the service Rezanov went up to the hut of the Chief-Manager, a
habitation that leaked winter and summer, and was equally deficient in
light, ventilation and order. But Baranhov in the sixteen years of his
exile had forgotten the bare lineaments of comfort, and devoted his
days to advancing the interests of the Company, his nights, save when
sleep overcame him, to potations that would have buried an ordinary man
under Alaskan snows long since. But Baranhov had fourteen years more
of good service in him, and rescued the Company from insolvency again
and again, nor ever played into the hands of marauding foreigners; with
brain on fire he was shrewder than the soberest.

He listened with deep satisfaction to the Chamberlain's account of his
success with the Californians and his glowing pictures of the country,
nodding every few moments with emphatic approval. But as the story
finished his wonderful eyes were two bubbling springs of humor, and
Rezanov, who knew him well, recrossed his legs nervously.

"What is it?" he asked. "What have I done now? Remember that you have
been in this business for sixteen years, and I one--"

"How many measures of corn did you say you had brought, Excellency?"

"Two hundred and ninety-four," replied Rezanov proudly.

"A provision that exceeds my most sanguine hopes. The only thing that
mitigates my satisfaction is that there is not a mill in the settlement
to grind it."

Rezanov sprang to his feet with a violent exclamation, his face very
red. There was no one whose good opinion he valued as he did that of
this brilliant, dissipated, disinterested old genius; and he felt like
a schoolboy. But although he started for the door, he recovered
half-way, and reseating himself joined in the laughter of the little
man who was rocking back and forth on his bench, his weazened leg
clasped against his shrunken chest.

"How on earth was I to know all your domestic arrangements?" he said
testily. "God knows I found them limited enough last winter, but it
never occurred to me there was any mysterious process involved in
converting corn into meal. Is it quite useless, then?"

"Oh, no, we can boil or roast it. It will dispose of what teeth we
have left, but that will serve the good purpose of reminding us always
of your excellency's interest in our welfare."

Rezanov shrugged his shoulders. "Give the corn to the natives. It is
farinaceous at all events. And you can have nothing to say a