rcely demanded more.
From the blind girl he had acquired, with this thirst for knowledge, a
tremendous power of concentration; but, to the regret of those about
him, had failed utterly to absorb any of her power of self-sacrifice.
That spiritual side--that all important lesson of unselfishness--had
never reached him. He was as blind to it as she was to the light of day,
and in spite of all Jane could do, or the Colonel could do, his nature
closed tighter about the one idea of self-advancement.

For a week after his memorable first day upon the survey, he had rushed
to Brent's room each morning at dawn to get the party started; and Brent
had good-naturedly submitted. But now the engineer suddenly balked,
flatly refusing to take him out again. Miss Liz arose in her wrath, but
he told her that he would not risk another day of starvation should this
fanatic choose to throw the lunch away--and it was too much work going
every day, anyhow. But, the fact of the matter was, Dale had become a
serious handicap. He was not content to act as pole-man, or carry the
chain. He could have done either of these well enough, because Brent had
taught two of the brighter negroes whom he regularly took along. No,
Dale must be continually at the transit, looking through it, changing
its direction, asking a thousand irrelevant questions, and demoralizing
the entire force. So after one week of struggle, Brent told him that he
should not come any more until he had at least learned enough to
realize how little he knew. It was a disappointment to Jane, but she
persuaded Miss Liz not to press the issue, deciding that it might be
better in the long run for Dale to proceed more systematically in
fundamental things and lay his foundation with greater care.

In the freshness of this June morning he was back again in the library,
bent over the pages of a book, and the room seemed quieter for his
intensity. Outside, on the shady porch, the Colonel showed indications
of reading, but in reality his eyes had slyly turned to the lawn where
Zack and Bip were in a heated argument over the respective merits of
horseflesh.

An hour before, this sturdy six-year-old heir apparent to the house of
Hart, had arrived on his Shetland pony to see Grandfather May--a usual
weekly procedure. Along with him, as was also the invariable custom,
ponderous Aunt Timmie drove in her buggy--"her" buggy by adoption after
it had been discarded by "de white folks." Whenever she cli