eground; and a little way apart, perched
high enough on the steep slope of the mountain side to be out of the
camp turmoil, a small structure, half plank and half canvas--to wit,
the end-of-track telegraph office.

It was Virginia who first marked the boxed-up tent standing on the
slope.

"What do you suppose that little house-tent is for?" she asked.

"I don't know," said Calvert. Then he saw the wires and ventured a
guess which hit the mark.

"I didn't suppose they would have a telegraph office," she commented,
with hope rising again.

"Oh, yes; they'd have to have a wire--one of their own. Under the
circumstances they could hardly use ours."

"No," she rejoined absently. She was scanning the group of
steel-handlers in the hope that a young man in a billy-cock hat and
with a cigarette between his lips would shortly reveal himself. She
found him after a time and turned quickly to her cousin.

"There is Mr. Adams down by the engine. Do you think he would come
over and speak to us if he knew we were here?"

The Reverend Billy's smile was of honest admiration.

"How could you doubt it? Wait here a minute and I'll call him for
you."

He was gone before she could reply--across the ice-bridge spanning one
of the pools, and up the rough, frozen embankment of the new line.
There were armed guards here, too, as well as at the front, and one of
them halted him at the picket line. But Adams saw and recognized him,
and presently the two were crossing to where Virginia stood waiting
for them.

"Eheu! what a little world we live in, Miss Virginia! Who would have
thought of meeting you here?" said Adams, taking her hand at the
precise elevation prescribed by good form--Boston good form.

"The shock is mutual," she laughed. "I must say that you and Mr.
Winton have chosen a highly unconventional environment for your
sketching-field."

"I'm down," he admitted cheerfully; "please don't trample on me. But
really, it wasn't all fib. Jack does do things with a pencil--other
things besides maps and working profiles, I mean. Won't you come over
and let me do the honors of the studio?"--with a grandiloquent
arm-sweep meant to include the construction camp in general and the
"dinkey" caboose-car in particular.

It was the invitation she would have angled for, but she was too wise
to assent too readily.

"Oh, no; I think we mustn't. I'm afraid Mr. Winton might not like it."

"Not like it? If you'll come he'll never forgive