h
sometimes made even him feel a peculiar sense of insignificance. It
was a relief to know that she turned to this wilderness which must be
their home with the eagerness of a child throwing itself into its
mother's arms. He perceived that she had indeed a clear image of the
Toba in her mind. She was to give further proof of this before long.

They turned the top of the Big Bend. Here the river doubled on itself
for nearly a mile and crossed from the north wall of the valley to the
south. Where the channel straightened away from this loop Hollister
had built his house on a little flat running back from the right-hand
bank. A little less than half a mile below, Bland's cabin faced the
river just where the curve of the S began. They came abreast of that
now. What air currents moved along the valley floor shifted in from
the sea. It wafted the smoke from Bland's stovepipe gently down on the
river's shining face.

Doris sniffed.

"I smell wood smoke," she said. "Is there a fire on the flat?"

"Yes, in a cook's stove," Hollister replied. "There is a shack here."

She questioned him and he told her of the Blands,--all that he had
been told, which was little enough. Doris displayed a deep interest in
the fact that a woman, a young woman, was a near neighbor, as
nearness goes on the British Columbia coast.

From somewhere about the house Myra Bland appeared now. To avoid the
heavy current, Hollister hugged the right-hand shore so that he passed
within a few feet of the bank, within speaking distance of this woman
with honey-colored hair standing bareheaded in the sunshine. She took
a step or two forward. For an instant Hollister thought she was about
to exercise the immemorial privilege of the wild places and hail a
passing stranger. But she did not call or make any sign. She stood
gazing at them, and presently her husband joined her and together they
watched. They were still looking when Hollister gave his last backward
glance, then turned his attention to the reddish-yellow gleam of
new-riven timber which marked his own dwelling. Twenty minutes later
he slid the gray canoe's forefoot up on a patch of sand before his
house.

"We're here," he said. "Home--such as it is--it's home."

He helped her out, guided her steps up to the level of the bottomland.
He was eager to show her the nest he had devised for them. But Doris
checked him with her hand.

"I hear the falls," she said. "Listen!"

Streaming down through a gor