tion of Dawson
is at hand. You know Good is the daughter of Evil, Virtue the offspring
of Vice. You know how virtuous a man feels after a jag. You've got to
sin to feel really good. Consequently, Sin must be good to be the means
of good, to be the raw material of good, to be virtue in the making,
mustn't it? The dance-halls are a good foil to the gospel-halls. If we
were all virtuous, there would be no virtue in virtue, and if we were
all bad no one would be bad. And because there's so much bad in this old
burg of ours, it makes the good seem unnaturally good."

The Pote had the floor.

"A friend of mine had a beautiful pond of water-lilies. They painted the
water exultantly and were a triumphant challenge to the soul. Folks came
from far and near to see them. Then, one winter, my friend thought he
would clean out his pond, so he had all the nasty, slimy mud scraped
away till you could see the silver gravel glimmering on the bottom. But
the lilies, with all their haunting loveliness, never came back."

"Well, what are you driving at, you old dreamer?"

"Oh, just this: in the nasty mud and slime of Dawson I saw a lily-girl.
She lives in a cabin by the Slide along with a Jewish couple. I only
caught a glimpse of her twice. They are unspeakable, but she is fair
and sweet and pure. I would stake my life on her goodness. She looks
like a young Madonna----"

He was interrupted by a shout of cynical laughter.

"Oh, get off your foot! A Madonna in Dawson--Ra! Ra!"

He shut up abashed, but I had my clue. I waited until the last noisy
roisterer had gone.

"In the cabin by the Slide?" I asked.

He started, looked at me searchingly: "You know her?"

"She means a good deal to me."

"Oh, I understand. Yes, that long, queer cabin highest up the hill."

"Thanks, old chap."

"All right, good luck." He accompanied me to the door, staring at the
marvel of the glamorous Northern midnight.

"Oh, for a medium to express it all! Your pedantic poetry isn't big
enough; prose isn't big enough. What we want is something between the
two, something that will interpret life, and stir the great heart of the
people. Good-night."

CHAPTER VII

Very softly I approached the cabin, for a fear of encountering her
guardians was in my heart. It was in rather a lonely place, perched at
the base of that vast mountain abrasion they call the Slide, a long, low
cabin, quiet and dark, and surrounded by rugged boulders. Carefully I
reco