In the morning they broke camp and moved up the valley, but although the fire was advancing Jim did not go far. They might soon be driven back among the rocks, where there were no trees to burn, and he meant to work as long as possible. Besides, transport was difficult and he must have an open trail behind him. Jim was getting anxious about this, because if the fire followed them up, provisions must be brought across the burning belt.

It was characteristic that he took command. Although Jake had banteringly called him the Boss, they had no agreement about the matter. When things were normal each did what he thought needful and they seldom jarred. Now, however, Jim half consciously assumed firm control, with his comrade's support. He made all plans, and the men seeing he had a leader's talent obeyed cheerfully.

For some days their resolution was hardly tried. The fire rolled up the valley and for the most part they worked in thick smoke. At times the heat was intolerable, and when the wind freshened showers of ash and sparks fell about them. Although the fire did not advance fast, their progress was slow. Heavy stones must be rolled away, treacherous gravel must be walled up and the line roughly graded. Ashes stuck to the men's wet skin and they were often scorched by the hot wind. Then, at the close of each exhausting day, the camp must be moved to the end of the cleared track.

There was not much grumbling. The men were hard and stubborn, but Jim doubted if they could bear the strain long. He himself was worn out, he could not relax at night and did not sleep. Jake's scorched face was getting pinched. Carrie alone was cheerful and tried to ease the crushing strain when they rested for an hour after the evening meal. The meal was always ready and Jim noted that the bill of fare was better than before. Yet, sometimes when Carrie did not know he was studying her, he thought her figure drooped and her eyes were dull. He said nothing, but he was moved by pity and gratitude.

At length, one day when the wind was fresh and the fire had got ominously close, he made a hard decision. Since he could not keep in front, he would follow the blaze, which would lick up the brush and do some part of his work. The trouble was, he must wait until the conflagration passed and the burned ruin cooled, while wages mounted up and food got short. He said nothing to the others, but when evening came and the tired men struck the tent he indicated a bare rocky slope.

"We'll make the big stones yonder, boys. Keep this side of the juniper scrub."

The men's grim faces relaxed and one laughed. They saw the struggle was over for a time and the boss had made another plan. All had had enough and badly needed rest. Carrie, however, looked at Jim thoughtfully.

"I know you're not giving up, but I don't understand."

Jim smiled. "I may have to give up, but not yet. In the morning the fire will reach the line. We are going to lie off and let it pass."

"Ah," said Carrie, with a hint of relief. "Can we wait?"

"It will cost us something and we can't wait long, but perhaps this won't be needful. Now give me that bundle. The ground is rough."

"I won't," said Carrie, moving back as he tried to take the bundle she had made of some clothes. "You have an ax and a big bag of flour. Would it hurt very much to own that you sometimes get tired?"

Jim laughed but did not answer, and they went up the hill. They pitched camp among the rocks and in the morning Jim climbed the range behind the spot. He did not come back until dusk, but saw no way of bringing the supplies he would soon need across the rugged hills. One could not get up the valley, for looking down from the heights, he could see behind the fire and the ground was strewn with fallen trees. Some would burn for long and the ashes and hot stones would not cool soon, while the rampikes that stood above the ruin would come down when a strong gust shook them. A brulee is dangerous when the wind blows, and sometimes in a calm.

For the next few days the fire raged below the camp, and when Jim ventured down hill he was driven back by heat and smoke. The fire was rolling up the valley, but the wreckage it had left smoldered and now and then broke into flame. Half-burned underbrush suddenly blazed and blackened logs glowed in the wind. There was nothing to be done but use patience, and in the meantime the wages bill was mounting up and food was getting short.

Then, one day, the wind dropped. The distant peaks got hazy, the shining glaciers faded, and the outline of the rocks was blurred. Although the sun was dim, it was very hot, and Jim felt morose and gloomy as he loafed about the camp. There was no use in going down to the line, and he durst not hope for rain. After a few hours the wind might freshen and the sky clear. He had nothing to do and the reaction from the strain he had borne had begun.

"We miss the trout," Carrie remarked, as she cooked supper. "Jake tried to get down to the river but couldn't make it."

"I'm afraid we'll soon miss the flour and salt pork. When they're gone the boys will pull out," said Jim, and then forced a laugh. "Anyhow, if Jake had got down, I doubt if he'd have caught much fish. I don't know a good bait for boiled trout."

"The flour's not gone yet," Carrie rejoined. "We'll hold on while it lasts and it's going farther than you think. Somehow I don't feel as if we'd be beaten."

"We have come near it," said Jim, with rather grim humor. "One gets used to that, and resolution counts when you're fighting a snowslide or a flood; but we're up against another proposition now. It's so to speak, mathematical; nothing coming in and much going out! When we have no stores and money left we must quit."

"I suppose we must, but I'd hate to see you let the job go and would feel mean myself. After all, something may happen before we are forced to quit," Carrie replied, and added with calm confidence: "Something is going to happen."

"You have an optimism that can't be cured," Jim rejoined. "However, I don't know if I'd like it cured."

He knocked out his pipe and began to cut some tobacco, but stopped abruptly and looked up.

"What's that?" he asked as something pattered on the stiff foliage of a juniper.

"Big drops," said Carrie. "I felt a few before."

Jim got up. The light was going and it felt cool, but the sky up the valley was not clouded much; he could not see the other way. Then a few large cold drops fell on his upturned face and next moment there was a quick splashing on the dusty juniper. He drew a deep breath and shook off his languidness.

"It's coming; heavy rain!" he cried. "We'll make good, after all. But let's move the stores."

Carrie laughed happily. "You said I was too practical! Who's practical now? But sometimes you get things mixed; you reckoned not long since I was an optimist."

"I did," Jim admitted. "Practical planning and optimism make a strong combine, and I imagine they are going to carry us through. But let's move the stores."

He called the men, and as they got all that would spoil covered there was a rush of cold wind and the rain beat upon the camp. It rains hard in British Columbia and often rains long. They knew that by morning the rocks would run water and the deluge would quench the smoldering wreckage; it might even quench the fire.

After a day or two Jim moved his camp to the line, and one afternoon when he was working in the rain stopped and straightened his aching back. Fine ash that had turned to mud smeared his wet slickers; his face was thin and gloomy. His money was nearly gone, and although the fire had burned out he did not see how he could finish his contract.

The tangled brush had vanished and wet ashes covered the ground. Half-burned logs lay about, and here and there small trees, leaning at sharp angles with blackened branches locked, held each other up. In places, big charred rampikes stood in rows like colonnades. The nearer rows looked black; farther off they shone in the rain with a curious silver gleam. The fire had helped to clear the ground, but wet men were at work with axes and saws.

By and by Jim looked round. Somebody had shouted and it was not one of his gang. The shout came from some distance off and while he tried to locate the spot a rampike slanted over and broke off. The burned trunk struck the ground with an echoing crash and a cloud of ash rolled up like smoke. There was now a gap in the row and as the ashes blew away Jim saw pack-horses in the opening.

"Who is it?" he asked Jake.

"A Government outfit, I expect. Prospectors don't load up with tents and stores like that."

"If they're Government men, it means somebody from the telegraph department is coming to look at our job."

"Yes," said Jake. "I reckon we'll soon know our luck." He waited for a few moments and added: "It's the boss surveyor."

The surveyor presently joined them and remarked: "As I have business at the new settlement, I thought I'd see how you were getting on."

"We might have got on faster, but we have had trouble all the time," said Jim.

"Looks like that. I examined the work you've done as I came along and on the whole allow it's a pretty good job. However, we'll talk about that later; the boys are tired and I'm glad to make your camp."

The pack-horses were unloaded and when the tents were pitched the surveyor's cook helped Carrie to prepare an unusually good meal. When it was over the party sat outside the surveyor's tent, which had a double top stretched on poles beyond its front. The surveyor studied their faces with understanding, for he knew the wilds and noted signs of strain. He thought all had a fine-drawn look.

"It's obvious that you have been up against it," he remarked. "The big landslide must have made you trouble and no doubt the fire cost you something. Running a camp is expensive when transport's high."

"That is so," Carrie agreed feelingly. "It's curious, but I think the boys eat most when they have nothing to do."

The surveyor gave her a sympathetic smile. "I imagine you don't stint them, if this supper is a good example." He turned to Jim. "You're behind schedule, but if you have no more bad luck, I reckon you ought to finish on time."

Jim said nothing. He doubted if he could finish the job at all, and wondered whether the other suspected his embarrassment. He meant to ask for some payment, but it might be risky to admit that money was urgently needed. Jake gave him a warning glance, although he was silent, and the surveyor looked about and noted much.

Jim's long boots were broken and his slickers were torn, Winter's carelessness was obviously forced, but the surveyor's study of Carrie gave him the plainest hint. Although she was neat, he thought an attractive girl would not, without good grounds, wear clothes that had shrunk and faded and been mended as often as hers.

"Well," he resumed, "I expect you know payment in part is sometimes allowed before a job is finished, but when we made our agreement nothing was stated about this."

"The custom has drawbacks for the people who let the contract," Jake remarked.

"Very true," agreed the surveyor. "Then you don't mean to bother us for money?"

"It would, of course, be useful," Jake admitted in a thoughtful voice. "However, if the office doesn't see its way——"

"You would be satisfied to wait?"

Jim frowned. Jake's pretended indifference was prudent, but he had overdone the thing. While Jim wondered how he could put the matter right Carrie interposed.

"My brother is generally hopeful. In a way, that's good, but sometimes he's rash."

The surveyor's eyes twinkled. "Do you mean he's rash just now?"

"Yes," said Carrie, "I really think I do mean this."

"I didn't know if it was rashness or common bluff."

Jake grinned rather awkwardly and Jim colored, but Carrie fixed her eyes on the surveyor.

"It was all bluff from the beginning. We hadn't the money we needed when we took the contract, and since then we have never had proper tools and help enough."

"In fact, you had nothing much but obstinacy and grit? They sometimes go far in the bush; but I don't know if they'll go far enough to carry you through. Perhaps you had better be frank."

"I generally am frank. Bluffing's dangerous, and my brother didn't know when to stop. Anyhow, unless we get some money soon, I'm afraid we'll go broke."

"Perhaps it's strange, but I rather suspected this," the surveyor rejoined. "Well, I'd like you to put the contract over. You have done good work up-to-date and I'll risk giving you an order on the pay office. If you'll wait while I get a form, I'll do it now."

He went into the tent and Carrie smiled at the others. Jim was conscious of keen relief and a touch of annoyance. Although Carrie had saved the situation, he had let her undertake an awkward task that was properly his. Then the surveyor came back and gave her a document.

"I imagine you are sometimes rash," he remarked. "Didn't you see the line you took was risky?"

"No," said Carrie, smiling; "I wasn't rash at all. I know when I can trust people and didn't think you would let us down. All the same, I knew you wouldn't give us a pay order unless you saw we'd make good. Well, we are going to make good, and now that's done with, we'll talk about something else."

The surveyor laughed and began to talk about his journey, but Jim noted that he gave Carrie an approving glance. Next morning he went on and the others resumed their work with quiet confidence. The financial strain had slackened and they were not afraid of the physical difficulties that must yet be grappled with. Rocks and trees could be moved so long as the men were paid and fed. Still the fight was not over and their courage was tried when they carried the line along the moraine by a shrunken glacier and across a broken range. At length, one evening, Jim took Carrie up a hill and when they reached the top indicated a river that sparkled among the trees below.

"Follow it down and look across the big pines on the flat," he said.

Carrie looked and saw a thin, blue haze floating about the trees.

"Oh!" she cried, "it's smoke."

"The high smear against the rocks is from a mine stack, and I think I see the steam from a sawmill by the river," Jim said quietly. "The line will soon be finished, and you have helped us out."

The color came into Carrie's face and her eyes shone. "Perhaps I have helped some; if I have, I'm glad. Now I'm proud of my family. You have put it over."

"We came near being beaten," Jim replied with some emotion. "I think, if you had not been with us, we would have been beaten."

Carrie gave him a level glance. "It's done with, Jim. I wanted you and Jake to make good, for your sake and mine. You see, if you couldn't have stood for it, I'd have lost confidence in myself."

"I'm not sure I do see," Jim replied, as they started down hill.

"It's good to concentrate, but perhaps you concentrate too much," Carrie resumed by and by. "You see things right in front; you don't look about."

"I suppose I am like that," Jim admitted. "I don't know if it's good or not."

Carrie smiled rather curiously. "We didn't choose our characters; they were given us. I wonder what would have happened had we been different——"

She stopped as they climbed across a fallen tree and said nothing more until they reached the camp.



CHAPTER XIV

THE RECKONING

When the line reached the settlement Jim and his party returned to Vancouver. Shortly after their arrival Martin came to see them.

"I've been in town some time, and seeing a notice in the Colonist that you had finished the job, thought I'd like to tell you I was glad," he said.

Carrie thanked him and by and by he asked: "Have you had a fresh offer from Baumstein for your copper claim?"

Jim said they had not and Martin smiled. "I reckon the offer will arrive, and now he knows you have got your pay he'll put up his price."

"If it does arrive, we won't reply," said Carrie, firmly.

"I don't know if that's a good plan," Martin remarked. "Baumstein will offer about half as much as he's willing to give, but I'd take hold and negotiate until I thought he'd reached his limit. It will be under what the claim is worth. Then I'd go along and try the Combine."

"Would they buy?" Jim asked.

"Go and see. Although Baumstein's pretty smart, he doesn't know they're quietly investing in Northern copper; I do. There's another thing; if you have got specimens, send some for assay to a different man."

Jim pondered. The analysis of the ore was not as good as he had expected and the miner who had examined the specimens at his camp agreed. For all that, assayers were generally honest and skillful.

"What's the matter with the man I went to?" he asked.

"He's sometimes soused and you can't trust a tanker. Then he's extravagant."

"Ah," said Jim. "Is that all?"

Martin gave him a dry smile. "I happen to know Baumstein lent him money. It's possible he meant to get value for a risky loan."

The others said nothing, but they saw the significance of the hint and Jim's face got stern.

"There's something else," Martin resumed. "Davies has left me and gone back to Baumstein."

"Gone back?" Jake exclaimed.

"Sure," said Martin, quietly. "I didn't know he'd worked for the fellow when I hired him. Now I've a notion he's been Baumstein's man, not mine, all the time."

Jim clenched his fist and Carrie's eyes sparkled. "We're up against a poisonous crook," she said, and looked at Jim. "You see why he made us trouble? He wanted to break us, so we'd sell him the Bluebird cheap."

"It's pretty plain. All the same, I don't see what I ought to do about it. Martin's plan doesn't quite meet the bill: I'd sooner try something a little more vigorous."

Carrie shook her head. "You mustn't be a fool! The best way to play that kind of man is to use him. When he finds out it will hurt most."

Jim hesitated. He remembered the blow they had got at the beginning of the struggle and all that Carrie had borne. Baumstein's plot had drained their resources and made her suffer.

"Martin's plan is best; you must agree," she urged.

"Very well," said Jim. "Jake can see the fellow and begin the negotiations; I'll come in afterwards. Jake's something of a philosopher, but I'd probably spoil the plot if I met Baumstein before I cool."

Martin gave them some useful advice and then went away, and a few days afterwards Baumstein sent a message. Jake played his part well; indulging the other's pretended indifference and arguing for better terms. Sometimes he seemed on the point of yielding, and then on his next visit found grounds for delay. At length, when Baumstein was getting impatient, Jake took Jim to the office.

Baumstein occupied a revolving chair in front of a fine hard wood desk, and gave the others a sharp glance as they came in. The office was very well furnished and Baumstein wore fashionable clothes. There was a fine diamond in his ring. This annoyed Jim, who knew that while hard-bitten prospectors braved the risks of starvation on the snowy trail, greedy company-floaters often got the reward.

"I hope you have come to clinch the deal," Baumstein remarked. "I've met your partner as far as I can, but the bargaining has gone on long enough."

"Then you can't raise your price?" Jim asked.

Baumstein studied him. Winter had been compliant and apparently anxious to sell, but there was something puzzling about his partner. Baumstein got a hint of sternness that he did not like. For all that, bluff paid when one dealt with poor men.

"No," he replied, dryly. "Your partner has raised me to my limit and I've got to stop. You can agree right now or quit."

"Oh, well," said Jim. "If you have gone as far as you are able——. May I use your telephone?"

"Certainly," said Baumstein, and when Jim, picking up the instrument on the desk, called the exchange, suddenly straightened himself. He knew the number for which Jim asked.

"Winter and Dearham," said the latter. "Mr. Lamson? All right; I'll come along and fix things. We'll record the transfer when you like."

Baumstein swung round his chair and his face got red.

"What's that you told Lamson? What does it mean?"

"It means I've sold the Bluebird claim."

"Then, you have been negotiating with the Combine all the time? Why in thunder did you come to me?"

"For one thing, we wanted to find out how much you would bid. It would be safe to ask another party more than you would give. We didn't know how much we ought to get."

Baumstein clenched his fist. "You used me for a base to bluff from; reckoning you'd fall back on me if you couldn't put it over?"

"No," said Jim. "We didn't mean to deal with you at all. You helped us get a proper price; that was your job."

They looked at one another, with mouths set hard, and then Baumstein broke out: "You swine!"

"Stop there," said Jim, with ominous quietness. "I'm back from using the ax in the bush and feel very fit. To put you out of your office would give me the keenest satisfaction and would be cheaper than getting after you through the court."

"Shucks!" exclaimed Baumstein. "What are you giving me?"

"I reckon you know. You put Davies on our track; he broke the line, and sent a log down on our canoes. He's smart and both plots worked before we found him out. But we did find him out."

Baumstein hesitated, wondering how much was supposition and how much Jim really knew.

"You'll be blamed foolish if you go to law with a tale like that."

"We don't propose to bother, because I think we're even. You helped us sell our claim and the Combine know what you were willing to pay. We raised them some; one could take it for granted you wouldn't reach just value."

"You told them what I offered?" Baumstein shouted.

"We did," Jim said, smiling. "I expect they got a useful hint. In fact, if you want to control Northern copper, you had better get busy. It looks as if the Combine were on your track." He paused and beckoned Jake. "Well, perhaps there's enough said. We mustn't keep you."

They went off and left Baumstein sitting very still with his fist clenched.

A few days afterwards, Jim and Jake waited for Carrie one evening on the veranda at the store. Mrs. Winter had refused to sell the business, but Jake had engaged extra help and they had arranged for a long holiday. The store, standing back from the rough board sidewalk, was small and shabby; the street was torn by transfer-wagon wheels. A Chinese laundry and a pool-room occupied the other side. Sawmill refuse and empty coal-oil cans had been dumped in a neighboring vacant lot. Mean frame houses ran on from the store, some surrounded by a narrow yard, and some with verandas covered by mosquito gauze so that they looked like meat-safes. The neighborhood was strangely unattractive, but one could see the sparkling Inlet and the dark forest that rolled back to the shining snow.

Jim, sitting in an old rocking-chair, was quietly satisfied. After taking Mrs. Winter and Carrie to lunch at a smart hotel, he had loafed about the city without feeling bored. It was nice to know he had nothing to do and had money to spend. In fact, he had relished a novel enjoyment when he visited some shops and bought presents for his hosts without thinking what they cost. Now he languidly looked back on the years that had gone so quickly since his parents died. They were strenuous years, marked by hardship, toil, and adventure, for Jim had not known monotonous quietness. Even when he studied at McGill, he had worked between the terms in order to pay the fees. Afterwards, finding no field for such talent as he had, he had sold his labor where he could. He had seen much and learned much, but he was young and had a curious feeling that there were fresh experiences in store. By and by he banished the memories and looked at Jake.

"I smile when I think about the time I hit Martin's camp, pretty hungry and ragged, and got after him about his sending Davies on our track," he said.

Jake laughed. "After all, I guess you took a useful line. Made him feel he'd got to show us he wasn't a crook."

"Why did he want to show us? What we thought wouldn't matter a hill of beans."

"The fellow's white," Jake replied.

"Martin is white," Jim agreed, looking at Jake rather hard. "We were getting pretty near the rocks when he gave us a lift."

Jake nodded. When their money was very low after the fire, Martin had suggested an arrangement that had worked for the benefit of all. Jake hoped his comrade would be satisfied with his vague assent, but doubted.

"Why did he help?" Jim resumed. "The profit he got wasn't worth his bothering about."

"If you mean to know, I reckon he thought Carrie would like it."

"Ah," said Jim, frowning, "I suspected something like this! Well, we owe Martin much, but I'd sooner not think we let him give us a lift for your sister's sake. You ought to have refused."

"I didn't know. The thing's got obvious since."

"But you know now?"

"Yes," said Jake, "my notion is, Carrie could marry him when she liked."

"Do you think she sees it?"

Jake smiled. "Carrie's not a fool. If you and I see it, the thing is pretty plain. All the same, I imagine she is quietly freezing him off."

Jim was conscious of a rather puzzling satisfaction. "Martin's a good sort and he's rich; but there's no reason Carrie should take the first good man who comes along," he said. "She ought to get the very best. However, it's not my business and I don't know if it's yours."

"It's Carrie's," said Jake, rather dryly. "She's generally able to manage her affairs. In fact, I allow she was successful when she managed ours——"

He stopped, for the door opened and Carrie came out. She held a newspaper and looked excited.

"You had better read this advertisement, Jim," she said.

Jim saw the newspaper was printed at Montreal two years before. He glanced at the place Carrie indicated, started, and then looked straight in front.

"How did you get the thing?" he asked after a moment or two.

"Mother bought some old paper for packing. She took this piece just now to light the stove and saw the notice. But are you the man they want?"

"Yes," said Jim, quietly. "Franklin Dearham was my father."

Jake picked up the newspaper and they were silent for a few moments. Then Carrie asked: "What are you going to do about it?"

"To begin with, I'll write to the lawyers at Montreal," said Jim, who knitted his brows. "After that I don't know. The advertisement is cautious, but it looks as if Joseph Dearham was dead. I don't think my father expected to inherit his property. It's puzzling."

"Was Joseph Dearham rich?" Jake asked.

"He had some land and money and the old house at Langrigg. I've often thought about Langrigg, but I'd sooner the lawyers had left me alone."

"Why?"

"I've been happy in Canada. I've friends I trust, I'm making good, and don't want to be disturbed."

Carrie gave him a quick glance, but he went on: "Then we meant to take a holiday, and it looks as if I might be wanted in the Old Country."

"If you go, they may keep you."

"I feel I have got to go, although I don't like it," Jim replied with a puzzled look. "Something pulls and I resist. However, come along. We're going to the park."

They set off and Jim tried to talk. Carrie helped him and for a time they laughed and joked, but the jokes got flat and all were rather quiet when they went home. They felt a disturbing change was coming; things would not be the same. Next morning Jim wrote to the lawyers, who asked him to meet a member of the firm at Winnipeg. He grumbled and hesitated, but went and did not return for some time. On the evening after his arrival he and the others sat talking in a little room behind the store.

The room was cheaply furnished. The rough black pipe from the basement stove went up the middle and a threadbare rug covered half the floor. Mrs. Winter, looking worn and faded, occupied a rocking-chair. She was better dressed than when Jim first came to the house and he thought the rather expensive material had been chosen with taste. The quiet woman had a touch of dignity, although she wore the stamp of toil. Carrie, sitting opposite, had been occupied in the store all day and had refused to change her working clothes. Since Jim's return was something of an event, Mrs. Winter was puzzled by her obstinacy.

"I'm glad to be back," Jim remarked. "Winnipeg is a fine city, but I feel Vancouver's home."

Mrs. Winter smiled, but the look Carrie gave Jim was half ironical.

"You are glad to get back here? After stopping at a big hotel!"

"I am glad. The hotel was crowded and never quiet. They had noisy electric elevators that went up and down all night, and it wasn't much better when I dined at smart restaurants. Thought I'd find this amusing, but I didn't. Had to push for a place at the tables and the waiters were slow. I felt I wanted to hustle round with the plates."

"Sometimes you're rather clever, Jim," Carrie said, meaningly. "But I expect you liked the cooking."

"It was tolerable, but no food I've got was half as good as the trout and bannocks we picked out of the hot spider in a valley of the North. Then there's no drink as refreshing as the tea with the taste of wood smoke I drank from a blackened can."

"It didn't often taste of smoke," Carrie objected.

"Carrie can cook; she owes that to me," Mrs. Winter interposed. "She was ambitious when she was young and declared she had no use for studying things like that, but I was firm."

"I wonder whether she's ambitious now," Jim remarked.

"I've got wise," said Carrie. "I know where I belong."

Mrs. Winter looked at them as if she were puzzled, and Jim knitted his brows.

"I don't know where I belong. That's the trouble, because it may hurt to find out. But how have you been getting on while I was away?"

"Trade's pretty good, thank you," Carrie replied. "We have sold as much sweet truck as I could bake. The groceries have kept Belle hustling."

"Shucks!" said Jim, impatiently, and turned to Jake. "You ought to make your mother sell out."

"He tried," said Mrs. Winter. "I won't sell. Jake has some money now, but he's not rich and may hit a streak of bad luck. My children must go out and fight for all they get, but I want them to know there's a little house in the home town where they can come back if they're hurt and tired. Besides, I've kept store so long I've got the habit. Anyhow, you have told us nothing about your business and we're curious."

"Jake and Carrie don't look curious," Jim remarked dryly. "Well, I went to the lawyer's room, mornings, and answered his questions, read the night-letters the Montreal office sent him, and waited for replies to their English cablegrams."

"But what did he say about your claim?"

"I don't know if it will interest your son and daughter, but I'll tell you. There are some formalities yet, but the fellow seems satisfied I'm Joseph Dearham's heir, and I'm going to England soon. Whether I'll stay or not is another thing. Well, we had arranged for a long holiday, and I don't mean to be cheated. I'm going to take you all to the Old Country."

Carrie colored, but Jake smiled. "Did you tell the lawyer about this plan?"

"I did not," said Jim, with a rather haughty look that Carrie thought was new. "Langrigg is mine. It's my pleasure to show it to my friends."

Mrs. Winter looked disturbed. "You are kind, Jim, but I'm an old woman and have never gone far from home. Your relations mightn't like me."

"I don't know yet if my relations will like me. Anyhow, they have got to approve my guests. I wanted you to sell the store, because, if I'm satisfied with Langrigg, you mayn't come back. There's no real difficulty about your coming. In fact, you have got to come."

Mrs. Winter hesitated, as if she were thinking hard, and then her gentle face got resolute. "Very well. I'd like Carrie to see the Old Country."

Jim turned to the others with a triumphant smile. "It's fixed. Your mother will need you, Carrie, and I'll need my partner. We have put over some hard jobs and I imagine I'm up against another now. I want you, Jake; you have got to see me out."

"Since I don't know your folks and their habits, it isn't plain how I could help," Jake replied.

"I don't know much. What about it? We made good prospecting when we had never used the rocker and thawn-out gravel. We graded the pack-trail across Snowy Range when we didn't know how to drill and start off giant-powder. Well, we're going to make good at Langrigg if I stay."

"Then I'll come, for a time," Jake agreed and looked at Carrie.

"I wouldn't like to be left alone," she said and smiled.

Jim was satisfied. He had carried out his plan and it was significant that Carrie was willing to go; if Martin had attracted her; she would sooner have remained behind. In a way, he thought it strange that Mrs. Winter, from whom he had expected most opposition, was the first to agree, but this was not important.

After a time they went to the Stanley park, where Jake and Mrs. Winter met somebody they knew. Carrie sat down on a bench under a giant fir and Jim lighted a cigarette.

"You and Jake rather puzzled me," he remarked. "You weren't curious; I'd a feeling that things were not the same."

Carrie gave him a steady look. "I'm afraid we were very mean—but there was a difference. You were one of us when you went away; you came back an English landowner."

"Ah," said Jim, "I think I see! You wanted to give me a chance to drop you? Did you think I would?"

"No," said Carrie, blushing. "But it was possible. Cutting the line was different; it was a business proposition." She paused and added with a hint of regret: "It's finished now."

"Sometimes I think you're sorry."

Carrie said nothing and he went on: "Was Jake's throwing up his job and bringing me down from the shack a business proposition? Your nursing me and our long talks by the camp fire? Did you think I could forget these things? Did you want me to forget?"

She looked up, with some color in her face. "Not in a way, Jim, but we took the proper line. We felt you ought to have a chance to let us go."

"And now I hope you're satisfied, since you have found out I'm not as shabby as you thought."

"Oh, well," said Carrie, smiling, "I suppose we do feel some satisfaction."

Then Jake and Mrs. Winter returned and they went to the Canadian Pacific station, where Jim asked about the steamship sailings.



PART II—THE LANDOWNER



CHAPTER I

JIM COMES HOME

The car ran out from the tall hedgerows that bordered the narrow road and at length Jim could look about. He had not been able to see much on his way from the station where Mordaunt had met him, and now he had an unbroken view he studied the English landscape with keen curiosity. On one side, rugged mountains rose against the lowering sky, but a moving ray of sunshine touched the plain below. In front, the road ran across a marsh, between deep ditches where tall sedges grew. Beyond the marsh, wet sands stretched back to the blurred woods across a bay, and farther off, low hills loomed indistinctly in the mist.

Jim noted that the landscape had not the monotony he had sometimes felt in Canada. The fields behind the marsh looked ridiculously small, but some were smooth and green and some dotted by yellow stocks of corn. Then there was a play of color that changed from cold blues and grays to silver and ochre as the light came and went. White farmsteads, standing among dark trees, were scattered about, but the country was not tame. The hills and wide belt of sands gave it a rugged touch. There had been some rain and the wind was cold.

As the car jolted along the straight road between the ditches, Jim began to muse. He had felt a stranger in London, where he had stopped a week. He knew the Canadian cities, but London was different. Yet since he left the station the feeling of strangeness had gone; it was as if he had reached a country that he knew. He wondered whether he unconsciously remembered his father's talk, or if the curious sense of familiarity was, so to speak, atavistic. This, however, was not important, and he glanced at Carrie, who sat behind with Mrs. Winter and Jake.

Carrie had frankly enjoyed her holiday; indeed, Jim thought she had felt more at home than he when they were in town. Somehow she did not look exotic among the Englishwomen at the hotel, and when Mordaunt met them at the station she had, with a kind of natural tact, struck the proper note. She knew Mordaunt was a relation of Jim's, but she met him without reserve or an obvious wish to please. If either were conscious of surprise or embarrassment, Jim thought it was Mordaunt. Presently the latter indicated a low ridge that broke the level marsh. It rose against the background of misty hills, and a creek that caught the light and shone wound past it to the sands. In one place, a gray wall appeared among stunted trees.

"Langrigg," he said. "We'll arrive in a few minutes."

He blew the horn, a boy ran to open a gate, and as they climbed the hill Jim saw a stripped cornfield, a belt of dark-green turnips, a smooth pasture, and a hedge. Then a lawn with bright flower-borders opened up, and on the other side a house rose from a terrace. Its straight front was broken by a small square tower, pierced by an arch, and old trees spread their ragged branches across the low roof. The building was of a type not uncommon in the North of England and had grown up about the peel tower that had been a stronghold in the Scottish wars. There were barns and byres in the background, and it was hard to tell if Langrigg was a well-kept farm or a country house.

The strange thing was, Jim knew it well. He felt as if he had come to a spot he often visited; in fact, he had a puzzled feeling that he had come home. Then he saw people on the terrace and the car stopped. He jumped out and after helping Mrs. Winter down got something of a shock, for as the group advanced he saw the girl he had met at the Montreal restaurant. For a moment he forgot Mrs. Winter and fixed his eyes on the girl. She moved with the grace he remembered, and her white dress outlined her figure against the creeper on the wall. She was rather tall and finely, but slenderly, proportioned, and when she looked up he knew she was as beautiful as he had thought. Then he roused himself and went forward with his friends.

Mordaunt presented him to Mrs. Halliday, who gave him her hand with a gracious smile.

"I knew you when the car came up the drive. You look a Dearham," she said. "Since Bernard is unwell, we thought we ought to come and welcome you." Then she beckoned the others. "My daughter, Evelyn, and my son, Dick."

The girl glanced at Jim curiously, as if puzzled, but her brother laughed.

"This is something of a romantic surprise!" he said. "Perhaps it's curious, but I've thought about you since the night of the blizzard when we came to your shack."

Jim indicated his party. "I want you to know my Canadian friends; I owe them much. Mrs. and Miss Winter from Vancouver city, and my partner, Jake."

Mrs. Halliday had studied the group, but she gave them another glance. She thought Mrs. Winter was not important. The thin, tired woman was of a common type and had obviously come from a rude Canadian town: Mrs. Halliday did not know much about Vancouver. The girl, however, had individuality and a touch of beauty; Mrs. Halliday felt she must be reckoned on. The young man puzzled her, because she could not place him. In some ways, he looked like a rather superior workman, but he was unembarrassed, and although he waited calmly, she imagined he was amused. On the whole, they were not the guests one generally received at an English country house, but Mrs. Halliday knew her duty and welcomed them with a gracious air.

They went in and Jim heard with satisfaction that the others meant to dine with him, because he wanted to talk with Evelyn. He came down as soon as he could, hoping he might find her in the hall, but nobody was there and for some minutes he looked about. The hall occupied the lower story of the tower. It was square, and roughly-hewn beams, slightly curved, crossed the ceiling. The spaces between were paneled with dark wood and an oak wainscot ran round the wall. Half of one side was occupied by a big fireplace and its old, hand-forged irons. The carved frame and mantel were Jacobean and obviously newer than the rest. The old windows, however, had been enlarged and a wide casement admitted a cold light.

By and by, Mordaunt came in. The latter was thin and dark; his face was rather inscrutable, but he had a superficial urbanity. Jim wondered what lay beneath this, and imagined it might be long before he found out. Until he got down from the train, they had not met since Mordaunt came to the telegraph shack, and Jim did not know if he liked the fellow or not. After a time, there was a step on the stairs that went up the wall, and Jim looked up, half expecting to see Evelyn. At first he was conscious of some disappointment, for Carrie was coming down.

"By George!" said Mordaunt, softly.

Jim understood the exclamation, for he had not until now realized that Carrie was beautiful. Her color was rather high and her face looked strangely clean-cut against the background of dull brown oak. Her eyes were a curious gray that changed to sparkling hazel-brown with the light; her hair was brown with a coppery gleam, and her dress a soft green. Jim had not seen the dress before and did not know if it was the latest fashion, but he felt that Carrie's choice was good. It was not that the harmonious color gave her beauty; the effect was deeper. The girl had a touch of dignity that was rather natural than cultivated.

She lifted her head and smiled as she went up to Jim, and asked, as if Mordaunt was not there: "How do you like me?"

"In a way, you're wonderful," Jim replied. "Of course, I knew that before—when you nursed me, and in the woods—but somehow I hadn't expected this! When did you get the dress?"

"When we were in London. I hadn't long, but I wanted to be just right," Carrie answered with a blush. Then she laughed. "You're very nice, Jim; but do I really fit in?"

"Marvelously," Mordaunt interposed. "If my opinion is worth much, you look as if you belonged to Langrigg. That is, you go back, beyond our times, to the folks who built the peel to keep out the Scots."

Jim nodded. Mordaunt had said what he himself had vaguely thought. The fellow was sensitive and had felt the girl's virility. Jim was a little surprised that Carrie, who knew nothing about the Border wars, seemed to understand, for she gave Mordaunt a quiet but rather piercing look.

"Well," she said. "I have been up against Nature, where she's raw and savage, in the woods."

"Perhaps that accounts for it," Mordaunt replied, smiling. "Nature is savage in the frozen North; perhaps Jim told you I have been there. But I imagine you made good."

"Jim made good. I like to think I helped."

"I expect your help was worth much!" said Mordaunt.

Carrie's glance rested on him calmly and he felt that she needed study. She did not speak, however, and Mrs. Halliday and the others came in. After a few minutes they went to the paneled dining-room and Jim forgot Carrie when he sat down by Evelyn. Her color was subdued, her skin, for the most part, ivory white, and she had black eyes and hair. Although rather tall, she looked fragile, but she was marked by a fastidious grace and calm that Jim thought patrician. This was not the word he wanted, but he did not know another.

"It's curious, but I seem to know you," she said, presently.

"I don't think it is very curious," Jim replied. "You see, I met you at the restaurant near the post-office in Montreal."

"Yes," said Evelyn, with a puzzled look, "I remember our going there, but we didn't talk to anybody."

"I brought your lunch," said Jim, fixing his eyes on her face.

"Then you were the waiter?" she remarked, tranquilly.

Jim smiled. He felt that she had passed a rather awkward test and he was satisfied.

"Since you must have waited on a large number of people, it is strange you remembered me," she resumed.

"No," he said. "I hadn't met an English woman of your kind before, and, for that matter, I haven't met one since." He paused and added: "I expect this accounts for it."

Evelyn's eyes twinkled. He was obviously sincere and she felt amused. He was a new and rather good type, she thought. His figure was athletic: his face was thin and brown, his glance was steady but searching, and she liked his quiet manner.

"But you had other occupations besides waiting, hadn't you?" she asked.

"I was a miner in the North for some time."

"That must have been interesting. Were you successful?"

"I found a copper vein and was lucky enough to sell it rather well."

"Then, is it difficult to sell a mine?"

"As a rule, it's much harder than finding one," Jim answered, with a smile. "In general, the miner struggles with half-thawn gravel that often fills up his shallow shaft, and sometimes nearly starves in the tundra bogs, while the man with money enough to work the vein gets the profit. It cost us something to hold on until we got a just price."

Evelyn did not know much about the Canadian North, but she could imagine his holding on. "I expect you will find Langrigg different from the British Columbian wilds," she said. "Do you feel strange here?"

Jim looked about. The long room was paneled, the ceiling was low, and the wide casement commanded a view of the level marsh and shining sands. It was different from the dark pine forests and snowy peaks of British Columbia. The fine old china and silver, tall candlesticks, and the flowers on the table were in marked contrast with the rude furniture of camp and shack.

"No," he said, thoughtfully. "When one has wandered about a new country, meeting all kinds of people and doing all kinds of jobs, I imagine one would not feel very strange anywhere. Besides, I've a curious notion that I have come home."

"After all, you are a Dearham; perhaps this accounts for something," Evelyn remarked and glanced at Carrie. "Did you meet your friends when you were at Montreal?"

"Jim met us in Vancouver. Jake brought him to the store when he was ill," Mrs. Winter replied.

"The store?" said Evelyn.

"Mrs. Winter means a shop," Mordaunt explained.

"Oh," said Evelyn, "that is interesting! What did you sell?"

"Most everything people wanted. Dry goods, groceries, sweet biscuits—you'd call it cake—and we had quite a trade in Sundaes."

"What is a Sunday?"

Mordaunt laughed. "A little delicacy you consume on the spot. I imagine it's sometimes an ice and sometimes a sweetmeat, or a cleverly mixed drink. Perhaps it's oftenest enjoyed on Sundays and holidays, but they don't spell it with a y."

"I must try to remember. But who made these nice things?"

"Carrie," said Mrs. Winter, with a look of pride. "She baked the biscuit, too."

"I don't think I should like baking. One must get so hot," Evelyn remarked, and turned to Carrie. "Was it hard work?"

Carrie was talking to Dick Halliday, but she looked up and laughed, although there was a touch of color in her face.

"Oh, no," she said. "Anyhow, it was not as hard as cooking for the boys in the woods. I did all the cooking, and they liked the hash I put up."

Jim thought Carrie's western accent was rather marked and wondered why she had said hash. Evelyn's questions had been asked with languid good humor, as if she meant to draw Carrie into the talk, but somehow Jim got a hint of antagonism between the girls. This puzzled him and he was glad when Mrs. Halliday began to talk about something else. Evelyn did not support her much, but Mrs. Halliday was firm.

"You must tell us about your adventures," Evelyn said, as they got up, but when they went on the terrace Jim followed Carrie. Although he wanted to talk to Evelyn, Carrie must not feel neglected. She gave him a rather curious smile when he stopped by the stone bench she occupied.

"I allow your English relations have first claim on you to-night," she remarked. "You can talk to me when you like."

"A new claim doesn't wipe out older ones," Jim replied.

"I suppose that is so," Carrie agreed. "You're rather obvious, Jim, but you mean well."

Then she got up and joined Dick Halliday, and Jim felt puzzled.



CHAPTER II

JIM'S GUESTS

After breakfast next morning Jim and his friends went out on the terrace. The tide was full and the woods across the bay looked like islands. A line of white surf marked the edge of the marsh, which ran back, broken by winding creeks, to the foot of the rising ground. Sometimes a gleam of sunshine touched the lonely flats and they flashed into luminous green, silver, and yellow. Then the color faded and the light moving on forced up for a few moments the rugged blue hills against their misty background. The landscape had not the sharp distinctness common in Canada; it was dim and marked by an elusive charm.

Jim began to think about Evelyn. She was somehow like the country. Her charm was strong but not obtrusive. One could not, so to speak, realize Evelyn at a glance; she was marked by subtle refinements and delicacies that one rather felt than saw. Her English reserve was fascinating, because it hinted at the reward one might get if one could break it down. Carrie, too, was thinking about Evelyn, Mrs. Winter was sewing, and Jake occupied himself by cleaning an old pipe.

"It's some time since we broke camp on the telegraph line," Carrie remarked. "Do you find having nothing to do comes easy, Jim?"

"I don't expect to be idle long. It's prudent to consider before you begin to move."

Carrie felt that Jim was getting English. He had, of course, been to McGill, but since they reached the Old Country he was dropping his Western colloquialisms. She thought it significant that he did so unconsciously.

"Perhaps I'd better tell you how things are, so far as I understand them," he went on. "To begin with, running a house like Langrigg is expensive, and I doubt if I am rich enough to loaf in proper style."

"If you want to loaf in proper style, you must be born and raised for the job," Jake observed.

"That's true, to some extent," Jim agreed. "I was brought up to work and have got the habit. Well, my farm rents amount to something, but when you have paid taxes and repaired the homesteads they don't leave very much. It seems there are people in England willing to pay for owning land; but that plan's not sound."

"Then, you have another?"

"It's not worked out. The leases of two good farms soon fall in and I may manage them myself. Then I own the marsh, which feeds some sheep and cattle in summer. The soil's good alluvial, like the gumbo on the Manitoba plains, and would grow heavy crops if one could keep out the water. Well, we have seen small homesteaders draining Canadian muskegs, a long haul from a railroad, while we have a good market for all farming truck in two hours' ride. The proposition, however, needs some thought. It might cost me all I've got."

Jake's eyes twinkled. "I reckon that wouldn't stop you if you resolved to dyke the marsh. You didn't get much money when you got the estate?"

"I did not. I understand Joseph Dearham was not rich, and when he found his health was breaking down he gave some money to his relations. People here try to get out of the inheritance duties like that; besides, he had not meant to give my father much. However, I have a rich relation, from whom I want nothing, but whom the others think I ought to satisfy."

"Bernard Dearham? Dick Halliday talked about him."

Jim nodded. "Bernard is my grandfather Joseph's brother. Joseph was satisfied to live quietly at Langrigg like a small country gentleman; Bernard got rich by opening some iron mines not far off. Joseph married twice, and Mrs. Halliday and Mordaunt's mother were his second wife's daughters. She was a widow with two children when she married Joseph. So you see, Mrs. Halliday is not my aunt."

"Then, Evelyn Halliday is not your cousin," Carrie remarked.

"I suppose she's not," said Jim. "Anyhow, since I'm a Dearham, a descendant in the male line, it seems I've a stronger claim on Bernard than the others. I don't mean to urge the claim. He didn't give me Langrigg, he left my father alone, and if I keep the place, I'm going to run it as I like."

"Do you mean to keep Langrigg?" Carrie asked.

Jim looked thoughtful. "I imagine so; I don't know yet. There are drawbacks, but something pulls. I'll wait a bit before I decide." He got up and beckoned Jake. "Let's go and see the farms."

They went off and Carrie turned to Mrs. Winter. "He'll stay; we'll lose him soon. I think I knew we would lose him when you found the advertisement———"

She paused and Mrs. Winter remembered that when she had shown the girl the old newspaper Carrie had hesitated for a moment or two. She, however, said nothing and Carrie resumed:

"Well, I wanted to see the Old Country and you needed a rest. The life they live here is fuller than ours; it's something to enjoy it for a time, but we won't stay long, although Jim is kind."

Mrs. Winter gave her a keen glance, but Carrie's face was calm. Then she picked up her sewing and Carrie studied the old house. Langrigg meant much to Jim and she thought would presently mean more. She vaguely understood his feelings and tried to sympathize, although the effort cost her something.

In the meantime, Jim went to see his tenants. He dined with one at noon in an old farm kitchen and afterwards occupied himself by examining horses, buildings, and agricultural machines. On the whole, he puzzled the small farmers, to whom a landlord of his type was new, although they liked his frankness and answered his direct questions, since it was obvious that this was a man who knew how things were done. Some of the tenants who had known his grandfather talked about Jim afterwards and agreed that he had not much in common with the country gentleman; he was like Bernard Dearham, who opened the famous iron mines.

When they returned in the afternoon across the small turnip and stubble fields, Jim said to Jake, "I've seen enough of the plow land. Let's go across the marsh."

Jake agreed, and by and by Jim, leaning against a gate, indicated the long rows of hedges that ran down the slope and melted into an indistinct mass on the level plain.

"There's nothing much to be done here in the meantime. These folks are wasting labor and money plowing their little fields, but I reckon they're slow and stubborn. It wouldn't pay to hustle them yet."

"No," said Jake, with a twinkle. "I expect it hurts to feel you must keep your hands off, but you seem to know when you've got to allow for the idiosyncrasies of human nature. It's harder to use men properly than horses and machines."

"Some day, perhaps, I'll grub out these hedges and make room for the tractors to rip a furrow right across the farms. I've no use for wasting land on weeds and thorns."

"You think so now," Jake rejoined. "You haven't been here very long and there's something insidious about the country; its old-time customs get hold of one. Then I don't know if the tractor's picturesque, and cutting down trees and hedges might spoil the landscape. It wouldn't be quite so English after you had done."

Jim looked at him rather hard. "Sometimes you're pretty smart. Anyhow, I can't spoil the marsh by covering it with good grass and corn, and if the thing could be done economically, it ought to pay."

"It's possible. Are you keen about the profit? Or do you want a new big job?"

"I'm not going to philosophize; that's your proper line," Jim answered with a laugh. "Let's see if the creeks could be dyked."

They went down the hill and plunged into a belt of tall dry grass, crossed a broad tract of smooth green turf, dotted by thrift and silver weed, and pushed on to the lower flats where the sea-lavender and samphire grew. Then they skirted miry creeks that gradually filled with weeds as they neared dry ground, and went home to Langrigg by the causeway road. Jim was muddy, but happy; although he told himself he had not decided yet, half-formed plans floated through his brain.

A day or two afterwards, Dick Halliday and Mordaunt came over to Langrigg and were shown into the hall. Jim was not there, but his pipe and some books lay about and the others sat down. Presently Dick picked up a book and saw it was the old French romance from which Mordaunt had read a passage at the telegraph shack. He opened it carelessly and then started when he saw, Franklin Dearham, written in faded ink, on the first blank page. He looked across at Mordaunt and hesitated, with a vague suspicion in his mind. It was possible the latter had seen the writing when he opened the book at the shack, and if he had——

"You look as if you have found something interesting," Mordaunt remarked.

"It is interesting," said Dick, and felt relieved when he heard a step in the passage. He did not think Mordaunt, sitting some distance off, knew the book.

Next moment Jim came in and stated that he was alone. Mordaunt lighted a cigarette Jim gave him and asked if his friends were staying long.

"I don't know," said Jim. "We have made no plans yet, but I imagine I shall keep Langrigg."

"Do you mean you had thought about selling the estate?" Mordaunt asked, rather sharply.

"I did think about it, but don't know if I went much farther. The matter's complicated."

"Langrigg is rather an expensive house to manage and the farm rents are low," Mordaunt answered in a thoughtful voice. "Have you any money? Perhaps I'm blunt, but I'm a relative."

"I have some. Not enough to help me do all I want."

"You mean to do something, then?"

"If I stay, I'm going to put up the farm rents, though I mean to help my tenants pay. I'm going to enlarge the small fields, alter boundaries, and fix things so the land can be worked on the economical Canadian plan. The drawback is it may cost me much and I must wait for the return."

Dick laughed. "There are other drawbacks and it may cost you more than you know. In this country you can't do what you like, and we resent experiments. If you meddle with old-fashioned customs, you'll raise the neighborhood against you. In a sense, the trees and hedgerows you'd cut down are your neighbors."

"I believe they're mine," Jim rejoined dryly. "However, I don't suppose I'd bother anybody if I dyked and drained the marsh."

"Drain the marsh!" Mordaunt exclaimed. "That's frankly ridiculous! It's a favorite haunt of the Lag geese and, in a dry autumn, I don't know a better spot for snipe."

"There you are, you see!" Dick interposed, with a twinkle. "Perhaps you don't understand that it's a serious matter to disturb a few sportsmen."

"Looks as if I might disturb a number of people before I'm through," Jim replied. "Anyhow, I haven't made my calculations yet and don't know if my money will go round."

"I wonder whether you understand that you are Bernard Dearham's nearest relation and his approval is important?" Mordaunt remarked.

Jim pondered. He liked Dick and thought he trusted him, but he was not certain if he trusted Mordaunt. On the whole, he thought the fellow meant to give him good advice, but he was a type Jim did not know much about. Although he was highly cultivated, Jim thought he had conservative prejudices and an exaggerated pride. The pride was, of course, not obtrusive, but it was there.

"The lawyers hinted something like that and Mrs. Halliday made it plainer," he answered cautiously.

Mordaunt saw he would say nothing more and they were silent for a few moments until Dick got up and said he would ask the gardener for some plants the man had promised his mother. He wanted the plants, but he wanted to think, for he was curious about the French romance. If Lance had seen Franklin Dearham's name, he must have known Jim was his son, and had meant to let him stay in Canada. Lance's manner when they talked about Jim at the shack to some extent justified the supposition. Moreover, while Lance had gone to Langrigg with the object of giving Jim good advice there was something curious about his tone. He was urbane, but one noted a hint of superiority, or perhaps patronage, that the other might resent. All the same, it was not Dick's business and he went to look for the gardener.

In the meantime, Mordaunt said to Jim: "You suggested that your Canadian friends might make a long visit."

"I did; I'd like them to stay for good."

"Do you think it's prudent?" Mordaunt asked quietly.

Jim looked hard at him, with a touch of haughty surprise, and Mordaunt resumed in a conciliatory voice: "Perhaps I'm getting on dangerous ground, but I mean well and if you don't see——. To begin with, have you thought about marrying Miss Winter?"

"I have not. I'm certain she has not thought about marrying me!"

"No doubt, you know," Mordaunt agreed with some dryness. "For all that, my inquiry was perhaps justified. The girl is unformed, but she's beautiful and I think she's clever."

"You can leave Miss Winter out. Now I suppose you have cleared the ground and there's something else?"

Mordaunt made a deprecatory gesture. "I'll be frank, because I don't want you to make mistakes. If you are going to stay at Langrigg, you owe something to the family and yourself. A country gentleman has social duties and much depends on what your neighbors think about you at first. Very well. Your Canadian friends wear the stamp of the rank to which they belong; it was hardly necessary for Mrs. Winter to state that she had kept a small store. These are not the kind of people your neighbors would like to receive. Then Bernard Dearham's family pride is known: I imagine he largely persuaded your grandfather to alter his will."

Jim got up and his face was quietly stern.

"Langrigg is mine; my grandfather gave it to me without my asking for the gift," he said. "I owe my relations nothing and don't acknowledge Bernard Dearham's rule. None of you bothered about my father; you were glad to leave him and me alone. I had no claim on my Canadian friends and they had nothing to gain; but they nursed me when I was ill and my partner stood by me in the blizzards and cold of the North. Now you ask me to turn them down, because they're not the people neighbors I don't know would like to meet! Do you think I will agree?"

Mordaunt shrugged and forced a smile. "Oh, well, in a sense I suppose your attitude is correct. There is obviously nothing more to be said."

Dick came in soon afterwards and Mordaunt went off with him, but he had given Jim a jar and the latter walked about the terrace until Mrs. Winter and the others returned from a drive. Carrie gave Jim a quick glance as she advanced. She knew his moods and saw he was disturbed. The drive had brought the color to her skin; she looked very fresh and her step was light. Jim felt savage as he remembered Mordaunt's patronizing remark. Carrie was beautiful.

"Has something been bothering you, Jim?" she asked.

"It is not important," he replied. "If you own land in this country, it seems you must submit to a number of ridiculous rules and folks won't leave you alone. However, did you like the town?"

"We were charmed. It's a quaint old place and the country round is so green and quiet. Everything's smooth and well-kept; the trees look as if somebody had taught them how they ought to grow. You feel as if all the rough work had been done long since and folks have only to take care of things. I like it all."

"Then, you will be satisfied to stay at Langrigg?"

"For a time. If you want us."

"I'd be happy if you'd stay for good!"

Carrie said nothing for a moment and then smiled.

"That's impossible, though you're very nice. We'll make the most of our holiday; but it's only a holiday."

She turned, rather quickly, and joined Mrs. Winter, who was going into the house.



CHAPTER III

MORDAUNT PONDERS

It was raining and Mordaunt stood by an open window in Mrs. Halliday's drawing-room at Whitelees. A smell of stocks came in, and across the lawn, rows of dahlias, phlox, and autumn lilies made a belt of glowing color against a dark yew hedge. The hedge was neatly clipped and the turf was very smooth. By and by Mordaunt turned and glanced about the room, which he knew well. Whitelees was modern, and although Mrs. Halliday sometimes grumbled about her poverty, its furniture and decoration indicated extravagance. Mordaunt, however, thought there was too much ornament and doubted if some of the pottery was genuine. The room was pretty, but he was a connoisseur and was not satisfied with prettiness. He liked Langrigg better than Whitelees. Langrigg was austere and dignified.

Mordaunt was not at all austere, although he was not effeminate or luxurious. He was a good sportsman, something of an artist, and a traveler. He had talent, and might perhaps have made his mark, if he had not had just enough money to meet his needs and exaggerated dislike for competitive struggle. It had been a bitter disappointment that he had inherited very little of Joseph Dearham's property, although none of his relations suspected this, for Mordaunt knew how to hide his feelings. He was stubbornly conservative and held tenaciously the traditions of his class.

Presently Mrs. Halliday came in. Mordaunt, who knew his aunt well, thought she harmonized with her room. She was a handsome, gracious woman, but one felt now and then that her charm was forced and artificial. After telling Mordaunt to sit down, she remarked:

"I understand you went to Langrigg."

"I did go," said Mordaunt. "My visit was not a success."

"Perhaps it's curious, but Evelyn's judgment was better than ours. She doubted if you would succeed."

"I believe she said you ought to go, because the thing needed a lighter touch than mine."

Mrs. Halliday smiled. "Your touch is not often clumsy, Lance. But what line did Jim take? I suppose we must call him Jim."

"A significant concession, but he certainly shows the Dearham vein! He used some warmth and indulged a little raw sentiment. Expediency doesn't count for much with him."

"You mean his Canadian friends are going to remain?"

"Yes," said Mordaunt. "As long as they like! I imagine they will stay some time."

Mrs. Halliday waited for a moment. She thought Lance understood there was something else she wanted to know, but he was silent and she remarked:

"After all, they might be left in the background. Besides, the girl's mother is there."

"It is hard to keep a Canadian in the background and Jim won't try. Still he made an interesting statement; he has not thought about marrying the daughter!"

"That is some relief. Well, something depends on Bernard."

Mordaunt agreed. Much depended on Bernard. The old man was rich and Mordaunt had much less money than he would like; indeed he had long reckoned on an improvement in his fortune when Bernard died. His claim, however, was not as strong as Jim's, and Bernard was eccentric. But Mrs. Halliday resumed:

"Is Jim able to keep up Langrigg properly?"

"He was not remarkably frank about this. He stated he might not be able to do all he would like."

"Well, I have no doubt you gave him good advice, and your trying to persuade him was generous."

Mordaunt thought he had been generous, because if he had persuaded Jim to rule in a way Bernard approved and the latter made him his heir, all that Jim got would be taken from the others. To some extent, he had been sincere, but he could not claim that he had done his best. A feeling of antagonism had sprung up and perhaps he had let this influence him.

"It's unfortunate Jim was obstinate," Mrs. Halliday went on. "His keeping these people is awkward, but after all it will cost him most, and he is one of us——."

"Jim has Langrigg," said Mordaunt, smiling. "Our duty is to acknowledge and, if needful, indulge him."

"I don't like you when you're ironical," Mrs. Halliday rejoined, and looking up saw that Evelyn had come in. She wondered how long the girl had been there.

"You don't look as if you were satisfied with your visit to Langrigg, Lance," Evelyn said as she sat down.

"I'm resigned."

"That's different from being satisfied. But you were plucky. The matter must have needed tactful management; Miss Winter is attractive."

"Jim is not going to marry her, if that is what you mean; he stated he had not thought about it," Mordaunt said bluntly.

Evelyn laughed. "Then, it's probably true. If he had meant to marry Miss Winter, he would have said so, even if he thought you disapproved. Jim is very much of a Dearham."

"Is this an advantage or a drawback?"

"I don't know," said Evelyn. "It marks the difference between him and us. We're fastidious and complex; the Dearhams are simple and firm."

"A cruder type?"

"Not altogether. Strength and simplicity are dignified. You're an artist and know the value of bold, austere line."

"My notion is, Jim is not as simple as he looks."

"That's rather cheap," Evelyn remarked. "I meant the simplicity of the old Greeks."

"Theirs was cultivated; Jim's is not."

"There are things one does better by instinct than study," said Evelyn, smiling. "But I'm getting bored. Let's talk about something else."

Soon afterwards, Mordaunt drove back to Dryholm, where Bernard had built his ambitious house. Mordaunt had no occupation and generally stopped at Dryholm. There was plenty of room and although the old man was often ironical Mordaunt imagined he liked to have him about. The rain had stopped, the wet road was smooth, and as the car ran past the yellow stubble fields he gave himself to thought.

It was plain that Mrs. Halliday meant to make a friend of Jim and her object was not hard to see since Langrigg gave its owner some importance. Evelyn was curious about Jim; Mordaunt did not know if he attracted her, but the possibility of ruling at Langrigg had no doubt some charm. She would toy with the idea.

Mordaunt was not in love with Evelyn, but they agreed in many ways, and he had for some time weighed the advantages his marrying her would bring. She was his cousin, but cousins did marry now and then, and since the marriage would consolidate family interests, he imagined their relations would approve. In fact, he had imagined Mrs. Halliday knew his views and he could count on her support. Now, however, he suspected she had gone over to Jim.

For all that, Mordaunt's dissatisfaction was not quite selfish. Jim was something of a savage and meant to manage the estate on business lines. The fellow was going to farm and make his farming pay. If he had been a sportsman and made experiments in agriculture when he had nothing else to do, it would have been different; but this was not Jim's plan. The strange thing was, Jim's notion of dyking the marsh annoyed him more than all; the annoyance was perhaps illogical, but he could not conquer it. Mordaunt was a naturalist and a wildfowler, and did not think there was in England such a haunt of the Lag and black geese as Langrigg marsh. Now Jim, with rude utilitarian ideas, was going to drive the geese away.

The car lurched on the grass by the roadside as it took a corner and Mordaunt, roused by the jolt, concentrated on his driving. When he reached Dryholm he crossed the lawn and stopped by a wheeled chair, in which Bernard Dearham sat with his foot propped up. The old man was tall and strongly made, but had got thin, and his pinched face was marked by deep lines. He had worked with consuming energy and sometimes indulged, for Bernard had nothing of the fastidiousness that marked his relatives. Now his strength was broken and he was bothered by gout.

He dismissed the man who had pushed the chair and gave Mordaunt a quick glance. Bernard's brows were white, but his eyes were keen.

"Take me to the bench out of the wind," he said, and looked down when Mordaunt began to move the chair. "It will give Creighton a job to roll out these marks. The fellow grows fat and lazy and I hate the crunching gravel."

Mordaunt thought the remark was characteristic. The wheel-tracks could hardly be seen on the fine turf, but Bernard disliked untidiness. When they reached the sheltered bench and Mordaunt sat down Bernard looked up and asked: "Where have you been?"

"I was at Whitelees."

"I expect you had something to talk about just now. You and Janet Halliday understand each other well. I don't know if you are confidants or accomplices."

"Perhaps we have made a few innocent plots," Mordaunt admitted with a smile. "However, I imagine it has generally been for the advantage of the family."

Bernard nodded. "Well, I suppose your objects are sometimes good, as far as you see, though I doubt if you always see far enough. But I wondered whether you had gone to Langrigg. It's possible Janet has made some plot for Jim's advantage."

"I hardly imagine him a promising subject for experiments."

"You mean he's not compliant? What else?"

"I haven't known him very long and would sooner reserve my judgment."

Bernard gave him an ironical smile. "You don't want to prejudice me against him? Well, you're always tactful and it's comforting to feel you're sometimes just. However, I want to form an opinion. Write and ask him to come."

"He has friends at Langrigg. Perhaps you know?"

"I do know. Ask his friends. You may state that I'm an old man and am unable to go to him. I can leave you to strike the right note; you have some talent for that kind of thing."

Mordaunt said he would write. He was used to Bernard's bitter humor and on the whole thought it advisable that he should see Jim's friends. It was possible he would get a jar, but one could not tell. The old man was capricious and hard to understand.

"Didn't Evelyn join the party that went to welcome Jim?" Bernard resumed. "Rather a happy thought of Janet's! Do you know how he impressed Evelyn?"

"I do not. She did not give me her confidence," said Mordaunt, as shortly as he durst.

Bernard's eyes twinkled. "Was it necessary? With your talent, one ought not to find it difficult to read a girl's mind."

"I haven't always found it easy," Mordaunt rejoined.

"Well, I suppose Evelyn is really a woman now; when one gets old one forgets that the young grow up," Bernard remarked. "Besides, she has an admirable model in Janet. But take me in; I soon get cramped in this confounded chair."

Mordaunt set off and on his way to the house carefully skirted a spot where a tree had been uprooted and the turf relaid. To his surprise Bernard made an impatient sign.

"Go straight across!"

They crossed the freshly-sodded belt and when Mordaunt stopped on the terrace Bernard said: "It will not be your job to roll out our tracks."

"I thought it would bother you if I went across," Mordaunt replied.

Bernard gave him a sour smile. "I well know my relations' views about my character and in the main they're just; but they sometimes go wrong when they imagine their rules are mine. Probably you have not felt it would be a relief to plow through things, without bothering about the marks you left."

"No," said Mordaunt, "I don't think I have felt this."

"You're a logical fellow," Bernard rejoined. "Well, for the most part, I have been a slave to my notions of efficiency and order since I was a boy; but at times other feelings rebelled. Then I, so to speak, ran loose and broke things, like the rest of mankind. Moreover, I'm not repentant when I look back on the short-lived outbreaks. They gave me some satisfaction; after all, the Dearham blood is what Canadian Jim would probably call red. I don't know what color yours is, unless you like to think it blue."

Mordaunt said nothing. Bernard was often bitter, particularly when he had gout. When a servant came to help the old man in, Mordaunt went to the library where he wrote a note to Jim. He paused once or twice during its composition. Now he had time to ponder, he began to doubt if it was advisable to let Jim visit Dryholm and imagined he could so turn a polished phrase that it would keep him away. Mordaunt was clever at delicate implication and Jim's blood was red. Perhaps, however, it was not prudent to use his talent, since Bernard might want to see the note.



CHAPTER IV

AN OLD MAN'S CAPRICE

Jim went to Dryholm, although when he opened Mordaunt's note he meant to refuse. A line added in a shaky hand persuaded him, for Bernard had written, "I am lame and cannot come to you." Besides, the invitation was extended to his party and Jim wanted Bernard to see the Winters. They were his friends and he rather hoped Mrs. Winter would talk about the store.

The evening was calm and the sun setting when the car rolled past a lodge half hidden by tall evergreens. A screen of ironwork cut in fine black tracery against the light, and Jake remarked: "That's a noble gate."

"Hand-forged in Belgium, I believe," Jim replied, and they rolled on down an avenue where sunshine and shadow checkered the smooth grass.

The avenue had been planted before the new house at Dryholm was built. The spreading oaks were darkly green, but the beeches had begun to turn and their pale trunks glimmered among splashes of orange and red. On the hillside above the hollow, the birches hung sprays of shining yellow against a background of somber firs. All was very quiet and Carrie sensed a calm she had not remarked in the forests of Canada. There one heard the Chinook in the pine-tops and the rapids brawl.

They sped past a tarn where swans floated among the colored reflections of ancient trees, and then Dryholm broke upon their view across its wide lawn. For a moment, Carrie was vaguely disturbed. She had seen Montreal and London, but the buildings there were crowded with occupants and this was one man's home. Jim, whose clothes she had mended, belonged to people who built such houses. She glanced at him, but his face was inscrutable until he seemed to feel her gaze and gave her a smile. Carrie felt braced. In some ways, Jim had got strangely English, but he was, for all that, the Jim she knew; and she studied the house with a pleasant thrill, as if she were embarking on a new adventure.

Dryholm was very large and modern, but it had dignity and glimmered in the sunset between shadowy woods. The stone was creamy white, with touches of soft pink and gray. Cornices and pillars broke the long, straight front, and there were towers at the ends. Carrie knew nothing about architecture, but she got a hint of strength and solidity. Somehow, she felt relieved; Mordaunt and Mrs. Halliday would not have built such a house. On the whole, she distrusted them, but it looked as if the head of the family was different.

"It's very fine, Jim," she said. "There's something of Langrigg about it; something you don't feel at Whitelees. The stone is curious."

"I believe it was brought from a distance, but, in a sense, Bernard Dearham built Dryholm of iron."

"Somehow it looks like that," Carrie remarked.

The car stopped in front of a plain arch and Bernard received the party in the hall, where they found Mrs. Halliday, Evelyn, Mordaunt, and some others. Bernard gave Jim his hand and for a minute or two kept Mrs. Winter and Carrie by him. When they went to dinner Mrs. Winter was put next to Bernard, and Carrie, sitting near, looked about with frank curiosity. The room was lofty and spacious. She had not seen such a room except when she dined at a big Montreal hotel, but it had not the lavish decoration she had noted there. At Dryholm, one got a sense of space and calm; nothing glittered and forced itself on one's glance. Carrie thought it was somehow like a church, but rather the big quiet cathedral than the ornate Notre Dame. She had only seen big churches in Montreal.

The west window commanded distant hills that rose, colored dark-blue, against the yellow sky. Shining water touched their feet and one could hear the sea. It was getting dark, however, and soon electric lights began to glow on the paneled ceiling and along the deep cornice. The lamps were placed among the moldings and one scarcely noticed them until the soft light they threw on the table got stronger.

Then Carrie remarked that Mrs. Winter was talking, and Bernard laughed. She had wondered whether she ought to give her mother a hint, and might have done so, for Jim's sake, although it would have hurt her pride; but she was glad she had not. Bernard Dearham did not smile politely, as Mrs. Mordaunt smiled; he laughed because he was amused. Carrie did not know much about English people, but the dinner was obviously a formal acknowledgment of the new owner of Langrigg; and she studied her host. She had at first remarked a puzzling likeness to somebody she knew, and now she saw it was Jim. The likeness was rather in Bernard's voice and manner than his face, although she found it there. Then he looked up and asked:

"Do you like Dryholm?"

"Oh, yes," said Carrie. "Almost as much as I like Langrigg."

Bernard smiled and nodded. "Langrigg has a touch that only time can give. A house matures slowly."

"I think that is so," Carrie agreed. "One feels it in England. A house matures by being used; the people who live there give it a stamp, and perhaps when they go they leave an influence. It's different in Canada. When our houses get out of date, we pull them down."

Bernard looked at her rather keenly. He was a shrewd judge of men and women and saw that she could think.

"You are something of a sentimentalist; I don't know if you are right or not. When I built Dryholm we tried to get the feeling Langrigg gives one, as far as it could be expressed by line. But do you like Whitelees?"

"Whitelees is pretty," Carrie replied with caution.

Bernard's eyes twinkled. "Very pretty. Something new, in fact, after Canada?"

"Yes," said Carrie, who saw he wanted her to talk. She knew he was studying her, but he was not antagonistic like Mordaunt and Mrs. Halliday. "This is why I'd sooner have Langrigg, because I don't find Langrigg new in the way you mean," she resumed. "One gets the feeling you talk about in Canada; not in our houses but in the woods. They're different from the woods you have planted and trimmed. The big black pines grow as they want; sometimes they're charred by fire and smashed by gales. When it's quiet you hear the rivers and now and then a snowslide rolling down the hills."

"Rugged and stern? Well, I imagine the men who built Langrigg long since were rather like your pioneers."

Carrie thought Bernard had something of the spirit of the pioneers; this was why he was like Jim. She felt his strength and tenacity, but he did not daunt her.

"Why did you make Dryholm so big?" she asked.

"You don't think an old man needs so large a house?" he said. "Well, I built for others whom I thought might come after me, but that is done with." He paused and looked down the table at Mordaunt and Evelyn; and then Carrie imagined his eyes rested on Jim, as he added: "Sometimes I am lonely."

He began to talk to Mrs. Winter, who presently remarked: "Oh, yes, I like it in England. I knew it would be fierce in the jolting cars and on the steamer, but Jim insisted, and now I'm glad I let him persuade me."

"Then Jim insisted on your coming?"

"Why, yes. I meant to stay at home."

"Ah," said Bernard, "I think Jim took the proper line."

"Anyhow, I needed a holiday," Mrs. Winter resumed. "It's quiet and calm at Langrigg and I've worked hard. You folks don't get busy all the time, like us in Canada."

Bernard laughed. "There are a large number of busy people in this country, and for a long time I, myself, worked rather hard." He paused and looked down the table with ironical humor. "I was thought eccentric and my relations did not altogether forgive me until I got my reward. All approved then."

Mordaunt's face was inscrutable, but Mrs. Halliday smiled and Evelyn looked at Jim with faint amusement.

"I imagine he meant mother; they sometimes clash," she said. "You don't know Bernard yet. When you do, you will try to make allowances, like the rest of us."

"In the meantime, it does not seem needful. He is kind——"

"Remarkably kind," Evelyn agreed. "In fact, his kindness is puzzling. How far would you go to keep his favor?"

"It would depend," said Jim. "Upon how much I liked him, for one thing. Of course, I would go no distance if he tried to drive."

Evelyn smiled. "Well, I suppose you can take a bold line. If one has pluck, it sometimes pays. At all events, it's flattering to feel one can be oneself. No doubt, you all develop your individuality in Canada."

"We are rather an independent, obstinate lot," Jim owned. "I expect this comes from living in a new country. When you leave the cities, you have nobody to fall back on. You have got to make good by your own powers and trust yourself."

"Ah," said Evelyn, "one would like to trust oneself! To follow one's bent, or perhaps, one's heart, and not bother about the consequences." She was silent a moment and then resumed with a soft laugh: "But unless one is very brave, it's not often possible; there are so many rules."

Jim felt sympathetic. She had laughed, but he thought the laugh hid some feeling. She was generous and strangely refined; Mrs. Halliday was conventional and calculating, and the girl rebelled.

"I expect our host broke a number of the rules," he remarked.

"He did and he paid. Bernard was not rich and when he opened the Brunstock mines nobody would help him. When he sold his farms to buy pumps and engines there was a quarrel with your grandfather and perhaps Bernard has some grounds for bitterness. I don't know if it's strange, but while Joseph Dearham was a plain country gentleman, Bernard, after getting rich in business, wears the stamp of the old school."

Jim agreed. Bernard was obviously not fastidious, like his relatives, but he had the grand manner. This was not altogether what Jim meant, but perhaps it got nearest.

"I think it's because he's fearless—one sees that," he said. "Shabbiness and awkwardness come when one's afraid."

"It's possible," Evelyn answered, with a curious smile. "One hates to be shabby but sometimes one is forced. Pluck costs much."

Then Mrs. Halliday got up, and some of the party went to the drawing-room and some to the terrace. Jim stayed in the hall and mused while he smoked a cigarette. Evelyn had stirred his imagination by a hint that she was dissatisfied and struggled for free development. Well, he had seen Whitelees and was getting to know Mrs. Halliday. To some extent, he liked her, but he could understand the girl's rebellion. However, it was strange she had given him a hint, unless, of course, she had done so unconsciously. When the cigarette was finished he went to the terrace.

The evening was warm and a faint glow lingered in the west. All was very quiet except when a herd of cattle moved about a pasture across the lawn. The party had broken up into small groups and Jim joined Evelyn. Bernard got up stiffly when Carrie came near his bench.

"Tell me about wild Canada. I understand you were in the woods," he said.

"Yes," said Carrie, sitting down. "I went North with Jim and my brother and the boys, when the ice broke up."

"The boys?"

"The rock-cutters and choppers," Carrie explained.

"I see," said Bernard. "Was there no other woman? What did you do?"

"The nearest woman was a hundred miles off. I cooked and looked after the stores. Sometimes I mended the clothes."

"And how were the others occupied?"

Carrie hesitated. Although Bernard had asked her to tell him about Canada, she imagined he wanted to hear about Jim, but after a few moments she began to relate the story of their cutting the telegraph line. She could not have told it to Mrs. Halliday, but she felt Bernard would understand, and he helped her by tactful questions. She wanted him to know what kind of man Jim was and she made something of an epic of the simple tale; man's struggle against Nature and his victory. Indeed, for Bernard was very shrewd, she told him more than she thought.

"But, when you were nearly beaten, you could have sold the copper vein you talked about and used the money," he remarked.

"In a way, we couldn't sell. Baumstein was putting the screw to us; he meant to buy for very much less than the claim was worth. We would have starved before we let him, and for a time we hadn't as much food as we liked."

"After all, you might have been beaten but for the contractor. Why did he help? No doubt, he knew it was a rash speculation."

"Oh, well," said Carrie, "I think he liked Jim. But we wouldn't have been beaten. We'd have made good somehow."

"Still it looks as if the contractor was a useful friend. Did he stop at Vancouver? Does he write to you?"

Carrie hesitated, because she imagined she saw where Bernard's questions led.

"We won't forget him, but he doesn't write and I don't know where he is," she said; and added with a touch of dignity: "I don't see what this has to do with the rest."

"Perhaps it has nothing to do with it," Bernard replied. "Thank you for telling me a rather moving tale."

He let her go and when she passed a bench where Mrs. Halliday and Mordaunt sat the former looked at her companion.

"I suppose you have remarked that Bernard has been unusually gracious to the girl and her mother. Is it his notion of a host's duty? Or is it something else?"

"I imagine it's something else," Mordaunt replied.

"But what? Does he want to annoy us?"

"It's possible he thought he might do so. Are you annoyed?"

"I am certainly surprised."

"Oh, well," said Mordaunt; "perhaps he had another object. I don't know. He's rather inscrutable."

Mrs. Halliday got up. "I thought we could be frank, Lance. After all, our habit is to take Bernard's cleverness for granted. He has a bitter humor and the thing may only be an old man's caprice."

She went off and when soon afterwards the party began to break up Bernard gave Jim a cigar in the hall.

"I note that you and your young relations are already friends," he said. "Dick's a fine lad; he's generous and honest, although I doubt if he will go far. Evelyn, of course, has no rival in this neighborhood."

"That hardly needs stating," Jim replied.

Bernard twinkled and his glance rested on a beautiful painted vase. "Your taste is artistic; it looks as if you had an eye for color and line. In a sense, Evelyn is like this ornament. She's made of choice stuff; costly but fragile. Common clay stands rude jars best."

Jim was puzzled and half-annoyed, because he could not tell what Bernard meant; but the latter began to talk about something else.

"You were a miner for a time, I think," he presently remarked. "One would expect you to know gold when you see it."

"It's sometimes difficult," said Jim. "As a rule, gold is pure. It doesn't form chemical alloys, but it's often mixed with other substances."

"So that the uninstructed pass it by!" Bernard rejoined. "One might make an epigram of that, but perhaps it would be cheap. Well, I must wish the others good night. I hope you'll come back soon and bring your friends."

Jim put his party in the car and drove off, feeling strangely satisfied. Evelyn had been gracious and although he did not altogether understand Bernard he liked him better than he had thought.



CHAPTER V

SHANKS' DABBIN

Shortly after his visit to Dryholm, Jim returned, one morning, from the market town, where he had gone to see his lawyer and banker. When he reached Langrigg he found Jake on the terrace.

"Doing nothing makes me tired," the latter remarked. "I know you want to keep us, and mother and Carrie like it here, but we can't stay for good."

"Your mother and sister can stay until they have had enough, and I hope that won't be soon; but I know you, Jake, and think you're mean. Anyhow, you can get rid of your scruples, because I'm going to give you a job. I've decided to drain the marsh."

"Labor's cheap in this country, but I reckon it's some job. However, now there's something doing——"

"You'll stay and see me out?" Jim suggested. "Thank you, partner! Doesn't seem much use in stating that what is mine is yours, but I wish you'd get it. Another thing; this draining is a business proposition and we're partners in that sense, too. Now we'll tell your mother."

They told Mrs. Winter at lunch, and Jim saw that she hesitated and looked at Carrie. The girl's face was, however, inscrutable, and she gave no sign. Jim felt puzzled. He thought Mrs. Winter liked Langrigg and she had developed since she came. She was not so thin, she had lost her careworn look and gained a certain ease of manner. At the store, she had been highly-strung and restless; now she was happily calm. Moreover, she was making her influence felt and quietly taking control. Jim had noted that things were done better and cost him less. He wanted her to stay, because he thought she needed a rest and he would miss her if she went.

"Well," she said, doubtfully, "if you are all satisfied——"

"I am satisfied," Jim declared. "I imagine Jake is, but Carrie hasn't told us yet."

Carrie gave him a quick glance and he thought her color was rather high.

"You are kind," she said. "Mother looks younger than she has looked for long and perhaps we had better accept. But it is a big undertaking to drain the marsh. When do you begin?"

"I thought we might begin this afternoon. However, I don't expect to drain it all right off. There's a pretty dry piece where I mean to start. I reckon I've money enough for the experiment, and can develop my plans afterwards when I see what the first lot costs."

Carrie laughed and the hint of strain all had felt vanished. "You are certainly the hustling Jim we knew," she said. "I feel as if we were back in the woods."

After lunch Jim crossed the marsh with Jake and stopped where a ridge of higher ground broke off at the edge of a muddy creek. In the corner, partly sheltered by a bank of gorse, stood a small white house with a roof of rusty iron where the thatch had been. The whitewash had fallen off in places, exposing a rough, granulated wall, for the house was a dabbin, built of puddled clay. A window was broken and the door hung crookedly. Except for a few rows of withered potatoes, the garden was occupied by weeds. Three or four shellducks, hatched from wild birds' eggs, paddled about the creek.

"Shanks' dabbin; his father squatted here," Jim remarked. "I reckon I'm going to have trouble with the fellow."

He opened the broken gate and two men came out. One was bent and moved awkwardly, but Jake imagined that rheumatism rather than age had stiffened his joints. He looked at Jim with sullen suspicion. The other was young and strongly made.

"I've come to give you an offer, Shanks," Jim began. "This house is not fit to live in; I want you to use the cottage at Bank-end instead. There's a good piece of garden and a row of fruit trees."

"Dabbin's bad, but it's mine," said Shanks. "You canna put me oot."

"I don't want to put you out; I want you to go. Anyhow, the dabbin isn't yours. You have no title to the ground and I understand have been warned off, but we won't bother about that. Bank-end cottage is dry and comfortable and you can have it for your lifetime."

"I willun't gan."

Jim turned to the younger man. "This place is damp and falling down. Can't you persuade your father?"

"I'm none for trying. He has t' right o' it."

There was silence for a few moments and then Shanks asked: "What for do you want the bit hoose?"

"I want to pull it down. The dyke I'm going to build starts here and the new cut for the creek must go through your garden."

Shanks looked at his son and remarked with dull surprise: "He's gan t' dyke marsh!"

The other said nothing and Shanks turned to Jim. "If you were letten dry out marsh, t' wild geese and ducks wad gan."

"It's possible. We'll raise good grass and corn instead. Dairy cows are worth more than shellducks."

"But you'll niver be letten," Shanks replied doggedly.

"Shucks!" said Jim. "The marsh is mine. Although you have no claim to this place, I'll give you Bank-end, the garden, and if needful the small field. You and your son can make pretty good pay there if you like to work. If you'd sooner loaf and shoot, there's the creek and sands."

"'T' lag geese follow marsh," Shanks insisted.

Jim pondered and Jake studied the others. He had not seen men like these in Canada, where some of the Indians owned good farms and those who hunted had first-rate guns and canoes. Shanks and his son were ragged and dirty. They slouched and looked slack and dull, although now and then the younger man's eyes gleamed cunningly. Then Jim said:

"We won't argue about it. The dabbin must come down and when you're ready to move to Bank-end you can tell my teamster to take your household fixings along. If this doesn't meet the bill, I'll give you a hundred pounds and you can go where you like."

Shanks said nothing and Jim went off. When they were out of hearing Jake remarked: "I allow you had to be firm, but I don't like it, Jim. Those fellows are what we call bad men."

"I imagine we have been up against worse."

"That's so. All the same, I wish you had been able to leave them alone."

"I can't leave them alone, because the dyke must cross that corner of the creek. They're about the meanest whites I've met, and I certainly don't want them at Bank-end. I'd sooner they took the hundred pounds and quit."

"How do they live?"

"By wildfowling and fishing, though I'm told they snare rabbits and poach pheasants."

"Well, I suppose you're giving Shanks his chance of making good. The trouble is, he's forced to take the chance, whether he wants or not. Some folks would sooner live like dogs than decent citizens."

"Do you think one ought to indulge their prejudice?"

"I don't," Jake admitted. "It would be bad economy. For all that I'd watch the fellows."

They let it go and talked about Jim's plans as they crossed the short grass where the silver-weed spread its carpet of yellow flowers. They trampled through belts of withered thrift and skirted winding creeks where tall reeds shook their bent leaves in the searching wind. Light and shadow sped across the marsh, and a flock of plover, shining white and black, circled above the sands. Jake got a sense of space and loneliness he had not expected to feel in England, but he smiled as he noted Jim's brisk step and the sparkle in his eyes. He knew his comrade and saw he was happy. The marsh was something to conquer and the struggle would absorb his energies.