sed to danger, and the risk didn't
count. I expect he was moved by the feeling the bushman gets when he's
up against Nature; he knows he'll be crushed if he can't make good.
Anyhow, I've moralized long enough. Will you see what they're doing with
that rock-borer?"

Thirlwell left him and went to the machine, which made a jarring noise.
He spent some time adjusting the cutters, and afterwards stood for a few
minutes thinking about what his comrade had said. Scott's argument was
involved, but Thirlwell thought he saw what he meant. Driscoll's bemused
mind could not grasp the thought of duty that demanded self-sacrifice,
but he had animal courage and stubbornness. He would carry out what he
had undertaken. Moreover, he might have animal cunning without having
cultivated intelligence, and his strength and resolution made him
dangerous. Thirlwell did not like Driscoll better than before, but it
looked as if the fellow had saved his life, and although he might not
have meant to do so, this counted for something. Going back to the shaft
presently, he climbed up and sat down in the sun.

A warm wind blew across the pine woods, the sun was getting hot, and the
wet grounds about the shaft-head was drying fast. The river had risen as
the lakes in the wilds it came from overflowed with melted snow, and
raged, level with its banks, in angry flood, rolling broken trees down
stream and strewing ledges and shingle with battered branches. Its
hoarse roar echoed across the bush, and Thirlwell felt that there was
something daunting in the deep-toned sound. One could understand that a
man like Driscoll, whose brain was dulled by liquor, might let it fill
him with vague terrors when the woods were still at night.

But listening to the river presently led Thirlwell to think about
Strange. There was something pathetic about the story of his life, for
Agatha had made Thirlwell understand her father's long patience,
gentleness, and self-sacrifice. His duty to his family had cost him
much, but he had cheerfully paid. It looked as if he had done best at
the task he most disliked--managing the humble store in the small wooden
town. One could not think of him as having failed there. His wife and
children loved him, though all but one had smiled when he talked about
the lode.

His daughter, who knew him best, had inherited his confidence, and
Thirlwell owned that this had some weight. She was perhaps influenced by
tender sentiment, but there was