und Scorrier was listening with a different motion of the
hands--one rubbed them, one clenched them, another moved his
closed fist, as if stabbing some one in the back. A grisly-bearded,
beetle-browed, twinkling-eyed old Cornishman muttered: "A'hm not
troublin' about that." It seemed almost as if Pippin's object was to
get the men to kill him; they had gathered closer, crouching for a rush.
Suddenly Pippin's voice dropped to a whisper: "I'm disgraced Men, are
you going back on me?"

The old miner next Scorrier called out suddenly: "Anny that's Cornishmen
here to stand by the superintendent?" A group drew together, and with
murmurs and gesticulation the meeting broke up.

In the evening a deputation came to visit Pippin; and all night long
their voices and the superintendent's footsteps could be heard. In the
morning, Pippin went early to the mine. Before supper the deputation
came again; and again Scorrier had to listen hour after hour to the
sound of voices and footsteps till he fell asleep. Just before dawn he
was awakened by a light. Pippin stood at his bedside. "The men go down
to-morrow," he said: "What did I tell you? Carry me home on my shield,
eh?"

In a week the mine was in full work.

V

Two years later, Scorrier heard once more of Pippin. A note from
Hemmings reached him asking if he could make it convenient to attend
their Board meeting the following Thursday. He arrived rather before the
appointed time. The secretary received him, and, in answer to inquiry,
said: "Thank you, we are doing well--between ourselves, we are doing
very well."

"And Pippin?"

The secretary frowned. "Ah, Pippin! We asked you to come on his account.
Pippin is giving us a lot of trouble. We have not had a single line
from him for just two years!" He spoke with such a sense of personal
grievance that Scorrier felt quite sorry for him. "Not a single line,"
said Hemmings, "since that explosion--you were there at the time, I
remember! It makes it very awkward; I call it personal to me."

"But how--" Scorrier began.

"We get--telegrams. He writes to no one, not even to his family. And
why? Just tell me why? We hear of him; he's a great nob out there.
Nothing's done in the colony without his finger being in the pie.
He turned out the last Government because they wouldn't grant us an
extension for our railway--shows he can't be a fool. Besides, look at
our balance-sheet!"

It turned out that the question on which Scorrie