way, but he had been foiled at every step.  Why
should he try any longer?  Simon Squabbles prospered through injustice;
Dick Sinclair could ride along in his car, dressed in the height of
fashion, while he had to eke out a precarious living by hoeing
potatoes.  Dick's father had made his money in an unscrupulous manner,
and was held up as a shrewd business man.  Would it not be as well for
him to hurl himself into the game and win out, no matter how?

Thinking thus, he came near his cabin, when a light arrested his
attention.  He stopped short in his tracks and peered through the
darkness.  At first he believed that he must be mistaken.  But no, it
shone steadily before him, and he knew that some one was there.  The
thought made him angry, and he hurried forward, determined to make an
example of the one who had dared to meddle with his property.

Reaching the building, he peered cautiously through the uncurtained
window.  As he did so, his anger suddenly ceased when he beheld the
pathetic scene within, of an old man lying asleep upon the couch and a
young girl patiently watching by his side.  Why they were there he did
not know, though he felt certain that great necessity must have driven
them to take refuge in a strange cabin.  He recognised old David as the
man he had met that night on the road listening to the voice of Break
Neck Falls.  He knew that he had been sold to Jim Goban for one year,
and the transaction had rankled in his soul for days.  The girl he did
not know, but she seemed to him like a ministering angel watching over
the slumber of the sleeping man.  This thought caused him to study her
more intently, for notwithstanding his strength and independence of
mind, he could not forget the pictures he had seen and the stories he
had heard as a child of angels coming to earth on special deeds of
mercy.  He banished this idea, however, in an instant, and even smiled
at his own foolishness as he turned away from the window and moved
around the corner of the cabin.

He was about to push open the door and enter when a sudden notion came
into his mind which caused him to pause.  He stood there with the rain
beating upon him as he thought over the idea.  Then he stepped toward
the door and gave a gentle tap.  In a few seconds Betty stood before
him, peering into the darkness.  The sight of the large man standing
there caused her to start and draw somewhat back.

"Excuse me," Jasper began, "but could you give me shelter?  It is a
rough night and I am wet and hungry.  I am sorry to disturb you, but I
saw the light from the road and knew that some one was living here."

"Come in," the girl at once replied.  "We have a good fire and supper
is all ready, such as it is," and she gave a little laugh as she moved
back into the room.  "We are strangers, too, and I do not know what the
owner will say when he comes back and finds us here."

"Oh, I shall take care of you," Jasper returned.  "He won't make a fuss
when he sees me.  If he does, we'll pitch him out of the door, eh?"

"I guess you could do it all right," and Betty smiled as she looked at
him.  "Mr. David will be so pleased to see you when he wakes.  He likes
good company."

"How do you know I am good company?" Jasper asked.  "Maybe I'm as cross
as two sticks."

"Well, then, you can't stay if you are."

"You couldn't put me out, could you?"

"Couldn't I, though?  I guess you don't know me.  Jim Goban once said
that I could beat the devil with my tongue alone, and I guess Jim ought
to know by this time what I'm like when I get my ginger up.  But you're
not that kind of a man.  I can tell by your eyes that you're all right.
If you're a little cranky now, it's because you're hungry.  As soon as
you get something to eat you'll be as sweet as molasses candy.  Most
men are that way."

The sound of voices woke old David, and sitting suddenly up he looked
inquiringly around the room as if uncertain where he was.

"Don't be afraid, Mr. David," Betty assured him.  "Supper's all ready,
and we have a visitor as hard up as we are to share it with us.  So
come at once and let us get through."

Jasper was greatly amused at the way Betty took full possession of
everything in the place.  There was nothing forward about her, for she
seemed more like a grown-up woman than a girl.  He admired her
confident and buoyant manner, as well as the thoughtful and deferential
way she looked after the old man.  The best on the table was for him
and he had to be served first.  She treated him sometimes as a child,
but more often as a superior being.  He noted the look of reverential
respect in her eyes as she turned them upon him, and he wondered.

During the meal David acted the part of a perfect gentleman.  His
manners could not have been better had he been at a royal banquet
instead of a most humble repast in a rude cabin.  He asked Jasper no
questions but talked merely about his experience upon the river that
afternoon.  He was somewhat anxious lest the owner of the cabin should
return and resent their intrusion.  Jasper endeavoured to allay his
fears, reminding him that no one in his senses would be angry at people
seeking refuge on such a night.

During the meal Betty had been observing Jasper quite closely, and once
the semblance of a twinkle might have been detected in her eyes.  She
made no remark, however, as to what she was thinking, but while the men
smoked when supper was over, she busied herself washing up the few
dishes.

Under the soothing influence of the tobacco David became talkative.  He
was pleased to have so attentive a listener as Jasper, and unfolded to
him his wonderful secret.

"Mr. David is going to be a very rich man some day," Betty remarked, as
she paused in wiping the dishes.

"I am pleased to hear that," Jasper replied.  "Money is the only thing
that counts these days."

"Yes," the girl continued, "he is going to be very rich, and I am going
to look after him.  We shall have such a nice little house and be so
very, very happy."

While Betty was talking, the old man fumbled in an inside pocket and
brought forth several papers.

"See," and he held one of them up so the light of the lamp would fall
upon it, "it is all here.  You can understand my plan much better from
this.  Here is Break Neck Falls, and just below it the plant will be
placed.  From there power will radiate throughout the entire country.
The whole thing is so simple that it is a wonder to me that it has not
been thought of before."

"Isn't it great!" Betty exclaimed, looking over the old man's shoulder.
"And to think that Mr. David worked it all out himself."

As Jasper sat and watched the two animated faces before him, he had not
the heart to say a word that would in any way dampen their enthusiasm.
Nevertheless, it seemed to him so ridiculous that old David's scheme
could ever meet with any success.  How was he to interest people who
had the means to carry his plan into effect?  But if the thought of
doing great things would give him any happiness, he would be the last
one to remove such a hope.

The storm raged outside and the wind beat against the window as the
three sat and talked.  The room was warm and cosy, and Jasper was
pleased to have these two visitors on such a lonely night.  Simon
Squabbles and his meanness he forgot for awhile as he listened to Betty
as she told him of her home life.  It was just what he needed to take
him out of himself, and to make him think of others.  But when the girl
spoke of Lois and how she had been with them that afternoon on the
river, he became doubly interested.

"Oh, you must see her," Betty exclaimed.  "She is the most wonderful
person I ever saw.  Isn't it strange that you have never met her!"

"Why, what chance have I had?" Jasper asked.  "Anyway, she wouldn't
want anything to do with such a rough fellow as I am."

"Indeed she would.  She's not that kind; there's nothing stuckup about
her.  Maybe you'll see her passing some day.  She might call, too, for
she is so friendly."

"Call!  What do you mean?  How could she call upon me if I am miles
away from this place?"

"Oh, but you won't be.  You'll be right here where you have been for
some time."

Into Jasper's eyes came a look of surprise, and he felt his face flush
under the girl's keen scrutiny.

"There, I knew I was right," she laughed in glee.

"You thought you could deceive me, did you?"

"Why, how in the world did you know that I live here?" Jasper asked.
"Did anybody tell you?"

"No, certainly not.  But the Lord didn't give Betty Bean eyes and a
mind for nothing.  Who else would be poking around this place on a
night like this but the owner?  And didn't you know where your dry coat
was when you came in? and your slippers? and your pipe and tobacco?
and----"

"There, there, you have produced evidence enough, and I plead guilty,"
Jasper laughed.  He was greatly amused at the girl's quickness.  "You
are not offended, are you, at the little joke I played upon you?"

"Oh, no, not all.  But next time you do anything like that try it upon
a man.  A woman's eyes are pretty sharp, and it's hard to deceive her.
Mine are, anyway."

David had listened to this conversation and slowly the truth dawned
upon him that the owner of the cabin was before him.

"I wish to apologise, sir," he began, "for our rudeness in entering
your house.  It was only necessity which compelled us to do so, I
assure you, and when I am in a position, I shall recompense you
handsomely for the entertainment to-night."

"Please do not say a word about it," Jasper replied.  "I am very
thankful that you have been able to make use of my humble abode.  I
have enjoyed your company very much.  But I think it is time for us to
retire, as you need rest.  The girl can use that room there, while you
can sleep upon that cot."

"But what about yourself?" David inquired.

"Oh, I shall make a place for myself right by the stove.  I shall be
very comfortable there."

David at first refused to listen to such an arrangement, but Jasper was
determined and claimed a host's privilege of making his guests as
comfortable as possible.  He sat for some time at the little table
after David and Betty had gone to sleep.  He dwelt long and carefully
upon the rude plan the old man had shown him.  The more he studied it,
the more convinced he became that there was a great deal in it after
all.  But it would mean much money, and he sighed as he at length blew
out the light, stretched himself upon the floor, and drew a great coat
over his body.




CHAPTER VI

OUT OF BONDAGE

During the night the storm broke, and the morning was fine and warm.
After breakfast Jasper and David sat on a log outside and smoked.
Betty was busy in the house, washing the dishes and tidying up the
rooms.  She hummed softly to herself as she moved lightly across the
floor.  She was anxious to get through as quickly as possible that she
might take David back to Jim Goban's.  She felt a little uneasy for his
sake as she knew how angry his taskmaster would be with him.  For
herself she did not care.  If Jim said too much, she could leave him at
once.  And yet she did not wish to go, for she felt that she must look
after this old man who was so helpless and depended so much upon her
for protection.

When her work was finished, she joined the men outside.

"It's time we were going, Mr. David," she began.  "The river is calm
now, and it will not be hard rowing back."

"I wish you could stay here all day," Jasper replied.  "I shall feel
very lonely when you go."

"But we shall come to see you again, sir.  It has been so good of you
to keep us.  But Jim Goban will be angry if we do not hurry home.  I
know how he will rage as it is.  The longer we stay the harder it will
be for him," and she pointed to David.

Scarcely had she finished speaking ere a team was heard driving
furiously along the road.

"Oh, it's Jim now!" the girl cried, "and I know he is mad by the way he
is driving.  He's stopping at the gate, too!"

Jim had seen them from the road, and having tied his horse to a tree,
he made his way swiftly along the little path leading to the cabin.  He
was certainly in no pleasant frame of mind, and when he came near he
gave vent to his feelings in coarse, brutal language.

David, rose and advanced to meet the angry man, hoping in some way to
appease his rage, but in this he was mistaken.

"Ye old cuss," Jim shouted, "what do ye mean by runnin' away with that
girl?  Ye look as meek as a lamb but I guess ye're about as near a
devil as they make 'em."

"He didn't run away with me," Betty sharply replied.  "I ran away with
him, that's the way it was, and you needn't get on your high horse, Jim
Goban.  You, yourself, would be the first one to run away with a girl
if you could find one crazy enough to run with you."

"Shet up, ye fool," Jim shouted.  "I didn't ask you to speak."

"I know you didn't," the girl calmly returned, "but that doesn't make
any difference.  This is a free country, isn't it?  We didn't ask you
to come here and make such a fuss, so you can go if you are not
satisfied with our company.  We're quite happy where we are."

"But I'm not goin' without that cuss," and Jim looked savagely at the
old man.  "You kin stay if ye want to with the guy who owns this cabin.
There'll be a nice little story fer the gossips before long, ha, ha."

At these words Jasper started, while his face went white and his hands
clenched together.  He had listened in silence to Jim's tirade, and was
only waiting an opportunity to explain how the old man and the girl
happened to be at his place.  But this pointed reference to him was
more than he could endure.

"What do you mean by that statement?" he asked, taking a quick step
forward.  "Please explain yourself."

"There's nothin' to explain," and Jim gave a coarse laugh.  "The
neighbours will do all the explainin' that is necessary."

"No, that's not the thing.  You made an insinuation, and it's up to you
to explain before you leave.  I have nothing to do with the neighbours;
it's you I am dealing with now.  Yon have insulted this feeble old man,
and uttered words in reference to me and this girl.  I want to know
what you mean."

"I don't have to explain anything," Jim retorted.  "You mind yer own
business, and go to ----"

The oath had hardly left his lips ere Jasper with one lightning blow
hit him squarely between the eyes.  Jim reeled back, and then with a
frightful oath leaped forward.  But he was powerless before Jasper's
superior training and soon he was sprawling upon the ground while his
opponent stood bending over him.

"Had enough, eh?" Jasper asked.  "If you want some more, get up.  I
haven't had half enough yet."

"Leave me alone," Jim mumbled.  "You'll pay up for this.  I'll fix ye."

"What's that you say?" and Jasper stooped lower, "You're going to pay
me back?  Well, then, I might as well fix you now, so you won't be able
to do anything in the future.  I might as well have my satisfaction
when I can get it.  So get up, or I'll knock the life out of your
measley carcass."

Seeing that Jasper was in earnest, Jim scrambled to his feet and barely
dodged the blow rained at his head.

"Fer God's sake, stop!" he yelled.  "I won't do anything to ye.  I
promise on me word of honour."

"And, you'll be good to this old man?" Jasper demanded.

"Yes, yes," and Jim trembled in every limb.  "I'll be good to him if ye
don't hit me agin."

For a few seconds Jasper looked contemptuously upon the creature
cowering before film.  He felt that he was lying, and just as soon as
he was out of his sight he would treat old David in a shameful manner,
and he himself would be helpless to interfere.  What could he do? he
asked himself.  A sudden idea came into his mind.

"What do you get for the keep of this old man?" he asked.

"Only a hundred," was the surly reply.  "Not half enough."

"Well, look here, will you give him to me?  I will take care of him for
nothing."

Into Jim Goban's eyes came a look of surprise mingled with doubt.  The
man must surely be making sport of him, he thought.  Then his natural
cupidity overcame him.  Here was a chance to get clear of the pauper
and at the same time receive money for his keep.  But how would the
overseers of the poor regard such a transaction?

"Will you let me have him?" Jasper again asked.

"Give me twenty-five dollars and he is yours," Jim replied.

"Twenty-five dollars!  No, not a cent.  You will make out of it as it
is; far more than you deserve."

"I can't do it, then," and Jim made as though to go.  "Come on," he
ordered David and Betty.  "Let's git away from here."

"Hold on," and Jasper stepped, up close to him; "if you do not let me
have the old man, I'll lay a charge against you for ill treating him, I
saw enough this morning to satisfy any one.  Let me have him, and you
need have no more worry.  Refuse, and you will regret it."

"But what will the overseers say if I give him up?" Jim whined.

"Oh, that can be easily settled.  If they make a fuss, send them to me.
But I guess they won't bother their heads."

Jim still hesitated.  He longed to get more out of this bargain.

"Hurry up," Jasper demanded.  "What do you say?"

"Oh, take the cuss, then.  I wish ye joy of him.  I'm off now.  Come,
girl, let's git home."

During the whole of this affair Betty had been a most interested and
excited witness.  She was delighted at the thought of David's freedom,
and when Jim at last agreed to part with him she could hardly repress a
cry of joy.  It took her but a second to make up her mind, and she was
ready when Jim spoke to her.

"I'm not going with you," she told him.

"Not goin'!  Why, what d'ye mean?" and Jim looked his astonishment.

"I'm going to stay with Mr. David.  He needs me more than you do.  I'm
going to take him to my own home.  He will be happy there and treated
like a gentleman."

"Ho, ho! so that's the game, eh?  Treat him like a gentleman!  Well, do
as ye like; it's nothin' to me, so I'm off."

They watched him as he strode across the field, unhitched his horse and
drove away.

"There, we're rid of him at last," and Jasper gave a sigh of relief.

"Isn't it great!" Betty exclaimed turning to David.  "To think that you
are going home with me!"

But the old man was looking at Jasper and did not hear the girl's cry
of delight.  In his eyes was an expression of gratitude.  He tried to
speak but words failed him, and tears flowed down his cheeks.  Jasper
was visibly moved, and turned suddenly to Betty.

"You are willing to keep him for awhile?" he asked.

"Yes.  Mother will be so pleased to have him, and I will work hard to
help her."

"Where will you work?  At Jim Goban's?"

"No, I am through there.  But I will get work somewhere.  I will talk
it over with mother.  I think we had better be going now."

Thrusting his hand into his pocket Jasper brought forth several bills.

"Take these," he said, "they are all I can give you now, but you shall
have more later."

"But you need the money yourself," the girl replied.

"Not as much as you will need it.  So say nothing more about it.
Good-bye.  I hope to see you again."

Jasper watched the two as they moved slowly across the field and then
disappeared down the road.  He felt lonely when they were gone, and he
sat for some time in front of the cabin lost in thought.  At times he
called himself a fool for what he had done.  Why should he be burdened
with that old man when he could hardly make his own living?  And
besides, he had no work to do, and had given away his last dollar.  But
notwithstanding all this, a secret feeling of satisfaction stole into
his heart that he had helped old David and had taken him out of Jim
Goban's clutches.

As he sat there the bell of the nearby church rang forth, and he
realised for the first time that it was Sunday morning.  He did not
feel in a mood for attending service.  He needed a long walk to think,
and shake off the spirit of depression that was stealing over him.

Entering the cabin, he prepared a small lunch, and then closing the
door he struck out across the field in the direction of Break Neck
Falls.  He wished to go there to view the scene where David planned to
erect his plant and do such wonderful things.  He smiled grimly to
himself as he thought of the old man's delusion.  Reaching the brow of
the hill just where the trail started from the main road, he paused and
looked down to his left.  He could see clearly Peter Sinclair's house
with the tall trees surrounding it.  Bitter feelings came into his
heart as he stood there.  Over yonder lived a man who had the power to
do so much good in the world.  He could help old David and give him a
comfortable home for the rest of his life.  Why should some men have so
much of this world's goods and others so little?  he asked himself.
Then he thought of Dick, and a contemptuous smile curled his lips.  He
recalled his feelings the previous day when he had watched the car go
by and listened to the salutation of "Spuds."

And standing there his feelings suddenly underwent a marvellous change,
for walking slowly across the field was Lois on her way to church.  She
was some distance away so Jasper was sure that she could not see him.
As in the past so now he was forced to worship her afar off.  It was
not for him, poor and unknown, to draw any closer.  The trees along the
path she walked could bend above her and the bright flowers could smile
up into her face.  But for him there could be no such favours.  He was
half tempted to hasten back to church.  There he could be quite near
and watch her.  He banished this thought, however, as he glanced down
at his own rough clothes and coarse boots.

Jasper watched Lois until she disappeared from view behind a clump of
birch trees.  Then leaving the highway he walked slowly along the trail
leading to the falls.




CHAPTER VII

AT THE CLOSE OF A DAY

High up on the bank of the brook which flows down from Break Neck Falls
Jasper sat leaning against the bole of a large tree.  It was drawing
toward evening and long slanting shadows were falling athwart the
landscape.  It was a hot afternoon and the shade of the old spruce was
refreshing.  By his side was a rough birch fishing rod, and nearby
wrapped up in cool, moist leaves were several fair-sized trout.  Jasper
had not been fishing for pleasure, but merely for food, as his scanty
supply was almost gone.  The fish would serve him for supper and
breakfast.  Beyond that he could not see, for he had not the least idea
what he was to do to earn a living, and at the same time assist old
David.

Though the day was exceptionally fine, Jasper did not enjoy it as at
other times.  His mind was too much occupied with other matters.  All
things seemed to be against him in his struggle to advance.  It had
been the same for years, and now the climax had been reached.  What was
he to do? he had asked himself over and over again during the
afternoon.  Should he give up in despair?  What was the use of trying
any longer?  He had seen young men succeeding in life who had not made
any efforts.  Money and influence had pushed them along.  Dick Sinclair
would soon join their ranks.  He had lived, a life of indolence, and
yet it would be only a short time ere he would be looked upon as a
prominent citizen.  The papers would speak of his ability and write
glowing articles about whatever he did.  Where was the justice of it
all? he questioned.  Did not real worth and effort amount to anything
in life's struggle?

At length, tired with such thoughts, he drew forth from an inside
pocket a small book.  It was well marked and showed constant usage.  It
was a volume of Emerson's Essays, a number of which he knew almost by
heart.  It was only natural that the book should open at the essay on
Self-reliance, for there the pages were most thumb-marked.  His eyes
rested upon the words: "There is a time in every man's education when
he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance."  He read on to
the beginning of the next paragraph, "Trust thyself: every heart
vibrates to that iron string."

The book dropped from Jasper's hand and once more he gave himself up to
thought.  He knew how true were those words.  He realised that envy is
ignorance, and it was his duty to rise above it.  Why should he spend
his strength in envying others?  He would conquer and make them envy
him.  Ah, that idea brought a flush to his face.  He would trust
himself, as Emerson said, and some day the very ones who looked down
upon him and spurned him would come to him.  How he was to accomplish
this Jasper had no idea.  But there was comfort in thinking about it,
anyway, and he felt sure that a way would be opened whereby he could
succeed.

He was aroused from his musing by the sound of voices.  Looking quickly
down toward the brook, he saw three people walking along the bank.  He
recognised them at once as Lois, Dick and Sammie.  At first he was
tempted to withdraw farther back among the trees lest he should be
seen.  He abandoned this idea, however, feeling quite certain that he
would not be noticed where he was.  Lois and Sammie were walking
together, while Dick was a short distance ahead.  What they were saying
he could not make out, neither did he care.  He had eyes only for the
young woman, and he noted how beautiful she appeared as she walked with
such an upright graceful swing.  Was she happy in Sammie's company? he
wondered.  She was laughing now, and seemed to be greatly amused at
something her companion was saying.  Jasper noted all this, and then
called himself a fool for imagining that she could ever think of him.
No doubt she had already given her heart to the young man by her side,
so he might as well banish her from his mind at once.  He would go away
and never see her again.

Acting upon this impulse, he was about to move softly among the trees
and disappear.  He had placed his book in his pocket and had reached
for his fish when a cry of terror fell upon his ears.  In an instant he
was on his feet, peering keenly down to see what was the matter.  In a
twinkling he grasped the whole situation.  Just across the brook a wall
of rough rocks shelved upwards to the height of about twenty feet.
Below, the water swirled and dashed over jagged boulders, receiving its
impetus from the falls farther up stream.  The path led along the top,
and in some unaccountable manner Lois had slipped and fallen over the
edge, and had gone swiftly down toward the rushing current below.  She
grasped frantically at everything on which she could lay her hands, and
was only able to arrest her downward descent when a few feet from the
water.  And there she clung with the desperation of despair, while her
two companions stood above half-paralysed with fear, and unable to
assist her.

When Jasper saw Lois go down to what seemed certain destruction, he
sprang forward and leaped down the bank as if shot from a catapult.
Into the brook he recklessly dashed and like a giant forced his way
across the current and around hidden boulders.  At times it seemed as
if he could not keep his feet and that he must be swept away.  But that
picture of the clinging woman nerved him to superhuman efforts, and
slowly but surely he edged his way toward her.  When a few feet from
the base of the rock, he saw Lois relax and slip downward.  Barely had
she touched the water ere Jasper with a mighty effort leaped forward
and caught her in his arms.  Then in an instant they were both swept
away.  Fortunately, Jasper was a strong swimmer, and as they shot
forward he was able to keep Lois' head above water, and work steadily
toward the shore.

By this time Dick and Sammie had so far recovered from their fright
that they were able to hurry down stream, and stand on the edge of the
stream where the bank sloped gently to the water.  Here they stood for
several fearful seconds watching Jasper as he struggled toward them.
They took special care not to wet their feet, but merely reached out
and helped to pull Lois ashore and lay her upon the dry ground.  More
than that they were unable to do, and naturally turned toward Jasper
for help.

"We must get her home at once," the latter remarked, kneeling by the
side of the prostrate woman.  "I am afraid she has been injured by the
fall."

Fortunately, at that instant Lois opened her eyes and fixed them upon
him in a dazed manner.  Then she remembered what had happened, and sat
suddenly up and looked around.

"My, I have given you a great fright," she said.  "It was stupid of me
to trip over that root."

"Are you hurt, Lois?" Dick inquired.

"I am somewhat bruised, that is all.  I think I must have fainted and
let go of the rock.  How did I get here?"

"Oh, Spuds got hold of you and brought you out," Dick explained.

Lois at once turned her eyes upon Jasper who was now standing a few
feet away.  She noticed his drenched clothes, and also that there was
blood upon his forehead.

"You are hurt," she cried.  "You have struck your head."

"It's nothing, I assure you," and Jasper gave a slight laugh.  "I must
have hit it against a rock when we went down, that was all.  It will
soon get better.  Never mind me, I am all right.  But you must get home
at once."

"Yes, come, Lois," and Sammie, speaking for the first time since the
accident, stepped forward.  "We must get you home at once.  Never mind
this fellow; he doesn't matter."

"Indeed he does," Lois emphatically replied.  "He saved my life, and I
can never thank him enough."

"But I would have saved you, Lois.  I was just coming to rescue you
when this fellow, who was spying upon us from the bushes, got to you
first."

Lois never forgot the look on Jasper's face as the jealous Sammie
uttered this insinuation.  He drew himself up to his full height, and
his eyes glowed with a sudden light of anger.  She saw his lips move as
if about to utter words of protest.  Instead, however, he quickly
turned, left them, and walking along the bank for a short distance
reached a fordable place in the brook.  He plunged into the water and
after a brief struggle reached the opposite bank and disappeared among
the trees.

Lois stood and watched him until he was out of sight.  She was faint
and greatly annoyed at Sammie's words.  She knew now what a cad and a
coward he really was, and was not even man enough to give credit to the
one who had rescued her.

"Come, Dick," and she turned to her brother, "let's go home," was the
only remark she made, as she took his arm and walked slowly along the
path leading from the brook.  She took no notice of the crestfallen
Sammie, who trudged along behind wondering what had come over the young
woman that she should act in such a strange manner.

Jasper could not fully understand the strange feeling that had come
over him at Sammie's unjust insinuation.  His first lightning thought
was to knock the fellow down.  Then he wanted to explain, to say that
he had not been spying.  But he knew that if he spoke he might get
excited.  No, it was better for him to leave at once, and let Lois
think whatever she liked.  He had saved her and that was all he cared
for.  But as he moved along through the woods, the few words she had
said and the expression in her eyes acted as balm to his wounded
feelings.  He made up his mind, however, not to be caught in such a way
again.  He would take good care to keep away from the Sinclairs after
that.

Going back to the place where he had left his fish, he picked them up
and started down along the brook.  He wished to get back to his cabin
as quickly as possible that he might change his wet clothes.  He was
hungry as well, and he longed for a couple of the trout he had caught.
He thought much of Lois, and wondered how she was getting along.  He
hoped that she had not been seriously injured and that she would not
catch cold from her plunge into the water.  He could not forget the
feeling that had come over him as he had sprung forward and caught her
as she was falling.  He should remember that sensation for the rest of
his life, no matter what happened.

Having reached the end of the trail, he moved swiftly along the main
highway.  He was almost to his cabin when he saw an auto by the side of
the road.  Something had evidently gone wrong, for two men were
anxiously examining it.  Jasper was about to pass when one of the men
accosted him.

"Excuse me," he began, "but could you tell me if there is a hotel or
any place where we can get supper?  We have been stalled here for some
time, and my chauffeur can't find what is the matter with the car."

"There is no hotel," Jasper replied, "and I know of no people who serve
meals.  But I have a place right near, and you are welcome to such
accommodation as I have.  It is very humble, and I warn you not to
expect much.  I have merely bachelor's quarters, and so am my own
housekeeper."

"Thank you kindly," the man returned, "I am very grateful to you, and
we shall be delighted to go with you, though we do not wish to trouble
you too much.  The trout you have make my mouth water.  You evidently
went in head-first after them," and he smiled as he observed the young
man's wet clothes.

Jasper liked this man, and this impression was increased as they walked
toward the cabin.  He was well spoken, and so gentlemanly in manner
that he found it quite easy to converse with him.  Everything seemed to
interest and please him, especially the cabin.  He called Jasper a
lucky fellow for having such a place where he could live so quietly
away from all bustle and stress of the great outside world.

"It is quiet enough as a rule," Jasper remarked with a laugh, as he
lighted the fire in his little stove after he had changed his wet
clothes for dry ones.

"Have you lived here long?" the stranger inquired, as he stretched
himself out upon the cot.

"Since the middle of May," was the reply.  "But I expect to leave
shortly.  I'm out of a job now, and so must look elsewhere."

"What have you been working at?"

"Oh, anything that turns up."

The stranger was quick to note the almost hopeless tone in Jasper's
voice as he uttered these words, and he studied the young man more
closely.

"Where did you live before you came here?" he asked.

"At college.  I was almost through when reverses came, and so I had to
get out.  I have been trying to earn enough to finish my course, but
everything seems to be against me.  I understand farming and naturally
took to the land in preference to other work."

"What were you studying at college?" the man asked.

"Electrical engineering."

"I see.  But was there not something you could have obtained along that
line?  Surely there must have been some opening."

Jasper made no reply.  There was a reason, but he did not feel inclined
to reveal his secret to a complete stranger, upon such a brief
acquaintance.




CHAPTER VIII

THE SHADOW OF MYSTERY

When supper was over, the stranger lighted a cigar and stretched
himself out upon the cot.

"This is certainly comfort," he remarked, as he watched Jasper clear
away the dishes.  "It is fortunate that we have found such hospitality.
You do not have many such visitors, I suppose.  It must be rather
lonely for you here."

"Not as a rule, though I have been much favoured lately," Jasper
replied with a laugh, and he told how his cabin had been taken
possession of the previous night.

"Well, that was cool, I should say," and the stranger smiled.  "Walked
right in, did they?"

"But I didn't mind, for they were such a queer couple; a feeble old
man, and a bright, smart girl of about sixteen.  It was nice for me to
have them here on such a stormy night.  I would have been very lonely,
otherwise."

"Where are they now?"

"They left this morning.  It is a sad story.  But as they are strangers
to you, it would hardly interest you."

"Indeed it would," was the emphatic reply.  "I am somewhat new to this
country, and would like to find out all I can about the life of the
people, especially in the country districts."

When Jasper had finished washing the dishes, he sat down upon a chair
by the side of the cot, and lighted the cigar his visitor had given
him.  He then related the story of old David and Betty, taking care to
say as little as possible about his own part in the affair.

"And so the old man is at the girl's home now, is he?" the stranger
asked.

"Yes, for a time."

"But what will become of him?"

"I do not know for certain.  I shall try to assist him all I can.  But
he will not go back to Jim Goban's if I can help it.  It is the height
of cruelty for such a refined man to live at a place like that.  I do
not know what the people of this parish were thinking about to allow
him to be put there."

"Has he any relatives?"

"It seems not.  He has been a puzzle to every one since the day he came
here.  He has been the laughing-stock of all the people because of a
peculiar notion of his."

"And what is that?"

"He is in love with Break Neck Falls over there, and talks to it as if
it were a human being.  He believes that the time will come when people
will obtain power and light from the falls, and the entire country will
be greatly benefited."

"So that is why he is called crazy, eh?"

"Yes."

"Is there really a good reason for his idea?  Is there a large
waterfall?"

"Yes.  I have been there several times, and consider it a good place
for a plant.  The old man has curious drawings of his entire plans,
which I shall show you as he left them with me this morning.  He must
have forgotten them in his excitement, as I understand he guards them
very carefully.  People laugh at Crazy David for the jealous way he
protects his treasure."

"Did you say his name is David?" the stranger asked.

"Yes.  David Findley, so I believe.  But he is only known as 'Crazy
David' in this parish."

As Jasper uttered these words, the man lying on the cot rose suddenly
to a sitting position, and looked keenly into the face of the young man
before him as if he would read his innermost thoughts.  With an
apparent effort he checked himself, and with a slight laugh resumed his
former position.

"I got worked up over the hard luck of that old man," he remarked.  "It
is a downright shame that he should be called crazy, and misunderstood.
But, then, that has always been the way.  Men who have done most for
their fellow men have been looked upon with suspicion, and termed fools
or madmen.  May I see his drawings?"

For some time the stranger studied the rude lines old David had made
upon the paper.  Not the slightest mark escaped his notice, and he
plied Jasper with numerous questions most of which the latter was
unable to answer.

"I am fond of studying human nature," the visitor at length
volunteered, as if to explain his remarkable interest in the old man,
"and I must say that this is one of the most interesting cases I have
ever come across.  Here we have an old, poverty-stricken man, somewhat
weak-minded, who has the vision and the enthusiasm of youth, combined
with a child's simplicity.  And he really believes that people of
capital will carry out his ideas, does he?"

"Yes, he is sure of it."

"And he has no doubts as to the final outcome?"

"No."

"This scheme gives him considerable pleasure, I suppose."

"Yes, it is his very life.  It cheers him and buoys him up, and makes
him treat all discomforts as of the present, which will vanish when
once he comes into his own."

"So he expects to get very rich, does he?"

"Oh, yes.  He talks about what he will do when he has money.  It
certainly would be a great pity to take such a hope from him.  I
believe it would kill him at once."

For a long time they talked, and it was late when they went to bed, the
stranger with the chauffeur in the adjoining room, and Jasper upon the
cot.  The latter found it hard to get to sleep, as many thoughts kept
surging through his mind.  He wondered why his visitor should take such
a keen interest in the welfare of old David.  He recalled, too, his
sudden start when David's name was mentioned, and the excuse which had
been given did not altogether satisfy him.

Jasper was awake early next morning, and had the frugal breakfast ready
by the time his two visitors came from their room.  As soon as
breakfast was over, the chauffeur left to look after the car.  The
stranger then pushed back his chair, lighted a cigar, and handed one to
Jasper.

"Please do not trouble about the dishes now," he began in a tone which
somewhat surprised the young man.

"I have been thinking over what you told me last night, and am greatly
impressed by the sad condition of that old man.  You have no work in
view, so I understand?"

"You are right," Jasper replied.

"Well, then," the other continued, "I wish to make a definite
proposition to you on several conditions.  I wish to employ you for one
month, and will give you one hundred and fifty dollars, if that will be
satisfactory."

It was Jasper's turn now to start, and look with astonishment at the
man before him.  Was he in earnest? he asked himself, or was he merely
joking?

"Ah, I see you are astonished," and the stranger smiled, "but I assure
you that I mean what I say, and to prove it, I shall pay you in
advance."

"But what are the conditions?" Jasper stammered.

"They are three," the stranger replied after a slight pause.  "First,
that you are to take special care of that old man.  How you are to do
it I shall explain later.  In the next place you are to ask no
questions as to why I am doing this.  And last of all, you are not to
say who is doing this, neither to the old man nor, in fact, to any one."

For a few seconds Jasper looked at the stranger in a quizzical manner.
He was wondering whether the man was really in his right mind.

"Isn't that a strange proposition to put to one you know so little
about?" he asked.

"In most cases it might be," was the quiet reply.  "But I have good
reasons for what I am doing, and do not think that there will be any
mistake.  Are you willing to enter my employment for a month?"

"Now, that all depends.  I need the money, God knows, but I must
understand more about what is expected of me in connection with the
care of the old man."

"I can easily settle that.  You are first of all to get a good place
for him to live, and, if possible, secure some dependable person to be
his companion who will take a special interest in his welfare.  You are
to keep a detailed account of all expenses, and send the bill to me at
the end of the month.  This address will find me," and he drew forth a
card and handed it to the young man.

There was nothing on the card to reveal to Jasper the identity of the
man who was taking such a remarkable interest in old David.  It simply
told that the stranger's name was Robert Westcote, of 22 Princess
Street, Woldun.

"I think everything is satisfactory now," and Jasper lifted his eyes to
the stranger's face.  "I am not likely to ask any questions, and as to
telling people who you are, there will be no trouble about that.  In
fact, I am not intimate enough with any one here to wish to tell, even
if I desired to do so."

"That is good," Mr. Westcote replied.  "I could not have chosen a
better person for my purpose."

"When do you want me to begin my work?" Jasper asked,

"At once, that is, if you can see your way to do so.  But first of all,
I should like to visit this old man.  I am somewhat curious about him
now that he is under my protection.  How far is he from here?"

"About five miles, I should judge, though I have never been there
myself.  He is at Mrs. Bean's, and she lives on a back road."

"Very well, then, we shall go just as soon as the car is ready, and I
should like for you to go with me."

It took the chauffeur some time to find out what was the matter with
the car, and when the damage was repaired, the three started down the
road at a fast rate.  This was something new to Jasper, and he leaned
back in the comfortable seat and gave himself up to the enjoyment of
the moment.  He need not worry any more for the present about his
living, as he had a cheque for one hundred and fifty dollars safely
stowed away in his pocket.  As to the mystery connected with it all, he
did not feel inclined to bother his head.  In fact, he was becoming
greatly interested, and was now quite anxious to see what the final
outcome would be, and why this stranger had taken such an unusual
interest in an old pauper.

It did not take them long to reach Mrs. Bean's house, where they drew
up before the gate.  It was a small, humble abode, but everything about
the place was scrupulously neat and clean.  Flowers bloomed in front of
the house, while several large trees stood a short distance away.
Under one of these they saw old David sitting in a rocking-chair with
Betty by his side.  She had been reading to him but had laid down her
book to look at the car, which was an unusual thing in that settlement.
Seeing Jasper, she sprang quickly to her feet with a cry of delight,
and hurried toward the road.  Her face was aglow with excitement, and
Mr. Westcote thought that he had never beheld a more perfect picture of
radiant health and beauty.

"This is the young woman I was speaking to you about," Jasper remarked,
as he stepped from the car.

"I am delighted to meet you," and Mr. Westcote held out his hand.  "I
have heard about you, and have been quite anxious to see you.  How are
you making out with your new charge?"

"Great," and a smile wreathed the girl's face.  "He is so happy here,
and likes for me to read to him.  But he is so funny at times, and
interrupts me to ask questions."

"What about?" Mr. Westcote enquired.

"Oh, about Break Neck Falls.  He wants to know if I can hear the water
speaking, and, of course, I always do," she added with a slight laugh.
"He wanted me to go there this morning, but as mother and the boys are
away I could not leave, so I am trying to satisfy him by reading."

"Would your mother be willing to keep him for a time, do you think?"
Jasper asked, "that is, if she were paid enough?"

"I'm afraid not," and the girl's eyes roamed in a thoughtful manner
toward where David was sitting.  "You see, our house is too small, and
there is hardly room enough as it is.  And besides, we are too far away
from the Falls.  Mr. David needs to be quite near so that he can visit
the place whenever he takes the notion, which is quite often.  That is
the only thing which will make him happy."

"Quite right," Mr. Westcote assented.  "He should live as near as
possible.  But may we see your charge?" he asked.

"Certainly," and Betty at once led the way across the field to the big
shady tree.

Old David, seeing them coming, rose to meet them.  He stood very erect
and dignified as Jasper took his hand, and then introduced Mr.
Westcote.  He was visibly embarrassed that he did not have chairs for
all, and offered his own to the stranger.

"Please keep your seat," Mr. Westcote told him.  "I prefer to sit on
the ground.  What a delightful place you have here, sir," and he looked
around upon the scenery.

"It is very beautiful," David assented, "and I can hear the Falls so
plainly, especially at night."

An amused twinkle shone in Betty's eyes as she turned them upon
Jasper's face.  She knew very well that it was impossible to hear the
sound of the falling waters, and that it was purely imagination on his
part.

The stranger, however, did not smile.  In fact, there was an expression
of sadness upon his face as he watched David.  He said very little,
being content to let the others do the talking.  But he observed the
old man very carefully without apparently doing so.  What his thoughts
were he kept to himself, and when he arose to go, he took David's hand
in almost a reverent manner, and looked searchingly into his eyes as if
trying to find something there which he missed.  He hardly spoke a word
on the way back but seemed lost in deep thought.  As Jasper alighted
from the car in front of his cabin, Mr. Westcote laid his right hand
upon his shoulder.

"Take good care of that old man," he said.  "Let nothing interfere with
your watchfulness until you hear from me again.  Get the best place you
can for him, no matter what it costs."

That was all, but the expression upon the stranger's face, and the
impressive manner in which he uttered these words gave Jasper cause for
deep thought during the remainder of the morning.




CHAPTER IX

UNITED FORCES

Jasper was now in a position to give up his entire time to old David's
interests.  No longer need he worry about working on the farm, nor how
he was to obtain his daily food.  He was provided for a month at least,
and he was most anxious now to enter upon the odd task which had been
assigned to him.  Robert Westcote, the stranger, interested him
greatly, and he felt sure that he should hear more about him later.

Having eaten his simple lunch, he started down the road.  The village
of Creekdale was about two miles away, and there he hoped to find a
house suitable for David.  The only man he knew in the place was the
storekeeper, and from him he believed that he could secure some
information, and at the same time get his cheque cashed.

It was a beautiful afternoon, and his heart was lighter than it had
been for many a day.  He walked along with the swing of a man who has a
definite purpose in life, and from whose heart all gloomy thoughts have
been banished.  He did not try to account for this mood.  It was
sufficient for him that in some way a load had been for a time lifted
from his mind.  He would let the future look out for itself, and enjoy
the present as far as it was possible for him to do so.

Reaching a clump of trees, he sat down by the side of the road to rest.
The shade was refreshing, for he was quite warm as he had been walking
fast.  Birds sang in the branches above him, and fanned the air with
their light wings.  Butterflies zigzagged past, and honey-laden bees
sped by like express trains.  He watched them with much interest, and
mused upon their activity.  Each had a special work to do, and was
performing it to the best of its ability.  He was glad now that he was
alive, and had something definite in view.  It was far better than
groping around in a haphazard way looking for work.  Something seemed
to tell him that he was entering upon the trail of a mystery and he was
eager to follow the scent wherever it might lead.  The spirit of
adventure was in his blood, mingled with the nectar of romance.  It had
always been there, inherited from his ancestors.  It was that same
spirit which had caused him to leave the farm and enter college several
years before.  It had always been with him, and was stronger now than
ever.  He would follow the quest to the end, and see what the outcome
would be.

Jasper was about to rise and proceed on his way when, glancing along
the road, he saw Lois coming toward him.  His heart beat fast when he
saw her, and his first impulse was to get away out of sight.  Why
should he meet her? he asked himself.  She had no use for him, and
would not consider it worth while to talk to one of whom her brother
and Sammie Dingle were always making fun.

As he hesitated, Lois drew nearer.  She was walking very slowly as if
in deep thought.  She wore a simple white dress, and a light,
broad-rimmed hat which partly shaded her face.  To Jasper she seemed
the very embodiment of grace and beauty as she moved toward him.  In
her all the charm of the glorious day, of bird and flower seemed to be
combined.  He was lifted out of himself, entranced, and by the time she
was opposite the clump of trees he was standing by the side of the
road, with hat in his hand, confused and abashed.

His sudden appearance startled Lois for an instant.

But when she saw who it was, she smiled, and held out her hand.

"I didn't notice you," she began, "as I was lost in thought.  But I
have wanted to see you to thank you for what you did for me yesterday.
I shudder to think of what would have been the result if you had not
been there.  I hope you were not offended at Sammie's words."

"And you feel none the worse for your fall and wetting?" Jasper
evasively replied.

"Oh, no, I am all right now.  It takes more than that to knock me out.
I was going over this morning to thank you, but----"

She paused, and looked thoughtfully across the fields.

"I know," Jasper hastened to explain.  "You didn't like to come to my
shack.  It is only natural.  It would have given people something to
talk about."

Lois looked at him for an instant and a sudden fire of resentment shone
in her eyes, while her face flushed.

"Do you consider me such a weak person as that?" she demanded.  "Do you
imagine that I care what people might say?  I never let the frills and
shams of life interfere with me when I am in the way of duty."

"Forgive me," Jasper apologised, "if I have offended you.  I spoke
without due thought.  But one hardly knows how to take people these
days, and I am sorry that I judged you wrongly.  I am so glad that you
are not like others."

"We will forget all about it," Lois replied, with a smile.  "Yes, I was
going to see you this morning to thank you, no matter what people might
say, but I was sent for by Mrs. Peterson who lives just back there, and
I have been with her ever since.  She is in great trouble, as her
husband is an invalid, and she has no way of making a living.  She is
thinking of taking in summer boarders, and she wanted to talk to me
about it."

"And what did you advise?" Jasper questioned.

"Nothing," was the emphatic reply.  "It is a difficult problem, and I
do not know what can be done.  In the first place, the house is too
small for more than two or three boarders, and she could not expect to
have them for more than a few weeks at the most in the summer time.  If
she could have them all the year around it would be different.  And
besides, it would be very hard for Mrs. Peterson to look after them.
It takes most of her time caring for her husband, who is quite weak,
and not always very considerate, I am afraid."

As Lois was thus talking, Jasper was doing some serious thinking.  He
was greatly interested in what she told him, not so much about the
Petersons as others he had in mind.  He believed that here was the very
place for old David.

"Do you mind going back with me to see Mrs. Peterson?" he asked.

"Why, no," Lois replied, turning her eyes to his, as if trying to
comprehend why he should wish to meet Mrs. Peterson.  "It will be
better than standing here in the heat."

As they walked slowly along the road Jasper told her about David, how
he and the girl had taken refuge in his cabin, where the old man was at
present, and that he was looking for a suitable place where he could
live.  He said as little as possible about his own share in the matter,
excepting that he had rescued David from Jim Goban and was going to see
that he was well cared for.  He did not say anything about Robert
Westcote, remembering his obligation of silence.

Lois was much interested in what he told her, and her mind was very
busy as she walked along by his side wondering where he was to get the
money to carry out his plan.

"It will cost considerable," she remarked when he was through.  "Do you
think you can manage it?"

"I am quite certain that there will be no trouble," he replied.  "Just
why I am doing this I cannot explain now, but I assure you there will
be no difficulty.  David is to be well provided for, as far as money is
concerned, and he is to have some one to look after him all the time."

"What, at Mrs. Peterson's, if she will take him?" Lois asked in
surprise.

"Yes, that is my idea.  If that girl Betty will come, she will be just
the person."

They had paused now and were standing at the entrance of the lane
leading up to the Peterson's house.  It was a most beautiful spot, with
tall trees lining both sides of the drive-way.  They were on a gentle
elevation with the village of Creekdale on their left but a few rods
away.  It was an interesting collection of snug country-homes of
farmers, river boatmen, and several retired sea captains.  All the
people in Creekdale knew one another's business, and the women could
see what their neighbours were doing, and some could easily talk from
door to door about the events of the day.

It was only natural that Mrs. Raymond should leave her washing-tub long
enough to watch Lois and Jasper as they stood for a few moments by the
side of the road.  She wondered what they were doing there, and her
curiosity was so much aroused when they at length walked up the
drive-way to the Peterson's house that she slipped over next door to
discuss it with Mrs. Markham.

The people of Creekdale often talked about the Petersons, calling them
stuck-up because they mingled but little in the social life of the
place.  "I have lived next door to them for nigh on to ten years," Mrs.
Raymond once confided to a neighbour, "and only once have they been in
my house.  I guess Captain Peterson must have some money laid by, for
he does nothing but work in his garden and look after his hens, cow and
pig."

When, however, the Captain was stricken with partial paralysis and was
unable to work, the belief became general that he certainly did have
considerable money laid away.

The Petersons' house was as neat and cosy as hands could make it.  A
spacious verandah swept the front and south end of the building.  Over
this clambered a luxuriant growth of grape vines.  Here Captain
Peterson was lying in a large invalid's chair, puffing away at a
short-stemmed corn-cob pipe.  He was surprised to see Lois back so
soon, and he looked with curiosity upon Jasper, wondering where he had
come from.

"Couldn't leave us, eh?" he questioned, as he gazed with admiration
upon the bright, animated face before him.

"No, I had to come back," Lois laughingly replied.  "Your company is so
attractive that I could not resist the temptation of bringing another
to enjoy it.  This is Mr. Jasper Randall, Captain Peterson.  He has
come to see you on special business."

"Glad to see you, sir," and the captain reached out his hand.  "Have a
chair; there's one right there.  Do ye smoke?"

"Oh, yes," and Jasper thrust his hand at once into his pocket.  "Do you
mind?" he asked, turning toward Lois.

"Not at all," was the reply.  "But you two smoke to your hearts'
content while I have a chat with Mrs. Peterson.  I suppose she's in the
house, Captain?"

"Yes, in the kitchen.  At least, I heard her there a short time ago."

Lois was absent for about twenty minutes and when she returned the two
men were talking in the most friendly manner.

"This is the first good chat I've had with a man for a long time," the
captain told her.  "He has made me feel better already."

"I hope he hasn't forgotten the object of his visit in listening to
your sea yarns," Lois laughingly replied.

"Tut, tut, girl," and the captain blew a great cloud of smoke into the
air.  "D'ye think that is all I talk about?  We had something just as
interesting to discuss to-day, and so I forgot all about the yarns."

"And so you are willing to take old David and Betty into your house,
are you?"

"Sure.  I'm satisfied if Julia is.  She's in charge of the ship now
since I've lost my sea-legs."

"Mrs. Peterson is delighted at the thought of having them," Lois
replied.  "Here she comes now, and can speak for herself."

Mrs. Peterson was a pleasant-faced little woman who appealed to Jasper
at once.  He felt quite sure that she was just the person to look after
David.  She appeared so motherly and sympathetic that it was easy for
him to talk to her as she showed him the rooms David and Betty could
have.

"Why, you will give them half of the house," Jasper exclaimed.

"Only three rooms." was the reply.  "The old man can sleep downstairs,
and he can have this big room adjoining.  The girl can have a
comfortable room right at the head of the stairs."

Jasper and Lois were both greatly pleased, and as they walked away from
the house they discussed it like two animated children.

"How delighted David will be with the place," Lois remarked.  "He will
be so comfortable there, I feel sure, and Mrs. Peterson will take such
good care of him."

"And he will be able to hear the falls so plainly," Jasper replied.
"He can sit on the verandah or at the window of his room and listen to
the waters as long as he likes.  It is just the place for him."

"How much does Mrs. Peterson want a week for their board?" Lois
enquired.

"I never asked her," was the quiet reply.  "I shall find that out
later, for it is a matter of minor importance."

Lois glanced up quickly into her companion's face.  She longed to know
where the money was to come from.  Surely this man who was working
digging potatoes did not intend to pay the entire amount.  But Jasper
volunteered not the slightest information.  He continued to talk about
David, and his surprise when he learned of what was being done for him.

"I am so grateful for your assistance this afternoon," Jasper told Lois
as they at last paused at the gate leading to the Sinclair house.  "I
started forth uncertain what to do, and behold, everything has turned
out as if by magic."

"I am thankful that I have been of some assistance," was the quiet
reply.  "My mind is greatly relieved, too, for I was much worried about
the Petersons.  Two heads are better than one after all, are they not?"




CHAPTER X

WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE

"Isn't this lovely!" Betty exclaimed, as she stood in the middle of the
large room which had been assigned to David.

It was the second day since their arrival at the Petersons' house, and
their delight at everything was not only amusing to Mrs. Peterson but
somewhat pathetic as well.  She could not account for the girl's
remarkable care of the old man.  She would allow nothing to interfere
with her attention upon him, and she arranged a cosy spot by the big
north window where he could sit and listen to the sound of his beloved
falls.

"You will spoil him," Mrs. Peterson told her once when they were alone
in the kitchen.  "You will make him as helpless as a child.  It is not
good for men to be waited upon too much."

"Are you not afraid of spoiling your husband, then, Mrs. Peterson?"
Betty replied.  "You treat him just like a child."

"Oh, but he is an invalid, and can't help himself.  That is the reason
why I have to wait upon him."

"But Mr. David is a wonder," Betty insisted, "and he must not be
neglected."

There was such an expression of admiration in the girl's eyes that Mrs.
Peterson had not the heart to smile at her enthusiasm.

"In what way is he a wonder?" was all she asked, as she went on with
her work.

"Oh, he has a great thing in his head, which he is thinking about all
the time.  It has to do with the falls, and he has told me a whole lot
about it.  He will be very rich some day, and we are going to have such
a nice house of our own.  You see, I am to be his housekeeper, and
nurse him when he is sick."

It was a great pleasure for Captain Peterson to have David and Betty at
the house.  No longer did he have to sit alone for hours upon the
verandah as he had an audience now to listen to his tales of the sea
and the places he had visited.  David was a good listener and enjoyed
hearing the yarns, although he kept one ear open for the sound of the
falls.  Nothing must interfere with his interest up there.

One afternoon the captain was speaking about England, and mentioned
Liverpool.  David became unusually interested, and even let his pipe go
out as he sat with his eyes fixed intently upon the captain's face.

"You seem to know Liverpool pretty well," he at length remarked, as the
captain paused to re-light his pipe.

"Should say so," was the reply.  "Guess I know about everything there
worth knowing, especially along shipping lines."

"There must be some big firms there, eh?"

"Big!  I should say so.  Why, I could name a dozen right offhand, which
have ships sailing around the world.  Now, there's the Dockett concern,
for instance.  Holy smokes! but they're wealthy.  If I told you the
business they do you wouldn't believe me."

"No?"  David laid his pipe upon the verandah railing.  He had to do it
because his hand was trembling so violently that he could hold it no
longer.

"Indeed you wouldn't," the captain continued, not noticing his
companion's agitation.  "And you should see old Dockett himself, who
owns it all, so I understand."

"What about him?" David asked in a voice scarcely above a whisper.  For
once he had forgotten his beloved falls.

"Ho, ho, I wish you could see him," and the captain leaned back and
laughed as he had not laughed for months.  "He certainly is a queer
one."

"In what way?" David questioned.

"Well, it is hard to explain.  He looks like a bear, and he acts like
one, too.  My, I've heard him get his tongue on men lots of times, and
he is a holy terror.  But he's a great business man, so I believe, and
has made heaps of money."

"What does he do with it?" David asked.

"Piles it up, I guess.  He hasn't a chick to leave it to, so I
understand."

"Hasn't he a wife?"

"No, not when I last heard of him, which was five years ago.  It isn't
likely he's married since then."

David was unusually quiet the rest of the day.  There was a far-away
look in his eyes and nothing interested him, not even the voice of his
falls.  Betty was quite anxious, and confided her trouble to Mrs.
Peterson.

"Do you think he is going to be sick?" she asked.  "Suppose he should
die, what will become of that great thing he has in his head?"

"Oh, I guess he is all right," Mrs. Peterson soothed.  "Perhaps he is
thinking out something else, and will surprise us with some new idea."

"Oh, do you think so?" and the girl's eyes grew big with wonder.
"Won't it be great if he does!"

David was much brighter the next morning and sat for some time out upon
the verandah.  Betty had gone to the office for the mail, as Mrs.
Peterson was too busy about the house.  She did this nearly every day
now, and enjoyed the walk.  The captain was always anxious to get his
daily paper, and sometimes there would be a letter from an old friend.

It was almost noon when Betty arrived.  Her cheeks were flushed more
than usual and she was greatly excited.

"What's up now?" the captain enquired.  "Haven't been scared, have ye?"

"It's a letter for Mr. David!" she replied.  "Just think of that!"

"H'm," and the captain gave a grunt of disgust.  "Is that all.  I
thought maybe ye'd seen a ghost.  Why should a letter so upset you?"

"Oh, but he never got a letter before since I've known him, and it must
be very important."

While the two were talking David rose from his chair and stepped toward
Betty.

"A letter for me?" he asked, in a somewhat doubtful voice.

"Yes, here it is.  You had better open it at once."

The old man took it in his hand and stood studying it for a few
seconds.  Then he slowly opened the envelope, and drew forth the
letter.  As he scanned the contents, his eyes grew suddenly wide with
astonishment and his hands trembled violently.

"Oh, Mr. David, what's the matter?" Betty cried as she observed his
intense excitement.  "Is it some bad news?"

But the old man did not seem to notice her.  He stood there, shaking in
every limb, staring upon the letter.

"Tell me what it is," the girl again demanded.  "I want to know at
once."

This imperious order brought David to his senses, and without a word he
handed her the letter.  Eagerly seizing it, she began to read.  It took
her longer than the old man to make out its meaning, and when the truth
at last dawned upon her mind she gave a glad cry of joy, and her eyes
beamed with delight as she turned them upon his face.

"Oh, isn't it great!" she exclaimed.  "Five thousand dollars for that
thing in your head, Mr. David.  Won't you be rich.  Now we can have a
house of our very own, and I can be your housekeeper!"

"But that isn't all, Betty," David replied.  "I am to be Honorary
President of the company, just think of that.  And they are to carry
out my plans and do just what I wish.  Girl, my dreams are to come true
at last.  I shall live to see my beautiful falls bringing a blessing to
the entire country.  I wonder if people will laugh at me now, and call
me crazy."

It was only natural that intense excitement should reign at the Haven
for the next few hours.  The captain and his wife were greatly
impressed by the good fortune which had come so suddenly to old David.
They could hardly believe it possible, and they had the feeling that
there had been some mistake.  But Betty would not hear of such a thing.
She was sure that it was all true, and it was due to the wonderful
thing that David had in his head.

Dinner was late that day, and they had just finished when Jasper
arrived.  Then out upon the verandah he heard the remarkable story.  It
was Betty who told it, while David and the captain sat smoking near by.
He was shown the letter as well, the cause of all the excitement.
Jasper read it over several times, and then stepping over to David he
grasped his hand.

"Allow me to congratulate you, sir," he began.  "Such good luck does
not come to many in this country.  I am so thankful that your plans are
to be carried out after all."

"And they are to consult me, and carry out my every wish," David
replied.  "It is so stated there," and he pointed to the letter.

The enthusiasm of the old man was so intense and childlike that Jasper
had not the heart to say one word that would in any way dampen his joy.
To him, however, the whole thing was a great puzzle.  Was it a joke, he
wondered, which some people were playing upon this simple-minded man?
A company was mentioned, but its name was not given.  And further, why
should any company be willing to pay five thousand dollars for David's
idea, which was not new?  It had been successfully carried out in other
localities.  Surely a concern which was able to make such a liberal
offer must have full and accurate knowledge about hydro-electric plants
and what they had accomplished in the past.  And why should David be
made Honorary President of the company?  Was Robert Westcote, the
stranger, the cause of it all?  He had not heard from him since the day
of their visit to Mrs. Bean's, and but for the cheque which he had
received he would have been inclined to consider the whole thing as a
hoax.

Jasper kept his thoughts, however, to himself, and sat for some time on
the verandah taking but little part in the conversation.  Betty and the
captain did most of the talking, while David sat near with a happy
expression upon his face.

"When are you thinking of starting housekeeping on your own account?"
the captain enquired.  "You'll be so mighty important now that you
won't want to stay with us any longer."

"Don't you worry, Captain," Betty laughingly replied.  "We're not going
to leave you just yet.  You see, we haven't any house to go to, and it
will take the rest of the summer to make arrangements."

When Jasper left the Haven he walked slowly down the road toward the
post office thinking over carefully all that he had just heard.  Every
day he had been expecting news from Mr. Westcote, giving information as
to what was expected of him.  Hitherto he had been disappointed.  But
to-day he was rewarded when the postmaster, in addition to his daily
paper, handed him out a letter.  Jasper felt that this was the one he
had been looking for, and he hurried out of the building and carted
homeward.  Reaching a shady tree by the side of the road, he sat down
upon the ground and tore open the letter.  A week of thought and
inactivity had made him anxious to know something more of what was
expected of him, and he was quite certain that now the veil was to be
lifted and the mystery partly solved.

The letter was from Robert Westcote, and although it was somewhat brief
it brought him considerable satisfaction.  His eyes kindled with
animation and his pulse quickened as he considered the message he had
just received and meditated upon the possibilities of the future.




CHAPTER XI

CURIOSITY AND ANXIETY

Never in the memory of the oldest inhabitant had Creekdale been so
greatly excited.  How the news first arrived no one could tell.  But
everybody seemed to have heard the rumor at once, and immediately there
was much running to and fro among the villagers.  The store was the
principal place where the men gathered to discuss the report and to
find out what was the latest bit of information.  Men would find some
excuse for leaving their work in the fields in order to drop into the
store during the afternoon lest some choice morsel of news should be
missed.  Every evening they would gather there such as they had never
done before in the summer months.  It was always in the winter that
they made the store their headquarters when work was not so pressing.

It was Andy Forbes, the storekeeper, who made it a point of keeping
abreast of the times.  What he didn't know of the events of the parish
was not considered of any importance.  He had a way of appearing to
know more than he really did.  But concerning this affair at the falls
he was completely blocked.

"The whole thing stumps me," he acknowledged one night, after an
animated discussion had taken place as to the purpose of it all.  "I
can understand about the engineers making the surveys to find out how
much power can be obtained from the falls.  That Light and Power
Company in the city has been playing the hog too long, and robbing the
people.  It is something fierce what they charge.  It is only natural
that an opposition company should be formed to force down the prices.
But the question is, Who is back of this new movement?  and what has
Crazy David to do with it?"

"And so you really think he knows something about at?" Ben Logan
enquired.

"Sure.  I could tell you a number of things but my position as
postmaster compels me to be silent."  This was merely another of Andy's
methods, and it always impressed his hearers in a marked degree.

"But what about that chap who was working for old Squabbles?" Billy
Dexter asked.  "He seems to be mixed up somehow with the affair.  He
spends most of his time now at the falls with the engineers.  I
understand that he was the one who got the Petersons to take in Crazy
David and that girl, Betty Bean."

"Oh, he's a queer one," Sandy Morton replied.  "I met him the other day
on the road and asked him what was going on up at the falls and who
were the men back of the work?  My, you should have seen the look he
gave me.  It was 'Mind your own business,' as plain as if he had said
it in words.  I ought to have knocked him down, for it was a dead
insult."

"Better not try anything like that, Sandy," Ben Logan laughingly gibed.
"He'd wipe up the dust with you in no time, if I'm not much mistaken.
Anyway, he minds his own business, and that's something in his favour."

"I believe he's working for the bunch," the store-keeper volunteered.
"I cashed a cheque of his some time ago, and----  But, there, I must
not let out secrets."

While the people of Creekdale were consumed with curiosity at what was
taking place at the falls, Peter Sinclair was becoming filled with
anxiety, which increased as the days passed into weeks.  Lois found it
harder than ever to get along with him, and she always dreaded his
home-coming every evening from the city.  Occasionally he travelled on
the river steamer, but as a rule Dick drove him to the city in the
morning in the car and brought him back at night.  This was to the
young man's liking, as he found it lonely in the country where he
missed his boon companions.  Lois was glad that this was so as she
could have the days free to follow her own inclinations.  But she was
always careful to have dinner ready when her father and brother
arrived, and to make their home-coming as bright and pleasant as
possible.

Whether Mr. Sinclair appreciated this attention Lois did not know, as
he never made any comment.  At times, he treated her as if she were
merely a housekeeper, and not his own daughter interested in his
welfare.  He ate and slept in the house and spent his Sundays there.
But apart from paying the bills, which, were always light, he left
everything else to his daughter.

The night when the men of Creekdale were talking so earnestly at the
store, Mr. Sinclair was late reaching, home.  Dinner had been waiting
for over an hour, and Lois was reading on the verandah, for it was a
beautiful evening, with not a ripple on the surface of the river.  She
longed to be out there in her little boat where of late she spent so
much of her time.

To almost any one else this home-coming would have been a great
pleasure, especially if the day in the city had been trying.  He would
have found the cool, quiet house with such a daughter waiting to
receive him most comforting.  But with Mr. Sinclair it was altogether
different.  He did not seem to notice the neatly-set dining-room table,
with its snow-white linen and the fragrant flowers so artistically
arranged in the centre.  Neither did he pay any special attention to
Lois, who, clad in a simple white dress, sat at the head of the table.

Lois intuitively realised that there was something out of the ordinary
worrying her father.  He was more silent than ever, and took no part in
the conversation between his son and daughter.  Dick related to Lois
his experience that afternoon with a party of his friends who had
motored over to the Sea Breeze Park, and had luncheon at the Sign of
the Maple.

"It's a dandy place," Dick exclaimed, as he passed his plate for
another helping of roast lamb.  "They certainly do serve things up in
style, and it is no wonder that so many city people go there.  But you
could never guess who came in while we were eating."

"Any one I know?" Lois asked.

"Sure; a special friend of yours," and Dick gave a knowing grin.  "He's
been under your care for years.  I guess you know Spuds all right."

Lois' face flushed at these words, but she looked calmly at her brother.

"What is there remarkable about seeing Mr. Randall at such a place?"
she enquired.  "Why shouldn't he go there as well as you or any one
else?"

"Oh, nothing in that, only I thought maybe you'd be interested."

"So I am in a way, as I thought that Mr. Randall was up at the falls.
He seldom goes to the city, so I understand, but attends strictly to
business."

"I guess he was doing that all right at the Sign of the Maple.  He
seemed to be so busy that he forgot to eat."

"Was he alone?"

"Oh, no.  There was the prettiest girl I ever set eyes on.  I tell you
Spuds is a lucky fellow to know such a beauty.  He's gone up a peg in
my estimation since I saw him with her.  You should have seen her eyes,
especially when she smiled at something her father was saying."

"Her father, did you say?" Lois asked.  It was somewhat of a relief for
her to know that there was a father present and that she was not alone
with Jasper.

"Well, I suppose he was her father," Dick replied, "though I am not
positive.  He was a fine looking man, anyway.  I'd like to get
acquainted with him, for it's worth knowing such a chap who has a
daughter like that.  I wonder how Spuds happened to meet him.  By
jingo! I've got it," and Dick brought his fist down upon the table with
such a bang that the dishes rattled.  "I'll bet you anything that he
has something to do with that Break Neck Falls affair, for old Tim
Parkin, the big lumber merchant, was along, too.  He owns some fine
timber tracts up this way, and no doubt there was a deal on.  That
confounded mysterious company will need a great amount of lumber, if
rumours are correct."

As Dick uttered these words his father looked up.  His interest had
been suddenly aroused, and for the first time he joined in the
conversation.

"Did you say that Tim Parkin was at the Sign of the Maple?" he growled.

"Yes, Dad," the young man replied.  "He was looking bigger and more
prosperous than ever.  He seemed mighty pleased over something."

"Did you near what they were talking about?"

"No, I couldn't make out anything as we were on the opposite side of
the room."

"But you could see the girl, though.  If your ears had been half as
good as your eyes you would have heard what was being said."

"But any one can see much farther than he can hear," Dick protested.
"You surely don't expect the impossible from me, do you?"

"I don't expect anything from you, sir," and Mr. Sinclair glared at his
son.  "I have long since given up expecting.  All you care for is to
have a good time riding around in the car, attending parties, and
looking for the prettiest girls.  If you were as much interested in
business as you are in pleasure you would be of some use to me.  But I
guess you'll have to get a hustle on mighty goon, though, from the look
of things.  I won't be able to indulge you in your idleness much
longer."

"Why, Dad, what do you mean?" Dick enquired.  "You're not going to
throw me overboard, are you?"

"Oh, no, I won't do it.  But there are others who will, or I'm very
much mistaken."

"Who--why?" the young man stammered.  "I don't understand you, Dad."

"I mean that new Light and Power Company which has been formed.  That
is what will do it."

"Oh, is that all?" and Dick breathed a sigh of relief.  "You certainly
did give me a jolt.  I thought you were speaking of something real.
But that company's all a hoax, isn't it?  Tommy Flowers said it was
nothing but a scare to force you to cut your rates.  The whole thing is
so mysterious, so people say, that they consider it a put up job to
force your hand.  Why, the names of the men who form the company are
not even known."

"H'm, that's all that people know about what is going on," Mr. Sinclair
retorted.  "That company is no hoax, mark my word.  It means business
of a most serious nature, and it is getting to work, too.  Don't you
live in a fool's paradise, boy.  If you do, there will be a rude
awakening, and sooner perhaps than you expect."

"What, have you heard anything of late, Dad?" Dick asked.

"Well, I have heard enough, and it is more than hear-say at that.  A
strong company has been formed to utilise the water of Break Neck Falls
for light and power to supply not only the city but the entire country.
The scheme is a big one, almost gigantic, I should say.  And there
seems to be plenty of money back of it, too.  It is an English concern
which has recently opened an office in the city.

"What is the purpose of such a company working here?" Dick questioned.
"One would naturally think that a city much larger than ours would
offer more inducements."

Mr. Sinclair pushed back his chair from the table, and lighted a cigar.

"That is one of the things which puzzles me," he at length replied.
"Why a company with large capital should build a big plant at the falls
to supply light and power in such a limited locality, is more than I
can understand.  I cannot see how it will pay even if it gets full
control."

"Who is in charge of the city office?" Dick asked.

"A man by the name of Westcote.  He is an Englishman, so I believe.  He
seems to have full charge of everything.  He must have been the man you
saw at the Sign of the Maple with Tim Parkin, for he has a daughter
with him, who recently came to the city."

"But what has Spuds to do with the concern, and how did he come to meet
this man Westcote?"

"He is evidently in his employ.  But where he met him I do not know.
Perhaps Lois can tell us," and he glanced around upon his daughter.

Lois suddenly started and looked keenly at her father as if she had not
heard aright.  This was the first time that he had ever hinted at any
interest on her part in Jasper.  A feeling of resentment welled up in
her heart.

"Why should I know?" she enquired, "and what reason have you for asking
me such a question?"

Mr. Sinclair, however, did not deign to make any explanation, but
puffed away at his cigar.  Lois took this as a direct insult and
started to leave the table.  She wished to get away by herself that she
might think it all over.

"And where does old Crazy David come in?" her father asked.  "What
interest has he in that concern?"

"I have not the slightest idea," Lois impatiently replied.  "Why do you
expect me to understand such things?"

"But you should know.  You see that old man every day, and are so
interested in his welfare.  Surely he must have told you something, and
if he did not you should have tried to find out.  Remember, you are my
daughter, and my interest should be your first concern.  Both you and
Dick think that you have no responsibilities in life, and that I will
always provide for you.  If we are not careful that new company will
put us out of business; so you two must do all you can to help me.
Something must be done to cheek that concern and I want you to assist
me.  As it is, I am working in the dark and do not know what to expect
next, or who are the ones working against me.  Is it old David who is
merely acting the part of a fool, or is it that young man who pretended
to be a hired hand, who worked awhile for Simon Squabbles?  There is
something queer about the whole thing, and I am nearly crazy trying to
puzzle it all out."

To these words Lois made no reply.  She quietly left the table and made
her way out of the house and walked down to the shore.  Here she felt
more at home, and the stillness which reigned over land and water
soothed her, bringing a restful peace to her heart and mind.




CHAPTER XII

PYRAMID ROCK

A good home, plenty of well-cooked food, and proper attention did much
for old David.  His strength, and health improved, and although he lost
nothing of his interest in the falls, he was quite content to listen
more to the sound drifting down the valley instead of visiting the
place as often as formerly.  The spot he liked best of all was the cosy
corner on the verandah, just outside the window of his room.  Here the
vines clambered up over the sides, forming a shelter from the burning
sun and a refuge from the wind when the days were cool.

Jasper was a frequent visitor at the Haven, and he was not slow to
notice the change that had come over David.  Hitherto the old man had
been content to listen to the voice of the falls and utter brief and
almost mystic words about what the water would do.  But latterly he had
given greater vent to his thoughts and enlarged upon the plans he had
been revolving in his mind.

It was a beautiful evening not long after Jasper had been at the Sign
of the Maple, that he was sitting with David and Betty in the
accustomed place.  The captain had retired, and Mrs. Peterson was busy
in the kitchen.  Jasper told of the progress that had been made at the
falls and how the engineers had finished their preliminary work, and
had declared the undertaking most feasible.  The definite start of
building would not begin until the next spring, though in the meantime
necessary preparations would be made so that the work could be pushed
forward then as rapidly as possible.  Logs would be needed for building
purposes, and many large poles suitable for carrying the wires to the
city and throughout the country.

"I have been requested to undertake this work," Jasper told them, "and
so will be busy all the fall and winter.  In a few weeks I hope to have
a number of men and teams at work in the woods.  It will be a fine
thing for Creekdale as it will put so much money in circulation by
giving employment to all available men during the winter when as a rule
little is going on, so I understand."

"Oh, won't that be nice," Betty exclaimed, while her eyes danced with
animation.  "My brother will be able to earn money right at home.
Jimmy has been planning to go to the city next winter to earn some
money to help pay off the mortgage on our place.  Mother doesn't want
him to go as he is only sixteen, but he thinks he should be earning
something."

"You have some fine trees on your place, have you not?" Jasper asked in
reply.

"Oh, yes, lots of them.  You see, our farm is part of the old Dinsmore
Manor, and no logs have been cut on it for years as they have not been
worth much.  My father said before he died that they would bring a lot
of money some day, and they would make us rich.  That's why mother has
been holding on to the place and trying to pay off the mortgage.  But
she finds it hard work.  Jimmy works for the neighbours, but Steve and
Dora can't earn anything yet.  I am helping all I can."

"Those trees are very valuable now," Jasper remarked.

"Have you seen them?" Betty asked, in surprise.

"Yes, I have been all over the place, and there are acres of the finest
trees I have ever seen.  We shall need many of them, that is, if your
mother will sell."

"Won't that be great!" and the girl clapped her hands with delight.  "I
know she will sell if she can get a fair price for them."

"There should be no trouble about that, Betty.  Logs are higher than
they have been for years, and those who own them are fortunate.  The
company wants only the best and is willing to pay a good price, so I
believe.  But there is something I would advise your mother to do."

"What is that?"

"Keep a sharp look-out upon those trees.  The city Light and Power
Company, of which Mr. Sinclair is manager and principal owner, has land
right next to yours.  Most of the best trees have been cut there for
poles, and it is only natural that envious eyes should be east upon
your mother's valuable property.  Mr. Sinclair does quite a lumbering
business on his own account, so I understand."

"Oh, do you think that Mr. Sinclair would do anything like that?" Betty
asked in surprise.

"I trust not," was the reply.  "Nevertheless, it is just as well to be
on guard in case something does happen.  You might speak to your mother
about it when you see her."

The next day David and Betty paid a visit to the falls.  They had not
been there for over a week, which was a most unusual thing.  It was a
beautiful afternoon, and a complete harmony seemed to reign everywhere.
David was in excellent spirits and he talked much about the wonderful
improvements which were to come to the country.  He pointed out a
number of the stakes the engineers had driven into the ground, and
explained where the power house would be built.

"A year from now," he told her, "there will be wires running to the
city and all through the country.  The city people will have light for
their houses and power for their machinery at cheap rates.  The farmers
will have electric lights right in their homes and barns; they will
have power to saw their wood, churn their butter, thresh and grind
their grain, besides doing so many other things.  It will make a
wonderful change in the lives of all.  Young people will not want to
leave the farms and go to the city.  It will be a joy for them to
remain, and so much of the drudgery will be taken away."

"Won't that be splendid!" Betty replied.  "How did you ever think of
all those things?  Why, the people didn't know you were thinking so
much about their welfare when you were living all alone, and when they
said you were crazy."

"No, girl, they did not know," and the old man gazed thoughtfully off
into space.  "They believed that I was a fool, and perhaps they had
reason for so thinking.  You see, I was very poor and had no means of
carrying out my plans.  It has always been the way, and why should I
have expected anything different from thousands of others who have
tried to help their fellow men?  But now things have changed, and they
will soon learn that old David was not so crazy after all."

They were seated upon the bank of the stream as they thus talked.  On a
bough of a near-by tree a squirrel was scolding, and off in the
distance several crows were lifting up their raucous voices.  Betty
picked up a stone and tossed it into the water below, and then watched
with interest as it fell with a splash.

"I can throw farther than you, Mr. David," she bantered.  "I can throw
a stone to that big rock over there."

"I haven't thrown a stone in a long time, my child," was the reply.

"Well, try it then," was the command.  "Here is a nice smooth one."

Rising to his feet, David took the stone and with a wide sweep of his
long arm hurled it far down the stream almost to the base of the rock.

"You didn't do it," Betty shouted with delight.  "I can beat that, see
if I can't."

She half turned to pick up another stone when she suddenly paused as
her eyes rested upon a man coming toward them.  It was Peter Sinclair,
and as he drew near and spoke to them, it seemed to Betty that the
atmosphere had changed, and the day was not as fine as it had been but
a few seconds before.  She wanted to get away, for this man's presence
seemed to weigh upon her in an ominous manner.  The reason why she
could not explain.

"Having a nice time here, eh?" Mr. Sinclair remarked, as he sat down
upon the bank.  "That walk has puffed me.  Do you come up here often?"
he asked, turning toward Betty.

"Whenever Mr. David takes the notion," was her reply.  "I always come
with him, and we have such a pleasant time."

"And do you always stop here and spend your time in throwing stones at
that rock?  Are you not wasting your time?"

"We might be doing worse, though," Betty replied, somewhat nettled at
the man's words.  "We might be throwing stones at you or somebody else."

"At me!" and Mr. Sinclair looked surprised.

"Yes, at you.  But perhaps it's safer to throw them at that rock over
there.  It doesn't mind for it knows we're only in fun.  It's a special
friend of mine, and that's why I like to be near it.  You would never
believe that it saved half my father's farm several years ago."

"What, that rock?"

"It certainly did, and I shall never forget what it did for us."

"Tell me about it," and Mr. Sinclair sat down upon the ground.  The
mention of the Bean farm had suddenly aroused his interest, and made
him willing to listen to this country girl's story.

"It was a long time ago," Betty began, "just after my father was
married.  He had bought a piece of land off of the Dinsmore Manor,
about one hundred acres, I think it was.  After he had paid for the
place there was some trouble about the line between him and the man who
had bought another piece of the manor next to him.  They agreed to have
the line run over again.  I don't understand all about it, but, anyway,
when the line was run it cut my father's place almost in two, and he
was afraid he was going to lose all that land where those fine logs are
now.  It was a funny mistake, but it was soon settled."

"What had that rock to do with it?" Mr. Sinclair enquired.

"Oh," and the girl gave a slight laugh.  "I forgot that part.  You see,
the surveyor was to start running the line from the big pyramid rock on
this brook.  It is called that because of its shape.  Father happened
to be away from home the day the line was run and the surveyor started
from another rock farther down the brook, which looks something like
that one over there.  Wasn't it funny?  So you see that is why I am so
fond of that big rock and come here as often as I can to be near my
good friend."

As Betty finished, a peculiar expression might have been detected in
Peter Sinclair's eyes, and for a few seconds he gazed steadily at the
rock before him.  It seemed that the girl's story had greatly
interested him and started him off on a new line of thought.  Just what
it was he kept to himself and with an apparent effort turned his
attention once more to Betty.

"You will not come here as often, I suppose, when the company gets to
work," he remarked.  "Things will be much changed along this brook, and
perhaps your old friend, the rock, may be disturbed."

"You are right, sir," David replied, speaking for the first time.
"There will certainly be marvellous changes all over this country in a
year or two.  You will hardly know the place then."

"That is interesting.  And can you tell me who will perform these
wonders of which you speak so confidently?"

"The falls will do it," and David stretched out his right arm.  "Light
and power will come from there to transform city and country.  Living
will be made far more tolerable in both."

"But who are the men back of all this?" Mr. Sinclair asked.  He felt
sure now that he was on the verge of a new discovery.

"I am the man," and David stood proudly erect.  "It was my plan which
suggested the movement."

"I know all that," and Mr. Sinclair rose impatiently to his feet.  "But
where does the money come from? and, who are the men who form the
company?  That is what I want to know."

"That I cannot tell you, sir.  And why should it matter?  I am
concerned about the improvements and not where the money comes from."

"H'm, that's a queer way to do business," was the disgusted reply.
"Well, I must be off up the brook.  I've wasted too much time already.
Look out for your big rock, little girl, and see that no one disturbs
it."

"Oh, I guess it'll stay there all right," Betty replied with a laugh.
"My friends never leave me."

They stood and watched Mr. Sinclair until the tree hid him from view.

"I don't like that man," and Betty stamped her small foot upon the
ground.  "He makes me feel creepy all over just like I always do when I
see a snake or a rat.  Let's go home."

About an hour after they had left the place, Peter Sinclair drew near,
and stood looking at the big rock across the brook.  Then he walked
along the bank until he came to the smaller rock of which Betty had
spoken.  He next turned his eyes northward and pointed with the
forefinger of his right hand as if tracing an imaginary boundary line.
As he did so a smile of satisfaction lighted his face, and when he left
the brook and started homeward, his step was quicker and more elastic
than it had been for many a day.




CHAPTER XIII

THE DISTURBING LETTER

It took Jasper longer than he had expected to get everything ready for
his fall and winter lumbering operations.  He found it hard to obtain
as many teams as he needed, and greater difficulty still to procure the
right kind of men.  He offered good wages, but the choppers held out
for more.  Although such matters had been left to Jasper, yet he did
not feel inclined to pay such wages as were demanded.  At length,
however, he succeeded in rounding together a band of men upon whom he
felt he could depend, and he hoped in a few days to begin work upon the
building of the cabins for the men and the stables for the horses.

Jasper often mused upon the peculiar situation in which he was placed.
Everything seemed to depend upon him.  The engineers, having made their
surveys, had departed, leaving him in charge.  The buying of the food
supplies devolved upon him, though the bills were sent to the city
office for payment.  He had not seen Robert Westcote since the day he
had luncheon with him at the Sign of the Maple.  He had merely received
specific information as to the various kinds of logs required, their
length and size, as well as the places where they were to be hauled
near the falls.

During these busy days Jasper had seen nothing of Lois.  He knew that
she visited the Haven regularly, and Betty always had a great deal to
tell him about her.  But somehow he had missed meeting her, and every
time he left he felt disappointed, and made his way back to his lonely
cabin which seemed to become more lonely as the days passed.  Sometimes
he would stand on the hill and look down upon the Sinclair house,
hoping that he might catch a glimpse of her who was so much in his
mind.  He would scan the river, thinking he might see her out there.
At length a great longing came upon him to see her before he should go
into the woods.  He knew that in a few weeks at the most she would be
leaving for the city with her father, and then all hope of meeting her
again for months would have to be abandoned.  Somehow he could not bear
the thought of her going.  As long as she was near he could work
better, and her presence in the place was like an inspiration.  He felt
that she knew what he was doing, and took an interest in his welfare.
But in the city she would be far away, and taken up with so many
interests she would have no time to give any thought to him.

All preparations had now been made for the lumbering operations and
work would begin on Monday morning.  Saturday found Jasper with nothing
to do.  He spent the forenoon in packing up his belongings to take with
him into the woods.  They were very few, and one small grip would
contain his scanty library which he could not bear to leave behind.
The next time he went to the city he intended to purchase a number of
books upon which he had set his heart.  He would have the long winter
evenings for reading in the little cabin he was to erect for his own
special use.

About the middle of the afternoon he decided to pay a visit to the
Haven.  He wished to see David and Betty before going away, and learn
how they were making out.  But the hope that he might see Lois was the
real reason why he decided to go.  Several times he had thought of
visiting her at her own home.  But as he had never been there and had
received no invitation, he did not feel inclined to go where perhaps he
was not wanted, and where his presence might be looked upon as an
intrusion.  He often upbraided himself for thinking about her at all.
What hope had he that she would ever deign to look upon him with
favour?  What had he to offer her?  He was poor, and he had no
guarantee that his employment with this mysterious company would be
permanent.  In a few months he might again be seeking for work.

But no matter what resolutions Jasper made he could not banish Lois
from his mind.  It was she who several years before had unconsciously
inspired him to launch out into the world and make something of
himself.  The thought of her had always urged him on when most
depressed and discouraged.  In his darkest hours of gloom he had seen
her eyes filled with sympathy fixed upon him as on that day he had
first met her and had fled disgraced from her father's house.

Such impressions were not easy to banish in an instant, and so as he
knocked at the door of the haven he fervently hoped that Lois might be
there.  But as he entered David's room other interests engaged his
attention.  Hitherto all had been peace there.  The old man was
generally seated by the open window listening to the voice of his
beloved falls.  But now there was a distinct atmosphere of excitement.
Mrs. Bean was there, and her face had a most worried expression.  Betty
had been crying, but seeing Jasper she brushed away her tears and
sprang to her feet.

"Oh, Mr. Jasper," she cried, "isn't it awful!  Have you heard the news?"

"What news?" Jasper asked in surprise, as he took a chair by David's
side.  "I haven't heard anything of special importance."

"It's about Mr. Sinclair, that's who it is.  Just think, he wants to
take all of our logs!"

"Take your logs!"

"Yes, that's what he's going to do.  Mother got a letter from him and
she has just read it to us.  He says there is a mistake about the line
between his place and ours, and that all those fine logs belong to him.
He says he had a new line run last week and that the old line is wrong.
He warns mother not to touch or sell a log there, for if she does he
will sue her."

Betty was excited, and her words rushed forth like a torrent.  For a
few minutes Jasper could hardly believe that he had heard aright.

"Do you mean to tell me," and he turned to Mrs. Bean, "that what your
daughter says is true?  Surely there must be some serious mistake."

"I'm afraid not," was the reply.  "There is the letter, which you can
read for yourself."

It took Jasper but a few seconds to scan the brief note, and when he
was through he sat staring at it as if he had not seen aright.  Was it
possible, he asked himself, that Peter Sinclair was stooping to such a
contemptible piece of business?  And to do it to a widow at that added
to his meanness.  What justification did he have for doing such a
thing? he wondered.

"Was there ever any dispute about the line?" Jasper asked.

"None at all," Mrs. Bean replied.  "A mistake was made years ago just
after we were married.  The surveyor started from the wrong rock up the
brook, and the line then run cut off that part which Mr. Sinclair is
now claiming.  But it was rectified just as soon as my husband came
home, and there has been no trouble since until now."

"Did Mr. Sinclair notify you that he was going to have a new line run?"
Jasper enquired.

"No, I knew nothing about what was taking place until I received that
letter."

"I wonder what suggested such a thing to him?" Jasper mused as if to
himself.  "There must have been something."

"Why, I think I know." Betty exclaimed.  "I do not believe he ever
thought about it until that day he was talking to Mr. David and me up
the brook.  We were near Pyramid Rock, and I told him about the mistake
the surveyor had made years ago in running the line.  He seemed to be
very much interested then.  Maybe that was what started it.  Just
think, it was all my fault.  Oh, if I could only hold my tongue once in
a while how much good it would do."

At that instant a knock sounded upon the door, and when Betty had
opened it Lois entered.  She looked surprised when she saw the visitors
in the room, and at once noticed the worried expression upon Mrs.
Bean's face.

"This must be your special afternoon for receiving company," she
remarked with a smile, as she took David's hand.  "It isn't often you
have Mrs. Bean and Mr. Randall to see you on the same day, is it?"

"Mr. Randall has been here before," was the reply, "but this is the
first time that Mrs. Bean has favoured me with a call.  It was special
business which brought her here to-day."

"You're not going to take Betty away from Mr. David, are you?" Lois
asked, turning to Mrs. Bean.

"Oh, no; it is something far different from that.  It is a very serious
matter, I assure you."

"What, no one ill at home, I hope?"

"No.  The boys were well when I left."

An awkward silence followed, and Lois felt that there was something of
a private nature which these people were discussing, and that she had
interrupted their conversation.

Jasper, who had risen to his feet as Lois entered the room, divined the
thoughts which were passing through her mind, and came to her
assistance.

"Let Miss Sinclair see the letter, Mrs. Bean," he suggested.  "Perhaps
it will explain matters better than we can."

Without a word Mrs. Bean complied with this request, and then leaned
back in her chair with a deep sigh.

Much mystified, Lois ran her eyes over the letter, and as she did so
her face underwent a marvellous transformation.  The sunny expression
departed and the colour faded from her cheeks, leaving them very white.
The words seemed to fascinate her, and for a while she stood staring
upon them.  Then a tremor shook her body, and her right hand closed,
crushing the letter within it.  With a strong effort she regained her
composure and turned toward the widow.

"I cannot understand this," she began.  "I had no idea that my father
would do such a thing.  There must be some mistake.  I shall go now and
think it all over.  Will you come with me, Mr. Randall?  I would like
to speak with you."

Without another word the two left the house and walked slowly down the
lane leading to the road.  Presently Lois stopped and turned to her
companion.

"I am almost heartbroken over what my father has done," she began.  "I
have stood by him, and have tried to shield him all I could, but what
is the use of doing so any longer?"

"Could you not speak to him, and induce him to change his mind?" Jasper
asked.

"I can do nothing.  He has even turned against me.  He believes that I
am his enemy, and that I know more about the affairs of the new company
than I am willing to tell him.  He is becoming more unbearable every
day.  Only last night he told me that I could leave him whenever I
wanted to as he could get along better without me.  He said that he did
not want a traitor in his house.  Oh, it is terrible!  I cannot
understand what has come over him.  He was always hard and
unsympathetic, but never like this."

"And will you go?" Jasper enquired.

"At first I thought I would.  But after thinking it all over very
carefully I have decided to remain with him.  He needs me now more than
ever.  You have no idea what a helpless man he is.  I shudder to think
what would become of him should I leave him at the present time."

"But it might teach him a lesson if you should leave him for a while,"
Jasper urged.  "It is not right that your life should be made so
miserable."

He was looking into her downcast face as he said this.  Her hands were
clasped before her, and how he longed to seize them in his, and tell
her all that was in his heart; how he would look after her and bestow
upon her that love which her father denied her.

"I must not forsake him," was her low reply.  "He is my father, and I
must remain by his side.  I promised my mother that I would.  We shall
leave for the city next week, and I dread the thought of going."

"But you will be able to forget much of your trouble there, will you
not?  Your social life will be so different, and----"

"Don't speak of such a thing," she interrupted.  "You little realise
how I despise so many of the social gatherings held there.  What do
they amount to?  What good do they do?  I enjoy amusements, but I think
people should not make them the sole object in life.  But that seems to
me to be just what so many do.  I want to be of some use in the world,
and I believe the best way to be happy is to help others."

They were walking slowly along as Lois uttered these words.  She spoke
deliberately as if she had considered them carefully, and was not
speaking under the influence of the moment.

"You are right, Miss Sinclair," Jasper replied.  "I, too, have come to
realise that he who thinks only of self finds unhappiness, while he who
forgets self in seeking to help and uplift others will find the
greatest joy."

The tone of certainty in his voice caused Lois to glance up into his
face.  She liked his words, especially as she felt they were real.

"And you were not always like that?" Lois asked.

"Oh, no.  Only recently have I come to view things in a different
light."

"What caused the change?"

"It was old David."

"Old David!  I am surprised to hear you say that.  I had no idea that
he was able to influence any one except Betty Bean."

"He has influenced me as well, though it was all done unconsciously.  I
have been watching him closely for some time, and ever since I have
known him he has been so happy.  Even when he had not a cent and was
sold to the lowest bidder, he did not lose heart.  And why?  Because he
was thinking of others, and what his plans would do for the people both
in the city and in the country.  He was willing to endure poverty and
taunts that those around him might be benefited.  He was misunderstood,
but it made little or no difference to him.  He was happy in the
thought that he was going to do good.  To me he is a wonder, and I
believe I can do no better than endeavour to follow his example and
think less of myself.  When I entered into the employ of this new
company I did it merely for the money I was to get out of it, and a
certain spirit of curiosity as to the outcome.  Now, however, I am
working with a far higher motive.  I begin to see what a benefit this
undertaking will be to the entire community and a blessing to so many,
even though at present they may not realise it."

They had reached the gate leading to the Sinclair house by the time
Jasper had finished.  The colour had returned to Lois' cheeks, and her
eyes were now filled with animation.

"Oh, I am so glad to hear you speak as you do," she replied.  "It
strengthens my own convictions to hear you express yourself that way,
and I feel that I shall bear my part more bravely in the city than
otherwise I would have done."

Jasper's pulse beat quicker at these words.  So she would think of him,
then, in the midst of her active city life.  There was a great comfort
to him in the thought.

"You will return next summer, I suppose," he remarked.  "We shall miss
you very much in the meantime."

"I hope to do so, and it will be something to look forward to.  But you
will surely come to see us when you visit the city.  I shall be so
anxious to hear all the news from Creekdale."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," Jasper replied.  "But I do
not expect to leave the woods before spring.  Even if business should
take me to the city, I should not feel like making a social call.  I
should frighten you and your friends who might happen to be with you by
my rough clothes and hard hands.  Oh, no, it would not be proper, so I
had better stay away."

Lois was not slow in detecting the note of bitterness an his voice as
he uttered these words.  She was aggrieved that he should think that
his rough appearance would make any difference to her.  And yet she
understood his feelings.  His sensitiveness would make him most
unwilling to go to a place where he would be looked upon with ridicule,
and at the same time embarrass the ones he happened to visit.

"You need not worry about your appearance when you visit me, Mr.
Randall," and her eyes met his as she spoke.  "I shall think all the
more of you if your hands are rough and your face weather-beaten.  I
shall never be ashamed of the marks of honest toil.  I must go now, but
I shall expect to see you before spring."

To Jasper that was one of the happiest times of his whole life.  He
believed that she was interested in him, while the look in her eyes and
the words she uttered were to him an inspiration during the following
days and weeks of weary work in the woods.




CHAPTER XIV

SUBTLE INFLUENCE

Although Lois preferred to remain in the country, yet she did not waste
her days in repining over her life in the city.  She at once looked
about for opportunities of usefulness.  These she found in St.
Saviour's, the church she attended.  Her musical abilities made her a
welcomed member of the choir.  But she was not satisfied with merely
singing.  She wished to do more, and she soon found an outlet in
assisting the unfortunate ones in the parish.  It was through "The
Helping Hand Society" that she found she could do the most effective
work, and she never tired of going from house to house where her
services were most needed.

Dick often upbraided her for giving so much of her time to Church work,
and said that she should go with him to dances and whist parties.

"I have no interest in such things," she told him over and over again.
"There is too much to be done around us in helping others, to spend all
of one's time upon such gaieties."

"But think what people are saying," her brother protested.  "They call
you unsociable and stuck-up, and it is hard for me to listen to such
things."

Lois laughed at Dick's fears and told him not to worry.  She said that
she was quite able to look after herself, and did not mind what people
were saying so long as she was doing what was right.

When Christmas season came around Lois found herself more busy than
ever.  There were so many baskets to be provided for the needy, and
this year they were going to send a number to poor families out in the
country districts.  It was just when she was in the midst of this work
that Dick asked her to attend a dance with him on Thursday night.

"If you don't go this time I shall never ask you again," he told her.
"It's to be at Mrs. Dingle's, and you know how cut up she will feel if
you refuse her.  Sammie, too, is expecting you, and he will never visit
us again if you do not go."

"But how am I to leave my work, Dick?" Lois questioned.  "We are so
busy every night packing the boxes, which we must get off as soon as
possible.  I am more interested in them than I am in what Mrs. Dingle
and Sammie might think.  They surely know by this time that I do not
care for them."

"Well, come for my sake, then," Dick pleaded.

"That is a better reason why I should go," and Lois smiled upon her
brother.

"And you will go?" Dick was all eagerness now.  "There's to be a jolly
crowd there.  Sammie told me that he has invited a crack-a-jack of an
artist he met at the club.  He is an English chap and has been out here
only a short time.  He puts out some great stuff in the way of
pictures, so I understand.  Then, that Westcote girl is to be there.
My, I'm anxious to meet her.  She is worth while if what I hear about
her is true."

The mention of the Westcote girl gave Lois more interest in the dance
than she had hitherto taken.  She did want to see her as well as Dick,
for she had often thought about her since she had heard that Jasper had
luncheon with her and her father at the Sign of the Maple.  It was
unusual for her to take an interest in a stranger.  But this was
different, and so she decided to accompany her brother.

Mrs. Dingle was delighted to have Lois at her party, principally on her
son's account.  She had chosen her for Sammie from all the eligible
girls she knew, and the idea that Lois might object to becoming Mrs.
Sammie Dingle never once entered her mind.  There were financial
reasons as well, for was not Peter Sinclair manager and chief owner of
the City Light and Power Company?

Lois had not been long in the room, ere she felt herself affected by
some unknown influence.  She could not account for this feeling as she
had never experienced, anything like it before.  Even when on the floor
in the midst of a dreamy waltz, a sense of dread almost overwhelmed
her.  A weight seemed suddenly to press upon her heart, as if some
terrible disaster were near.  Hers was not a mind to be easily
disturbed by such things, and she was not naturally of a superstitious
nature.  She tried to shake off the feeling, but all in vain.  What was
the cause of it? she asked herself over and over again.

That waltz was the longest she had ever experienced; and most thankful
was she when Sammie at last led her off the floor.  As she was about to
sit down she happened to glance to her right, and as she did so her
eyes met those of a man standing not far away.  Intuitively she
realised that there was the source of her strange agitation.  It was
only for an instant that their eyes met, but it was long enough for
Lois to realise that some subtle influence had come upon her which
would affect her whole life.

With as much composure as possible she resumed her seat.  She longed to
be alone that she might think it all over, and endeavour to cast off
the spell which was depressing her.  She tried to reason it out, but
her thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Dingle who stood suddenly before
her.

"Lois, dear," she heard her say, "I want you to meet my famous guest,
Mr. Sydney Bramshaw, the noted English artist, who has favoured us with
his presence to-night.  I have been waiting this opportunity ever since
you arrived, but could not get you and Sammie separated long enough to
do so until now."

These closing words annoyed Lois and she longed more than ever to leave
the room, especially so when Bramshaw sat down by her side and began to
talk to her in a familiar manner.

"I wanted to meet you as soon as I saw you enter the room," he told
her, "and I almost despaired of obtaining an opportunity."

"Why should you be so anxious to meet me?" Lois replied.  "I am sure
that I have done nothing to merit your special attention."

"Oh, but you are so decidedly superior to the rest, don't you know.  I
am somewhat gifted with a discerning mind, and am able at a glance to
tell the gold from the dross."

If Bramshaw imagined that his companion was susceptible to such
flattery he was greatly mistaken.  His words disgusted Lois, and yet
she must remember that he was Mrs. Dingle's guest and that she must be
agreeable as far as it was possible.

"You are an artist, so I understand," she replied.

"Yes, in a way.  I am fond of observing the beautiful in the common
things of Nature, and placing them upon canvas.  So many go through
life with their eyes shut.  They have eyes but do not see.  With me it
is different, and because of my ability to see and depict the real
things of life, I have received considerable recognition."

"That must give you satisfaction," Lois murmured.

She tried to seem interested, but it was a difficult undertaking.

"It does in a way," and Bramshaw assumed an air of careless
indifference.  He was a little man, and his effort made him seem
ridiculous.  "But, it is so seldom that one meets with kindred spirits,
don't you know.  There are so few who are able to discuss the finer
points of art.  I would not mind in the least enlightening those around
me, but they, as a rule, are so unwilling to listen.  With you,
however, it is different.  You have a trained mind, and that makes such
a vast difference."

Lois was about to make some half-hearted reply, when her eyes rested
upon the face of a girl on the opposite side of the room.  It was the
most beautiful and perfect face she had ever seen, and she wondered who
she was and where she had come from.  She tried to listen to what
Bramshaw was saying and at the same time watch the girl before her.
She was talking to Dick, and she noted the animated expression upon her
face as she smiled at something he was saying.  It must have been about
her for she suddenly turned and their eyes met.  For an instant only
the girl hesitated, and then with a graceful movement swept swiftly
across the room and stood before Lois.

"Pardon me," she began, as she took Lois' hand, "I could not help
coming to you as soon as I saw you.  Your brother was telling me what a
hard time he had to get you away from your Church work to come to the
party.  When I heard that I wanted to meet you at once.  I am Margaret
Westcote, and have been in this country but a short time, and
everything is so new and interesting to me."

"Ducedly tame, I call it," Bramshaw interposed before Lois had time to
say a word.  "I can't for the life of me see what you find congenial in
a land like this, Miss Westcote."

"It all depends upon what you call tame, Mr. Bramshaw," was the
somewhat sarcastic reply.  "If you spend your time thinking only about
yourself it is no wonder you are bored.  I haven't heard of your doing
anything worth while since you came to this city."

"Come, come, Miss Westcote," Bramshaw protested, as he stroked his
silky moustache with the soft white fingers of his right hand.
"Artists, you should realise, are generally misunderstood.  You cannot
judge us according to ordinary standards.  We are often most intensely
busy when we seem to be inactive.  Our apparent idleness is the time
when valuable impressions are being imbibed to be produced later in
masterpieces for the benefit and admiration of the whole world.  It is
utterly impossible for ordinary minds to grasp this, but it is true,
nevertheless."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Bramshaw," and the girl made him a slight
graceful bow, "I really forgot that you are an artist.  Appearances are
so deceptive, you know.  I shall leave you now to carry on your
imbibing process.  Perhaps Miss Sinclair will come with me, so that you
can have the imbibing time all to yourself.  It would be a pity to
spoil your great masterpiece."

Lois was surprised at Miss Westcote's sarcasm, and, she fully expected
that Bramshaw would be angry.  But he did not appear to mind in the
least.  On the contrary, he smiled all the time she was speaking, as if
her words greatly amused him.  Lois was glad of any excuse to leave
this man whose very presence depressed her in a remarkable manner.
When at last alone with Miss Westcote in an adjoining room, she sank
into a comfortable chair in a cosy corner.  Her face was unusually
pale, and this her companion at once noted.

"You are tired," she sympathetically remarked, taking a seat by her
side.  "You seem to be greatly upset."

"It is that man," Lois replied with considerable emphasis.  "I never
had any one to affect me as he does.  I cannot understand it.  I am not
superstitious, and I have always prided myself upon my self-confidence,
but I cannot account for the feeling that has come over me to-night."

"Oh, that man would upset almost any one," Miss Westcote replied.  "I
can not endure him."

"You do not evidently mind speaking plainly to him," Lois remarked.

"Certainly not.  When I take a dislike to any person I generally say
just what I think, especially to such a cad as that."

"You know something about him, then?"

"All I want to.  He has been trying to get my father to give him the
position of looking after an old man up the river.  Mr. Randall has
been doing it, and Bramshaw wants to have him discharged so he can get
the job.  Just think of that."

"Why should he wish to do that?" Lois asked in great surprise.  "If he
is an artist why should he want to take care of old David?"

"So you know the old man?" Miss Westcote enquired.

"Oh, yes.  And I know Mr. Randall, too.  He is so good to old David."

"I know he would be.  I met him once at the Sign of the Maple with my
father, and he seemed to be so different from most men.  He was so
manly and had such a strong face.  I liked him as soon as I saw him."

"He deserves great credit, Miss Westcote.  He is a self-made man, and
his life has been a hard one.  He has had to struggle against many
obstacles.  But he will win and make a name for himself, I feel quite
sure."

It was impossible for these two to be long alone in such a quiet spot.
Just when the conversation was becoming interesting, they were sought
for by their partners for the next dance, and reluctantly they were
forced to forego the many things they wished to say to each other.




CHAPTER XV

THE "CUT-OFF"

The meeting with Margaret Westcote was a great event in Lois' life.
Hitherto, her lot had been somewhat of a lonely one, with no special
girl friend to share her confidences.  Her interests had always been so
different from others that she was not looked upon by any as a boon
companion.  She often reasoned with them and asked why they should make
selfish pleasure the principal motive of living when they could have
more enjoyment by putting self last and others first.

With Margaret Westcote, however, it was different.  She was after Lois'
own heart, and the two were as one in their interests.  Each supplied
what the other lacked; one her vivaciousness, and the other her
calmness of mind.  Their friendship was not a growth but a fusing at
the first meeting.  They were now very much together, and Margaret took
a keen interest in the work of getting the Christmas supplies ready for
needy families.

Dick was delighted that this beautiful girl was so much at the house,
and for the first time in his life he found Church work most
interesting.  He was always ready to help, but was generally in the
way.  It was quite evident that he was greatly in love with Margaret,
though she on her part treated him as a mere boy and not as a lover.
He could not seem to realise that she was an excellent judge of
character, and preferred men who did things instead of spending their
time in idleness.  Lois understood the girl's feelings, and the truth
began to dawn upon her that Jasper Randall was Margaret's ideal type of
a man.  One who could battle and overcome was the man who appealed to
her.  Whenever Jasper's name was mentioned Margaret's eyes would
sparkle with animation, and she never tired of talking about him and
the struggle he had made in life.

The week before Christmas Lois became more enthusiastic than ever with
the work of getting the boxes ready to be sent to the various families.
She longed to interest her father, and one morning before he left for
his office she asked him if he would not do something for the families
of the men who were working for him in the woods on the old Dinsmore
Manor.  She had never spoken to him about the letter he had written to
Mrs. Bean, feeling sure that it would be of no avail.  But she had
learned through a letter from Betty that the choppers had not yet
crossed the line, and for this Lois was thankful.  Perhaps he did not
intend to take the logs, she reasoned, but had written the letter
during one of his cranky moods, with no intention of putting his threat
into practice.

"Why should we send anything to country families?" her father asked
her.  "They earn good money, and why should we help them?"

"But there are some very poor families," Lois replied, "and I know they
can hardly make a living.  There is Mrs. Bean, for instance.  She
hasn't the bare necessities of life at times, and a present this
Christmas would be a blessing to her."

"I can't help that," Mr. Sinclair angrily retorted.  "It's none of my
business if she is poor.  Where would we be, I'd like to know, if we
handed out to such people?  Why, there are thousands of them."

It was in no happy frame of mind that Mr. Sinclair left the house and
made his way down town.  Reaching his office, he seated himself before
his desk and spread out a somewhat soiled piece of paper.  Over this he
ran his finger until it stopped at a certain mark.  "Camp Number One,"
he muttered.  "Ha, ha! good timber there, and close to the line, too.
Camp Number Two--much nearer the line," and his finger moved over the
paper to another mark.  "Camp Number Three, and over the border into
the enemy's country, ha, ha!  Good for five thousand.  Pine timber,
straight and clean as masts, and thick as hair on a dog's back.  How
they'll squirm, those country clogs, when they see their good logs
floating down the river.  But they're mine.  The new line is right, for
the best surveyor in the Province ran it.  Fifty rods inside the old
one, ha, ha!  I expect they'll make a fuss and put up a big kick.  But
I'll fight them, and then we'll see what money will do."

A knock sounded upon the door, and three men entered with hats in their
hands.

"Mr. Sinclair, I believe," the spokesman began.

"Yes, that's my name, and what can I do for you?" the lumberman replied.

"Well, you see," continued the other, "we've come to the city on
purpose to have a talk with you about that line you had run between
your land and ours."

"Well, and what about it?" snapped Sinclair.

"We've been appointed a committee to inform you that your men are
cutting logs over the line, and are encroaching on the shore lots.
They began day before yesterday."

"What, the men of Camp Number Three?"

"Yes."

"But that timber is mine," Sinclair replied.  "I sent a surveyor there
last summer and he found that the old line was wrong.  A new one was
run which gives me fifty rods off the rear of your shore lots."

"There must be some mistake, Mr. Sinclair," the countryman calmly
returned.  "Our forefathers received their lands as grants from the
Crown after the Revolutionary War.  A line was then run which separated
the shore lots from that portion of land known as the 'Dinsmore Manor,'
and there has been no dispute over it until now."

"Look here!" and Sinclair sprang to his feet.  "I know my business and
attend to it.  You attend to yours.  The new line is right and, by
heavens, I'll stick to it!"

"We are attending to our business," the countryman replied, "and we'll
show you, wealthy though you are, that you can't work any bluff game on
us.  But," and here he lowered his voice, "Mr. Sinclair, we don't want
to quarrel.  We came chiefly to tell you that your men in Camp Number
Three are cutting the logs on the farm of a poor widow with several
children.  If you are a man of any heart you will see that the work is
stopped at once."

"What, cease for a widow and her brood?  Never!  There is the Poor
House--let her go there; and the Orphanage is the place for the kids if
they are not old enough to work.  Such people only injure a settlement,
and you should be glad to be rid of them.  So, gentlemen, as I have
much business on hand, I wish to be alone."

"And you will do nothing to help that poor woman?" the three men asked
as one.

"No, nothing.  Do your best.  If you wish to lose your farms, go ahead.
Good day."

Christmas came on Thursday, and on Tuesday morning Mr. Sinclair
informed Lois that he was going away and would not be back until the
end of the week.  It was during breakfast that he told her this, and
Lois paused in the act of pouring his coffee.

"And you'll not be here for Christmas?" she asked in surprise.

"No.  Christmas means nothing to me.  I intend to visit my camps.  I
should have gone before, as no doubt the men are loafing.  I am going
to surprise them.  They'll never expect to see me at this season of the
year.  The men'll want to take three days off, and I can't allow it.
They always come back unfitted for work after their celebrations.
They'll do nothing of the kind this year if they expect to work for me."

Lois knew only too well how useless it was to try to reason with her
father when he had once made up his mind.  She had learned from bitter
experience in the past that the less she said the better it would be.
Nevertheless, her heart was very sad at the change that had come over
her father.  Never before had he gone away fit Christmas time, and it
was the one day in the year when he was more pleasant than usual.  What
would be the outcome of it all? she wondered.

That very morning as soon as breakfast was over Mr. Sinclair left for
the scenes of his lumbering operations, about fifty miles from the
city.  He travelled with a horse and sleigh, and on the second day he
reached Camp Number Two shortly after the men had finished their
mid-day meal and were starting back to their work.  No sooner had
Sinclair entered the cabin than his eyes fell upon a man lying in one
of the bunks.

"Hello, Stevens," he called to the foreman, "who is this taking life so
easy, when the rest of us are struggling for our daily bread?"

"Oh, that is Robins, one of our best men," was the reply.  "He took
sick this morning, and I would have sent him to the shore at once only
to-morrow will be Christmas Day and I thought he could wait until
to-night when the teams will be going out, and----"

"Going out!  Going out, are they?" Sinclair interrupted.  "And who gave
orders to quit on Christmas Day, I'd like to know?"

"We always quit on that day, sir," Stevens stammered.  "It's been the
custom for years, and I took it for granted----"

"Yes, that's just the trouble.  You take too many things for granted.
But I tell you this, Christmas is all nonsense.  It breaks up the work,
and the hauling season is none too long at the best.  I'll have none of
it.  You'll work or quit, and that's the end of it."

"But what about Robins?" questioned the foreman, whose thoughts were
travelling away to a little group of bright faces anxiously awaiting
his home-coming for a jolly Christmas.

"Isn't there any spare team?" Sinclair asked.

"None to spare, sir.  We've only the bob-sleds, and they're not much
for a sick man to ride on.  But," he added after a pause, "we were
going to fix up something to-night, sir."

"Confound it all!" Sinclair exclaimed.  "What are we going to do?  I
can't afford to let a double team go, and besides, it would mean a loss
of two days.  Let me see.  How far is it to Camp Number Three?"

"Three miles if you go by way of the cut-off, but four if you go
around.  The cut-off hasn't been used much by the teams this winter,
and it is little more than a foot-path."

"How far is it to the cut-off?" Sinclair asked.

"About two miles."

"Well, look here, Stevens.  You drive me to that cut-off, and then get
some one to take that sick fellow out with my rig.  I'll walk the rest
of the way to the camp, and stay there till you come for me."

When the cut-off had been reached, Sinclair started off on a brisk walk
in the keen frosty air.  He even felt quite young and cheerful as he
moved forward.  But the trail was rough, and his coat was very heavy,
so after walking for some time he began to feel weary.

"This is a long trail," he muttered.  "Confound that sick man!  What
business had he getting laid up and causing all this trouble."

Hardly had the words left his mouth before his foot struck the stump of
a small tree, and with a cry of pain he sank upon the snow.  Recovering
himself he tried to walk, but so great was the agony when his right
foot touched the trail that he groaned aloud.




CHAPTER XVI

CHRISTMAS EVE

Peter Sinclair was now in a serious predicament.  Fortune had favoured
him so long that to be thus blocked by a mean little stump was too much
for his excitable nature.  He raged and railed against everything and
everybody in general.  But the tall stately trees were silent witnesses
to his passionate outbursts, and poor sympathisers.  When sober
thoughts at length came to him, he began to realise the seriousness of
his position.  Out of hearing of the camp, on a trail seldom travelled;
a sprained ankle; the short December day closing down, and the unknown
terrors of the lone forest.  The perspiration stood out in beads upon
his forehead as he viewed the situation.

At last he started to limp along the trail, but at every step he
staggered into the snow and fell heavily forward.  He tried to crawl,
but so slow was his progress and so weary did he become that this was
soon abandoned.  And there he lay, thinking as he had never thought
before.  His business was forgotten, and several times he remembered
the sick man lying in the bunk at Camp Number Two.  And all this time
the sun sank lower to rest, and long shadows stole among the great
trees like fearful monsters creeping upon him.  He became cold, too,
and his body shivered, while his teeth chattered incessantly.

When it seemed to him that he had lain there on the snow for hours, he
heard a noise, and looking along the trail he saw a little red dog
bounding straight toward him.  How often had he spurned just such a cur
with his foot, on the city streets, but never did any creature seem so
good to Sinclair as did that lean canine specimen before him.

"Good doggie," he called.  "Come here, doggie."

But the animal remained at a safe distance, barking furiously, at the
same time casting glances back along the trail as if expecting some one
from that quarter.  Soon a sturdy figure appeared in sight with a
rabbit over his shoulder.  He stopped in amazement at the scene before
him, unable to comprehend its meaning.

"Come here, sonny," Sinclair called out, fearing the boy would take
fright and disappear.

But the lad stood perfectly still as if turned to stone.

"For heaven's sake!" Sinclair continued, "come and help a poor stricken
man who can't walk."

At this appeal the boy drew nearer, and seeing that it was only a man
lying in the snow, the startled expression faded from his face.

"What's the matter, and watcher want?" he asked.

"I've sprained my ankle and can't walk," was the reply.  "Is there any
house near?  Can't you bring some one to help me?"

At this the lad became electrified into new life.  His senses returned,
and he grasped the situation in an instant.

"Gee whiz!" he exclaimed.  "Mighty lucky I came to my rabbit snares
to-night instead of t'morrer.  Y'see, that's Christmas Day, and we
don't do no work then."

"Lucky for me you came to-night, my boy," Sinclair replied, and then he
remembered how he had denounced the day but a short time before.  "But
I can't stay in this place all night.  Can't you get somebody to help
me?"

"Y'bet," the boy responded.  "Buck and Bright'll help y'outer this fix.
Jes' wait a minute."

At this he hurried away, and although he was gone not much over half an
hour it seemed to Sinclair like an age before "Haw, Buck!  G'up,
Bright!  Git up thar!" sounded upon his ears.

Presently he beheld the forms of two panting steers, plunging and
wallowing through the snow, each crowding the other in an endeavour to
maintain the firm footing on the narrow trail.  When they caught sight
of the dark object lying before them, they stopped, sniffed the air,
and bolted to the right.  But the boy with considerable skill, the
result of long practice, wheeled them about, and after much shouting
and exertion headed them homeward.

"Hi, thar!" he called to the prostrate man.  "Kin ye manage t'git to
th' sled?  These steers is mighty scart, and I must stan' by an' hold
'em."

With a great effort Sinclair began to crawl slowly along the trail, and
when about exhausted reached the sled.

"Hol' on now," the boy ordered, as he cracked his whip and the steers
started forward.  It was a rough trip, over knolls, striking stumps
here and there, and squeezing between trees, when the sled had to be
freed by much twisting and manoeuvring; but Sinclair thought it the
best ride he had ever taken.

"Mother's lookin' fer y'," remarked the lad, when they had finally
gained the good road.  "She's got the best sofy out, an' was warmin'
things up when I left."

Sinclair made no reply.  He was cold, stiff, and too much exhausted to
enter into conversation.  Not until he was stretched out on the big
cosy sofa in front of the cheerful fire, after his sprained ankle had
been bathed and well rubbed, did he become talkative.

"My good woman," he began, "how can I ever repay you for your great
kindness?"

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/16714