d of social triumph has
been torn from the affair, the Bide-a-Wee Home for Unmarried Mothers
can have what's left--and be damned to them."

Donald laughed quietly.

"Scotty, you're developing into an iconoclast. If your fellow
plutocrats should hear you ranting in that vein, they'd call you a
socialist."

"Oh, I'm not saying there aren't a heap of exceptions. Many's the
woman with a heart big enough to mother the world, although, when
all's said and done; 'tis the poor that are kind to the poor, the
unfortunate that can appreciate and forgive misfortune. I'm glad you
stood by old Brent and his girl," he added approvingly.

"I intend to accord her the treatment which a gentleman always accords
the finest lady in the land, dad."

"Or the lowest, my son. I've noticed that kind are not altogether
unpopular with our finest gentlemen. Donald, I used to pray to God
that I wouldn't raise a fool. I feel that he's answered my prayers,
but if you should ever turn hypocrite, I'll start praying again."

VIII

Donald left the following morning in the automobile for the
logging-camps up-river, and because of his unfamiliarity with their
present location, his father's chauffeur drove him up. He was to be
gone all week, but planned to return Saturday afternoon to spend
Sunday with his family.

As the car wound up the narrow river road, Donald found himself
thinking of Nan Brent and her tragedy. Since his visit to the Sawdust
Pile the day before, two pictures of her had persisted in his memory,
every detail of both standing forth distinctly.

In the first, she was a shabby, barelegged girl of thirteen, standing
in the cockpit of his sloop, holding the little vessel on its course
while he and old Caleb took a reef in the mainsail. The wilderness of
gold that was her uncared-for hair blew behind her like a sunny
burgee; her sea-blue eyes were fixed on the mainsail, out of which she
adroitly spilled the wind at the proper moment, in order that Donald
and her father might haul the reef-points home and make them fast. In
his mind's eye, he could see the pulse beating in her throat as they
prepared to come about, for on such occasions she always became
excited; he saw again the sweet curve of her lips and her uplifted
chin; he heard again her shrill voice crying, "Ready, about!" and saw
the spokes spin as she threw the helm over and crouched from the
swinging boom, although it cleared her pretty head by at least three
feet