in, Donald," she pleaded, as he took her hand, "will
you please bring me some books? They're all that can keep me sane--and
I do not go to the public library any more. I have to run the gantlet
of so many curious eyes."

"How long is it since you have been away from the Sawdust Pile?"

"Since before my baby came."

He was silent a minute, pondering this. Since old Caleb had become
house-ridden, then, she had been, without books. He nodded assent to
her request.

"If I do not say very much, you will understand, nevertheless, how
grateful I am," she continued. "To-day, the sun has shone. Whatever
your thoughts may have been, Donald, you controlled your face and you
were decent enough not to say, 'Poor Nan.'"

He had no answer to that. He was conscious only of standing helpless
in the midst of a terrible tragedy. His heart ached with pity for her,
and just for old sake's sake, for a tender sentiment for lost youth
and lost happiness of the old comradely days when she had been
Cinderella and he the prince, he wished that he might take her in a
fraternal embrace and let her cry out on his breast the agony that
gnawed at her heart like a worm in an apple. But it was against his
code to indicate to her by word or action that she was less worthy
than other women and hence to be pitied, for it seemed to him that her
burden was already sufficient.

"Let me know if those people return to annoy you, Nan," was all he
said. Then they shook hands very formally, and the young laird of Tyee
returned to the mill-office to report to Andrew Daney that the Sawdust
Pile had been cleaned out, but that, for the present at least, they
would get along with the old drying-yard.

Somehow, the day came to an end, and he went home with tumult in his
soul.

VII

An unerring knowledge of men in general and of his own son in
particular indicated to Hector McKaye, upon the instant that the
latter appeared at the family dinner-table, that his son's first day
in command had had a sobering effect upon that young man. He had gone
forth that morning whistling, his eyes alert with interest and
anticipation; and a feeling of profound contentment had come to The
Laird as he watched Donald climb into his automobile and go briskly
down the cliff highway to Port Agnew. Here was no unwilling exile,
shackled by his father's dollars to a backwoods town and condemned to
labor for the term of his natural life. Gladly, eagerly, it seemed to
Hector M