he spokesman began.

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

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

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

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

"What, the men of Camp Number Three?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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