right now. Some
powerful concern is beating them down for a purpose of its own. Sooner
or later they will let up, and then we'll get things back in good shape.
I am amply protected now, thanks to you, and am not at all afraid of
losing my holdings. The only difficulty is that I am unable to predict
exactly when the other fellows will decide that they have accomplished
whatever they are about, and let up. It may not be before next year. In
that case I couldn't help you out on those notes when they come due. So
put in your best licks, old man. You may have to pony up for a little
while, though of course sooner or later I can put it all back. Then,
you bet your life, I keep out of it. Lumbering's good enough for yours
truly.

"By the way, you might shine up to Hilda Farrand and join the rest of
the fortune-hunters. She's got it to throw to the birds, and in her own
right. Seriously, old fellow, don't put yourself into a false position
through ignorance. Not that there is any danger to a hardened old
woodsman like you."

Thorpe went to the group of pines by the pole trail the following
afternoon because he had said he would, but with a new attitude of
mind. He had come into contact with the artificiality of conventional
relations, and it stiffened him. No wonder she had made him keep silence
the afternoon before! She had done it gently and nicely, to be sure, but
that was part of her good-breeding. Hilda found him formal, reserved,
polite; and marvelled at it. In her was no coquetry. She was as
straightforward and sincere as the look of her eyes.

They sat down on a log. Hilda turned to him with her graceful air of
confidence.

"Now talk to me," said she.

"Certainly," replied Thorpe in a practical tone of voice, "what do you
want me to talk about?"

She shot a swift, troubled glance at him, concluded herself mistaken,
and said:

"Tell me about what you do up here--your life--all about it."

"Well--" replied Thorpe formally, "we haven't much to interest a girl
like you. It is a question of saw logs with us"--and he went on in his
dryest, most technical manner to detail the process of manufacture. It
might as well have been bricks.

The girl did not understand. She was hurt. As surely as the sun tangled
in the distant pine frond, she had seen in his eyes a great passion. Now
it was coldly withdrawn.

"What has happened to you?" she asked finally out of her great
sincerity.

"Me? Nothing," replied Thorpe.

A