systems."

One of Alan Holt's hands was clenched at the rail. "Until I went down
this winter, I didn't realize just how bad it was," he said, a note hard
as iron in his voice. "Lomen is a diplomat, but I'm not. I want to fight
when I see such things--fight with a gun. Because we happened to find
gold up here, they think Alaska is an orange to be sucked as quickly as
possible, and that when the sucking process is over, the skin will be
worthless. That's modern, dollar-chasing Americanism for you!"

"And are you not an American, Mr. Holt?"

So soft and near was the voice that both men started. Then both turned
and stared. Close behind them, her quiet, beautiful face flooded with
the moon-glow, stood Mary Standish.

"You ask me a question, madam," said Alan Holt, bowing courteously. "No,
I am not an American. I am an Alaskan."

The girl's lips were parted. Her eyes were very bright and clear.
"Please pardon me for listening," she said. "I couldn't help it. I am an
American. I love America. I think I love it more than anything else in
the world--more than my religion, even. _America,_ Mr. Holt. And America
doesn't necessarily mean a great many of America's people. I love to
think that I first came ashore in the _Mayflower_. That is why my name
is Standish. And I just wanted to remind you that Alaska _is_ America."

Alan Holt was a bit amazed. The girl's face was no longer placidly
quiet. Her eyes were radiant. He sensed the repressed thrill in her
voice, and he knew that in the light of day he would have seen fire in
her cheeks. He smiled, and in that smile he could not quite keep back
the cynicism of his thought.

"And what do you know about Alaska, Miss Standish?"

"Nothing," she said. "And yet I love it." She pointed to the mountains.
"I wish I might have been born among them. You are fortunate. You should
love America."

"Alaska, you mean!"

"No, America." There was a flashing challenge in her eyes. She was not
speaking apologetically. Her meaning was direct.

The irony on Alan's lips died away. With a little laugh he bowed again.
"If I am speaking to a daughter of Captain Miles Standish, who came over
in the _Mayflower_, I stand reproved," he said. "You should be an
authority on Americanism, if I am correct in surmising your
relationship."

"You are correct," she replied with a proud, little tilt of her glossy
head, "though I think that only lately have I come to an understanding
of its significance--an