e."

"By Jove, I have got to find some way of playing up to that," he said
aloud, as he turned from the gravelled driveway into the street. And in
the months that followed he was to find that the search to which he then
committed himself was to call for the utmost of the powers of soul which
were his.

CHAPTER II

THE COST OF SACRIFICE

Perrotte was by all odds the best all-round man in the planing mill, and
for the simple reason that for fifteen years he had followed the lumber
from the raw wood through the various machines till he knew woods and
machines and their ways as no other in the mill unless it was old Grant
Maitland himself. Fifteen years ago Perrotte had drifted down from the
woods, beating his way on a lumber train, having left his winter's pay
behind him at the verge of civilisation, with old Joe Barbeau and Joe's
"chucker out." It was the "chucker out" that dragged him out of the
"snake room" and, all unwitting, had given him a flying start toward a
better life. Perrotte came to Maitland when the season's work was at its
height and every saw and planer were roaring night and day.

"Want a job?" Maitland had shouted over the tearing saw at him. "What
can you do?"

"(H)axe-man me," growled Perrotte, looking up at him, half wistful, half
sullen.

"See that slab? Grab it, pile it yonder. The boards, slide over the
shoot." For these were still primitive days for labor-saving devices,
and men were still the cheapest thing about a mill.

Perrotte grabbed the slab, heaved it down to its pile of waste, the next
board he slid into the shoot, and so continued till noon found him pale
and staggering.

"What's the matter with you?" said Maitland.

"Notting--me bon," said Perrotte, and, clutching at the door jamb, hung
there gasping.

Maitland's keen blue eyes searched his face. "Huh! When did you last
eat? Come! No lying!"

"Two day," said Perrotte, fighting for breath and nerve.

"Here, boy," shouted Maitland to a chore lad slouching by, "jump for
that cook house and fetch a cup of coffee, and be quick."

The boss' tone injected energy into the gawky lad. In three minutes
Perrotte was seated on a pile of slabs, drinking a cup of coffee; in
five minutes more he stood up, ready for "(h)anny man, (h)anny ting."
But Maitland took him to the cook.

"Fill this man up," he said, "and then show him where to sleep. And,
Perrotte, to-morrow morning at seven you be at the tail of the saw."

"Oui, by