oming more and more common to him. He had been obliged to track
the stolen lumber many miles to the south, seize it there, and make
arrangements for bringing it back. This absence from the scene of his
life battle, turned Jude into a veritable fiend for the time being. He
had enough self-confidence to believe he could hold things in his own
hands, when his hands and eyes were on the spot, but with absence and
distance--bah!

Many a horse and man suffered that spring from Jude's evil temper.

Whether Gaston was aware of conditions or not, who could tell? He took a
keen delight in the manual labour of working on Drew's house. He and
Filmer, with or without Jude, hammered, sawed and made rough designs
that filled their days with honest toil and brought healthy sleep to
their tired bodies.

And just when the early wild flowers were timidly showing themselves,
after the winter's long reign, little Malcolm Lauzoon opened his eyes
upon the scene.

How could he know that the festivities at the Black Cat were interrupted
by Jude's necessary absences, and Isa Tate's voluntary visits to Joyce's
home?

Leon Tate, good-naturedly reaping a belated prosperity, had insisted
that his wife serve Joyce how and as she might.

Jude was becoming a man to be considered. He evidently had a future, and
the tavern's attractions had never held a sure power over Jude. Here
was Leon's opportunity for putting Jude under obligations.

Tate thought fit to place himself and his wife on a social equality with
the Lauzoons. So Isa was in command when small Malcolm arrived.

It was an early June morning, after a night of black horror, when Joyce
became aware of the singing of birds out of doors, and a strange, new
song in her heart.

The latter sensation almost stifled her. She tried to raise her head and
look about the room, but the effort made her faint. She waited a moment,
then slowly turned her head on the pillow and opened her eyes. There by
the low, open window sat Isa Tate, swaying back and forth in the
old-fashioned rocker, with something on her lap.

Again the strange faintness overpowered Joyce, and the big tears rolled
down her face. It had not, then, been all a hideous nightmare? Something
sweet and real had remained after the terror and agony had taken flight?

"Isa!" So low and trembling was the call that Isa, drowsing luxuriously
as she rocked to and fro, took no heed.

It was many a day since she, detached from the demands o