bought the
old place to please her sooner than let it go out of the family."

"A Thurston!" said Helen Savine. "We saw 'Thurston's Folly' written
beside a mining tunnel on the fell. Was that one of the former owners?
Being Colonials we are interested in all ancient buildings and their
traditions."

"Oh, yes!" broke in Mrs. Savine. "We just love to hear about wicked
barons and witches and all those quaint folk of the olden time."

Musker had drawn nearer meanwhile, and Thomas Savine held out the cigar
case that lay upon his knee. "If we may smoke in the great hearth
there, just help yourself," said he. "My wife is fond of antiquities,
and if you have any to talk of, we should be glad of your company."

Musker glanced keenly at his guests. Though, having lived elsewhere,
he spoke easy colloquial English, he was a son of the North Country
dogged and slow, intensely self-respecting, and, while loyal with
feudal fealty to superiors he knew, quick to resent a stranger's
assumption of authority. Thomas Savine, brown-faced, vigorous, a
pleasant Colonial gentleman, smiled upon him good-naturedly, and Musker
took a cigar awkwardly. Mrs. Savine surveyed the great bare hall with
respectful curiosity and evident interest, while Helen, visibly
interested, leaned back in her chair.

"Maybe you met the master in British Columbia?" Musker hazarded with an
eager look in his dim eyes.

"What is his full name, and what is he like?" asked Helen, bending
forward a little. The old woman, reaching over, lifted a faded
photograph from the window seat.

"Geoffrey Thurston!" she answered. "That was him when he was young.
My husband yonder broke the pony in."

Helen started as she gazed at the picture of the boy and the pony. The
face was like, and yet unlike, that of the gaunt and hungry man whom
she had first seen sitting upon the fallen fir. "Yes," she answered
gravely; "I know him. I met Mr. Thurston in British Columbia."

"We would take it very kindly if you would tell us how and where you
found him, miss," said Musker in haste.

"I found him in a great Canadian forest. He was looking very worn and
tired," Helen answered, with a trace of color in her face. "I--I hired
him to do some work for me, and it was hard work--much harder than I
fancied--but he did it, and, as we afterwards discovered, spent all I
paid him on the powder he found was necessary."

"Ay," said the old man. "That was Mr. Geoffrey. They were al