iosity was dead within him. Human suffering gave him an insight that
soared above idle questioning.

"And Billy, there's another thing. I want you to go to Gaston's shack;
tote water and wood for Joyce--and keep your mouth shut. And lay this by
in your constitution. Gaston is a man so far above anything God ever
created round here, that you can't understand him, but you _can_ try to
chase off the dirty insects that want to sting him. Catch on?"

"Yes"; murmured Billy, while unfulfilled duty clutched his vitals with
remorse.

"I'm--I'm going up to Gaston's to-morrow," he said.

"And now, you old rip," Filmer shook off his strange mood, "walk up to a
fellow's bunk with him. It's good to keep clean company when you
can--and for as long as you can."

"Shall--shall I stay all night with you?"

Billy asked this doubtfully from the new instinct that was stirring
within him. For an instant a gleam of pleasure lighted Filmer's face. It
almost seemed like a yearning, then he said roughly:

"No, get home! You're afraid? If you are I'll turn back."

"What you take me for?" Billy sniffed scornfully, and then they parted
company.

* * * * *

It was just when the hands of the clock in Drew's study pointed to
half-past twelve, that the young master, sitting before the glowing
logs, bestirred himself preparatory to turning in for the night.

A satisfied feeling had kept him up after the others had bade good
night. He always enjoyed the anticlimax of pleasure, and the day had
been a happy one.

He felt well. The companionship of the widowed wife of his closest
friend, added interest to the new life in the woods. She had brought
news and had awakened memories, but she had timed the Past and the
Present to perfect measure. At last he could hope that the old wound was
healed and that he could live among his people--his people! the thought
thrilled him--with purpose and content. The rough men and women about
him were drawing closer. He knew it in the innermost places of his
heart. He was brightening their lives. He was holding their children for
them, and opening a way for them to seek higher paths. It would all come
out as he desired. It was a splendid field of work that had been given
him--and he had rebelled so in his ignorance!

How he wished that Philip Dale could have lived to see and know. Of all
the men whom he had known, Dale was the one man who could have
comprehended this opening for