gaining the amenities of life that he had
learned to value by their loss. He was very grateful to the girl and
Fuller, but at length took his leave and returned to the locomotive shed
with a light heart and a springy step.

Next morning he began his new work with keen energy. It absorbed him, and
as the dam slowly rose in a symmetrical curve of molded stone, its
austere beauty commanded his attention. Hitherto he had given utility the
leading place, but a change had begun the night he sat beneath the
copper-beech with Clare Kenwardine. The design of the structure was good,
but Dick determined that the work should be better, and sometimes stopped
in the midst of his eager activity to note the fine, sweeping lines and
silvery-gray luster of the concrete blocks. There were soft lights at
dawn and when the sun sank in which the long embankment glimmered as if
carved in mother-of-pearl.

In the meantime, he went to Fuller's tent twice a week and generally met
Ida there. Once or twice, he pleaded with his employer for extra labor
and cement to add some grace of outline to the dam, and, although this
was unproductive expenditure, Fuller agreed.

"I like a good job, but it's going to cost high if you mean to turn out a
work of art," he said. "However, if Bethune thinks the notion all right,
I suppose I'll have to consent."

Dick colored, and wondered whether he had been given a hint, for Bethune
was his superior and a man of ability.

"He doesn't object, sir."

"That's good," Fuller replied with a twinkle. "Still, if you hustle him
too much, you'll make him tired."

Dick did not smile, because he did not know how far it was wise to go,
but he suspected that Bethune had been tired before he came to the dam.
The latter was generally marked by an air of languid indifference, and
while his work was well done he seldom exceeded his duty.

Next evening Dick went to see Bethune and found him lying in a hammock
hung between the posts of the veranda of his galvanized iron hut. A
syphon and a tall glass filled with wine in which a lump of ice floated,
stood on a table within his reach, and an open book lay upside down upon
the floor. He wore white duck trousers, a green shirt of fine material,
and a red sash very neatly wound round his waist. His face was sunburned,
but the features were delicately cut and his hands, which hung over the
edge of the hammock, were well cared for.

"Mix yourself a drink," he said to Dick. "There's