J'A^ 
 
 
 
 ^Cl* 
 
 %"n^ 
 
 BEATRICE MANTLE 
 
GRET 
 
*' 'You 're too smart for every-day use,' she remarked witheringly 
 
GRET 
 
 Zhc Stores of a jpaoan 
 
 f 
 
 BY 
 
 BEATRICE MANTLE 
 
 •f 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 1907 
 
Copyright, 1907, by 
 The Century Co. 
 
 Published September, igoj 
 
 THE DE VINNE PRESS 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I*AGE 
 
 I Wherein Gret is Introduced 3 
 
 II A Mysterious Fire 17 
 
 III How Jack and Mary were Married 29 
 
 IV Gret Rebels 48 
 
 V A Marriage of Convenience . 63 
 
 VI The Great Affront "jd 
 
 VII Gret Comes to the Rescue 86 
 
 VIII The Pilgrimage to the Backwoods 103 
 
 IX Mrs. Baring Meets the "Camp-girl" . . . .115 
 
 X New Pieces on the Board 135 
 
 XI A Benevolent Conspiracy 155 
 
 XII A Friend in Need 164 
 
 XIII A Day's Enjoyment 183 
 
 XIV Faint Shapes of the Future 194 
 
 XV A Great Surprise 218 
 
 XVI The Plans of Men 233 
 
 M597418 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVII Gret Goes to be Civilized 251 
 
 XVIII Not Counting the Cost 271 
 
 XIX The Summons Home 289 
 
 XX The First Shadow 297 
 
 XXI Gret Hears News 325 
 
 XXII Too Late ! 340 
 
 XXIII Good-by 353 
 
 XXIV The Long To-morrow 366 
 
 XXV Saved! 381 
 
 XXVI The Ultimate Niche 394 
 
GRET 
 
Between her and the Hidden One" 
 
GRET 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WHEREIN GRET IS INTRODUCED 
 
 A BRIGHT afternoon in March — with patches of bril- 
 liant gold light on the river and a sweet misty green 
 on the densely clothed overhanging banks; with crisp 
 air, through which the hum of the distant donkey-engines 
 and the whirr of the nearer ones sounded clear like music 
 on accustomed ears, and in which the swish and ripple of 
 the outgoing tide formed one long singing murmur. 
 
 Gret Silway lay on the mossy top of the bluff in front 
 of her home. Her elbows were dug deep into the moss, 
 and her young body lay along it in lithe, sinuous repose. 
 But, in spite of the repose — even laziness — of her atti- 
 tude, she was very much on the alert. She was watching 
 with keen eyes the mouth of the boom in the river beneath 
 her. Just as much at home in the workings of it as any 
 of her father's men, she knew by the activity and haste 
 going on within that a raft must be going down. She 
 was puzzled, though, on account of the tide, which had 
 been running out for the last half-hour or more. 
 
 From where she lay she commanded a view of all im- 
 portant points. A little below, on the other side of the 
 river, was the floating camp-landing; and leading from 
 
4 GRET 
 
 that, and soon lost to sight in the swamp alder, was the 
 board-walk and trolley-way leading to the camp. Be- 
 neath her, at the foot of the bluff, was their own little 
 house-landing; and a short distance above, leading up 
 the river, was the boom, packed with some of the finest 
 logs in the state. No one could get to the boom from the 
 camp without her noticing, and no raft would go down 
 without Dick coming to oversee it. So she lay and 
 waited, watching with critical eyes the men roll out the 
 logs. 
 
 Presently, hurrying down the board-walk from the 
 camp, came a boy; and at sight of him Gret jumped up. 
 
 "Oly, oh, Oly !" Oly looked up quickly. "Raft going 
 down ?" 
 
 Oly nodded vigorously, and pointed behind him with 
 many signs; and in a second or so the reason for all 
 this dumb show appeared in the person of Dick Swinton, 
 camp foreman, boom boss and everything else that was 
 important in the management of Silway's camp. Not 
 on his life, knowing of Dick's proximity, would Oly dare 
 to shout an affirmative answer to Gret's question. 
 
 Dick Swinton was a man of few words, and much 
 knowledge in certain grooves ; he was, moreover, a man of 
 considerable tact, and handled men and logs with equal 
 facility. He managed Silway's camp and made a big suc- 
 cess. But he undertook another management at about 
 the same time and made a howling failure of it — a failure 
 plain to the eyes of all men. He proposed to manage 
 Gret Silway, seeing that she was yearly growing in need 
 of this service, with seemingly no one at hand who cared 
 to perform it. Only, this time honest, well-meaning Dick 
 had undertaken something quite beyond both his tact and 
 his knowledge. 
 
 Among other things, there was a settled formula be- 
 tween Gret and Dick — observed just as regularly as a raft 
 
WHEREIN GRET IS INTRODUCED 5 
 
 went down the river — whereby he should do his best to 
 beg, persuade or threaten her out of going down on it, 
 and she should just as carefully disregard it all. It was 
 a very useless formula, always had been, always would 
 be. Dick himself admitted that if he had a dollar for 
 every raft that had gone down the river this last two 
 years without Gret on it he would not be much better off. 
 Still, he always went through the usual ceremony, being 
 honestly afraid for the life of the girl. Some time ago 
 two girls had ventured on a raft tied up midway down on 
 the river. Stepping on a rolling log one of the girls was 
 drowned beneath the raft, and her companion was 
 drowned in trying to save her. This had given Dick a 
 scare from which he did not seem inclined to recover; 
 though most of the camp hands — the old ones, at all 
 events, who knew Gret thoroughly — laughed at the mere 
 idea of her ever being drowned. 
 
 "Gret knows the sight of a rolling log just as well as 
 she knows her dinner," they said time and again. But 
 still Dick remained apprehensive. 
 
 "If the rafts were made same as they do back east, I 
 would n't care," he would grumble. "They 're chained 
 good and hard together — just as safe as a boat. But 
 these logs, rolling around loose in the boomsticks — that 's 
 no place for a bit of a girl." Nevertheless, the bit of a 
 girl continued to go. 
 
 Gret stood waiting on the bluff until she saw Dick get 
 into his boat and paddle off to get the boomsticks that lay 
 stretched along the side of the river. Then with a whoop 
 of glee she flew down the somewhat rickety steps built 
 down the side of the bluff, jumped into her boat with a 
 recklessness born of long experience, and with about 
 three paddles, gondolier fashion, was up alongside the 
 carefully unobservant foreman. 
 
 "The end stick 's caught a little in the mud already," 
 
6 GRET 
 
 she observed, noticing the tall figure in the boat sway 
 slightly in the effort to drag the lagging sticks after him. 
 "Why, Dick, tide 's been running out nearly an hour. 
 What is it— hurry call ?" 
 
 **Yes— towboat 's coming nearly all the way," replied 
 Dick promptly. "This won't be nothing worth your both- 
 ering about, Gret." 
 
 Gret accepted this preliminary protest as a matter of 
 form ; that is, she took no notice of it. She turned her 
 attention to Oly, who was getting ready the boat in which 
 to accompany the raft. 
 
 "Not that boat," with a quick shake of the head. "Too 
 blunt. Don't you remember how it slap-slapped behind 
 the towboat before ? Take Dick's." 
 
 "He won't let me, will he?" half making as if to row 
 toward that dignitary. 
 
 Gret regarded the youth with calm exasperation. "Not 
 while he 's in it, of course. Wait till he gets out." 
 
 Oly obeyed meekly; and presently, just as the boom- 
 sticks were chained and the raft set free, he succeeded 
 in making the required change. 
 
 Gret went sailing off on the raft, having disregarded 
 with a smile Dick's request that, if she must go down, 
 she would sit in the boat with Oly instead of standing on 
 the raft. 
 
 As the raft glided away, Jake Connor, the camp cook, 
 strolled down the board-way. "Gone already? Pretty 
 swift work, was n't it?" 
 
 Dick nodded. "Towboat will be more than half-way 
 to meet her." 
 
 "Of course, Gret had to go," laughed Jake. 
 
 "Oh, of course," a trifle petulantly. 
 
 Jake looked after the diminishing figure of the girl, at 
 the short skirt that barely reached her ankles, and the 
 battered remnant of hat swinging lightly on her arm ; he 
 
WHEREIN GRET IS INTRODUCED 7 
 
 looked at the broad chest and the powerful poise of the 
 youthful form, and then turned by Dick's side back to 
 the camp up the board-way. 
 
 "She 's a great girl, is Gret," he observed. "Cut a 
 pretty wide swath, I fancy, wherever she 's set down." 
 
 "Cut a pretty wide hole in the river first," responded 
 Dick shortly. And Jake, with a sharp, quizzical glance at 
 his companion, dropped the subject. 
 
 Meanwhile Gret, all unconscious of this mournful 
 prophecy concerning her future, drifted in great content- 
 ment of spirit down with the tide. It was the sweet 
 uncertainty of the course that pleased her, otherwise the 
 drifting process must have been slow. But to be carried 
 quickly — too quickly — by the hurrying tide round a sharp 
 bend and landed in the opposite bank; and then to 
 watch the waters come bustling round, Ufting a little 
 here, drifting out a little there, until at last they were 
 borne off again in triumph — ^to do the same thing round 
 the next bend, or perhaps just to miss it by a hair's 
 breadth— oh, it was fine! It reminded Gret of Rube 
 Drexel up at the camp, who always made such a fuss and 
 splutter over doing nothing. 
 
 It was over a week since Gret had been down the river, 
 and she watched the banks with observant eyes. Pres- 
 ently they passed a somewhat dejected-looking ranch, 
 standing on a bit of marsh at the river edge. Upward, 
 at the back of this, stretched a shallow gulch clothed with 
 timber: and down this Gret was surprised to see a soli- 
 tary horse hauling logs. A track across the strip of 
 marsh had been dug and sluiced, and the animal waded 
 through several feet of mud to the river. 
 
 Gret stared; she had been born and raised amid the 
 lumbering business, but never had she seen things man- 
 aged exactly like this. She turned to Oly in the boat be- 
 hind her. 'Why, what 's he doing?" 
 
8 GRET 
 
 "Hand-logging," replied the lad. "Widow McCarty 's 
 sold all her timber to him. She 's a fool to do it, / say. 
 That feller would n't give her no such price as anybody 
 else would have done." 
 
 "Well, but — He 's doing it all in such a funny way," 
 persisted Gret. "When people hand-log they generally 
 have a sort of windlass thing that draws the log along. 
 But he — What 's he got all that mud for ?" 
 
 Oly contemplated operations grimly as the raft swung 
 past. "That poor, onery horse could n't draw a log 
 acrost dry ground," he explained. "The mud makes it 
 kind of slick, greases it like, so it don't stick and bite the 
 ground. The darn feller 's too mean to set up a wind- 
 lass." 
 
 "It must be very horrid for the poor horse, walking 
 up and down all day in that mud," went on Gret, still 
 frowning. 
 
 "Well, would n't be so bad jest in the daytime, if he 'd 
 throw a bucket or two of water over it and wash it off 
 night-times," said Oly, regarding the receding scene with 
 disfavor. "But he don't. He turns the poor thing into 
 the bam jest as it is. Wonder it don't get mud fever and 
 die. Would," added he with youthful cynicism, "if he 
 was a poor man trying to do his best." 
 
 Gret's eyes grew wide as she listened. "Well, what 
 does the Widow McCarty allow him to do it for? 
 I thought she was supposed to be a What-do-you- 
 call-it." 
 
 "Dunno. Something that 's supposed to be extry 
 good," said Oly, scratching his head thoughtfully with 
 the peak of his cap. "Oh, she don't like it at all, they 
 say. But what can she do 'bout it ? She 's sold the tim- 
 ber, and the feller 's got to be allowed to get it off'n the 
 land. She says she hopes Providence '11 interfere. She 
 can't do nothing." 
 
WHEREIN GRET IS INTRODUCED 9 
 
 Gret glanced at the lad in disgust; but Oly was still 
 looking up-stream, and so remained unconcerned. If one 
 thing disgusted the girl more than another it was this 
 clapping onto Providence of the work people did not 
 care about doing themselves. Providence was at best an 
 exceedingly vague institution with Gret, standing princi- 
 pally for that law of contrary which generally contrived 
 to have people do the things they did n't want to do and 
 leave undone the things they did. She had been told that 
 these revised arrangements were always for the best in 
 the long run, but considered this a statement to be taken 
 under advisement. At all events, whatever it was, one 
 thing was sure about this Providence : it was a very 
 slow-going arrangement; and as Gret's affairs were al- 
 ways conducted with alarming vigor, she would have 
 scorned its aid. 
 
 She said nothing more about the McCarty ranch; but 
 Oly, turning his attention back to her presently, observed 
 that she was getting up steam. This was his term for 
 the peculiar deep breaths that were characteristic of her. 
 In a few minutes, however, the towboat came in sight 
 round the bend of the river; and in the excitement of 
 being taken in tow everything else was apparently for- 
 gotten. Oly, in view of the long row back and the ap- 
 proaching dinner hour, wanted to leave the raft as soon 
 as the towline was out ; but Gret insisted on being towed 
 down to the mill. After a stormy discussion it was 
 settled that they should only go as far as the first bridge ; 
 but as the first bridge was quite near the mill, the conces- 
 sion was a mere formality. 
 
 As they left the raft and turned back home Oly was 
 sullen and Gret filled with glee. Oly was bucking tide, 
 and vowing with every stroke not to be such a fool as to 
 listen to Gret again. He had said this five hundred* times 
 before, though, and Gret was wholly undisturbed. But in 
 
lo GRET 
 
 view of such a shocking exhibition of temper she refused 
 to help with the rowing. 
 
 By and by, however, the tide ceased to run out, rowing 
 became easier, and by the time the McCarty ranch was 
 reached equanimity had been restored. Gret said nothing 
 further on the ill-used horse subject; but she eyed the 
 scene narrowly as they rowed past. Oly, accustomed by 
 long and sometimes sad experience to Gret's methods, 
 wondered which was coming in for the fruits of her dis- 
 pleasure : the widow or the logger. He rather thought 
 the logger. He never supposed for a moment that Gret 
 had dismissed the matter from her mind. He knew of 
 old that she said least when most was intended. 
 
 When at last they reached the camp-landing, Gret did 
 not wait for Oly to accompany her as usual. She jumped 
 out, and raced up the board-way alone, leaving Oly to tie 
 up the boat and follow when he chose. 
 
 Reaching the camp, Gret went straight to the cook- 
 house, where Jake was busy making pies. She jumped 
 up on her favorite seat — the top of the table — and drew 
 a deep swelling breath. Jake, pausing with a pie-lid in 
 his fingers, glanced round apprehensively; he knew as 
 surely as if she had uttered a war-whoop that Gret had 
 entered the battle-field under some flag or other. 
 
 Jake Connor had been cook in Silway's camp for three 
 years, considering the post a fairly comfortable one; he 
 had also occupied for the same period the far more oner- 
 ous position of adviser-in-chief to the boss's daughter. 
 Jake, having knocked about the world from pillar to post, 
 and having been almost everything a man of adventurous 
 bent can be, had in the course of his varied career ac- 
 quired a sort of adjustable philosophy that had taken 
 Gret's ear in the early days of their acquaintanceship. In 
 the first instance Jake had occupied the position of 
 mentor and adviser to a somewhat refractory being with 
 
WHEREIN GRET IS INTRODUCED ii 
 
 pride, but latterly this honor was weighing heavily upon 
 him. He was divided between fear of having his advice 
 rejected with scorn if it were not up to the required 
 standard of vigor, and of having it immediately acted 
 upon if it were. He wondered what was coming now, but 
 asked no questions, it being an item of his philosophy 
 never to meet trouble half-way. 
 
 "Jake," began the girl, "what is— ?" She broke off, 
 her eyes wandering down the line of pies. "What kind 
 of pies are you making?" 
 
 "Mince," replied Jake, knowing that as far as Gret was 
 concerned the list might begin and end there. 
 
 "Oh!" contentedly. "I '11 come in to supper, Jake. 
 You won't be making mince much longer, will you ?" 
 
 "No; but I thought your mother said you were to be 
 home for dinner always," said Jake. 
 
 "Well, I 'm going home to dinner," calmly. "We have 
 dinner at five, you have supper at six. You know that." 
 
 "Oh!" said Jake lamely, not without reflections upon 
 Gret's appetite. 
 
 "Jake," began the girl once more, "what is Provi- 
 dence ?" 
 
 Jake turned round and stared at his interlocutor, a cir- 
 cular pie-lid hanging in his fingers. 
 
 "If you hold that pie paste much longer the bottom 
 half will drop off on the floor," remarked Gret dryly after 
 a moment. 
 
 Thus adjured, Jake turned back to the table and ad- 
 justed the lid to the pie, reflecting meanwhile on the 
 safest and most sensible way of replying to the mo- 
 mentous question just propounded. 
 
 "Well," he said thoughtfully, then, "it 's what pun- 
 ishes people when they do wrong." 
 
 "Oh !" There was a distinct note of interest in Gret's 
 voice. 
 
12 GRET 
 
 Sometime and somewhere Jake had listened to the 
 declamation at an election meeting of a certain portion 
 of "Macbeth." He had been particularly struck at the time 
 with the completeness and finality of the famous state- 
 ment that ''murder will out." He conceived that it would 
 put a fine touch to his explanations now. 
 
 ''You see," he went on confidentially, "if you do a 
 murder that you think nobody knows anything about. 
 Providence will find you out and punish you. As Sha— " 
 
 "It won't at all," broke in Gret indignantly. "The 
 police will, and the law will hang you." 
 
 "Well," said Jake unabashed, "it 's Providence makes 
 them do it, though." 
 
 "Oh!" Gret's tone was receptive once more. "I see. 
 Then if you feel like you wanted to punish any one it 's 
 Providence making you feel that way." 
 
 But Jake scented danger, and attempted to back out. 
 "Well, I don't know that it 's exactly like that," he said 
 carefully. "People don't generally know when they 're 
 workin' for Providence. 'T ain't never safe to calculate 
 that you 're a special messenger of that kind. You won't 
 know anything about it when you are." 
 
 Gret nodded, but absently. She had hardly listened to 
 this last discourse, for the simple reason that it was not 
 altogether to her liking. She possessed the happy knack 
 of taking to heart just so much of a fact as suited her 
 purpose and coolly rejecting the remainder. 
 
 "And so," she went on thoughtfully, after a moment, 
 "Providence does n't bother people unless it is to punish 
 them?" 
 
 Jake cast a hasty glance backward over his sojourning 
 in this vale of sorrow. "Nope." 
 
 Gret said no more, but gave a little contented sigh. It 
 was satisfactory, at any rate, to have relegated Provi- 
 dence to some kind of a definite place in the order of 
 
WHEREIN GRET IS INTRODUCED 13 
 
 things, instead of having it forever bobbing up where 
 least expected, like a will-o'-the-wisp on the marsh of life. 
 And Jake, too, glad to let so momentous a subject drop, 
 turned the subject into other channels. 
 
 "Robin went down to the Harbor to-day." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 ''How is it you did n't go along?" 
 
 Gret's lip curled. "Father sent one of his letters." 
 
 Jake shrugged his shoulders a trifle contemptuously. 
 It was a fad of Mr. Silway's to send, from that city, 
 where he sojourned most of his time, periodical letters 
 announcing his return at any date from the time of writ- 
 ing. This he fondly imagined tended to preserve dis- 
 cipline—to be, in fact, tantamount to a command to stand 
 at arms all through home and camp. In reality no one 
 took the least notice of these would-be portentous epistles 
 —except, perhaps, the wife, who so dreaded the exhibi- 
 tions of temper and the general upset that a visit from 
 the lord and master meant. 
 
 As a rule, though these diplomatic letters did no good, 
 they, on the other hand, did no harm. But this one to-day 
 had arrived in time to stop Gret's proposed expedition 
 with Robin to Quellish Harbor. 
 
 Robin Start was a youth about two years Gret's senior, 
 and her chum as far as she indulged in such a luxury. 
 It had come to be a settled thing— in the minds of Gret 
 and Robin, at all events— that whenever Robin went down 
 to the Harbor, Gret should go to. There, while Robin 
 gathered the fruits of his marketings into the boat, she 
 stood and gloated over the contents of the window of the 
 one musty dry-goods store. Of course, every article con- 
 tained therein was months behind any known fashion; 
 but to Gret's heathen ideas they were models of elegance, 
 and the contemplation of them was soul-satisfying in the 
 extreme. And she had been intensely disgusted that 
 
14 GRET 
 
 morning when so slight and transparent a thing as her 
 father's letter had stood in the way of her visit to civiliza- 
 tion. 
 
 "Can't think why mother takes any notice of the old 
 letters," she observed gloomily. 
 
 "Me neither," agreed Jake, closing the oven-door upon 
 the pies with an air of satisfaction. "Now, where do you 
 suppose that Bill is ?" 
 
 Bill — otherwise Skookum Bill — was the camp flunkey. 
 Many of the most expressive Indian words were used in 
 the lumbering districts, and among them skookum, signi- 
 fying "big" or "fat," was considered by the men of Sil- 
 way's camp as particularly appropriate to Bill, and was 
 therefore applied without any unnecessary delay upon 
 the first night of his arrival. Gret considered the appella- 
 tion altogether too long for every-day use, and shortened 
 it to suit herself. She slid off the table now, and, going 
 to the door of the cook-house, called for the missing 
 youth. 
 
 "Skook! OSkook!" 
 
 The name lent itself readily to a shout, and her voice 
 sounded all over the foot of the canon wherein the camp 
 buildings stood. And in a moment, rubbing his eyes 
 furiously, and scowling upon an unwelcome world, 
 Skookum appeared at the door of the bunk-house, 
 whither he had crept for a short nap. 
 
 "Pies are in," said Gret laconically. Whereupon 
 Skookum, waking to the responsibilities of life, charged 
 into the dining-room — otherwise the long barn-like build- 
 ing, with tables and benches up the middle, which did 
 duty in that capacity. 
 
 Gret watched him disappear, and then turned her head 
 over her shoulder to talk to Jake within the kitchen 
 again. "Jim go down to the Harbor?" referring to the 
 second cook, dish-washer, and general assistant to Jake. 
 
WHEREIN GRET IS INTRODUCED 15 
 
 Jake grunted in the affirmative. "Well, I 'm going home 
 now, Jake." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 "What's the time?" 
 
 "Ten minutes to five." 
 
 "I '11 have to hurry. No sense in being in such a 
 hurry, was there?" This to Oly, who was passing on 
 the skid-road. Then to Jake, within the kitchen again, 
 "Oly was so scared he was going to be late for dinner, 
 and here 's an hour to spare. I don't suppose I '11 be 
 late getting back, but if I should be, put me away half 
 a pie." 
 
 "Half!" echoed Jake. 
 
 "Well, you can't spare a whole one, can you ?" quickly. 
 
 "No — my gracious, no!" ejaculated the horrified cook, 
 who had had in mind the usual allowance, that is, a 
 quarter. 
 
 "Oh, well, half will do," said Gret gently. 
 
 Jake mumbled something which might be taken for 
 assent. The only thing in which he could be said to be 
 stingy was pie; and that, on account of his dislike to 
 the making, he dealt out with a sparing hand. Gret was 
 one of the biggest pie-eaters with whom Jake had to con- 
 tend, and though she sweetly assured him from time to 
 time that the extreme delicacy of his pastry-work alone 
 was responsible for the abnormal appetite displayed, yet 
 in face of the great consumption he was hardly com- 
 forted. He felt he could have done with a little less 
 admiration. 
 
 Gret paused a second before making the proposed start 
 for home to speak to Dick Swinton, who came up to her 
 from off the skid. 
 
 "So you did n't manage to drown yourself this time," 
 he said with an attempt at gruffness. 
 
 "No," with a smile and a shake of the head. 
 
i6 GRET 
 
 "Could n't manage it. You know, Mike Westerfeldt says 
 we can't die before our 'appointed time.' " 
 
 "Well, I '11 tell you what," said Jake from within the 
 cook-house, "there 's a whole lot in not being on hand 
 when that there time arrives." 
 
 "You bet I" assented Dick with scorn. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS FIRE 
 
 GRET scrambled hastily up the bluff steps on her way 
 home to dinner, and as she reached the top gave a 
 little sigh of relief. Her mother was still sitting reading 
 on the porch, which rneant that dinner was not yet on 
 the table. Without disturbing her, Gret passed round 
 to the back of the house and entered the kitchen. Lizzie, 
 the gentle maid of all work, was bending critically over 
 a pot of something that bubbled and steamed on the little 
 range, her sleeves tucked up to the elbow, and her 
 bristly hair almost obscuring the range from view. Gret 
 went and stood near her. 
 
 She contemplated the damsel before her for a moment. 
 Then, ''Mike Westerfeldt 's mad at you." 
 
 Lizzie tossed her head amid the steam, 'Who cares ?" 
 
 "You put the currant rice on the steps outside to cool, 
 did n't you?" changing the subject with disconcerting 
 suddenness. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Because Jack," alluding to her pet jackdaw, "is stand- 
 ing on the edge of the bowl eating all the currants out." 
 
 Lizzie flew to the door, and a series of flaps and 
 squawks and hysterical chattering intimated that Jack 
 had saved his life only by sudden flight. Presently Lizzie 
 returned to the stove, and likewise Gret to the opening 
 topic. 
 
 "Know what Mike 's mad at?" 
 
i8 GRET 
 
 "Nope," with another toss of the head. 
 
 "Well, he saw you talking to Gus Rosenberg a long 
 time on the landing last night." 
 
 "Well, whose business is that?" demanded Lizzie airily. 
 
 "You 're his girl, and so he does n't think you ought to 
 do it," explained Gret. 
 
 "Pshaw ! Suppose because I go with him now and 
 again I 'm never going to speak to another man?" de- 
 manded Lizzie with scorn. 
 
 "Don't know," replied Gret interested. "But Jake says 
 you need n't mind Mike, because any kind of old girl 
 can get a sweetheart up here." 
 
 Lizzie stared; and Gret, who had herself been struck 
 by the many-sidedness of the observation, returned the 
 stare with curiosity. Men with sweethearts were funny 
 things, and girls with sweethearts even funnier. They 
 got mad upon all kinds of unlooked-for occasions, and 
 invariably talked without a particle of sense. And on 
 the whole Gret considered Lizzie a very fine specimen of 
 the genus. 
 
 After waiting a moment to see if a reply to Jake's 
 peculiarly comforting message would be forthcoming, 
 and receiving none, Gret went up-stairs to her little 
 bedroom over the kitchen, where a most hasty and per- 
 functory dinner toilet was performed. Then she went 
 down again, and went out into the garden to find and 
 comfort the unfortunate Jack. 
 
 Jack, hearing the well-known voice calling, emerged 
 cautiously from behind a bush, and came with his queer 
 little jerky run to take his usual perch on the girl's 
 wrist. Gret stroked the pretty tilue-gray plumage, and 
 condoled with him on his recent disaster, irrespective of 
 the fact that she herself had been the cause of it. Her 
 heart was very quick and tender toward anything that 
 loved and trusted her. At the same time, if Jack had 
 
A MYSTERIOUS FIRE 19 
 
 refused to obey her call, or had in any way defied her, 
 she would have beaten him at once. 
 
 Presently Gret put the bird down and stood frowning 
 slightly. Of course, Lizzie had to be a little late with 
 dinner just because she wanted to get back to the camp 
 again quickly. She did not like eating her pie by herself ; 
 besides, Robin would surely be back from the Harbor 
 by this, and he would just as surely stop in at the camp 
 for dinner. She wanted to ask him if there was anything 
 new in Dimsdale's window, and — 
 
 "Gret! Gret!" called her sister's sweet, clear voice. 
 "Come to dinner." And Gret gladly obeyed the call. 
 
 Mrs. Silway was already seated at the table as Gret 
 came in, and she looked up as the girl took her seat. 
 
 "Where have you been all this afternoon, Gret?" 
 
 "Down the river on a raft part of the time," replied 
 the girl truthfully. 
 
 "After I told you not to go far from home?" 
 
 "Well, it was a hurry call, and the towboat came half 
 the way to fetch it," explained Gret. "It was n't of any 
 account at all." 
 
 Mrs. Silway lifted her eyebrows slightly. "Not of any 
 account!" she repeated. 
 
 "I mean," said Gret, frowning perplexedly, "it was 
 nothing particular to go down on that raft." 
 
 "If you adopt the camp phraseology as you are doing 
 lately, I shall forbid you to go near it," observed Mrs. 
 Silway quietly. She never did speak with very much em- 
 phasis, but she always meant what she said, nevertheless. 
 
 It was about the only point in her children's behavior 
 —or rather in Gret's, for Eva was of too gentle and lan- 
 guid a temperament ever to offend in this line — upon 
 which Mrs. Silway troubled herself much. She abso- 
 lutely detested slang, loose phraseology, or the slightest 
 coarseness of manner ; and for the sake of her own eyes 
 
20 GRET 
 
 and ears she forbade anything of the kind in her pres- 
 ence. Inherently refined, the careful education and breed- 
 ing she had received had accentuated this trait ; and now, 
 whatever she might do or leave undone, Margaret Sil- 
 way never could be anything but a lady. 
 
 Gret received her mother's threat in silence and in- 
 ward horror. She registered a mental vow to so curb 
 and watch her speech in future as to preclude any risk of 
 its being carried out. To do the girl justice, it was very 
 little slang that she used— marvelously little, seeing that it 
 rang in her ears all day. But she had discovered long 
 ago that it was a moral impossibility to talk slang up in 
 the camp and then come home and drop it suddenly. 
 Obviously there only remained not to talk it at all, which 
 course Gret undertook to pursue. 
 
 Meals were always quiet and more or less silent affairs 
 with the Silways. Between this mother and daughters, 
 and between these sisters, there seemed to be very little 
 in common as yet. Time, as it brought them all to adult 
 age together, might so level things as to bring about a 
 companionship of tastes or ideas; but at present three 
 separate and unsympathetic entities sat about that simple 
 table in the mighty woods of the Wishkah. Mrs. Silway 
 was always so buried in her books and so deep in the 
 trains of thought awakened by them as to seem removed 
 from, and at times almost oblivious to, her surroundings ; 
 Gret was busy with her various escapades and projects, 
 and Eva seemed at all times content with her own dreamy 
 thoughts and maiden romances. It was an odd house- 
 hold, sheltering odd beings, and exemplifying a very odd 
 state of affairs; an effect whose cause lay back through 
 many long years and whose result was not yet all told. 
 
 When Walter Silway's father-in-law gave him the sum 
 of money required to buy out the proprietor of a certain 
 small logging-camp out west he did it only to be rid of 
 
A MYSTERIOUS FIRE 21 
 
 him, and not for a moment because he thought Walter 
 would make anything of either the money or the camp. 
 He told his daughter at the same time that when Walter 
 had spent the money, or made away with the camp, she 
 could come back home. But it must be alone and once 
 for all. 
 
 The luck that had always given Silway more than he 
 deserved, however, stood by him now. In the first place, 
 he entered the Pacific Northwest and the lumber business 
 just as prices were going up, the demand for lumber in- 
 creasing, and facilities for shipping and transportation 
 improving; and in the second place, knowing absolutely 
 nothing of the lumber business himself, he had the good 
 fortune to secure at the outset, nominally as foreman, 
 but in reality as manager, one of the best men on the 
 Pacific slope. Dick Swinton was very young when he 
 came to Silway, but in the running of a logging-camp 
 and the management of men he could give pointers to 
 men twice his age. Those who knew anything of the 
 matter always said that Dick made Silway's money, and 
 not by any means Silway himself. Probably Silway 
 would have been the last to admit anything of the kind; 
 and Dick, if he realized the fact, was undisturbed thereat. 
 Still, the fact remained, for fact it was. 
 
 Silway's luck was consistent all the way through. The 
 camp that he bought without even seeing it was a good 
 one, in a fine belt of easily purchasable timber and within 
 touch of a serviceable river. Merely as a river the 
 Wishkah was of no more importance than any of the 
 other rivers intersecting the Pacific Northwest slope; 
 but as a vehicle for logs it was as near perfection as 
 the heart of a camp boss could wish. For thirty miles 
 its tides were swift and strong, and it could float a raft of 
 logs down to the mills in less time than a towboat could 
 come to fetch it. It would have been better, perhaps, if 
 
22 GRET 
 
 the spirited little river had been a bit wider. As it was, 
 for two miles Silway's boom occupied about five-sixths 
 of its width; and up or down the remaining sixth when 
 the tide was low it was hard to get even a rowboat. The 
 people who lived up above this sixth called it the Jam; 
 and as they were all either employed at the camp or knew 
 some one who was, they ordered their lives accordingly 
 and made no complaint. 
 
 Things went well with Silway from first to last. He 
 built a plain little house on the banks of the river, over- 
 looking the boom, in which he installed his wife and the 
 two little girls, Gret and Eva; for himself he had other 
 plans. He began to go to the big cities, to make, as he 
 said, timber deals ; and finding life there so much more 
 congenial to his tastes than the backwoods existence, he 
 forthwith made it necessary to spend the greater portion 
 of the year there. His life in the cities became one of the 
 greatest indulgence and luxury, made all the more pos- 
 sible by the severely plain, almost economical, lives led 
 by his wife and children. Two things only did he have 
 to do in return for the generous — how generous probably 
 only he had any idea — income and life of ease that be- 
 came his. One was to leave Dick Swinton to manage the 
 camp as he thought best, and the other was to keep his 
 wife plentifully supplied with books. The first was easy, 
 and the latter imperative. Though perpetually shabby 
 and almost penniless, Margaret Silway did not complain. 
 But she made a copious supply of books the price of un- 
 questioning retirement. For the rest, Walter's temper 
 and selfish ways were such that those intimately ac- 
 quainted with him generally preferred his room to his 
 company. And certainly his employees were one and all 
 well content to accept the authority of Dick Swinton in 
 lieu of the boss himself. 
 
 Margaret Silway lived her life in silence, glad, now 
 
A MYSTERIOUS FIRE 23 
 
 that she had come so far, to be left alone. As the two 
 little girls grew up she devoted an hour or so to t^em each 
 day, teaching them to read and write, to do a sttnple sum 
 in arithmetic, and to entertain a few general ideas of 
 geography. That was all she could manage to do. Of the 
 manners, customs, conventionalities, and etiquette of civil- 
 ized Hfe they knew, of course, nothing; of religion they 
 — Gret especially — knew about as much as their father's 
 logs. Gret was no reader. She was always too busy with 
 other matters. Or else, perhaps, down that broad avenue 
 of enlightenment and information much stray knowledge 
 might have filtered. But Eva, the younger by nearly two 
 years, was already beginning to show a strong liking for 
 books; and her bewildered little mind roamed far and 
 wide among her mother's works of higher thought, 
 science and ultra-refined fiction. She stayed at home 
 and read and pondered and dreamed, while Gret roamed 
 the brush, and the camp, and the river. 
 
 Probably the world, if it had been there to judge, 
 would have blamed Margaret Silway for the way she 
 brought up her girls, or rather for the way she allowed 
 them to grow up. But there were none to know whether 
 she was doing right or wrong. Not that it would have 
 made the least difference in any case. Mrs. Silway was 
 as indifferent to public opinion as she was to everything 
 else in life but her books. If a woman so profoundly 
 indifferent to all things surrounding her could be termed 
 such, Margaret Silway must be called a cynic. Not the 
 cynicism born of blase experience, nor a cynicism adopted 
 after a long course of self -inspection and moralizing; 
 but the sad, unconscious cynicism that comes to a man or 
 a woman who has lived to see every good impulse, every 
 gentle sentiment, turn into so much mockery; who has 
 lived to smother every fine characteristic in order to aveid 
 going entirely to the wall. 
 
24 GRET 
 
 There were other and higher courses to have taken 
 doubtless. She might have Hved for and in her children. 
 But she was a sensitive woman, hurt to the heart's core, 
 and she mailed herself over in self-protection. Life was 
 a dismal failure, and she beat a retreat out of it into the 
 domain of mere existence. The strong sense of duty and 
 the religious fervor of her maiden days she gradually 
 came to look upon as the merest folly of youth; and 
 Haeckel, Schopenhauer, and others of that ilk, did — or 
 rather ended — the rest. 
 
 When dinner was over Gret left the room, impatience 
 in her heart, but without any undue show of haste. Once 
 over the edge of the bluff, however, and she flew down the 
 steps, springing into the boat with such force that it was 
 almost half-way across the stream before she had lifted 
 an oar. She ran like a deer into the camp, and was 
 greeted with a chorus of shouts as she entered the dining- 
 room. 
 
 "Beef 's all gone, Gret!" 
 
 Gret looked unconcerned. "Pie is n't," she observed, 
 her eyes wandering down the row of faces in search of 
 Robin's. 
 
 He was down at the other end of the table, looking 
 expectantly toward her ; and taking her half-pie from the 
 meekly-waiting Skookum, Gret went down and climbed 
 into a seat by Robin's side. She took up a fork, and 
 signed to Skookum to bring her a cup of coffee. Then 
 she turned her attention to Robin, who, in view of the 
 fact that he had barely found time to glance in Dimsdale's 
 window, was slightly apprehensive. 
 
 "Well— have a good time ?" 
 
 'Tine," said Robin bravely ; and then, knowing full 
 well what would come next, "there 's a new white dress 
 put up in the window." 
 
 "What kind ?" demanded Gret. 
 
A MYSTERIOUS FIRE 25 
 
 "Oh, awfully pretty," declared Robin, with praise- 
 worthy enthusiasm, seeing that he really did not know 
 whether the article in question were a street-dress or a 
 nightgown; "with frills all round." 
 
 Gret fixed him with a stern eye. **A11 round what?" 
 
 "Oh— the bottom, of course," explained Robin, floun- 
 dering a little at first and recovering with a jerk. 
 
 Gret regarded him with steady scorn for a moment. 
 "Don't believe you know anything about it," she said 
 with conviction. 
 
 "Don't I? Well, wait till you go and see for your- 
 self !" retorted Robin. 
 
 "Of course. That 's what I '11 have to do." And Gret 
 turned her attention to the pie with an air of disgust. 
 
 Robin hastened to make amends, and to show that, 
 though uncommunicative on one point, he was not on all. 
 "Jack Gradel was down at the Harbor," he said quickly. 
 "And what do you think ?" 
 
 Gret paused in the act of lifting a piece of pie to her 
 mouth. Plainly she was listening. 
 
 "He bought Mary Anselm a scarf-pin," concluded 
 Robin impressively. 
 
 "What kind?" 
 
 "Large blue stone, set all round with gold," replied 
 Robin, partially closing his eyes and mentally regarding 
 with admiration the jewel in question. 
 
 "Blue glass," said Gret summarily. 
 
 "No, it was n't glass," replied Robin thoughtfully. "It 
 might have been china. You know. Jack says Mary 's his 
 girl, and he 's going to marry her soon." 
 
 "Humph ! His old Uncle Gradel will see about that," 
 said Gret with a comically worldly-wise air. Jack was 
 an adopted child, and never had boy a sterner foster- 
 parent. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said Robin with feeling. He was 
 
26 GRET 
 
 situated in somewhat similar position himself, only that 
 his uncle really was a blood relative. "His uncle knows 
 that the fellow must marry some day. Suppose my uncle 
 will stop me when I— ?" 
 
 "You bet," responded Gret with more brevity than 
 elegance. 
 
 "Well, you '11 see," said the boy hotly. 
 
 **Oh, yes — if I live long enough," in the peculiarly sum- 
 mary way that was already beginning to be characteristic 
 of her. 
 
 Robin looked sulky ; at the same time in his bright rest- 
 less brown eyes a faint humorous twinkle appeared. He 
 was just thinking if Gret only knew all ! Feeling that 
 Jack, in the possession of a girl, had got considerably 
 ahead of him in that race for manhood which both were 
 running, Robin had seized on the absent and unconscious 
 Gret to fill the vacancy, though in his inmost heart greatly 
 doubting Gret's attitude when he should announce his 
 desire. A heated discussion upon the merits of their 
 respective lady-loves had then ensued, in which Robin, 
 from sheer volubility, had come off victor. 
 
 It was a good thing for what was left of Robin's peace 
 of mind that Gret was no mind-reader. As it was, she 
 finished her pie all unconscious of her new dignity, and 
 then went over to where Jake and Mike Westerfeldt were 
 holding council. Robin had been her companion from 
 infancy; he was always ready to follow where she led — 
 or to be more particular, to risk his neck where she risked 
 hers. At the same time she considered his mind and in- 
 tellect very poor affairs. 
 
 Gret went home early, going straight to her room, as 
 was generally her way. To-night, however, though she 
 went to her room, she did not go to bed. Instead she sat 
 by the window, looking thoughtfully down the roof of 
 the lean-to wash-house. How manv hundred times, in 
 
A MYSTERIOUS FIRE 27 
 
 summer, when the nights were hot and she could not 
 sleep, had she slipped down that roof and off into the 
 whispering mystery of the brush, into the electric hush 
 of the night! 
 
 Breakfast in the Silway household was not until about ^ 
 nine o'clock, and before attending it Gret generally went 
 over to the camp for advice as to the probable events of 
 the day— whether, for example, there was any likelihood 
 of a raft going down, or whether logs were going to be 
 let out of the slough and taken up into the boom. 
 
 This morning, as she approached the camp, she noticed 
 Jake and Oly standing by the door of the cook-house, 
 deep in some discussion or other. As Gret drew near 
 they ceased talking, and stared at the girl. 
 
 Quite unembarrassed, Gret approached, and returned 
 the stare in kind. Finally Oly spoke. 
 
 "Heard the news, Gret?" 
 
 Gret looked slightly scornful. *'How could I have 
 heard any news when I Ve only just this moment come?" 
 
 "Thought perhaps you might have seen somebody on 
 the landing," said Oly, shuffling. "What do you think? 
 Widow McCarty's gulch is all in flames. That onery fel- 
 low won't get no more logs off'n it, sure." And Oly cast 
 a hasty glance at Gret before lowering his eyes to the 
 ground. 
 
 "Serves him right," remarked that young lady unfeel- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Can't think how a fire could start like that," went on 
 Oly blandly. "Course, it 's been a dry spring. But then 
 —fires don't never start this time of the year." 
 
 "Providence, I expect," suggested Gret serenely. 
 
 "Good thing," remarked Jake, speaking for the first 
 time, "that Providence hit upon a time when the wind 
 was blowing off your father's timber." 
 
 "Is n't it?" agreed Gret affably. 
 
28 GRET 
 
 But she returned Jake's gaze with a stony, expression- 
 less stare, and presently that gentleman retired within 
 the cook-house— whether to cover his embarrassment or 
 to laugh, cannot be recorded. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 HOW JACK AND MARY WERE MARRIED 
 
 GRET stood on the bluff one afternoon in spring, 
 watching Robin Start's fourth attempt to hit the 
 floating landing. A warm March had melted the snows, 
 and the little Wishkah was full to overflowing. The 
 logs rose and fell and strained within the boom, and the 
 landings up and down the river had almost reached the 
 limit allowed by the builders. 
 
 The past year had made quite a noticeable change in 
 Gret, though probably those that were with her day by 
 day did not realize it. It had added about two inches to 
 her height, and the same to her length of skirt ; three or 
 four inches more to the already fine breadth of chest, and 
 five or six years to the keen, peculiar mind. 
 
 She watched Robin land with a thoughtful narrowing 
 of the eyes. By the way he approached her up the bank 
 she knew he had either some news to impart which he 
 did not expect would be acceptable, or a request to prefer 
 of whose fulfilment he was in doubt. In any case Gret 
 was prepared to be contrary. She had badly wanted to 
 go up to the Forks herself that morning, but had not 
 been able to ; and she did not believe in hoarding up a dis- 
 appointment or an annoyance. It lost most of its sting 
 when passed on. 
 
 Robin reached the top of the bluff, and threw himself 
 on the mossy sward. "Current 's awfully strong," he re- 
 marked. "Tide 's not turned, either." 
 
 29 
 
30 GRET 
 
 "Yes— just," scanning the water line round the land- 
 ing. "And then the river 's very full, of course." 
 
 "Oh, has it turned, sure ?" queried Robin quickly, rais- 
 ing himself from the leaning attitude. "Oh!" Some 
 thought was evidently held back from expression. Then 
 he looked up over his shoulder at Gret. "Guess what 
 Mary Anselm told Jack last night." 
 
 "How could I?" demanded Gret, disgusted with the 
 magnitude of the suggestion. 
 
 "Well, she told him she was n't going to work out any 
 more. She was just going to marry Dave Voyt, and — 
 and do nothing, you know." 
 
 Gret looked unconvinced. "Has Dave ever asked her?" 
 
 "Oh my, yes. Many a time. But think of marrying a 
 man like that — legs all shapes." 
 
 "Earns four dollars a day, though," observed Gret 
 dryly. 
 
 "Yes — that 's all Mary 's thinking about, of course," 
 said Robin, with all a man's contempt. "But — just think ! 
 She 's been going with Jack for nearly three years now. 
 And then all the presents he 's given her." And quite 
 overcome for the moment by contemplation of the absent 
 Mary's mercenary spirit, Robin looked .with moody, dis- 
 gusted eyes upon the swollen waters of the Wishkah. 
 
 Gret said nothing. She glanced critically at Robin, and 
 then waited for the further communication that she knew 
 was to come. Suddenly Robin's countenance brightened. 
 
 "Well, say, do you know what I told Jack I 'd do if I 
 was he?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why, I told him that if it was me, I *d marry her 
 right away myself. Darned if I 'd let any fellow get 
 ahead of me with my girl." 
 
 "Yes." Gret laughed. "His old Father Gradel would 
 show him." 
 
HOW JACK AND MARY MARRIED 31 
 
 "Well, I think he 's going to do it just the same," said 
 Robin exultantly. "He 's going down to the Harbor to- 
 day, and I 'm going with him. Then I Ve told him we '11 
 just jump on the boat, go up to Monty ville and get the 
 license, and hurry back. Then to-morrow he can per- 
 suade Mary to go down to the Harbor with him — and 
 that 's all there '11 be to it." 
 
 "Oh, no — not much," said Gret mockingly, after a 
 moment's pause. She had taken due note of the point 
 Robin had come to make. He wanted to go down to the 
 Harbor without her. 
 
 "Of course not — really," agreed Robin gleefully, clasp- 
 ing his knees tightly. "The old man will turn them out 
 just as soon as they strike the door." 
 
 "Well?" interrogated Gret scornfully. "What then? 
 Jack will have to go to work in the camp or somewhere, 
 and he '11 get some kind of a shack for Mary to keep 
 house in— like Ruby Laport and Tom Stevens, and Nelly 
 McGrevor and What-'s-his-name. What fun will that 
 be for you?" 
 
 But Robin refused to ' have his gleeful anticipations 
 dashed, and presently departed to find Jack in a state of 
 mild excitement that Gret was far from sharing. She 
 herself strolled up to the camp after a while, and there 
 got into an argument with Jake Connor on a man's moral 
 right to be allowed to make a fool of himself if he 
 chooses. Gret had in mind Jack Gradel when she started 
 the discussion, but long before the end of the argu- 
 ment had forgotten the cause of it; and when at last she 
 went home, the affair had long ago been relegated to 
 a dim place among the insignificant details of the 
 day. 
 
 So slightly did she think of the matter, and so far was 
 it from uppermost in her mind, that she was honestly 
 astonished when on the following morning Robin stopped 
 
32 GRET 
 
 her on the board-walk and excitedly informed her that 
 he had "got it." 
 
 "Eh?" said Gret blankly. 
 
 "Why, the license — he got it," repeated Robin with 
 indignant empressement. 
 
 "Oh!" With an air of indifferent enlightenment. 
 "Well, that 's nothing. Anybody could get that." 
 
 "Oh, no, you can't. He had to say they were both 
 twenty-one," replied Robin promptly. "He 's going to 
 take Mary down to the Harbor to-morrow." 
 
 "Very Hkely she won't have him after all the bother," 
 surmised Gret affably. 
 
 "Oh, yes, she will," confidently. "I don't believe she 's 
 at all stuck on the idea of marrying Dave Voyt really." 
 
 "Well," shrugging her shoulders. "And are you going 
 down to the Harbor again, too ?" 
 
 "Yes; but not with them exactly. Jack knows where 
 to find me when he wants me. Don't you want to come 
 too, Gret?" 
 
 "Nope," decidedly. "Do you mean, to see them get 
 married? That 's nothing to see. Jim Ericsen was judge 
 for a while— no, justice they called him — and he told 
 me how it was done." 
 
 "How was it done?" inquired Robin with interest. 
 
 "Oh, easy. Jim said the first time two people came to 
 him to be married he did n't know exactly what to do. 
 He wondered what you had to say to make people mar- 
 ried. He never had been married himself, and did n't 
 know. So he just said, 'Do you want this man for a hus- 
 band?' 'Yes.' 'And do you want this woman?' 'Yes.' 
 'All right. You 're man and wife. Two dollars.' " 
 
 "I don't believe it 's done as suddenly as that," said 
 Robin indignantly. 
 
 " 'T is, too," declared Gret. "How much longer do 
 you want it ?" 
 
HOW JACK AND MARY MARRIED 33 
 
 "Oh, well, they may do it that way, but it is n't proper," 
 said Robin unconvinced. "Any kind of old man can be 
 justice of the peace if the people get in and elect 
 him— whether he knows how to marry people, and do 
 things, or not. Ericsen did n't know how to do it ; that 's 
 all." 
 
 "Perhaps not. But what 's it matter? You 're mar- 
 ried. That 's the main thing," observed the practical 
 Gret. 
 
 "Oh, yes — of course," allowed Robin unwillingly. 
 "But you don't get married very often, and you don't 
 want it done all kerwhop like that. Getting married is 
 the main fun." 
 
 "Is it ?" " Gret glanced with almost a woman's mockery 
 over the tall, broad-shouldered figure before her. "You 
 seem to know all about it." 
 
 Robin flushed slightly. Like all of his fair coloring, 
 he was quick to anger, and Gret annoyed him a hundred 
 times a day by her apparently light estimate of his years, 
 which were nineteen, and his personality, which he fondly 
 imagined to be a very weighty affair. Gret saw the flush 
 and paused, laughing, as she started on her way up the 
 board-walk again. 
 
 "Go and see them married," she advised. "Then you '11 
 know how to go through your own part when the time 
 comes — if it ever does come." 
 
 Robin looked after her for a moment, an almost spite- 
 ful expression in his eyes ; then he continued on his way 
 down to the landing and the boat. And Gret went on 
 her way, too, in the opposite direction, amused, until 
 something else claimed her wide-open attention. She 
 stopped to investigate a yellow- jackets' nest between the 
 two boards of the walk, which some of the camp boys had 
 burned out the night before. Several of the vicious little 
 insects still flew back and forth from out of the charred 
 
34 GRET 
 
 and blackened entrance to the nest, and Gret saw that 
 the job was not well done. 
 
 Two or three feet below her, on either side of the little 
 trestle-way on which she walked, stretched the marsh, 
 delta-shaped, and lying at the foot of the great cafioh 
 from the sides of which her father was at present reaping 
 golden harvests. Her eyes wandered in great, though 
 perhaps unconscious, love over the dense growth that 
 was already beginning to show green above the treacher- 
 ous and many-hued marsh grasses, and then wandered 
 farther on to the mountain-tops and the jagged line of 
 pines that the clear March air threw up in sharp relief. 
 Many people love nature in so many words — better say, 
 perhaps, they admire her in that way. Others love her 
 from the bottom of their hearts, all unconsciously, as the 
 animals do. And so it was with Gret. It was the breath 
 of her nostrils ; and yet she would have been puzzled to 
 have fittingly described any one of the scenes and aspects 
 that her strange little soul adored. 
 
 A chain of logs, hauled by the noisy donkey-engine, 
 was coming down the skid-road as Gret stepped off the 
 trolley-way, and she gave a short petulant sigh. She had 
 not known the logs were coming down so early or she 
 would have been up on the felling grounds long ago. For 
 Gret dearly loved coming down the skid-road on the 
 logs, a feat of balancing which only an experienced camp 
 hand can perform, and one in which, next to seeing her 
 on a raft, Dick Swinton hated exceedingly to see her in- 
 dulge. And not without some reason, for a fall from the 
 logs while on the skid-road would almost inevitably mean 
 a broken limb. These roads vary in height, some being 
 almost level with the ground; but in Silway^s camp the 
 road from the foot of the canon to the slough was four 
 or five feet high, and when added to this was the height 
 of the descending timber— anywhere from four to six 
 
HOW JACK AND MARY MARRIED 35 
 
 feet — a tumble down to the marsh below was a serious 
 affair. 
 
 Gret sat down on the platform of the donkey and 
 watched the string of logs, like a giant caterpillar, come 
 wobbling and wriggling down the uneven bed of the road. 
 On the last log was the fine, athletic figure of the over- 
 seer, and Gret watched his progress critically. She counted 
 Dick next to herself in the balancing act. Then she sat 
 and watched the work of dumping the logs into the 
 slough, laughing at each tremendous splash just as she 
 had laughed a hundred times before and would, probably, 
 a hundred times again. 
 
 Presently all was done, and for a time the noisy donkey 
 was still. The skid-men stood about for a moment before 
 going back to the slide, and Dick came and seated him- 
 self near Gret. 
 
 *'Got ahead of you this time, Gret," he observed affably. 
 
 "That 's what you did," agreed that young lady with 
 equal amiability. ''What are you going to do now, 
 Dick?" 
 
 "Going back up," surveying her with his head resting 
 on one hand. 
 
 "Another chain coming down ?" 
 
 "Not yet awhile." 
 
 "Could n't say when to save your neck, could you?" 
 mockingly. 
 
 "Could n't to save yours," good-humo redly. 
 
 "Don't care. I '11 be Johnny-on-the-spot when it starts 
 off, just the same," with a confident nod. 
 
 "That so ? Well, pretty soon you '11 have to be a good 
 little girl and stay home." 
 
 "Why ?" interested at once. 
 
 "Because your father 's coming." 
 
 "When ?" quickly, knowing that Dick's information on 
 this point was always second to none. 
 
36 GRET 
 
 "Some time this month." 
 
 "Will he be here long, do you suppose ?" inquired Gret 
 dejectedly. 
 
 "Oh, a week or two, I guess. I Ve got another timber 
 deal on for him. Old Robnike's claim, back of the 
 canon, has some fine timber on it, and he 's willing to 
 sell." 
 
 "Well, why don't you bring the deal through yourself, 
 Dick, just as you did the last?" inquired Gret coaxingly. 
 
 "Too much kicking," replied Dick quietly. "The last 
 deal turned out fine, but at first the boss kicked like a bay 
 steer about it." 
 
 "Pshaw! What 's his kicking amount to?" retorted 
 Gret with fine contempt. 
 
 "Nothing. Only I 'm not taking any." 
 
 Gret picked up a piece of bark and nibbled away in- 
 dustriously at.it, a cloud gathering on her face. Dick 
 glanced at her slyly and smiled. It was not often his 
 turn, but when it did come he was not above teasing her. 
 
 "So you '11 have to be good for two whole weeks — per- 
 haps more," he observed with a great show of satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Gret looked at him ; she narrowed her eyes as if taking 
 the perspective of a dim future, and drew one of the 
 deep breaths that were a trick of hers. 
 
 "Yes," she said quietly, and without any apparent show 
 of irritation. "Yes — I '11 stay at home and fold my hands 
 as I 'm expected to do. But not for long — not for many 
 more times. Mother is getting so that she kicks all the 
 time about my being out and about, and father, when 
 he 's home, makes her worse. What do they suppose I 'm 
 going to do — sit on the doorstep all my life? But don't 
 you forget — there 's a way out of it all, and I 'm going 
 to find it. I never sat down and thought and thought and 
 thought about a thing yet but it came to me." 
 
HOW JACK AND MARY MARRIED 37 
 
 **Of course, there 's a way — a natural one that '11 come 
 itself," said Dick, not at all pleased with the drift of her 
 thoughts. ''You '11 grow up pretty soon now and get 
 married." 
 
 Gret's clean-cut lips curled. "Marry what?" 
 
 "A man, of course." 
 
 The girl glanced at him long and severely. "You 're 
 too smart for every-day use," she remarked witheringly, 
 and then jumped off the platform and walked coolly away. 
 
 Dick watched her out of sight as she walked toward 
 the camp, and then went back up to the grounds, vexed to 
 think he had, merely to gratify a desire to tease, awak- 
 ened in the girl's mind a very threatening train of 
 thought. 
 
 Meanwhile Gret reached the camp, and entered the 
 cook-house. Jake was seated on a box, a chopping-bowl 
 between his knees, and vigorously pounding away. 
 
 "What 's that ?" inquired Gret abruptly. 
 
 "Dry hash — will be," replied Jake, with a covert glance 
 at the somewhat sinister face of the girl. 
 
 Gret smiled. "I bet it '11 be dry!" She sat on the 
 usual corner of the table, and having in mind what, out 
 of a sort of scornful curiosity, she had come intending to 
 say, she looked at Jake intently. "Say, Jake." 
 
 "Yes. What '11 1 say?" 
 
 "Wait till I tell you. Say— what do you think 's going 
 to come of me ?" 
 
 Jake stopped chopping. "How?" 
 
 "Did n't you hear me ? I said what was going to be- 
 come of me ?" 
 
 "Well—" Jake looked perplexed. "In what way ?" 
 
 "Any way. How stupid you are !" impatiently. "Alto- 
 gether, I mean. Suppose I '11 always go on living like this ?" 
 
 "Oh ! Why, of course not," promptly. "You '11 grow 
 up soon." 
 
38 GRET 
 
 "No !" sarcastically. ''You don't say ! What else will 
 I dor 
 
 "Get married, I suppose," went on Jake, cautiously. 
 
 "Marry what?" inquired Gret with the sardonic air of 
 one who has laid a trap and now waits for the victim to 
 fall in. 
 
 "A man, to be sure. What else ?" 
 
 Gret looked positively enraged. She glared at the per- 
 plexed Jake for a second or so, and then, the combined 
 intellect of Silway's camp proving suddenly too much for 
 her equanimity, jumped up and walked suddenly out of 
 the cook-house. 
 
 Jake was altogether staggered at this unlooked-for ef- 
 fect of his words, and wondered vaguely wherein he had 
 blundered. However, he put away a full half of her fav- 
 orite pie, and looked to the evening to solve the problem. 
 But Gret did not put in an appearance at all. For the rest 
 of that day she was seen no more of man. 
 
 Robin came into the camp late in the evening, seeking 
 and apparently very anxious to find her. But, being in- 
 formed by Jake that she was in a "mighty queer cue" 
 when last seen, he abandoned the idea of going up to the 
 house in search of her, and decided to wait for the mor- 
 row with what patience he could. 
 
 When that auspicious morn arrived, Robin arose very 
 early, hurried over his work, went about a little expedi- 
 tion that he had in mind, and then rushed down to the 
 camp to look for Gret. She was not there — had not been 
 seen that morning, Jake informed him, though he had sent 
 a message to her to come and go with him to see some 
 bear-cubs; so Robin started off for the Silway house. 
 Half-way down the trolley-way, however, he met the au- 
 gust little lady sauntering toward him. 
 
 Gret's irritability of the day before had melted. In- 
 deed, her equanimity this morning was almost exasperat- 
 
HOW JACK AND MARY MARRIED 39 
 
 ing— to Robin in his present state of mind, at all 
 events. 
 
 "They Ve done it— they 're married!" he shouted, while 
 yet fully fifty yards distant. 
 
 "They have ?" Gret condescended to be interested, and, 
 what was still more important, allowed her interest to be 
 seen. "What did they do ? Where did they go ?" 
 
 "Went home as large as life," replied Robin with spark- 
 ling eyes. "Jack said the best way was to brave it out, 
 and go home and see if it would work." 
 
 "Well, are they still there, do you suppose ?" 
 
 "I don't know," mysteriously. "I 've been up and 
 looked at the cabin this morning, and—" 
 
 "It 's still there," concluded Gret with a soft laugh. 
 "No signs of a storm— roof on and all complete?" 
 
 Robin nodded, with a grin of delight. "Yes. No 
 trunks standing out in the yard, and no dead bodies." 
 
 "Well, why did n't you tell Jack to come and tell you 
 how it all turned out?" inquired the practical Gret. 
 
 "Did. And he said he would," replied Robin quickly. 
 "But, you bet, if things turn out badly he won't. Or, if 
 he does, he won't tell the truth." 
 
 "Of course not," agreed Gret. "Well!" She half 
 turned to continue on her way up to the camp, then sud- 
 denly thought of something. "Oh, what did Mary have 
 on to be married in ?" 
 
 "She had on that blue-and-white striped waist," an- 
 swered Robin, thankful to have observed that much. 
 
 "What else?" 
 
 "Oh— hat and skirt, and—" vaguely. 
 
 Gret looked scornful, but knew from long experience 
 how useless it was to try to extract anything more definite. 
 Robin had all a man's unobservance of details in a wo- 
 man's dress— any other than Gret, that is. With almost all 
 the articles of her wardrobe he was painfully familiar, 
 
40 GRET 
 
 having taken part in the long struggle previous to the ob- 
 taining of each, from its secret selection down in the Har- 
 bor store, through all the stages of alternate hope and 
 despair, to the final state of doting pride consequent 
 upon possession. So Gret abandoned that particular 
 branch of inquiry, and sought to satisfy her curiosity 
 upon another. 
 
 "Was Mary scared when she was going to be married ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," with a smile of pleased recollection. "Jack 
 had to just pull her into Justice Hendricks's office, and I 
 gave a push behind and she went in suddenly. And then 
 she never looked up the whole time— only kept on saying, 
 *Yes, sir ; yes, sir,' to all he asked her." 
 
 "Well, there was nothing in it— being married— was 
 there?" inquired Gret confidently. 
 
 "No-o, not much. Still, there was more than you said. 
 He read quite a rigmarole out of a book." 
 
 "Oh, I see," disgustedly. "That 's how he did it. 
 Looked in an Inquire-within to see how it was done, I bet. 
 It 's not so long since Hendricks used to work in the mill 
 at Sowasco. I can remember it. What does he know 
 about anything?" 
 
 **Oh, he 's not so bad," remonstrated Robin. "He was 
 foreman at the mill, you know. He 's saved lots of 
 money, too. He 's making quite a street in front of his 
 house." 
 
 "Oh, he 's all right in one way," allowed Gret indiffer- 
 ently. "But it seems so silly for a plain man to marry 
 people." 
 
 "He can't until he 's a justice," responded Robin. 
 "What kind of a man do you want to do the marrying?" 
 
 Gret had no very distinct ideas on the subject really. 
 Her brain held a dim image of some being of colossal dig- 
 nity and ponderous weight of utterance, but a being all 
 too dim to outline in words, and she passed by the inquiry. 
 
HOW JACK AND MARY MARRIED 41 
 
 "Well, I must be going," calmly. 'Jake and I are go- 
 ing up to Shoney's to see the bear-cubs. Go and see if 
 you can't find Jack, and then come and tell me what he 
 says." 
 
 "Where will I find you ?" inquired Robin anxiously, as 
 the girl turned away. 
 
 "If I 'm not in the camp, I '11 be home," over her 
 shoulder. 
 
 She began to walk briskly toward the camp, and Robin 
 strolled with undecided step toward the river. He 
 reached the bend in the trolley-way and looked lazily lip 
 the river past the alders that lined the slough; then he 
 wheeled round and shouted loudly to the retreating Gret. 
 Gret paused impatiently, and then, judging by Robin's ex- 
 cited gesticulations that something of unusual interest 
 was approaching down the river, ran lightly back, catch- 
 ing up with that youth by the landing. A boat containing 
 the — at present — all-important Jack was coming down the 
 stream, and the two watched his approach with impa- 
 tience. On his face, as he got near them, they could trace 
 a sort of subdued elation, and the two cast a quick glance 
 of surprise at one another as they waited. 
 
 "Well ?" they inquired in chorus as the boat grazed the 
 landing. 
 
 "Well, what?" with a provoking assumption of 
 ignorance. 
 
 "Oh, go on," shouted Robin. "Tell us how it all went 
 oflF." 
 
 "Fine ! Could n't be better," airily. "Mary 's up at the 
 cottage doing the work, and I 'm going down to the Har- 
 bor with eggs and to get corn-meal." And Jack watched 
 the astonished faces of his listeners with keen appre- 
 ciation. 
 
 "Then— then your old man did n't kick at all," gasped 
 Robin. 
 
42 GRET 
 
 "Tell us," demanded Gret, giving the side of the boat a 
 kick that nearly sent Jack into the river. 
 
 "All right," laughing. "I '11 tell you just how it all 
 went. You know," with a glance at Robin, "we was late 
 for supper, and when we got to the door the old man was 
 sitting smoking, waiting for me to come and help get sup- 
 per. The minute he looked up," and Jack lifted his hand 
 excitedly, "I knew he guessed what we 'd done. So I just 
 said 'Dad, we got married.' He took the pipe out of his 
 mouth. 'You did?' he says. And he pointed toward my 
 bedroom. 'Well, pack your duds and skip.' I knew it 
 was n't any good saying anything, so I went to my room ; 
 but I gave Mary the wink to try and say something to 
 smooth him. She could n't think of nothing to say, 
 though, and stood looking round the kitchen helpless like. 
 Finally it struck her that it was tough on the old man to 
 have waited for his supper and then get none, and she 
 says, awful gentle, 'Shan't I get your supper, sir, while 
 Jack 's packing?' 'I don't care what you do,' says Dad. 
 So Mary goes to work without a word. There was n't 
 any bread, only stale old stuff, and Mary made hot bis- 
 cuits in no time, and you know she 's a crackerjack at 
 cooking. When supper was all ready she called me, and I 
 came and sat down without a word, too. After supper 
 Mary cleared the table and washed the dishes, all quiet 
 and gentle, and it seemed so nice for me and the old man 
 not to have to pitch in and do it ourselves. And I believe 
 he thought so too, on the quiet. Well, so I just quietly 
 took my pipe and went and sat alongside Dad, like we al- 
 ways do before we go to bed, and he did n't say a word 
 for the longest while. Then he said, quite cool, T see 
 corn-meal 's out again.' And I said, 'Well, I can bring it 
 up with me in the morning. There 's enough eggs to be 
 taken down anyway.' And he did n't say no, I was n't to, 
 or anything about it. And this morning Mary got up and 
 
HOW JACK AND MARY MARRIED 43 
 
 got the breakfast, and I started down here, and the old 
 man went to the potato-field just the same as if we 'd been 
 like this for years. And that 's all there was to it," con- 
 cluded Jack, his eyes sparkling with delight. 
 
 There was a moment's silence, and then Robin spoke. 
 "Gee whiz ! I never thought the old man would take it 
 like that," he said truthfully enough. 
 
 "Me neither," said Jack candidly. "Although I knew 
 there 's never no telling what he '11 do. Always does just 
 what you don't expect him to do." 
 
 "And so now you and Mary will just go on living 
 quietly there with him?" inquired Gret. "I suppose 
 you 're awfully tickled." 
 
 "You bei ! And by and by we '11 get the old man to 
 make the cottage a little larger," said Jack enthusiasti- 
 cally. "I was awful scared at it— getting married, you 
 know. But now I 'm glad I tackled it." And he beamed 
 gratefully on Robin, who did not, however, look exactly 
 as gratified as might be expected. "Well, now I want to 
 get my eggs down before Max does— get a better price. 
 S'long!" 
 
 And bestowing a nod that might have contained the 
 least little bit of condescension upon his two friends, the 
 newly married man rowed off, a new energy in his bear- 
 ing, a new purpose giving power to his stroke. 
 
 Robin glanced scornfully after him. "Humph! Very 
 anxious about the price of eggs all of a sudden. Had n't 
 used to care about anything before, except how long he 
 could stay away." 
 
 Gret burst out laughing. Whatever else had failed, she 
 had had her quota of amusement. Robin's face alone for 
 the last few minutes had been a treat. 
 
 Gret went up to see the cubs, and on the way talked 
 the affair over more fully with the erudite Jake, gaining 
 much light on a hitherto obscure subject. Marriage to 
 
44 GRET 
 
 her had always seemed one of the most idiotic of the 
 many freaks of custom to be observed abroad among- 
 mankind. It was an arrangement, as far as she could 
 see, whereby people quarreled incessantly who would not 
 otherwise have done so, and by which people were kept 
 together when often apparently longing to be apart. But 
 Jake explained the realities that underlay the superficial 
 aspect of the case. He pointed out that marriage was 
 the proper goal of every right-minded woman, providing, 
 as it did, a home, and emancipation from that thraldom 
 of servitude to which, unless particularly fortunate, all 
 unmarried women come ; and showed how the man in- 
 stantly became of certain value to, and a part and parcel 
 of, the community to which he belonged, settling down, 
 acquiring property, and in due time becoming sheriff, 
 mayor, or something of that kind. Jake declared an 
 unmarried man to be a rudderless ship which reached 
 no port, amiably inviting his companion to look upon 
 himself as witness and example to the truth of the saying. 
 There was no mention in Jake's discourse of affection 
 or sentiment as a possible motive for the joining together 
 of any two people, which was just as well. As it was 
 his statements were unreservedly accepted by Gret as 
 logical and conclusive; any leaning toward sentiment 
 might have resulted in the throwing overboard by that 
 eminently practical young person of the whole argument. 
 For though sentiment is commonly accepted as the com- 
 mon heritage of youth, there was very little of it shown 
 in the lives of the dwellers on the Wishkah. Ranchers 
 principally, except for a few loggers' families, and for 
 the most part of Scandinavian nationality, they married 
 young and settled down to their humdrum lives with a 
 stolidity that effectually hid— if there was any to hide— 
 the sentiment that provoked marriage. It seemed for the 
 most part a purely business arrangement, necessary to the 
 
HOW JACK AND MARY MARRIED 45 
 
 securing of a home on the one hand and a housekeeper 
 on the other. Quite frequently, as Gret had observed, 
 these marriages were a sad failure as far as temperament 
 and any attempt at unity and comfort were concerned. 
 So, in the light both of her observations and her rea- 
 soning powers, Gret found Jake's theories good as far as 
 they went. 
 
 Being clear now on all the main points of the marriage 
 question, Gret rather wished to see Mary and compare 
 personal experience with theory. Her wish did not ex- 
 tend to the point of going up to the Gradel cottage ; but 
 when one afternoon she met Mary face to face — or rather 
 boat to boat— on the river, she was quick to row up and 
 greet her. 
 
 Gret had known Mary all her life; and though they 
 were really of very different stations in life, yet neither 
 had the faintest realization of this difference, and were, 
 moreover, among a people that took very little notice of 
 it. Consequently they were perfectly familiar with each 
 other, though never chummy. But this was merely be- 
 cai5se a girl of Mary's temperament never could be any 
 companion for a girl like Gret. 
 
 Gret's greeting was brief and to the point. "Hallo! 
 Well, how do you like it ?" 
 
 "Fine," responded Mary enthusiastically, at no loss on 
 account of the vague nature of Gret's inquiry. "Oh, 
 Gret, it 's awful fun being married. You should do it." 
 
 Gret passed the advice over without comment, and 
 waited for further revelations.' 
 
 "You know," went on the satisfied Mary, "there 's only 
 just a bit of work in that cottage, and nobody to tell me 
 how it ought to be done, and when I should get through, 
 and all that. And then I can get plenty of money, too." 
 
 "How ?" inquired Gret instantly. 
 
 "Why, they give me money to go down and get things 
 
46 GRET 
 
 for the house — for cooking and all that," explained 
 Mary. 
 
 "Well, but you have to get them— the things," de- 
 murred Gret, only half seeing the point. 
 
 "Oh, of course," airily ; ''but not all, I say. I can get 
 along with half of what they used to cook up and waste." 
 Mary leaned across the boat and spoke confidentially. 
 "I 've very nearly got enough already to get that ring out 
 of the store — you know, the circle with the opal stones." 
 
 Gret nodded. 
 
 "Is old Daddie Gradel nice to you ?" she inquired after 
 a moment. 
 
 "Just as lovely as he can be," answered Mary. "You 
 know, he don't talk very much to anybody, but he 's all 
 right to me just the same. Never kicks about anything. 
 I can go out when I like, and come in when I get ready, so 
 long 's meals are on time. That 's all I need to bother my 
 head about." 
 
 Gret nodded thoughtfully, her eyes on Mary's face. 
 It would have been no good that young lady's giving a 
 long tale of victory if her face had in any way belied her 
 words. But it did not. Her eyes were bright and en- 
 thusiastic, and her whole demeanor full of hope and satis- 
 faction, and Gret knew that she was shamming nothing, 
 hiding nothing. 
 
 Presently, after a few minutes more of chatter, Mary 
 made to row on. "Else I '11 be late to get supper," she 
 explained. 
 
 "Then you 'd soon see whether there was any one to tell 
 you about anything or not," observed Gret with slight 
 sarcasm. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," lightly. "Only it 's no good mak- 
 ing the old man mad at the start." And Mary dipped 
 oars and went on her way up the stream again. 
 
 Gret rowed on her way also, pondering many things 
 
HOW JACK AND MARY MARRIED 47 
 
 as she went. Evidently Mary had done a pretty good 
 thing for herself, and perhaps Dick and Jake had not 
 been quite such fools when they said she would grow up 
 some day and marry — a man. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 GRET REBELS 
 
 MR. SILWAY came down, as Dick Swinton had pre- 
 dicted, and reposed with more than usual discom- 
 fort within the bosom of his family. Coming from the 
 ordered regularity of a first-class hotel, and from the bus- 
 tle and civilization of a big city, he was struck afresh and 
 forcibly with the air of stagnation and neglect pervading 
 the quiet house on the bluff that he dignified by the name 
 of home. Not dreaming, of course, of taking the blame, 
 or any share of it, for this state of affairs, he promptly 
 bestowed it upon his wife. Or rather, he attempted to be- 
 stow it, opening the campaign with Gret. 
 
 That young lady had received a command from her 
 mother to stay at home during her father's visit, as there 
 would inevitably be quite sufficient unpleasantness within 
 that time without any contributions on her part. And re- 
 ceiving it, she had quite intended to obey. But somehow 
 or other, after the first three days, it had seemed a mor- 
 ally impossible undertaking ; never had so many entranc- 
 ing projects presented themselves, and never had the 
 camp seemed so absorbingly dear. And it happened sev- 
 eral times that, slipping hastily and secretly back from va- 
 rious expeditions, Gret ran into her father without being 
 able to give an altogether satisfactory account of her ab- 
 sence. Walter Silway, observing the migratory habits of 
 his elder daughter, decided that something must be done 
 at once— by some one else. 
 
 48 
 
GRET REBELS 49 
 
 "Why do you let that girl run all over the place as she 
 does ?" he demanded of his wife one day. His tone was 
 magisterial, and his manner righteous. He had just been 
 endeavoring to extract from Gret an account of her do- 
 ings since the morning, when he last remembered to have 
 seen her, discovering with rising irritation that he might 
 just as well try to extract information from one of his 
 logs. 
 
 Mrs. Silway put down her book, placing it carefully 
 face downward on her knee so as to readily find her place 
 again on resuming it. "What did you say ? I was hardly 
 listening." 
 
 Mr. Silway felt that the magisterial effect was marred, 
 and was further irritated. 
 
 "Can't you find duties for Gret to do about the house, 
 instead of having her romping over the camps as she 
 does?" 
 
 "Oh, no; there 's nothing for her to do about the 
 house," replied Mrs. Silway with unconcern. "Lizzie 
 attends to all that sort of thing perfectly." 
 
 "Well, she ought to have something to do," retorted Sil- 
 way, his sentences, as was usual when his temper began 
 to rise, ending in a high falsetto. "It 's preposterous the 
 way she 's growing up." 
 
 "Indeed, I quite agree with you," assented Mrs. Silway 
 serenely. "That 's why I 'm so amazed that you don't 
 send her to some good school. She ought to have gone 
 away at least two years ago." 
 
 "Away— send her away to school !" Silway glared at 
 his unmoved wife. "What stuff you talk! That would 
 cost hundreds of dollars a year. How do you suppose I 
 could afford that as business is at present ?" 
 
 "Easily. By staying at home a little more, or at all 
 events by staying at a moderate-priced hotel instead of 
 the swellest in the city, and by running with a set of men 
 4 
 
50 GRET 
 
 nearer your own station in life instead of a set of men — 
 single men— whose incomes go into the tens of thou- 
 sands," explained Mrs. Silway coolly. 
 
 Walter Silway sat and stared in silence for a moment, 
 wrath mingled with amaze. He had never credited his 
 bookish wife with any very clear business views, or any 
 particularly lucid ideas as to his income and its possibili- 
 ties. Moreover, he had certainly never dreamed but 
 that his artistic account of the strenuous business life he 
 was always supposed to lead had been accepted without 
 the faintest questioning. He was decidedly staggered, 
 and for a wonder did not think of arguing or denying. It 
 hardly seemed of use in the face of the undisturbed wo- 
 man before him, with her infinite quiet contempt. So, in- 
 stead of replying to her obnoxious statement of possibil- 
 ities, he branched off in another direction. 
 
 "It 's ridiculous to send girls to expensive colleges, un- 
 less—unless you want them to follow some profession or 
 to teach," he observed with an air of authority. "You 
 could educate them quite sufficiently yourself at home. 
 You have a fine education. They won't need any more 
 than you have." 
 
 "That is an open question," replied Mrs. Silway evenly. 
 "However, we won't argue the point. I don't intend to 
 try. It 's not necessary. You 're well able to do some- 
 thing for Gret. I 'vc done my share; now do yours. I 
 don't suppose you will ; and I 'm aware that your neglect 
 of duty will not condone mine. But when the reckoning 
 comes, I 'm willing to take my share of the punishment — 
 knowing that you will get yours." And for a moment the 
 feelings long since smothered and laid away in her soul 
 awoke and gleamed from out the cold, serene eyes. 
 
 Her husband stared across at her again, startled once 
 more in spite of himself. It was so rarely now that he 
 could rouse her to any extent, nag though he might, and 
 
CxRET REBELS 51 
 
 frequently did, for an hour at a time. He particularly dis- 
 liked the exhibition of feeling when made, however, and 
 when he began again it was in a wailing, reproachful fal- 
 setto. 
 
 "There you are, you see. That 's the spirit you 're in- 
 fusing into these girls. No wonder they 're obstinate and 
 wild!" 
 
 But Mrs. Silway had taken up her book again; and 
 though her lord and master discoursed at full length for 
 twenty minutes or more, she heard him not, or, if she did, 
 gave no sign. 
 
 Though when speaking of his offspring Silway always 
 referred to them in plural terms, in reality he had no mis- 
 givings whatever concerning Eva. That gentle, dreamy- 
 eyed maiden was generally to be seen either reading under 
 the big fir, petting the irascible jackdaw, or lying on the 
 bluff gazing up and down the river in solitary content. 
 Plainly she was never going to give any trouble. Of 
 course, Gret, so much the stronger personality, could have 
 wielded unbounded influence over the younger girl had 
 she chosen; but Mr. Silway was pleased to observe that 
 she did not seem to so choose. Eva adored her sister, but 
 her adoration took the form of hanging like one fascin- 
 ated about that enterprising individual when at home ; she 
 never attempted to follow her or share in any of her ex- 
 ploits. For one thing, Eva was physically incapable of 
 sharing to any great extent in Gret's life. Though not 
 exactly delicate, she was cast in a rather fragile mold, 
 and could not ever hope to emulate the lithe and tireless 
 Gret. And then again her inclinations did not lie in any- 
 thing like the same directions ; her temperament was lan- 
 guid, and she was almost painfully shy. To go about 
 among the men as Gret did would have been torture to 
 her. But she dearly loved Gret for all that, considering 
 her the very flower of maidenly perfection. However, at 
 
52 GRET 
 
 present Mr. Silway was not borrowing trouble beyond 
 the fact that Gret was flying helter-skelter over the coun- 
 try, holding his name up to the public notice and himself 
 as a father up to possible criticism. 
 
 He tried calling Gret to book in the matter, but with 
 no perceptible success. Rising unexpectedly early one 
 morning, he encountered that young woman slipping 
 home from a visit to the camp. 
 
 "Where have you been?" he demanded, bringing the 
 girl to a standstill before him. 
 
 "Up to the camp," replied Gret laconically. She was 
 tired of prevaricating and evading, and decided to see 
 what straightforward confession would produce. 
 
 "What have you been doing there? Don't you know 
 the camp 's no place for a girl your age?" inquired Mr. 
 Silway sternly. 
 
 Gret made no reply. She considered this statement of 
 her father's as purely a matter of opinion. 
 
 "It 's terrible the way your mother allows you to run 
 wild," he went on. "Why don't you have more respect 
 for yourself, and behave like other young ladies?" 
 
 "How do they behave?" inquired Gret with strictly 
 impartial interest, wondering at the same time, with a 
 sort of grim humor, whether she could justly lay claim to 
 the title of young lady. 
 
 "They stay at home and conduct themselves with dig- 
 nity," said her father impressively. 
 
 Gret burst out laughing. She could not help it. "Is 
 that all they do all their lives ?" she asked. 
 
 And then the laugh died away, and she watched curi- 
 ously for her father's answer. Perhaps he, too, would 
 tell her that she would one day grow up and marry — a 
 man. But he did not. He frowned at the display of 
 levity, coming as it did on the top of so much impressive- 
 ness on his part. 
 
GRET REBELS 53 
 
 "They find duties round their homes," he said then, 
 rather at a loss himself to provide a suitable program on 
 such short notice. "And they spend a portion of their 
 time trying to improve themselves/' 
 
 "How do they do that ?" demanded Gret, not to be put 
 off with vague explanations. "How would I do it?" 
 
 "Read and study," said Mr. Silway, who did not, by 
 the way, read one book a year himself, intrusting the 
 broadening of his mind solely to the newspapers. "There 
 is no better education for the man than reading." 
 
 "No sense in reading what others imagine people do- 
 ing, when you can go out and see for yourself what they 
 do do," observed Gret scornfully. 
 
 "You need not take up fiction if it does not appeal to 
 you," said her father readily. "There are histories, books 
 of travel — in fact, books of instruction on any subject one 
 might like to take up." 
 
 "Can't understand all those unless you 've been taught," 
 responded Gret, with more or less truth. "And there 's 
 nothing for me to do about the house, anyway. Lizzie 
 does it all, and she would not let me bother round her. 
 What should I do with myself all the days and weeks 
 and months?" indignation creeping into her voice. "Sit 
 with my hands folded ?" 
 
 "Other girls find means of employing themselves 
 quietly at home, and so can you," replied her father 
 evasively. "At all events, understand me once for all : 
 I won't have you flying all over the woods and camps." 
 
 Gret made no reply, but she looked her father in the 
 eyes for a moment. Her own eyes widened with the 
 flame of an indomitable spirit, and she drew one of those 
 deep breaths that actually seemed to swell her whole 
 inches in height and breadth. Then she turned and 
 walked away, leaving Mr. Silway divided between anger 
 and amazement. It had suddenly been revealed to him 
 
54 GRET 
 
 that in the future — and the very near future at that — 
 unless something lucky intervened, Gret would be a very 
 uncomfortable quantity to deal with. 
 
 As for Gret, she walked into the house, in a rage. She 
 was not sufficiently acquainted with the life of the aver- 
 age girl of her own age to know wherein lay the differ- 
 ence between that life and hers; neither could she quite 
 discern where the discrepancy came in between what was 
 right and possible under existing circumstances and what 
 was demanded of her, but a strong sense of injustice was 
 upon her. 
 
 She went up to her own little room, and stood at the 
 window for a few minutes, looking out, but seeing noth- 
 ing that was before her. Suddenly, with a look of defi- 
 ance on her face, she walked straight out of the house 
 and down to the river, jumped into her boat and began 
 to row upward. 
 
 The tide was against her, but Gret was rather pleased 
 than otherwise. The little river was influenced quite 
 strongly by the tides, and pulling against them was no 
 mean task ; but Gret wanted something upon which to 
 expend her rage, and sent the boat up-stream in vicious 
 jerks. Presently she came in front of the Orchards, the 
 pleasant and fertile domains of old Start, Robin's uncle. 
 For twenty years the old man had stumped and graded 
 and planted, and now his place was the one oasis of green 
 sward and full orchards among all the surrounding sea 
 of brush and sheer wild growth. Robin was standing on 
 the pretty vine-clad porch of the house, and Gret coolly 
 turned her boat toward the landing. 
 
 "Where are you going ?" he demanded, rushing breath- 
 lessly down to meet her. 
 
 ''Up to Spirit Lake." 
 
 Robin stared. "Where 's your father ?" he inquired. 
 
 "Home." 
 
GRET REBELS 55 
 
 Glancing at the half -sullen shadow on the girl's face, 
 Robin divined that there had been friction at home. He 
 knew Gret too well, however, to ask questions. So he 
 stepped into the boat without any remark, and, without 
 a word also Gret rowed off round the bend. 
 
 "Going up by the trail ?" inquired Robin, as they tied up 
 the boat. 
 
 "Nope," said Gret shortly, and Robin groaned in 
 spirit. 
 
 The climb up the mountains to the lofty perch beneath 
 the first White Sister was about the stiff est piece of wood- 
 climbing to be found. There was a trail, hard for the 
 ignorant to discern, that wound upward and somewhat 
 softened the rigors of the climb, but in her sterner moods 
 Gret would have none of it. 
 
 Robin followed her upward, face deep in seas of salal, 
 and brushing savagely through dense thickets of salmon 
 and huckleberry, creeping along fallen timber and wading 
 cautiously through swampy groves of alder, in much 
 secret irritation. He preferred the easier walks of life, 
 yet it never once occurred to him to wish he had not 
 come. As long as he and she had known each other — 
 which comprised all the conscious years of Gret's life — 
 he had followed her in all her undertakings, and he could 
 not rest knowing she was upon any notable expedition 
 of which he was not a part. 
 
 The greatest trials and the worst climbs, however, 
 come to an end sometime, and in an hour or two they 
 looked on the lake's serene face with the shadow of the 
 White Sister thrown across it. Gret sighed contentedly, 
 and sat down on one of the jagged rocks that lined the 
 banks. She loved the lake, and knew its every aspect. 
 How many times, obeying the marvelous enchantment of 
 summer nights, had she slipped down the lean-to roof and 
 come up that long trail through the whispering brush 
 
56 GRET 
 
 and forest, to see the night dreaming" on the Spirit's face, 
 and watch the dawn awaken in its opaHne heart. 
 
 There was only one drawback to Spirit Lake in Gret's 
 eyes. Others knew of it beside herself. Gret was a 
 miser in lakes. As children she and Robin had exulted in 
 discovering new lakes among the hills. Of course, a 
 binding feature of the contract was that each should 
 disclose to the other the result of the various explo rings, 
 and as far as Robin was concerned the tacit agreement 
 was doubtless kept, for the- sole aim of his search was to 
 exhibit the result of his labors to Gret. But Gret her- 
 self was less scrupulous. There were one or two ex- 
 quisite little lakes that she never could bring herself to 
 reveal ; she hoarded them as a woman might hoard cov- 
 eted pearls. She loved to steal away and sit on their 
 brims and gloat over the fact that probably none but she 
 had ever looked on their gemlike faces. But Spirit Lake 
 was known to many, though few cared to climb to it ; and 
 so Gret felt no particular proprietorship in it. 
 
 She sat on the rock, and looked into the bright blue- 
 green water meditatively. Robin sat near, kicking his 
 shoes out in his impatience, but wisely saying nothing; 
 and presently, placated by his long and deferential silence, 
 Gret opened the conversation in her usual direct way : 
 
 "I 'm going to alter things some way, Rob." 
 
 "Yes?" said Robin dutifully. 
 
 "Yes." Her lip curled in a scornful smile. "What do 
 you think ? Father says I ought to stay at home all the 
 time, and not go out and about as I do. Says I ought to 
 find duties. Find them! Just to be doing something, 
 and not because what I did would be any good. Nice 
 way of spending one's life that would be, would n't 
 it?" 
 
 "Of course— fool idea," sympathized Robin. 
 
 "Yes. Well, I 'm not going to do it !" Gret turned her 
 
GRET REBELS 57 
 
 head toward her companion. 'What would you do if 
 you were me ?" she inquired confidentially. 
 
 Robin ran his hand riotously through the hair that 
 barely escaped being gingery, while the dark-brown 
 eyes that were in curious contrast wandered restlessly 
 over the landscape. It was a great honor, of course, to 
 be invited to give advice to Gret, but it was also a burden 
 and an anxiety. For in case the advice when tendered 
 should not find favor in her eyes, the sequel was scorn 
 and discomfort. However, Rohin had but one thing to 
 say in this instance, and it was useless wasting time con- 
 sidering how it would be taken. 
 
 "I don't see what else you could do but get married — 
 like Mary and Jack did." 
 
 A quick mind-picture of Mary and the old man Gradel, 
 Jack and the cottage, passed before Gret's eyes, and in- 
 sensibly her lip curled. Still, she took no verbal exception 
 to Robin's advice. Substantially it was the same as 
 everybody else's, and she supposed there must be some- 
 thing in it. Evidently marriage was the only avenue 
 open to the maiden who aspired to any degree of comfort, 
 freedom and independence. There were difficulties, 
 though. 
 
 "Who could I marry?" she asked, half amused and 
 pleasantly regardless of grammar. 
 
 Robin did not answer this question, but he looked sulky. 
 In all his matrimonial dreams, which the Gradel affair had 
 made many and frequent, he never failed to install Gret as 
 heroine. Not that there was much affection lost on either 
 side beyond just what came of long association; but she 
 was the only girl he knew of anything like his own age 
 and standing, and then he had followed her around so 
 much that he could not imagine any other state of affairs. 
 Moreover, the ordeal of presenting any other girl as his 
 wfie for her inspection was too great to be thought of. 
 
S8 GRET 
 
 No, it was certainly Gret or nothing, and he was surprised 
 that a like view had not occurred to her. 
 
 He looked at her covertly and reflectively as she sat 
 studying the Spirit's placid waters. She was in such 
 mood as climaxes are made of, and he felt it; and with all 
 a youth's love of crises and — what is generally synony- 
 mous—change, he longed to employ that mood to the best 
 advantage. But what he lacked in intuition he made up in 
 knowledge, not of Gret's ways but the uncertainty of 
 them. So he, too, sat gazing thoughtfully before him, 
 afraid to break in on her mood with the cold reason of 
 words. 
 
 He wondered when Gret would deign to give some 
 clue as to the result, or at all events the trend, of her de- 
 liberations, and to that end sat waiting with what patience 
 he could. When, however, she did at last speak he was 
 knocked summarily off the heights of conjecture. 
 
 "I 'm hungry. Which do you suppose is the nearest 
 camp, Rob?" 
 
 "None," responded Robin a trifle sulkily. "Casey's 
 supply base is the nearest." 
 
 "Oh, no!" confidently; "that 's a good five miles up. 
 Murray's camp is nearer than that— down, too." 
 
 "Be lots too late for lunch," predicted Robin grimly. 
 
 "That does n't matter," answered Gret cheerfully. 
 "Mrs. Miner cooks there, and she '11 let us go into the 
 cook-house and find what we can. Sure to be pies left 
 over. Come on !" And jumping up, she threw her arms 
 above her head in an animal-like stretching movement, 
 calling into life and attention again the splendid lithe 
 body. 
 
 Robin, too, rose, still somewhat sulky. He felt that the 
 golden hour of opportunity was passing, and he knew not 
 how to lay hold of it. Who could have guessed that Gret 
 would go off at a tangent like that ? 
 
GRET REBELS 59 
 
 Down at Murray's camp, with a plentiful supply of cold 
 beef, pie and coffee before her, and Mrs. Miner chatter- 
 ing busily near, Gret was apparently herself again. But 
 when, after spending an hour or two at the camp, they 
 started down toward home, Robin was pleased to see the 
 brooding cloud which was the outward and visible sign 
 of an inward discontent settle back on his companion's 
 brow. Several times, as they waded and plunged down 
 to the river, Robin's lips parted to disclose a project that 
 had lingered in his mind for weeks now, and as many times 
 they closed again irresolutely. He feared to cast his 
 heart's ambition into the uncertain balance of her mood. 
 
 "Where are you going— home?" he inquired, as they 
 climbed and slid down the treacherous yielding bank into 
 the boat. 
 
 "No; to the camp for dinner," responded Gret lacon- 
 ically. 
 
 "Whistle 's gone," observed Robin, searching his com- 
 panion's face with narrow, reflective eyes. 
 
 "They won't be half through dinner," said Gret, pulling 
 down stream with strokes whose power lost impressive- 
 ness because of the ease with which they were taken. 
 They reached the landing with a rush, tied up the boat, 
 and raced up the board-way across the marsh like two 
 Indians. 
 
 The men were all seated at dinner in the long barn- 
 like shed. As Gret and Robin appeared on the scene there 
 was a slight lull in what seemed to be an animated con- 
 versation, and Oly jumped up to give Gret her accus- 
 tomed seat on Dick's right, taking his own usual place 
 opposite her. Joe, the Dago flunkey, who had taken the 
 place of the departed Skookum of cherished memory, 
 appeared in the doorway with a grin. Gret patted the 
 space of board in front of her as intimation of her de- 
 sires, and Joe disappeared, still grinning. 
 
6o GRET 
 
 Dick, after a critical side-glance at the girl's face, went 
 on with the interrupted conversation. **Oh, I guess 
 they '11 come out all right/' 
 
 "How can they?" demanded Cassidy, foreman barker. 
 "They don't begin to know the first thing about running 
 a shingle-mill. I heard 'em talking to the boss myself." 
 
 "Maybe they '11 get a good foreman," said Dick undis- 
 turbed. "He won't see 'em done up altogether." 
 
 "What 's that ?" inquired Gret, interested at once. 
 
 "Two men were here talking to the boss about putting 
 up a shingle-mill," explained Cassidy benevolently. 
 
 "Yes, and one of them was a Britisher," chimed in Oly. 
 "You should just have heard him, Gret. *Haw-Haw'!" 
 And Oly mimicked an English accent to a nicety. 
 
 Gret looked thoughtfully at him for a moment, and 
 then broke into a laugh. "Where 's he going to build it?" 
 she asked. "Right here near the camp ?" 
 
 "On the marsh— a little below the landing," said Cas- 
 sidy. 
 
 "And honestly, Gret," went on Oly, his whole face 
 beaming with appreciation of the fun of the thing. "The 
 Britisher don't know a shingle-mill from a pump. He 
 keeps saying, 'Well, I carnt see— Haw !' " 
 
 Gret laughed, her wicked, bubbling laugh. "What 
 does n't he understand ?" 
 
 "He don't understand nothing," declared Oly with un- 
 grammatical impressiveness. "I '11 bet you he could n't 
 tell what a shingle was for to save his neck." 
 
 "I guess the Britisher puts up most of the money, and 
 the other fellow puts up the savvey," surmised Cassidy. 
 
 "Humph. He gets off cheap, then," said Oly scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 "Oh, well, let them put up the mill if they want to," 
 said Dick indulgently. "Even if they can't run it, it '11 be 
 there for somebody else to." 
 
GRET REBELS 6i 
 
 "Sure," allowed Oly magnanimously. 
 
 This brought the discussion to a temporary close, and 
 Dick turned his attention to Gret. "Father 's been look- 
 ing for you," he informed her. 
 
 "That so? Did n't look far enough, did he?" re- 
 sponded Gret dryly. 
 
 "Suppose not. Where were you?" 
 
 "Up at Spirit Lake," with a faint smile of satisfaction. 
 
 Dick lifted his eyebrows. "Up there ? What made you 
 take a notion to go up there ?" 
 
 "Mad," explained Gret briefly. 
 
 "Oh ! Well, if I was you I 'd go home and go right to 
 bed, and not fuss with him," advised Dick gravely. 
 
 "Yes — perhaps I will," assented Gret grudgingly. 
 
 "Because he was looking all over for you," went on 
 Dick; "and if he says nothing this time, don't take any 
 more chances, Gret. Stay home while your father 's 
 down." 
 
 "I won't!" responded Gret in a soft voice, but with 
 flaring eyes. "There 's no sense in it— no sense at all— 
 telling a person to sit about the house all day !" And she 
 attacked the piece of pie in front of her with such smoth- 
 ered rage that the well-meaning Dick was at a loss what 
 to say or leave unsaid. 
 
 "Well, he 's only home now and again," he observed 
 soothingly. 
 
 "Yes. But if they put up the shingle-mill, he 's going 
 to be home quite often," put in the accommodating Oly. 
 
 "Don't see what difference that '11 make to him," said 
 Dick gruffly. 
 
 "More company, perhaps. Anyway, that 's what he 
 told those men," insisted Oly. 
 
 Gret finished her pie in silence, rose, and without a 
 word to any one walked out of the room and away to- 
 ward the skid-road. 
 
62 GRET 
 
 "Never said 'Good night/ 'Kiss my foot/ or anything/' 
 said Oly in a complaining murmur. 
 
 Robin followed Gret out quickly and quietly, coming 
 up with her as she reached the skid-road. But he said 
 nothing until she stepped out of the boat upon her own 
 landing, and then, as she turned to mount the bluff-steps, 
 he asked quietly : 
 
 "Come down to the Harbor to-morrow, Gret?" He 
 waited a second. "Perhaps the old man would catch you, 
 though." 
 
 This last was a deft poke at the still hot embers of 
 Gret's resentment. Her lips went together instantly as 
 she answered, "Don^t care if he does. What time?" 
 
 Robin considered a moment. And Gret, considering 
 the tides also, failed for once to notice that he avoided 
 her gaze, and that there was a sort of flushed, conscious 
 look on his face. 
 
 "Tide 's well turned out by seven, has n't it?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 Gret nodded. 
 
 "Seven, then— eh?" 
 
 "All right." And Gret turned once more, and went up 
 the steep path, a look of added determination on her face. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE 
 
 VERY early in the sweet, chill May morning Gret 
 rose and made a full-dress toilette. The hair that 
 was usually tied away in any style, she wound in smooth 
 coils at the back of her head, pinning on the straw sailor 
 which, to her everlasting disgust, was all she had in the 
 way of a dress hat. Her longest skirt and her best waist, 
 which was a pink cotton, completed her holiday attire. 
 
 Yet the extreme simplicity, almost poverty, of the 
 girl's attire, could not hide the fine, full-chested figure, 
 to which every velvety, obedient muscle lent its own 
 divinely appointed line of grace. And Robin, glancing 
 up at her from the boat wherein he sat waiting, noted this 
 effect with especial approval. He noted, too, with ad- 
 ditional satisfaction, that Gret looked quite a woman. 
 And so she did. For the next five or ten years she would 
 alter very little. 
 
 She stepped into the boat, and they rowed quietly off. 
 "They 're all asleep in the house yet," she observed with 
 satisfaction. And Robin smiled absently in reply. 
 
 Both young people seemed to be somewhat preoccupied 
 as they rowed down toward the Harbor. Otherwise Gret 
 would certainly have noticed that the usually lazy, jocular 
 Robin was rowing in a steady purposeful way marvelous 
 for him ; and would, moreover, have been struck with the 
 fact that he did not once during the whole length of the 
 journey demand that she take a turn at the oars. 
 
 63 
 
64 GRET 
 
 In a surprisingly short time they seemed to reach the 
 little landing just outside the town, where it was custom- 
 ary for loggers and ranchers coming down the river to 
 tie up their boats. Gret got out, and began to walk in a 
 leisurely way toward the one real street of the place, 
 leaving Robin to tie up and follow. 
 
 He came hurrying after her. 
 
 "Come with me, Gret," said Robin disjointedly, "I want 
 to do — to — to show you something." 
 
 Gret was astounded and hurried after him. in great 
 curiosity. It was so surprising, to begin with, for Robin 
 to have a project all his own. 
 
 They hurried up the street, and then Robin led the way 
 down the plank-walk and on to the little wharf against 
 which the tiny Montyville steamer lay. She was whist- 
 ling her coming departure, and the mate stood at the 
 gang-plank to hasten on intending passengers. 
 
 Gret turned and looked questioningly at her companion, 
 and he motioned her to go on board. 
 
 "On board ?" she gasped incredulously. 
 
 "Yes." Nervously. "Go on, Gret. I '11 tell you all 
 about it on board. See— others are coming behind us, 
 and you are stopping up the gang-way.". 
 
 Thus adjured, Gret walked on board, coolly enough, 
 crossed the little deck in a leisurely way, backed herself 
 against the poop taffrail, and turned on Robin, who was 
 following just behind. 
 
 "What are you going to Montyville for?" she de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Don't you like the trip ?" inquired Robin evasively. 
 
 "Oh, yes, of course I do," impatiently; "but you 're 
 not taking me for that. What are you going for?" 
 
 "Gret, don't be angry, now," began Robin, scrubbing 
 the deck assiduously with the sole of his shoe. "I knew 
 if I told you about it before, you 'd get thinking it over 
 
A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE 65 
 
 all ways, and perhaps would n't do it. But you know you 
 were saying that you were going to get away from home 
 and be your own boss, and there 's only one way you can 
 do that." He stopped, scanning her stolid face anxiously. 
 In spite of its stolidity, though, enlightenment was dawn- 
 ing in her eyes. "And so," he went on, coloring furiously, 
 **I thought — " He stopped again. 
 
 ''You thought we 'd go to Monty ville and be married," 
 finished the girl coolly. 
 
 "Yes. I thought we 'd get the license anyway. Will 
 you, Gret? Just think what a lovely drop you 'd have 
 on your father." 
 
 Gret made no reply, but stood staring in half-amused 
 amazement at her companion. To think that he had actu- 
 ally been able to evolve such a plan in his own mind. It was 
 altogether unprecedented, and Gret was divided between 
 amazement and a sort of indignation at such unwonted 
 temerity. She felt like a woman* who has been leading a 
 baby round by the hand under the impression that it could 
 not stand, only to see it walk off when occasion presented. 
 She did not for the moment consider the proposition made 
 to her ; but presently she turned her face toward the river, 
 and, while the boat steamed down the Wishkah, reached 
 the confluence, and turned up the more important Ne- 
 canum, she divided her attention between the scenery and 
 the matter in hand. 
 
 Gret was never afraid, and never hesitated, immediately 
 to undertake anything that appealed either to her inclina- 
 tion or her sense of present advisability. And that for 
 the simple reason that she always contrived afterward to 
 arrange the consequences pretty much to suit herself. 
 Three fourths of the people in this strange, deluded world 
 are handled by circumstances ; the remaining fourth 
 handle them. Either course is open to all — a fact which 
 is realized by amazingly few. Gret was one of those 
 
66 GRET 
 
 born with a strong conviction that circumstances, and 
 combinations of circumstances, were made for individual 
 arrangement according to the needs and desires of the 
 moment; therefore she stood at all times unabashed in 
 the face of things. Therefore, too, she considered now 
 merely the present fitness of the scheme in question. If 
 it answered for the present, she would see to it that it 
 answered for the future. Robin's home, and of course 
 his future property, was sufficiently ahead of Mary Gra- 
 del's venture to be practicable. After deliberation on most 
 points it seemed that it was, on the whole, about as good 
 a solution of present difficulties as could be evolved out 
 of materials to hand. 
 
 Gret was too entirely ignorant of marriage and its true 
 significance to consider it from any but the most super- 
 ficial standpoint. Really, it can hardly be said that she 
 considered it from any but a purely financial one. Of 
 the strong woman instincts, the keen sense of the digni- 
 fied and the fit, that was within her she never dreamed. 
 Had any one come up to her just then and, taking her 
 aside, explained the inner mysteries of wifehood, she 
 would have turned from the whole project with loathing. 
 As it was, she concluded to accept the proposition for 
 its present worth. 
 
 It was characteristic of her that when they walked off 
 the boat at Montyville, she made no remark as to the 
 result of her deliberations, but merely turned to her com- 
 panion with a matter-of-fact question : *'What are you 
 going to do first ?" 
 
 "Why, I thought," began Robin, brightening up im- 
 mediately, "that if you 'd wait here a little while, I 'd go 
 and get that fellow that helped me and Jack get his 
 license, and go and get it myself — ^the license, I mean. 
 And say, Gret, I was thinking — don't you think, after 
 I Ve got it, it would be a good idea to be married right 
 
A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE 67 
 
 away here, where nobody knows us? We don't want a 
 lot of guys watching us up the street and laughing, as 
 they did to Jack." 
 
 "I should say not !" frowning at the mere idea. "Yes — 
 go and get it, and don't be long. I '11 wait here," turning 
 to the busy little water-front with an air of content. 
 
 Robin hastened off immediately, and Gret promptly 
 forgot everything in her interest in the novel sights along 
 the wharf —the busy little passenger steamers, the ferries, 
 and the many lumber-carrying vessels ranged alongside. 
 It was considerably over an hour before Robin got back, 
 but Gret had not noticed the lapse of time in the least. 
 Robin was alone and triumphant. 
 
 "I did n't tell that fellow that you were with me, else 
 he 'd have come along just to see what sort of girl you 
 were," he observed with an air of contented wisdom. "I 
 told him I was going straight on to Cathsamet. We 'd 
 have had a job shaking him if I had n't. And I Ve got 
 it," he concluded triumphantly, waving before Gret's 
 eyes the law's permission to wed. ''I said I was twenty- 
 three and you twenty-two." 
 
 Gret scanned the license curiously, and then looked up 
 for a further recital of plans. 
 
 "I noticed a What-do-you-call-it's office on a street as 
 I came along," went on Robin, who had been waiting 
 impatiently for the perusal of the license to end. "Justice, 
 I mean. It 's a real estate office, too. But that does n't 
 matter. There 's no one in it, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes, that '11 do," agreed Gret, turning away reluctantly 
 from the enticing water-front. "Come along. Let 's go 
 and get it over." 
 
 Robin led the way up the street with appropriately 
 beaming eyes. He alone realized the position, and in- 
 tended to extract all the sweetness and thrilling sentiment 
 accorded by the ages to marriage. 
 
 k 
 
68 GRET 
 
 "Don't you feel funny, Gret?" he asked as they went 
 up the street. 
 
 "Funny?" inquired that eminently practical being. 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Well, I mean kind of shy?" 
 
 Gret turned the coolest of green-brown eyes on her 
 companion. "Shy? What should I feel shy about? 
 We 're not the only people in the world that ever got 
 married." 
 
 "No, of course not," subdued, and struck by the truth 
 of the observation. 
 
 "That 's just what the justice is there for— one of the 
 things," went on Gret. "I don't see why I should be 
 shyer about telling him to marry me than I should be 
 about telling Mr. Dimsdale to give me a pound of tea. 
 That 's what he 's there for." 
 
 Robin's sentiment shrank abashed in the face of such 
 withering practicality, and he said no more until they 
 reached Judge Coe's office. 
 
 In his spare moments— which were many— the judge 
 dabbled in real estate. The rush of business in this line 
 did not tend as a rule seriously to interfere with his legal 
 and official duties; but as it happened this day the judge 
 was to meet after luncheon an eastern man who possessed 
 every attribute of an ideal buyer; that is, he had money 
 he wanted to spend, he was of a trusting nature, and he 
 was totally ignorant of the value of western lands in gen- 
 eral and of the judge's own lands — which were swamp 
 half the year— in particular. So he eyed the young 
 couple, who presented themselves before him just as he 
 was about to leave, with no particular favor, and pro- 
 ceeded to hurry the business over. He glanced hastily 
 over the license, called to the woman who lived in the rear 
 of the building to come and bring her son with her as 
 witnesses, and then ranged the two in front of him. In 
 
A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE 69 
 
 all probability, at some time or other, the judge had 
 heard of Silway's camp; nevertheless, just now the two 
 names "Helen Margaret Silway" and "Robert Wynne 
 Start" had no special significance in his eyes. Neither 
 was the fact that the owners of them were unaccompa- 
 nied by friends. So many young people, emigrants many 
 of them, working in camps and ranches away in the 
 woods and hills, came in alone to be married, having in 
 many instances no relatives in this part of the country to 
 be interested one way or another. 
 
 Perhaps Judge Coe did not make the ceremony quite as 
 short as Gret's acquaintance of previous mention, but he 
 came very near it. And Gret, remembering Robin's the- 
 ories as to the proper and fitting length of such cere- 
 monies, laughed in her sleeve. 
 
 "He 's almost as quick as Ericsen, is n't he?" she re- 
 marked, as they fared forth down the street again. 
 
 "Yes," agreed Robin dreamily. He was trying to real- 
 ize it all, and failing. Presently, however, he roused 
 himself and treated Gret to some sweet cider and cake, 
 which met with her approval more than anything that had 
 yet transpired. Then they took in the stores, and Gret 
 mentally selected an elaborate trousseau to be obtained 
 some time in the dim future. Robin sauntered along by 
 her side ; but he continued to be dreamy and was inclined 
 to be laconic, and it was fortunate for him that Gret was 
 too much taken up with sight-seeing to notice anything 
 out of the way in his demeanor. 
 
 Then they went on board the little steamer again, and 
 were puflfed oflf, back down the Necanum, to home and 
 happiness— or whatever else might be in store for them. 
 And here it was that Robin made his first mistake. He 
 delivered himself of the consolidated result of his late 
 dreams and rhapsodies. 
 
 By nature variable and impulsive, given to chasing 
 
70 GRET 
 
 with great ardor anything that eluded and as quickly- 
 dropping it when obtained, Robin was full of a shallow 
 sentiment more rapid in its ebb and flow than the waters 
 of the Wishkah. If he had been brought up in a com- 
 munity where girls were plentiful, he would have done 
 what all other specimens of his kind do— have fallen in 
 love forty times a month, only to fall out again as quickly. 
 Just now he was working up a sentiment over Gret. 
 
 "Gret," he whispered, as they leaned together watching 
 the busy stern wheel foaming on its way through the 
 waters. "Have you thought— I 'm your husband now." 
 
 Gret straightened herself like a shot from her leaning 
 position on the rail, and stared at Robin as if he had sud- 
 denly presented for her inspection some rare zoological 
 specimen. She looked him up and down from head to 
 foot, and then up and down again. And if ever there was 
 a time in Robin's life when it was the height of folly to 
 court a close personal inspection, then was the time. His 
 face was flushed and beaming with the excitement of the 
 day, but toning down the glow of youthful enthusiasm 
 was a plentiful sprinkling of dust and smut from the 
 steamer; his hair, from frequent removals and readjust- 
 ings of his cap, stood on end at various angles ; and his 
 trousers, which looked all right up in the camp, on the 
 level deck of the steamer seemed laughably short. Cap- 
 ping all was an expression of countenance which in Gret's 
 eyes was absolutely invaluable and unique— a mixture of 
 sheepishness, sentiment and embarrassment. She looked 
 him over and over, gathering in with keen, appreciative 
 eyes each ridiculous detail, and then she laughed outright 
 —a bubbling, gurgling laugh of pure mirth that would 
 not be repressed. Robin colored angrily, and stood for a 
 moment before her, astounded and altogether taken 
 aback. But the more Gret tried to restrain her mirth, the 
 more it overcame her : in fact, she simply could not bear 
 
A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE 71 
 
 to look at her companion just then, so comically did he 
 strike her in the light of his new and recently asserted 
 relationship. Finally, seeing no signs of approaching 
 penitence or cessation of mirth, and furiously enraged, 
 Robin stalked off to the other end of the boat, leaving 
 Gret to laugh out her fit at leisure. This she did, desist- 
 ing finally from pure exhaustion and leaning her back 
 against the rail again with a little sigh, her eyes still quiv- 
 ering dangerously and her eyes still sparkling. Doubtless 
 she would have been immediately overcome again had 
 Robin approached her just then ; but, fortunately, he kept 
 sulkily and studiously aloof until they reached Quellish 
 Harbor. Then they drifted silently together, and hurried 
 through the little town to the boat floating idly at the 
 logger's steps ; silently, too, they got in. And then Robin 
 began to row gravely up-stream, never so much as glanc- 
 ing at the girl sitting demurely before him. 
 
 The quick spring twilight was falling on the land, and 
 a sighing little night wind came off the banks and ruffled 
 the darkening surface of the water. And as he rowed the 
 exaltation of the day died down in Robin's breast, and he 
 was assailed by a great flatness. The tide of ambition and 
 brave intent, that had surged so proudly in the brightness 
 of the day, now ebbed as rapidly, and on its gray shores 
 Robin stood suddenly sobered. He had desired without 
 troubling to reason, had schemed without ever pausing to 
 note the result. His schemes, as far as they went, had 
 reached fruition, and his desire was in his hands. But, 
 oh, how flat are the table-lands of Attainment. 
 
 When the home of one's childhood begins to take its 
 place among the uncertainties of life, it is time to reflect 
 seriously. And really, when Robin came to think over all 
 points of the case, it was plain that much was yet in the 
 lap of the Fates. His uncle was not so grumpy and 
 morose a man as old Gradel, but he was infinitely more 
 
72 GRET 
 
 peculiar. He might, without any particular fuss or 
 bother, just calmly set his face against the whole thing, 
 and that would be an end of the matter as far as Robin 
 and his home was concerned. If he said : "Take your 
 wife, and go get a home of your own^" there would be 
 nothing left to do but go. And positively, when Robin 
 came to look at the Great Happening with his uncle's 
 eyes it had very little to recommend it. The everlasting 
 example, the great parallel Gradel case, was in reality no 
 parallel and no example at all. Gret was no addition to 
 a household. She could not cook an atom, and it was 
 doubtful if she would even if she could ; and even if she 
 could and would, it signified nothing. A capable widow, 
 Mrs. Bennett, had cooked at the Orchards for years, and 
 was not likely now to be replaced by Gret, especially as 
 old Start was more or less of an invalid, having bad at- 
 tacks of heart trouble, and the widow, who had studied 
 him and his health, cooked exactly to suit him. No, there 
 was very little to recommend the matter to his uncle, and 
 Robin marveled that he had not thought of all these 
 things before. It would certainly mean getting a home 
 for himself, and working hard to keep it up. And though, 
 of course, it was awfully nice to have a home of one's 
 own and be a proper married man, yet the somewhat idle, 
 easy life he had led became suddenly pleasant to reflect 
 upon. However, it was all right— only, night was a par- 
 ticularly gloomy time to invite a fuss and get ordered out 
 of one's home. They were rounding the last bend of the 
 river when he turned suddenly to Gret. "Say, Gret." 
 
 "Hum?" 
 
 "Suppose we don't say anything about it all until to- 
 morrow, eh?" 
 
 Even in the failing light he felt the instant lowering of 
 her eyes to his face. "Of course not. You won't say 
 anything about it at all until I tell you." 
 
A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE 73 
 
 Robin was silent, realizing the uselessness of the ques- 
 tion. It was borne in unto him that, after all, affairs were 
 in Gretas hands more than his, and that taking thought 
 for the morrow in his case was waste of energy. There 
 was a decided sense of relief, however, in turning the 
 whole affair over to Gret, and Robin gave a slight sigh 
 as the burden of directorship fell from his shoulders. 
 
 *'Be in the camp any time to-morrow, do you suppose?" 
 he inquired as Gret jumped to the landing. 
 
 ''Oh, sure to — some time or other," thoughtfully ; *'but 
 I don't exactly know when. Still, I '11 find you if I want 
 you," with a calm nod. 
 
 Robin returned the nod, and then, as Gret went into the 
 house, began to row swiftly up-stream, a slightly appre- 
 hensive look on his face as he thought of his uncle's 
 probable displeasure at his prolonged and inexplicable ab- 
 sence. 
 
 And Gret, making a detour of the house, slipped into 
 the kitchen, where she learned with satisfaction that her 
 father had not yet returned from the Harbor, and that 
 Lizzie had thoughtfully secreted for her an appropriate 
 portion of the evening meal. She sat down with peace in 
 her heart and ate heartily. 
 
 By and by, after visiting her jackdaw, asleep on his 
 perch — an honor for which he was not grateful— she 
 went to bed. She lay thinking over the affair of the day 
 for a while ; and then, suddenly wearying, she banished it 
 all from her mind and went to sleep. 
 
 Her father was at the breakfast-table the following 
 morning when Gret came demurely in and took her seat. 
 He glanced at her with disfavor, apparently having it in 
 mind to say something anent her repeated absences ; ap- 
 parently, too, he changed his mind, for he said nothing. 
 He was about to return to town, where his home affairs 
 would cease to annoy, and then he was busy with various 
 
74 GRET 
 
 projects. So he finished his breakfast in austere silence, 
 and then rose, leaving Gret to the remainder of the meal 
 and her own devices. These consisted of concluding the 
 breakfast as quickly as possible and getting down to the 
 river. 
 
 Gret had a little expedition in mind, and she lost no 
 time in getting away in her boat. 
 
 At a certain spot she tied up her boat, and sauntered 
 up the trail to the Gradel cottage. It was built on the 
 side of a steep ravine, and as she rounded the entrance to 
 it the Gradel dog came barking out to meet her. Close on 
 his heels came Mary, curious to see who had broken the 
 habitual solitude. Her eyes brightened on beholding 
 Gret. Her dishes were washed and the stove cleaned off, 
 and she had time for a long chat— most rare and delight- 
 ful of luxuries. 
 
 "Come on in, Gret," she shouted, with perhaps just a 
 speck of proprietorial pride in her voice. This speck, 
 however, was immediately detected, and Gret sat promptly 
 down on a clump of moss and brake. 
 
 "No, I like it outside better. Come and sit here, Mary." 
 
 Thus adjured, Mary sat down, and began at once that 
 confidential chat to another of her kind for which her 
 shallow, girlish soul so often hungered. Gret did little 
 but listen, slowly guiding the conversation whither she 
 wanted it. And at last, so guided, it fell on Mary's mar- 
 riage. Then Gret's head rested on her hands, and leaning 
 forward she asked with whispering reverence such ques- 
 tions concerning matrimony as were calculated to open 
 the flood-gates of Mary's eloquence. And thus it was. 
 Mary took her by the hand, and with many sayings of 
 wisdom led her into the Holy of Holies. 
 
 When the tree of knowledge, as represented by Mary, 
 was stripped bare of its most hidden fruits, Gret took 
 her departure and rowed down to the camp. She went 
 
A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE 75 
 
 straight up the skid-road on her way to the felling 
 grounds to catch possibly a chain of logs coming down. 
 She paused just a moment to look down into the camp 
 from her elevation on the road. Jake was frying onions 
 for the noon meal, and the odor of his endeavors was 
 wafted on the breeze. Gret called to him. 
 
 "Jake! Say— Jake!" 
 
 Jake came to the door of the cook-house, and looked 
 inquiringly toward the skid-road. 
 
 *'Say, Jake, you 're all right, but you don't know it 
 all!" 
 
 And leaving him in open-mouthed receipt of this an- 
 nouncement of his limitations, Gret went lightly on her 
 way. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE GREAT AFFRONT 
 
 THE shingle-mill got built and started running— two 
 facts that considerably amazed the interested spec- 
 tators in Silway's camp. Such an exhibition of utter 
 ignorance and inexperience of the lumber business as that 
 presented by Transome and Fonseker, the two young 
 mill-owners, had not come the way of Silway's men be- 
 fore, and they extracted all possible fun and excitement 
 contemplating the course of it. Gradually, however, out 
 of all the delays, errors and follies surrounding it the mill 
 contrived to evolve itself, the evolution being chiefly due 
 to the interest taken in the matter by Mr. Silway. As it 
 was principally due to his remarks and suggestions that 
 the young men in the first place decided upon a shingle- 
 mill as a way of investing their capital and energy, he 
 felt it was in a manner incumbent upon him to see them 
 fairly started on the venture. So he overlooked to a con- 
 siderable extent the building of the structure, and helped 
 in the choice and installation of the machinery; but that 
 done, and the mill ready for running, he felt acquitted of 
 any further obligation in the matter, and went back to his 
 beloved city with a soothing sense of duty fully done. 
 
 Then Silway's camp beheld the rallying about the new 
 mill of all the scapegrace shingle-weavers and sawyers 
 who could not obtain a steady job in any of the Harbor 
 mills. These were promptly hired upon their own state- 
 ment of merits, and started in to contribute their share 
 to that failure which was surely imminent. 
 
 76 
 
THE GREAT AFFRONT ^7 
 
 Gret was in camp for supper, one night, and sat, as she 
 always did, on Dick's right and opposite Oly. By acci- 
 dent, tacit agreement, or something never expressed, the 
 main intellects of the camp were always gathered to- 
 gether at this end of the table. Here, in the rough and 
 unpolished, were socialists, pessimists, optimists and phi- 
 lanthropists ; here, too, from time immemorial had Gret 
 delivered her opinions to a waiting world. The new 
 hands at the camp always took up their places nearer the 
 foot of the long table; those round Dick on either side 
 had mostly been with the camp for more or less lengthy 
 periods. And these old hands formed quite a group; 
 for it was the boast of the men at Silway's that the camp 
 contained more old hands than any other camp to be men- 
 tioned, partly on account of the general liking for the 
 foreman, and partly because of the comfort which, as far 
 as was practicable in a logging-camp, he took care to pro- 
 vide. 
 
 Gret sat now, listening with a keen narrowing of the 
 eyes as each man added his item of views about the new 
 mill. Finally she spoke. 
 
 ''Well, now, I '11 tell you what," said the girl, her 
 ringing, incisive tones commanding instant attention. 
 "You 're all pretty mean; that 's all. You just see those 
 men making fool mistakes and wasting their money with- 
 out saying a word. Why don't you go and tell them, in- 
 stead of coming here and laughing at them ?" 
 
 Oly rose up in his seat and bent half-way across the 
 table in his excitement. "You can't do it ! You can't do 
 it!" he shouted. "You can't teach 'em nothing. They 
 know it all. Why, when they hired that Danny Pfeiffer 
 I told them he was n't no more of a shingle- weaver than 
 I was. But Transome said he knew a shingle-weaver 
 when he saw one, and as long as Pfeiffer suited him it 
 was all right. It 's good enough for 'em," concluded Oly, 
 
78 GRET 
 
 subsiding into his seat once more. "All they get is good 
 enough for 'em !" 
 
 "You had a right to go to the Englishman about it," 
 observed Jim Caffrey, foreman "feller." "He 's the 
 one that 's putting up the stuff, and he 's the one that 's 
 losing it, I reckon." 
 
 But Oly shook his head. "He just goes to Transome 
 with everything, and Transome knows it all. So, what 
 are you going to do ?" 
 
 This view was general, and the subject was dropped 
 for the time being. But Gret took the whole matter 
 under advisement. She intended to look into it. The 
 underneath cause was always hers, possibly because it 
 generally needed fighting for. 
 
 Though Gret had a good general idea of the workings 
 of a shingle-mill, yet she had no actual and specific know- 
 ledge concerning it. And this defect she proceeded at 
 once to rectify. She went down to the Harbor and 
 visited the foremost mill there. She was known to all 
 or most of the men, and her questions, which were most 
 minute and far-reaching, were readily answered. She 
 wandered round, too, and very little escaped her roving 
 eyes. Then she went back home, and subjected the 
 Transome-Fonseker mill to a like scrutiny. Then she 
 sought Fonseker, as being the greatest loser and there- 
 fore the most injured of the parties concerned, and im- 
 parted to him the sum total of her investigations. The 
 pith and core of her remarks was, that his logs were 
 being sawn up in rank and murderous waste, and that in 
 order to make the mill pay it must turn out as many 
 shingles in one day as now it did in a week. Fonseker 
 was considerably staggered, and, as Oly had said, im- 
 mediately sought Transome. And Transome was just as 
 immediately indignant. Gret's communications cast re- 
 flections upon his ability to run a mill, and with his ex- 
 
THE GREAT AFFRONT 79 
 
 perience went the main part of his capital in the concern. 
 As Oly had once shrewdly opined, experience was about 
 all he had, and in this his poverty was apparent to all 
 observers. So, now, Transome approached Gret upon 
 the first opportunity. 
 
 "You 're a smart little girl," he began, and then 
 paused, the patronizing smile dying off his face. He was 
 rather surprised at the flash of instant anger that shot 
 into the strange-colored eyes of the girl before him. He 
 resumed : "You know, you can stuff Fonseker with 
 anything. That 's dead easy. But you can't stuff 
 me. I know your father wants our mill. But le won't 
 get it. I 'm not to be scared out of it, even if Fonseker 
 is." 
 
 Gret made no reply; she merely stood looking at the 
 speaker. Secretly she was at first considerably taken 
 aback, such a base view of her motives never having even 
 presented itself to her. And when at a loss she invariably 
 sought refuge in silence. Then, when she had regained 
 mental equilibrium, the whole thing did not seem worth 
 replying to. So she stood silent, her eyes narrowing as 
 she surveyed the man before her in contemplative per- 
 spective. To her, many as were the types of men she had 
 met, he was a new specimen on the face of the earth. 
 Then she turned coolly round, listening on the wind 
 whether the hum of the donkey was still to be heard. It 
 was ; and she went down to the boat and rowed up to the 
 camp. 
 
 Very few things required a greater effort on Gret's 
 part than to be confidential. She was naturally secretive. 
 Very little that went in at the gates of her understanding 
 ever came forth again over the threshold of her lips. But 
 this time she went straight to Dick Swinton and related 
 all that had just transpired. Dick's rage exceeded Gret's 
 bv many degrees. 
 
8o GRET 
 
 "The dirty, low-living cur !" he said in heartfelt tones. 
 "If he was n't already going downhill just as fast and as 
 slick as he can, we 'd show him a thing or two. Where 'd 
 he get his lumber from if not from here? And how 
 much do you suppose the boss would let him have if he 
 heard how he 's talking?" 
 
 Gret laughed, amused at the rage of the usually quiet 
 man, and perhaps a little bit touched at his partizan de- 
 votion. "Oh, I don't know. I expect father would only 
 say it served me right; that I should have minded my 
 own business. Never mind. Transome's finish is in sight 
 all right enough." 
 
 And with that the incident closed, only that the mill 
 saw her no more, neither could either of its proprietors 
 approach within a hundred yards of her. That was all 
 as far as she was concerned ; but several effects grew out 
 of this cause, of which Gret was not cognizant; or, if so, 
 only by degrees did it dawn upon her. To begin with, in 
 some unspoken, vague way it got about that Gret had 
 been snubbed down at the mill, and neither Transome nor 
 Fonseker nor any of their employees could get a civil 
 word or look from the camp fraternity. Moreover, and, 
 more important, the character of the logs supplied began 
 slowly to alter. Up to this neither Dick nor any of his 
 boom-hands had ever attempted to take the least advan- 
 tage of the palpable ignorance and incompetence dis- 
 played at the mill, but had honestly supplied just such 
 quality and quantity of lumber as the price to be paid 
 called for. Now Dick himself was the first, one day, to 
 pass a poor log into a raft about to be towed down to 
 the mill. 
 
 "What 's it matter?" he said contemptuously. "All 
 these fine logs are just sawn up so as to be half wasted 
 anyhow. It 's good enough for 'em." 
 
 And that was the beginning. Thereafter if any really 
 
THE GREAT AFFRONT 8i 
 
 fine logs got wasted down at the mill, they did not come 
 out of Silway's boom. 
 
 Matters were so far gone beforehand, however, that it 
 is doubtful whether this really hastened the end very ma- 
 terially. Transome, the man who had sworn defiance to 
 failure, was the very man to precipitate matters. He saw, 
 as he could not very well help seeing, that the end was not 
 very far distant; and he conceived the brilliant idea of 
 withdrawing at once while there might still be something 
 to take. So one afternoon he coolly announced that he 
 was altogether tired of the lumber business and intended 
 to sell out. Fonseker could either buy him out, or he 
 must find someone else to take over his half of the con- 
 cern. 
 
 "But, my dear fellow," remonstrated Fonseker. "Your 
 half — what did you put in?" 
 
 And then Transome hastened to show that what he put 
 in signified little when it came to a question of what he 
 should take out. They were partners, which meant that 
 half of everything was his. Otherwise, what did Mr. 
 Fonseker suppose he had been wasting time fooling about 
 the mill all these months for ? 
 
 Fonseker at first argued, then became enraged, and 
 finally went down to the Harbor to consult the one enter- 
 prising attorney residing there. To his dismay, he learned 
 that Transome was secure in his demands. The mill had 
 been built under contract to both jointly; all sales had 
 been made in the name of both, and all bills been paid 
 likewise ; and, in the absence of any written agreement to 
 the contrary, in the eyes of the law and the world they 
 were equal partners. If Fonseker had produced all the 
 cash, while only securing to himself half the honor, he 
 had only himself to blame. 
 
 "And now," advised the attorney, who, if he was not 
 infallible at law, was deeply versed in the ways of men, 
 
82 GRET 
 
 "you just go home and let things go on as they are for a 
 while longer. Unless I 'm mistaken, he '11 soon offer to 
 compromise." 
 
 ''Well, but everything will go to smash before long," 
 demurred Fonseker gloomily. 
 
 "Not right away, will it?" inquired the attorney 
 sharply. 
 
 "No-o — not immediately, I suppose." 
 
 "Well, then, he won't let it go that far before he climbs 
 down. He '11 be afraid of getting nothing. If he offers 
 to take a small sum to clear out, you come to me, and I '11 
 fix papers quitting him of all claims safely enough." 
 
 "Perhaps he '11 get someone to buy his half, as he calls 
 it," observed Fonseker resentfully. 
 
 "Oh, he may," agreed the attorney easily. "And if he 
 does, all right. You '11 be just as well off as you are now, 
 besides being rid of him and perhaps having more capital 
 to put in the mill." 
 
 Fonseker nodded. "If he sells out to me at some price 
 or other, what shall I do then ?" he inquired innocently. 
 
 The attorney smiled. "Why, whatever you think best 
 — sell the mill and pocket what 's left after everything 's 
 paid, if you want to. For my part, though, I 'd get an- 
 other partner and go on running it. It ought to pay." 
 
 "It does n't," said Fonseker sadly. 
 
 "I expect you don't know how to run it. Ever run a 
 shingle-mill before?" 
 
 "No. Never saw one." 
 
 "Transome — did he?" 
 
 "Says so," scornfully ; "but I begin to doubt it." 
 
 "H'm! You see, neither of you knows anything abbut 
 the business. That mill ought to pay first-rate. Every- 
 body says so." The attorney leaned back in his chair and 
 scrutinized the young Englishman's frank but gloomy 
 countenance. "Silway's folks up at the camp near you — 
 
THE GREAT AFFRONT 83 
 
 they understand the whole business from A to Z. Why 
 did n't you get them to show you a thing or two ?" 
 
 But Bertie Fonseker made no actual reply to this query, 
 only giving a mournful little shake of the head. He was 
 stricken with a decided feeling of remorse. He recalled 
 that interview with Gret and what, in the light of after 
 events, were clearly words of truth and sincerity of pur- 
 pose. He wondered what Transome had said to her re- 
 garding that incident. Nothing pleasant, he could tell; 
 for now there was no getting near her. Well, one thing 
 only was clear in the midst of all the muddle and tangle : 
 he had been a most amazing fool. 
 
 So, with a sort of subdued dignity, Fonseker went back 
 to the mill and admitted to Transome that his partnership 
 claim would have to be allowed. At the same time he 
 refused to buy him out. They would, he remarked, both 
 go smash together. 
 
 Transome waited a week or two to see if Fonseker 
 were merely running a game of bluff; and then, as the 
 attorney had predicted, he offered to compromise, naming 
 a very reasonable sum as relinquishment of all rights in 
 the mill. In the meantime Fonseker had been turning 
 over in his mind the lawyer's advice to keep the mill run- 
 ning. But he must have another partner, with some 
 money at all events; and at this juncture he bethought 
 himself of his one-time chum, Bobbie Baring. Bobbie 
 was the son of a widow of high social standing. Thus 
 far his energies had been confined to making his ideas, 
 which were expensive, conform to his mother's income, 
 which was limited. 
 
 It was characteristic now of Fonseker's utter lack of 
 business qualifications that, having failed in this his last 
 undertaking as the result of total ignorance of the matter 
 in hand, he should entertain the idea of another partner 
 of equal, or if possible even greater, ignorance. But 
 
84 GRET 
 
 nothing of this sort troubHng Bertie, he wrote to Bob- 
 bie that his partner in a shingle-mill venture wanted 
 to sell out his share for a very reasonable sum consider- 
 ing the worth of the enterprise. The mill could be made 
 to do a sweeping business ; but a little more capital was 
 needed, and could n't Bobbie somehow raise this and 
 come up and buy the other fellow out ? It was great fun, 
 with splendid duck shooting in season, to say nothing of 
 the probable harvest of dollars. 
 
 After much deliberation, many tears, and finally much 
 scheming, Mrs. Baring raised the sum of money neces- 
 sary, and sent Bobbie, convalescing from a recently broken 
 heart, on his way to join Fonseker. He would be out of 
 mischief for a while, she thought, and a time in the 
 backwoods, away from people, might quiet him down. 
 And he might, too, make money. People did all sorts 
 of queer things in that vast, trackless, and altogether un- 
 imagined region vaguely known to her as **the North," 
 and often seemed to get quite rich on nothing at all, 
 except, perhaps, the natural resources of the land. Mrs. 
 Baring was about as ignorant of the conditions of life in 
 that part of her native country to which Bobbie jour- 
 neyed as any foreigner could be. She had been born and 
 raised in cities, and the long years of her widowhood had 
 been spent abroad. So, as far as she and Bobbie were 
 concerned, that enterprising young man, with many prom- 
 ises of a speedy return of the money lent, and a heart full 
 of the wildest ambitions, departed for the unknown. 
 
 On learning that Bobbie was to join him, Fonseker 
 paid over to Transome the sum of money mentioned ; and 
 long and explicit was the legal document by which the 
 now cautious Bertie caused Transome to formally re- 
 nounce all connection with the mill henceforth and for- 
 ever. Short and sweet was the Godspeed given. 
 
 "Good-by. Can't honestly say I 'm sorry you 're going. 
 
THE GREAT AFFRONT 85 
 
 Still, I 'm glad to have known you if only for one 
 thing." 
 
 "What 's that?" inquired the Texan incautiously. 
 
 "You Ve taught me what kind of treatment to expect 
 in America." 
 
 "Same kind of treatment that you 'd get in any other 
 country if you happen to be a sucker!" was the quick 
 retort. Which ended the interview. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 GRET COMES TO THE RESCUE 
 
 BOBBIE arrived on the Wishkah, and was immediately 
 delighted with all he saw. The frame house, whose 
 walls were not even papered, was a huge joke to him, as 
 were also the manners and service of the Swedish girl 
 who was housekeeper, cook and maid-of -all- work rolled 
 into one stolid personage. 
 
 But what struck Bobbie more than anything else was 
 the boundless possibilities of such an amazing enterprise 
 as a shingle-mill. He stood and looked at the endless 
 timber about him. All you had to do was to cut it down 
 and put it through the saws and there you had shingles, 
 a thing that any one who built any kind of a house was 
 simply bound to have. Why, it was better than a gold 
 mine! 
 
 Bertie Fonseker stood by while his friend rhapsodized 
 with a somewhat guilty feeling at heart. He did not 
 correct or explain away erroneous impressions, however. 
 Bobbie would learn soon enough. 
 
 Bobbie Baring was thoughtless and impetuous, quickly 
 taken with everything new and the first to run after it ; 
 easily raised to the highest pinnacle of hope and as soon 
 cast down ; but with it all he was not actually a fool. 
 And it was not long before he began to notice that the 
 output seemed to be steady and unremitting, while the 
 income was hardly to be discerned — indeed, as far as his 
 own pockets were concerned, not discernible at all so 
 
GRET COMES TO THE RESCUE 87 
 
 far. Just as soon as this idea took definite shape he re- 
 paired to Fonseker for explanations ; and that gentleman, 
 seeing that the inevitable time had come, sat down and 
 explained — that is, explained as far as he was able. He 
 was not at all clear himself why the mill did not pay. 
 He knew it did n't; that was all. 
 
 Bobbie listened, amazed, but understanding. "Oh, 
 then," he interrupted once, "we have to pay for all the 
 logs we get to saw up? I thought we just had to pay 
 to get them sawn down and brought to us." 
 
 "Oh, no, we pay so much a foot for the lumber." 
 
 "Well, does all this belong to some one?" inquired 
 Bobbie, with a wide flourish of the hand to indicate the 
 surrounding timber. 
 
 Fonseker nodded gravely. "Yes, it mostly belongs to 
 Silway, owner of the big camp up above." 
 
 Bobbie nodded absently. He was just adding up in his 
 mind the true significance of all Fonseker had just told 
 him. It meant failure, of course — more or less speedy, 
 but sure. Failure again! Poor Bobbie experienced an 
 immediate sinking of temperament. He was cast down 
 in spirit, but really more on his mother's account than 
 his own. Bobbie was not a bad youth at heart, and he 
 was ashamed. She had done her best for him, and so 
 far he had been an unredeemed and disgusting failure. 
 Bobbie suddenly left the house, and went and sat by the 
 river. He wanted time to study himself anew as a 
 failure. 
 
 It was a disagreeable task, and the taste of his reflec- 
 tions was bitter in the mouth. Bobbie's face was very 
 wry as he thought of all the ignominious details of his 
 return to that home from which he had so lately gone 
 forth as a knight clad for the fray. So very disturbing 
 did his thoughts become, as a lively and too obliging 
 imagination filled elaborate details into the mental pic- 
 
88 GRET 
 
 ture, that Bobbie welcomed with a sigh of resignation 
 and relief interruption of them in the form of a lithe 
 young girl walking up the path to the river. 
 
 As the first vision of a girl in the wilds she was a trifle 
 disappointing. All the heroines of the far West that 
 Bobbie had seen described in the lurid literature of his 
 youth wore buckskin shoes and were armed to the teeth. 
 But this girl wore a waist affair and a skirt, like any ordi- 
 nary girl. 
 
 Gret, all unaware of her shortcomings, looked keenly 
 at Bobbie as she approached. She was quick to detect 
 the shadow on the pleasant, impudent face. And when 
 he raised his cap and smiled, she paused. It was the first 
 time she had recognized anything that belonged to the 
 mill since the time of the Great Affront. 
 
 "Don't you shoot?" inquired Bobbie, forgetting that 
 to any one not conversant with the trend of his thoughts 
 the words might sound a trifle eccentric. 
 
 Gret's eyes opened slowly. The greeting was so sin- 
 gular. "Shoot what?" 
 
 Bobbie laughed, recollecting himself. "Why, I mean, 
 I thought all Western young ladies had six-shooters with 
 them, and shot anything and everything they did n't like." 
 
 "It would be very nice to be able to do that," dryly, 
 "but I 'm afraid it would n't last long. Get locked up." 
 
 "Oh, do they lock people up for shooting up here?" 
 asked Bobbie, honestly astonished. 
 
 "You bet your life ! Try it and see." 
 
 "Oh !" Bobbie looked surprised. "Pooh," he observed ; 
 then, "One could just walk off into this forest, and who 
 on earth could find you ?" 
 
 "Yes, you could do that," admitted Gret; "but the 
 sheriff and his posse would come up and look for you; 
 and you 'd have a great time getting food." 
 
 More illusions gone. Bobbie paused a moment to re- 
 
GRET COMES TO THE RESCUE 89 
 
 adjust his ideas. Meanwhile Gret returned to her first 
 impressions — the shadow she had observed on her com- 
 panion's face. 
 
 "FeeHng homesick?" she queried. 
 
 "No — oh, no !" decidedly. "Just — oh, just getting used 
 to a disappointment ; that 's all." 
 
 "About the mill not paying?" asked the girl, with a 
 backward movement of the head. 
 
 "Yes," rather surprised at her ready intuition. 
 
 ''Well, did you ever suppose it would?" inquired Gret 
 with slight scorn. 
 
 "Well, of course I did," indignantly. "Do you suppose 
 I 'd take my mother's money and come up here and just 
 throw it away — not even expect to have a run for it?" 
 
 "Why did you put money into anything before you 
 knew all about it ?" demanded Gret in a businesslike way. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Fonseker said it was a fine venture," ex- 
 plained Bobbie. "He still says it would pay finely if only 
 we knew how to run it." 
 
 "Oh, he does, does he ?" said Gret triumphantly. "Found 
 out that all I said was quite true, has n't he ?" 
 
 "All you said ?" repeated Bobbie blankly. 
 
 "Yes ; I told them long ago they were going to smash. 
 And I told them what to do to get right, too." 
 
 "And what did they say ?" inquired Bobbie, immensely 
 astonished. 
 
 "They said—" and Gret's eyes flashed again at the mere 
 recollection — "that I was just trying to scare them out of 
 the mill so that my father could buy it. Pshaw! Sup- 
 pose if my father had wanted a shingle-mill he could n't 
 have got it himself years ago ?" 
 
 "Of course," agreed Bobbie instantly. "It was a 
 beastly caddish thing to say. Fonseker never said it, I 
 know. He 's too much of a gentleman." 
 
 "I spoke to Fonseker himself," said Gret; "and he went 
 
90 GRET 
 
 and told Transome — the other fellow — and Transome 
 came and said that to me." 
 
 "Well, I don't believe Fonseker knew anything about 
 it," declared Bobbie, springing to his feet in his excite- 
 ment. "I 'm just going to see. If he did, he 's a cad, 
 and I shall tell him so. Any one has only to look at you 
 to see you 're all right." 
 
 Gret smiled, a smile of real kindliness and amuse- 
 ment, at this compliment, which she recognized as spon- 
 taneous and not a mere administration of "hot air." Then 
 she passed on ; and Bobbie strode back to the mill. 
 
 The next time he met Gret, which was at the entrance 
 to the camp, he made many and painstaking excuses for 
 Fonseker. 
 
 *T told you I was sure he had nothing to do with what 
 that fellow said. And he had n't. And Transome never 
 told him what he had said to you, either. Of course, it 
 does n't signify one way or another now. Only I hated 
 to leave you with such an idea of Fonseker." 
 
 Gret nodded indifferently. The momentary gratifica- 
 tion consequent on having her words shown up so forci- 
 bly as truth had died away; and Fonseker's opinion of 
 her and hers of him was now a matter of small moment. 
 In any case, Fonseker was a nonentity. Gret had no use 
 for a man— or a woman, either— who was led by another. 
 
 "I '11 tell you what I 've been thinking," observed Bob- 
 bie, seating himself gingerly on the rough edge of a log 
 that for some reason or other had escaped the barker's 
 hands. Gret seated herself also as intimation that she had 
 time to spare. *T 've decided that when the mill smashes 
 up, closes down, or sells out, or whatever it does—" 
 
 "Sells out, I should think," interposed Gret briefly. 
 
 "Well, if we can. That 's what Fonseker said last 
 night— that we 'd better close the thing up and try to sell 
 it." 
 
GRET COMES TO THE RESCUE 91 
 
 Gret laughed. "You certainly can't sell it if you close 
 it down. You might if you offered it as a going con- 
 cern." 
 
 "I suppose so," agreed Bobbie, looking interested. 
 "Of course, Fonseker was only thinking of losing no 
 more money in it. If we do sell out, he says he will give 
 me just as much of my money back as he possibly can. 
 Then I shall send that straight home to mother." 
 
 "Mother a widow ?" inquired Gret. 
 
 Bobbie nodded. "Yes. Very hard up at times, too — 
 that is, to keep up necessary appearances, you know." 
 
 Gret had not the faintest idea what "necessary appear- 
 ances" were, but concluded from Bobbie's tone that they 
 were something imperative. And Bobbie, not troubled at 
 any time with false pride or undue reserve concerning 
 financial or family matters, least of all when, as in the 
 present instance, he was attracted toward and felt con- 
 fidence in a person, proceeded to impart his views. 
 
 "Well, as I was going to tell you, I Ve made up my 
 mind that I won't go home even after the mill is gone. 
 Hang it, I simply can't go and plant myself on the Mater 
 again and expect her to keep me or find me something to 
 do. I 've done enough of that. So I 'm going to try to 
 work. Suppose I could get anything to do up here ?" 
 
 "Of course," said Gret, in ready approval of the senti- 
 ment. "Why not? Dick will give you a job in our 
 camp." 
 
 "I don't know anything about logging, you know," re- 
 marked Bobbie diffidently. "I would n't be much good 
 — for a while anyway." 
 
 "No ; but you 'd learn. Dick is awfully good to teach 
 the men. We 've had lots of tenderfeet, some of them 
 swells, too." She turned and her quick glance sought 
 out the fine proportions of the foreman from among a 
 group of men a little lower down on the skid-road. And 
 
92 GRET 
 
 then, putting her hand horn-shaped over her lips, she 
 shouted, '^O-oh, Dick!" 
 
 Bobbie was staggered for a moment at the volume of 
 the shout coming from this slim creature. But then he 
 noted the broad, firm sweep of her chest, and laughed to 
 himself. And Dick Swinton, turning with the rest of the 
 men in the direction of the shout, saw the beckoning 
 wave of Gret's hand, detached himself from the rest and 
 approached obediently. He looked a trifle surprised to 
 see the two in close converse. 
 
 "What is he in your camp?" inquired Bobbie before 
 Dick was well within hearing. 
 
 "Foreman— boss, altogether," briefly. "Say, Dick," as 
 that gentleman approached, "you could give this gentle- 
 man a job in the camp, could n't you V' 
 
 "Sure," repHed he, running his keen blue eyes over the 
 young man's well-knit figure. 
 
 "Then it would n't be long before you 'd be earning 
 your three or three and a half a day," went on Gret en- 
 couragingly ; "and all you have to pay out of that is four 
 dollars a week board. The bunk is free." 
 
 "Sounds as if I 'd soon get rich that way," said Bobbie 
 gaily. 
 
 "Mill going to bust up, then ?" inquired Dick. 
 
 "Yes— from all indications. I imagine the fuse was 
 laid long before I came," answered Bobbie frankly. 
 
 Dick smiled. "Yes, I guess so." 
 
 "Fonseker found out that all I said to him that time 
 was true," remarked Gret with a triumphant nod to Dick ; 
 "but he says he never knew anything about what Tran- 
 some said to me." 
 
 "Very likely not," said Dick coolly. "That was a mean 
 scn-of-a-gun, that Transome." 
 
 "Yes, you bet he was," agreed Gret heartily. "This 
 gentleman's mother is a widow, and she just scraped up 
 
GRET COMES TO THE RESCUE 93 
 
 all the money she could to set him up in business," she 
 went on, indicating Bobbie, and by way of enlisting the 
 practical Dick's sympathy in his behalf. "It 's too bad 
 he should- be sucked in the way he has been, is n't it ?" 
 
 Dick nodded. "There was some changes made a little 
 while before you came," addressing Bobbie. "Have n't 
 they done any good ?" 
 
 "Can't say whether they have or not. You see, I don't 
 know the state of affairs before they were made," said 
 Bobbie dryly. "But they must have been pretty bad if 
 the present is an improvement." 
 
 "Pshaw ! The men they 've got now are n't any better 
 than the old ones. How is it going to be any better?" 
 inquired Gret scornfully, addressing herself more partic- 
 ularly to Dick. "I '11 bet anything I could make that mill 
 pay inside of three months." 
 
 Dick and Bobbie both laughed at the vehemence of the 
 announcement. 
 
 "Well, then, you 'd better fix up some sort of a business 
 deal with this gentleman," advised Dick jestingly. "Ask 
 him how much he 'd pay for a manager." 
 
 "You could have half my share of the thing," said 
 Bobbie, evidently not taking it as so much of a joke. 
 
 "Don't want any share. I 'd like to do it just for fun," 
 with a thoughtful frown. She stood considering for a 
 moment or so. "Say," addressing Bobbie, but laying a 
 detaining hand on Dick's shirt-sleeve, as if afraid he 
 might be inclined to walk away, "the mill 's sure to bust 
 anyway, is n't it ?" 
 
 "Don't see how it can help it," with engaging candor. 
 
 "Well, let me see— how much longer do you think it 
 can be kept going?" 
 
 "Oh, a month or two, perhaps. There is some money 
 yet to come from what orders they did manage to fill." 
 
 "Hum! Well— would you do everything I told you — 
 
94 GRET 
 
 everything," inquired the girl with an impressive frown, 
 "if I tried to help you out of the hole again ?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed we will !" responded Bobbie quickly. 
 
 "And if I get men up from the Harbor, will you pay 
 them just whatever I say?" 
 
 "Yes; positively." 
 
 "Perhaps Fonseker won't." 
 
 "I '11 pitch him in the river if he won't," savagely. 
 He 's been fool enough already. But he '11 be glad to do 
 it," he added confidently. 
 
 "All right. I '11 try." Her eyes narrowed and her nos- 
 trils dilated with the love of power and of a keen fight, 
 that was born in her. "If it 's going to bust anyhow, I 
 can but bust it a bit sooner. I don't know much more 
 about running a shingle-mill than you do, but I know all 
 those who do know." 
 
 "And where do you come in?" inquired Dick, keen for 
 the welfare of his own. 
 
 "I don't know what Fonseker will do, of course," said 
 Bobbie; "but half of all my profits shall be hers." 
 
 "Don't I tell you I don't want anything?" frowning 
 heavily at the unabashed Dick. "I 'm just going to try 
 my hand; that 's all. Besides, I hate to see you get left 
 so badly," to Bobbie. "You come up here to-morrow 
 afternoon— late, about five o'clock. Will you? And then 
 I '11 tell you what I want to do. I 've got to go now. 
 Oh, and say," turning back, "I remember, father told 
 Dick it was no good getting orders for your mill. They 
 were too long being filled, and the people got mad at him 
 for sending them to you. So you write to father— Fon- 
 seker 's got his address— and tell him that you are the 
 new partner, and that now things are going to hum. Tell 
 him you 've got some of the finest shingle men on the 
 Harbor, and that orders will be filled in your mill quicker 
 than anywhere else. Ask him to get you some new cus- 
 
GRET COMES TO THE RESCUE 95 
 
 tomers, and give him your word as to the delivery. See ? 
 He often has chances to send fine orders. Do that now— 
 to-night." 
 
 Bobbie nodded in dehghted acquiescence, and strode 
 off to acquaint Fonseker with the new, and to his way of 
 thinking, lucky turn in affairs. It was thoroughly char- 
 acteristic of his simple, unbusinesslike nature— and also 
 of Fonseker's, who took up the proposition with equal 
 zest — that he turned over the working of the mill to a 
 girl without a moment's hesitation. 
 
 Meanwhile Gret turned back to Dick. "Come along. 
 Want to talk to you." 
 
 But Dick thrust both hands in his pockets and stood 
 looking down on her. "What do you want to talk to me 
 for ? I 'm not in on this deal." 
 
 "Yes, you are — back of me," coolly. Then holding up 
 her hand, and marking off the fingers on it. "I 'm going 
 to get Dave Robnike from the American mill. He 's the 
 finest weaver on this coast, is n't he?" Dick nodded. 
 "Phew ! You should see him. He does n't like the new 
 foreman; he told me so. He 's getting three and a half 
 a day now. He must have three seventy-five, or even 
 four if he won't come without. Then I 'm going to 
 have Ritchie out of the James & Dicksee mill — fine knot- 
 sawyer, every one says — and Tom West, the bolter out 
 of the Hartley-Barnes mill. And Dick, you tell them — " 
 
 "Now, Gret, see here," said Dick quietly, "you know 
 very well that I can't have anything to do with no such 
 work as that. These people all get lumber off us, and — 
 my gracious ! it would n't be fair to your father or any- 
 body else." 
 
 Gret stared him squarely in the face. "I supposed 
 you 'd use a little sense in the matter," she retorted scorn- 
 fully. "That 's why I did n't set to work and tell you 
 exactly how to say it. But if these men come into the 
 
96 GRET 
 
 camp asking questions, what sort of mill it is, what sort 
 of bosses and all that, I suppose you can tell them every- 
 thing is all right, can't you ?" 
 
 "Yes, I can do that." 
 
 "Well, then ! You did n't suppose I was going to send 
 you to sneak the men, did you ?" 
 
 "Land, I did n't know," smiling, and still looking down 
 on her in the greatest amusement. "You 're quite equal 
 to it." 
 
 Gret laughed, too, good-humored once more. "Well, 
 it 's like this, Dick : I 'm going to make that mill pay or 
 die. Of course, I don't really know much more about 
 running a shingle-mill than they do ; only, I '11 use a little 
 sense. But anything you tell me — help and advice and all 
 that— goes in here," tapping her forehead, "and stays 
 there. No one will know how much you put me wise." 
 
 Dick nodded. Presently he went back to his men, 
 highly amused; and Gret went on her way deeply 
 thoughtful. 
 
 After this treachery entered the mills down at the 
 Harbor. But the proprietors never knew it was in the 
 person of Silway's daughter, who came and sat on the 
 benches during lunch-hour, chatting with various men. 
 They were accustomed to seeing her, from a child up, 
 walk about the mills whenever she felt inclined. But 
 Gret heard all the men's grievances — having cautiously 
 led the conversation up to the recital of them — and dis- 
 cussed their affairs with them with the utmost sympathy. 
 And then she spoke words of wisdom. 
 
 "There 's a little mill up by our place— a dandy little 
 mill it is. I tell you it is a regular snap working there. 
 And the bosses are two of the nicest men you could hope 
 to work for. I know them both. You come up to our 
 camp, and the boys will tell you the same thing. What 
 are you getting here — three and a half? Well, they 'd 
 
GRET COMES TO THE RESCUE 97 
 
 give you three six bits, I know. They get swell orders, 
 and crackerjack men is what they 're looking for. Ritchie 
 and West are thinking about going up there. Come up 
 to the camp to dinner to-night. I '11 tell Jake I asked you. 
 And then, if you feel like it, you can just stroll down to 
 the mill-house and talk to the bosses. No harm done, 
 anyhow. Who 's to know?" 
 
 This performance was repeated for the benefit of each 
 of the other men of her choice, and worked well in each 
 instance. The men came up to the camp as suggested— 
 though on different nights, by Gret's careful arrangement 
 — and some of the main spokesmen of the camp, having 
 previously learned of Gret's interest in the case, promptly 
 and cheerfully went into ecstacies over both the mill and 
 the angelic qualities of its owners. Gret sat by and lis- 
 tened stolidly ; and then just as stolidly offered to conduct 
 the men into the presence of the mill-owners. 
 
 Of course the men were hired, and started to work. 
 But this was only the beginning of Gret's labors. Dick 
 saw to it that only the finest logs went down to the mill, 
 and Gret covertly watched the sawing up of almost each 
 one and reported to Dick in order that full justice was 
 done to the wood. Moreover, when the men were safely 
 away from their former mills, and their places filled up, 
 she talked with them again. Of course, if the mill would 
 n't pay, Fonseker and Baring, with all their money, could 
 hardly be expected to keep it going. But then it would 
 pay. Why should n't it with such men? And the men 
 certainly did work with a will. To add to their comfort, 
 Gret had managed to have them board at her father's 
 camp, being afraid that a journey to and from the Harbor 
 night and morning would soon dampen their ardor. And 
 Jake, who in any ordinary case would have kicked like 
 fury at cooking for outside boarders, said not a word, 
 but instead saw to it that many a little comfort came the 
 
 7 i 
 
98 GRET 
 
 way of "Gret's boys," the source and cause of which 
 they were far from suspecting. Jake felt very sure from 
 what he saw of Baring and Fonseker — but Baring espe- 
 cially — that, if the mill could be got to pay, something 
 handsome would come out of it for Gret. 
 
 The two young mill-owners were amazed at the light- 
 ning change that took place at the mill. They had not 
 supposed it possible such a quantity of shingles could be 
 turned out with the machinery at their command. The 
 first week or so they were inclined to walk round, open- 
 eyed, pleased astonishment written large on their faces — 
 a proceeding to which Gret was quick to put a stop. 
 
 "Walk round and look wise, anyhow, even if you 
 don't know anything," she advised tartly. And the two 
 partners retired to do their marveling in secret. 
 
 In addition to writing to her father, Gret made Bobbie 
 write to all previous mill customers and, explaining the 
 rearrangement in the management of the mill, solicit a 
 further trial of their product. A few orders were ob- 
 tained in this way, which were immediately filled out of 
 the store of shingles now accumulated, and filled so ex- 
 cellently that the original order was in almost every 
 instance immediately repeated. For the first month the 
 mill barely paid expenses ; but at the end of the second 
 month Bobbie Baring came to Gret and placed in her 
 hands a longish envelop. She opened it curiously to find 
 an account book with the Harbor bank, showing fifty 
 dollars to her credit. She refused to take it, protesting 
 that she had never thought of money compensation. But 
 Bobbie was firm for once in his life. 
 
 "Yes, you will take it. I know you never thought of 
 money. But it 's only fair. It 's half Fonseker's and 
 half mine, and we 're too grateful for words. Indeed, 
 we are. Next month the profits will be more very likely," 
 hopefully ; "and you '11 get half the profits of each." 
 
GRET COMES TO THE RESCUE 99 
 
 "Well, I '11 take this," said Gret ; "but I won't take half 
 next month if you talk for a week. Besides, I should n't 
 think you 'd need anyone much longer. You ought to 
 know the business yourselves pretty soon. I show you 
 just how it 's all done." 
 
 "I know you do. You 're awfully good and straight- 
 forward to us," agreed Bobbie gently. ''And I — we — may 
 learn the business all right; but we '11 never learn to 
 manage men as you do." 
 
 Gret laughed and sped on her way, well pleased, as was 
 but natural, at the frank and genuine praise. She went 
 at once to show Dick what the mill-owners had done, 
 and that gentleman was of the opinion that they had just 
 done what was right. 
 
 "It 's yours ; you earned it well enough. And I 'm glad 
 they did the square thing by you." 
 
 "Oh, I did n't do so very much," said Gret modestly. 
 
 "You did n't leave much undone, either," said the fore- 
 man with a smile ; "that 's a sure thing." 
 
 Gret said no more, but she went down to the Harbor 
 next day, drew a sum of money out of the bank and pur- 
 chased for Dick a most elaborate scarf-pin, and for Jake 
 a pair of cuff-links. These she presented with honeyed 
 words of flattery. 
 
 "I could n't have done anything, now, if it had n't been 
 for you two. So don't say a word." 
 
 She also ordered up into Jake's keeping a keg of beer; 
 and that night the camp held a jamboree and toasted the 
 mill, and agreed that the owners were first-rate fellows, 
 who should n't be done up again while any of the camp 
 members were by to help. Gret's diplomacy and business 
 acumen were lauded to the skies, and every one was well 
 pleased all the way round. 
 
 After that things began to go on oiled wheels. Bobbie 
 wrote home in the highest spirits, and began to return in 
 
100 GRET 
 
 steady amounts the money lent him. He wisely, however, 
 made no mention of Gret's existence, knowing full well 
 that his anxious mother would instantly suspect an awful 
 entanglement. 
 
 By and by Mr. Silway came home again for a time. 
 He soon learned, as he was bound to do, of Grefs myste- 
 rious and not very well understood connection with the 
 mill. At first he was enraged, as he generally was at any- 
 thing new concerning his family, and declared he was n't 
 going to have Gret's name mixed up with that of those 
 two fellows. Gret herself said nothing; but she treated 
 her father to one of those peculiar, unblinking stares of 
 hers, and then walked off. She could not have expressed 
 herself better if she had talked for a month. 
 
 However, upon inquiry Mr. Silway found that in 
 reality Gret seemed to be doing little more than bossing 
 and meddling about the mill, much as she did about their 
 own camp; and when he became better acquainted with 
 Bobbie, he could not but admit that the two young mill- 
 proprietors were undoubtedly gentlemen and very nice 
 fellows. Gret might do worse than marry either of them ; 
 in fact, she was more than liable to do very much worse. 
 And anyway, Gret left alone was no trouble, while Gret 
 crossed might be goodness knows what. So with remark- 
 able wisdom, for him, he let the subject drop. 
 
 The possibility that Gret might marry one of the mill- 
 owners was discussed in several quarters — always well out 
 of Gret's hearing, it may be remarked. Among those loud 
 in disfavor of such an idea were Oly, Jake and Robin. 
 
 "Pshaw! they don't know enough. Gret 's not going 
 to marry anybody that she can tote around at the end of a 
 string." 
 
 It may be supposed that such talk as this, connecting, 
 as it did in a way, Gret's name with those of the young 
 mill men would rouse a feeling of jealousy in the breast 
 
GRET COMES TO THE RESCUE loi 
 
 of Robin Start. But it did not; far from it. Robin was 
 no suppliant for Gret's favor. That young lady had 
 changed very materially in her attitude toward the chum 
 of her childhood. Following that escapade of now nearly 
 two years ago, Gret had seemingly viewed Robin in a 
 new and apparently ludicrous light. For a time she never 
 lost an opportunity of making fun of him, and she 
 watched him, when in her presence, with an amused 
 mockery in her eyes that was not pleasant to either his 
 self-respect or vanity. Instead of looking forward to it, 
 Robin grew to dread lest at any time it should suit Gret's 
 purpose to disclose her new estate. For a long time he 
 did not dare mention the subject to her ; but once, many 
 months thereafter, he timidly referred to it. 
 
 ''Suppose we '11 ever do anything with that business of 
 ours — you know — that day at Montyville ?" 
 
 Gret looked at him in cool surprise. . "Of course not. 
 I never think about it. Just the same to me as if it had 
 never been done." 
 
 ''But supposing it ever came out," hazarded Robin. 
 
 Gret leaned her elbows on the rock, and regarded her 
 companion with that uncomfortable, unwavering gaze. 
 "Why, I should just say that you persuaded me into it, 
 and that I did n't know anything about it until I was on 
 the boat; my parents did n't know anything about it; 
 I was n't of proper age, and you 'd just get kicked out. 
 That 's all there 'd be to it." 
 
 Robin gasped. "Why, how could you be so mean?" 
 
 "I would n't," coolly. "I should never say anything 
 about it. If you do, you know what to expect. It was 
 only a fool trick, anyhow. Nothing legal about it." 
 
 "Well, we '11 let it go at that," said Robin relieved. "It 
 was never done." 
 
 "Of course. It was only a matter of a few words, 
 anyway. I never think about it." 
 
I02 GRET 
 
 And that was true. She did n't. And Robin was glad 
 to come to her way of thinking. His craze to take his 
 place in the community as a married man had worn off. 
 He could not see that Jack Gradel got any more consider- 
 ation, and he certainly was getting a whole lot less com- 
 fort. Robin never could go near the Gradel cabin but 
 his ears were assailed by the squalls of an infant. The 
 advent of a family naturally made more work for Mary, 
 and as that ambitious young woman had married to es- 
 cape work, not to make it, she was not turning out a very 
 good wife. As far as Robin could see, Jack had nothing 
 but wrangles and discomfort. He was very glad to es- 
 cape a like predicament, and came in time to see and 
 realize how childishly rash and foolish he had been. And 
 he really came to look upon the affair, as Gret said, in 
 the light of a youthful escapade with nothing serious or 
 legal about it ; and as such it lapsed most of the time into 
 the limbo of forgotten things. 
 
 The winter passed away, and spring came again. And 
 then Bobbie Baring grew restless. He bethought himself 
 of the yachting parties, gay times at the beaches and con- 
 tinental trips ; and longed for a sight of, and converse 
 with, his own. And presently he wrote to his mother, 
 observing that he did not see why he should not leave 
 the mill for a time to Fonseker and come home for a 
 holiday. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE PILGRIMAGE TO THE BACKWOODS 
 
 " AND SO," Mrs. Baring was saying impressively, "I must 
 rjL think very carefully over what I shall write, so as to 
 persuade Bobbie to stand by his post, without seeming 
 harsh or unfeeling, you know." 
 
 Maude Vibart nodded. "Have you told Vines that you 
 are to be left alone?" 
 
 "Yes. I 'm not at home to any one," placidly. 
 
 "Not to any one ?" repeated Maude with an inflection. 
 
 "Oh well, he knows I 'm never out to Errol or Lily or 
 any one like that/' replied Mrs. Baring. 
 
 "You 're expecting your nephew, the major, to come 
 and confer with you on the question of Bobbie's visit, 
 are n't you?" asked Maude in a carefully casual tone. 
 
 "Well, he said he would get here if he could," re- 
 sponded Mrs. Baring discontentedly. "But Mrs. Hall- 
 Turner had him on her coach this morning. "It 's per- 
 fectly disgusting the way those women run after him." 
 
 Miss Vibart smiled absently. Maude had been guilty 
 of an act of folly. In the midst of a life that had been 
 reason, all reason, cool, calculating business reason, she 
 had done an utterly foolish and impractical thing. She 
 had fallen in love— and in an impossible quarter. 
 
 The man was the impracticable part of the affair, every- 
 thing else being more than satisfactory. From his father 
 he inherited a fine old English name and estates; and 
 from his mother, an American woman, one of the most 
 beautiful of CaHfornian estates; his income was enor- 
 
 103 
 
I04 GRET 
 
 mous, and he did not spend half of it. But as far as the 
 man himself was concerned Maude might as well have 
 fallen in love with the pope. 
 
 Maude knew all this. She was no fool, neither was she 
 conceited. A man who had been the target of every 
 match-making mother for six or seven years at least, in 
 continental cities and at home, and who had yet to be 
 even associated with the name of a woman, was not likely 
 to be attracted by anything a woman like herself had to 
 offer. No— Maude's only hope, if she had one, was to 
 be found in an opinion once expressed by Mrs. Baring, 
 his aunt on the maternal side. The opinion was not stated 
 to Maude in particular, but was merely a statement in 
 general. 
 
 "Errol will never fall in love, my dear. Don't imagine 
 it for a moment. It is simply not in him. He will have 
 to marry sometime, of course, because he will never let 
 Ketton go to strangers. But when he does it will be to 
 some woman willing to marry him without love and 
 courtship or anything of that kind." 
 
 Maude would have married him on any terms. To do 
 her justice, she would gladly have married him if he had 
 been unknown and penniless— so great and entire was her 
 one act of folly. It was unprecedented; it never would 
 be duplicated. It was just as well that it was whole- 
 hearted. 
 
 Apparently "those women" allowed Major Ludlowe a 
 brief respite, for in the middle of the afternoon he ap- 
 peared, towing after him into the boudoir the tall and 
 slender figure of Arthur Massinger, one of the city's most 
 prominent young ministers and a former college friend of 
 Ludlowe's. He was giving up his life to helping the 
 ''unfortunates" of San Francisco. 
 
 ''Mrs. Baring, this is an intrusion," began the young 
 minister: "but—" 
 
PILGRIMAGE TO THE BACKWOODS 105 
 
 "Errol did it," finished that gentleman, turning round 
 from greeting the serene Maude. ''I found him wander- 
 ing the streets, and brought him here to you to be lec- 
 tured. Just look at that face, aunt." Placing his hand 
 on the man's shoulder, and gently turning toward that 
 attentive lady the worn, white face and hollow, bright 
 eyes. 
 
 "It 's no good my saying anything, if a glance in his 
 glass is not sufficient," said Mrs. Baring impressively. 
 "That gives all the warning there is to be given." 
 
 "No, don't scold, Mrs. Baring," said Massinger, draw- 
 ing a chair near his hostess. "I am warned by the doc- 
 tor. I have to go away for a rest." 
 
 "I should think so. Where are you going?" inquired 
 Mrs. Baring. 
 
 "I don't know," thoughtfully. 
 
 "And don't care, eh?" asked Ludlowe. 
 
 "Oh, not much," gently. "Wherever is most advisable 
 from a health point of view, I suppose." 
 
 "And worry about your charity work the whole time 
 you are away, I know," observed Miss Vibart. 
 
 "Oh, no. That must cease while I 'm gone ; that 's all," 
 calmly. "The only thing that worries me at all is the fact 
 that I have at present three girls at The Tents.' They 
 can't be turned away; and I find it so difficult to get a 
 good woman to look after them." 
 
 ^Tou would, of course," agreed Mrs. Baring, innocent 
 of any intent to offend. "You could hardly expect a 
 good woman to be willing to come in contact with them." 
 
 Arthur Massinger smiled slightly. Where the vital 
 questions of his life were concerned he was a man of few 
 words. He was not fool enough to suppose that with a 
 few words, however well-chosen, he could upset in his 
 day the ideas that custom and convention had been weav- 
 ing for generations. No— time and independent right- 
 
io6 GRET 
 
 eous lives might do it. He could not, and was not going 
 to waste time and precious energy trying. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Baring produced Bobbie's letter, read 
 it, unfolded her views, and looked very wise and im- 
 pressive. 
 
 "You know how very impressionable Bobbie is," she 
 observed. "He never could be here a whole summer 
 without getting interested in— in something or other. 
 And I know he never would go back before the Summer 
 was over, perhaps not even then. He never will get an- 
 other money-making chance like this— right away up 
 there, too, where it does not really matter what one does." 
 
 "No. At the same time he is evidently tired of rusti- 
 cating for the present, and wants a change," said Lud- 
 lowe. "If he has made up his mind to come, come he 
 will." 
 
 "That 's what I think," agreed Maude. 
 
 "That is Bobbie's way," added Massinger with a smile. 
 
 "Oh, but he must n't !" said Mrs. Baring in a distressed 
 way. 
 
 "Well, there 's only one way of stopping it," observed 
 Ludlowe, disposing of the matter in his usual cool way. 
 
 "What is that ?" asked Mrs. Baring quickly. 
 
 "Go up to him." 
 
 "Oh!" Mrs. Baring gasped. Then she sat staring at 
 her unmoved nephew as she took in the full import of the 
 proposal. It would, of course, save the expense of a 
 whole summer— the outfit, the beaches and the yachting 
 —and she could have the house redecorated. But then, 
 there was Maude. For the past two years it had suited 
 the wealthy Miss Vibart to be chaperoned by Mrs. Bar- 
 ing, who was socially so prominent. And then— there 
 was Major Ludlowe. 
 
 In return for her chaperonage Mrs. Baring received 
 regularly a handsome check. If it meant losing her 
 
PILGRIMAGE TO THE BACKWOODS 107 
 
 checks— She glanced furtively up. Maude was watch- 
 ing her keenly, divining perfectly well what was in her 
 mind. 
 
 "It 's such a long journey alone," she said tentatively. 
 
 "Don't take it alone, then," advised Ludlowe promptly. 
 He, too, was perfectly cognizant of all the ins and outs of 
 the case. "If you think you can take to camping and 
 roughing it philosophically and not grumble at the vari- 
 ous specimens of insect life sharing the daily round with 
 you, I should like to come myself." 
 
 "J think I should, too," added Maude, quietly. "I 
 can't promise not to mind the insects, but I '11 promise 
 not to express my feelings in words." 
 
 "That is all that would be required," said Ludlowe. 
 "Well, that will be the very thing, aunt. If you could 
 really get — Why, aunt— Massinger, this is just what 
 you want. Aunt, we must have Arthur. You could n't 
 choose a better trip for your case," turning to the young 
 man. "The air in those pine woods is the finest possible 
 thing for you !" 
 
 "Yes ; Errol is right," approved Mrs. Baring, instantly 
 perceiving that Arthur Massinger was quite the most 
 safe and harmless adjunct to the party possible. "And 
 we shall be most delighted to have you join us. What do 
 you think of it?" 
 
 "Why— If you 're sure I should n't be intruding," 
 began Massinger, slightly bewildered at the sudden de- 
 velopment of plans in his behalf. "I did rather dread the 
 idea of taking a trip alone." 
 
 "Well, then, we '11 consider it settled," said Mrs. Bar- 
 ing sweetly. "What had we better do first, Errol ?" 
 
 "Wire to Bobbie," replied Ludlowe promptly. "Else 
 the young gentleman will be following his letter without 
 further ado." 
 
 "Oh, dear me, yes, to be sure," agreed Mrs. Baring 
 
io8 GRET 
 
 readily. "I should never have thought of that. I shall 
 just tell him that my health is not quite so good as it 
 might be — it is n't, you know — and so we 've formed a 
 little party to spend the summer with him— part of it, 
 anyway. And we '11 say he need not go to any expense 
 or trouble to accommodate us. We can do with what he 
 can. And we '11 say — " 
 
 "I '11 send the wire some time this afternoon myself," 
 interposed Ludlowe, not without a smile at the proposed 
 length of it. "So you need not trouble about that. And 
 I '11 look up trains and boat connections as far as possi- 
 ble. All you ladies have to do is to tuck away your ward- 
 robes as soon as possible." 
 
 And so it was settled. Ludlowe despatched a telegram 
 that was a considerable abbreviation of his aunt's text. 
 It merely ran, "Vibart, Ludlowe, Massinger and I com- 
 ing up. Will wire from Portland. Mother." 
 
 "That gives the young man no time for prevarication 
 or change of plans," he remarked to Massinger, who had 
 accompanied him. "When he receives this he '11 suppose 
 we 're actually embarking and be dumbfounded." 
 
 "Naturally," laughed Massinger. "Who would n't be ?" 
 
 Both men were right in their prophecies. Bobbie, re- 
 ceiving the telegram by special messenger up from the 
 Harbor, was literally stunned for the moment. Then 
 came a feeling of disappointment, almost of resentment, 
 that his own proposed trip was now out of the question. 
 And then, finally, picturing his mother out among his 
 present surroundings, Bobbie became filled with glee. 
 Flourishing the telegram, he rushed into the mill and 
 waved it in the face of the astounded Fonseker. That 
 gentleman was horrified. 
 
 "My dear fellow, what shall we do with them ?" he in- 
 quired feebly. 
 
 "Stow them all away somewhere, of course," said Bob- 
 
PILGRIMAGE TO THE BACKWOODS 109 
 
 bie. "We must build more rooms onto our shack ; that 's 
 all." 
 
 "But— this sounds as if they were already on the way/' 
 argued Fonseker, staring blankly at his friend. 
 
 "Oh, just about to start, I expect. We 've got about a 
 week in which to fix things up. Say, where 's Gret ? We 
 must tell her." 
 
 "She was here a minute ago," said Fonseker, glancing 
 round, "talking to — There she is," indicating a boat on 
 its way up the river. 
 
 Bobbie gave a shrill, prolonged whistle, and, as Gret 
 paused and turned her head, waved the telegram in ex- 
 cited circles above him. After staring hard over her 
 shoulder for a moment or so, Gret decided something out 
 of the ordinary had evidently occurred, turned her boat 
 into the bank, tied it up and climbed out. Fonseker and 
 Bobbie went forward to meet her, and as they drew to- 
 gether Bobbie handed over in weighty and dramatic 
 silence the message of import. 
 
 Gret read it, laughed, and then demanded, even as 
 Fonseker had done, "Well, where are you going to put 
 them?" 
 
 "Why," began Bobbie, placing both hands in his pockets 
 and planting himself very firmly on the soft moss, "I 'm 
 going to build two more bedrooms. And then I '11 put 
 carpet on the floors, and — oh, I '11 fix the place up regard- 
 less. You '11 see ! But Lord, Fonseker, fancy the Mater 
 among all this!" And Bobbie danced around, and 
 chuckled in unfilial glee. 
 
 Fonseker looked far more concerned than the approach- 
 ing lady's own son. "Even with the best you can do, I 'm 
 afraid Mrs. Baring will find it awfully rough." 
 
 "Rough! She '11 imagine the Fiji Islander on his mat 
 under the cocoanut-tree is not in it with her for a savage 
 life! Of course, Errol has been hunting all over the 
 
no GRET 
 
 Rockies. He knows pretty well what life in the back- 
 woods is like. Besides, he 's such a cool customer. You 
 can't upset him, anyway. Miss Vibart, too, seems to take 
 things all serenely. I don't know so much about Mas- 
 singer. Seems an awfully nice fellow — but — " 
 
 ''Clergyman, is n't he?" interposed Fonseker. 
 
 "Yes; not a bit preachy-preachy, though. I don't 
 imagine he '11 care how rough it is. Mother is the one 
 it '11 pinch." 
 
 "Oh, well ! She '11 hardly expect the comforts of civili- 
 zation in the backwoods." 
 
 "No — oh, no !" with a grin. "She '11 have made up her 
 mind to do without a maid, and I don't suppose she '11 be 
 surprised to find us without a butler. But — when it 
 comes to Anna, you know, and all that — " Bobbie was 
 overcome with amusement and could specialize no further. 
 
 Fonseker nodded. At the same time he looked at Bob- 
 bie with a smile, the cause of which that gentleman was 
 far from guessing. It had just occurred to Fonseker that 
 among other things up in the great Northwest calculated 
 to shock Mrs. Baring might be the change which even so 
 short a time had effected in her son. And so he looked at 
 that worthy, standing hands in pockets, feet planted 
 widely apart, hair on end in front and cap set well on the 
 back of the head, and laughed. Of course Bobbie was 
 just the same jolly, happy-go-lucky fellow that he had 
 always been, only— well, he had taken to the free, rollick- 
 ing life of the West like a duck to water. 
 
 Gret stood considering matters, too ; only not of course 
 from anything like Fonseker 's standpoint. She was just 
 trying to size up in imagination the prospective arrivals. 
 Suddenly she decided it was a foolish waste of effort, 
 and kicked a piece of bark into the river by way of sig- 
 nalizing a change of thought. 
 
 This brought Bobbie, too, out of his reflections. 
 
PILGRIMAGE TO THE BACKWOODS iii 
 
 ''Well/' he observed briskly, "I 'm going down to the 
 Harbor to see about a carpenter, and the carpets and all 
 that. Any of you boys want to come ?" 
 
 *'I would n't go until I had found out which was the 
 best carpenter, and until I had formed some definite idea 
 of what I wanted. Would you. Miss Silway ?" said Fon- 
 seker, with a distinct air of pride in his own increasing 
 business acumen. 
 
 "I would n't go down to the Harbor at all," responded 
 Gret coolly. "Rob Marco, down in the gulch, is as good 
 a carpenter as you 'd want, and I believe you can shape 
 the lumber in the mill. Ask the sawyer. And Marco will 
 tell you how much you want, and what kind, and all that." 
 
 ''That would be a good idea, would n't it ?" agreed Bob- 
 bie brightly. 
 
 "And I would n't go down to the Harbor for the car- 
 pets, either," went on Gret. "They 're the awfullest 
 things : great bunches of flowers all over them, the kind 
 that nobody ever saw growing under the sun. Send a 
 letter to father, and ask him to go to one of the furniture 
 stores and tell them to send you what you need." 
 
 "But they 'd take so long to get here, would n't they? 
 Could they come at all, do you think?" asked Bobbie 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Come? Why not? Only takes three or four days. 
 Be here before you had the rooms ready." 
 
 "Well, but I don't know what size carpets I shall have 
 to have, you see," objected Bobbie. 
 
 "Why not?" demanded Gret. "The carpenter will 
 know how large he 's going to build the rooms, won't he ? 
 What 's the matter with you? Come along. Let 's go 
 hunt the carpenter." 
 
 That worthy craftsman was soon found, and then they 
 came back to swell the consultation by the addition of 
 Dick Swinton and the sawyer out of the mill, With the 
 
112 GRET 
 
 combined aid and advice of all these the size and location 
 of the rooms was soon settled. Three extra rooms were 
 decided upon, one of which Bobbie intended for a sitting- 
 room for the ladies. 
 
 "They can't very well sit in the room that we dine in, 
 and all that," he remarked. 
 
 Then the carpenter and the sawyer departed to get 
 things under way at once, and to Bobbie and his con- 
 freres was left the task of settling the furniture question. 
 
 "I know exactly what to put in the room for Errol and 
 Massinger," said Bobbie; ''but I '11 be hanged if I know 
 how to set up a ladies' room. Do you, Fonseker?" 
 
 "Well, you have to have a dressing-table affair, with a 
 large mirror, and an aperture for their knees to fit in 
 when they sit down," began Fonseker sagely, speaking 
 in much the same way as if he were describing a cage for 
 some rare animal of peculiar habits. 
 
 "Yes; and then, as there 's no dressing-room, we '11 
 have to have a— Good gracious !" Bobbie looked tragic. 
 "What will they do for a bath?" 
 
 This settled the listening Gret. Her scorn of the 
 totally unnecessary requirements of the coming women 
 had been increasing as time went on. 
 
 "Pshaw !" she broke in. "Bath ! Are n't there plenty 
 of wash-tubs in the kitchen?" 
 
 Fonseker and Baring broke into shouts of laughter. 
 "Is that what you do, Gret?" 
 
 ''Not in the kitchen," responded Gret sturdily, but 
 smiling in spite of herself at sight of their unfeigned 
 mirth. "How do you bathe, then?" 
 
 "Yes— we have to use a tub, of course," admitted Bob- 
 bie, trying to control his face. 
 
 "Oh, well," put in Dick, "these ladies know they 're 
 coming out into the woods. They won't expect no first- 
 class New York hotel." 
 
PILGRIMAGE TO THE BACKWOODS 113 
 
 "Do you know the size of all the carpets?" demanded 
 Gret. 
 
 "No — we must measure the dining-room," answered 
 Bobbie quickly. "The carpenter's going to make the 
 other rooms fourteen feet square." 
 
 A procession formed and repaired to the dining-room, 
 where Bobbie proceeded to measure the floor by striding 
 across it with uncertain gait and pronouncing it to be 
 "about thirteen feet." 
 
 "About," echoed Gret in amazement at such methods. 
 "Suppose your carpet came 'about' a foot too small. 
 You 'd look fine, would n't you?" She returned to the 
 broadly smiling Dick, a request on her lips. It was not 
 necessary to utter it, however, for that gentleman quietly 
 drew from a capacious hip pocket a folding foot-rule. 
 
 Gret took it, and with characteristic unconcern dropped 
 onto her knees, and in that position measured off the floor 
 under the supervising eye of Dick Swinton. It was dis- 
 covered to be thirteen feet six inches one way, and thir- 
 teen feet ten inches the other. 
 
 "Quite a difference," remarked Bobbie blandly. 
 
 "You bet; and that 's just what you 'd have thought 
 when the carpet came according to your measuring." 
 
 "Well, I have got to go," said Dick, and with a cheerful 
 nod to the group he walked off to the camp. 
 
 The remaining three got pen, ink and paper and sat 
 down to indite the all-important epistle. Bobbie, the 
 scribe, sat in the middle, with Gret and Fonseker on 
 either side. And faithfully and conscientiously did the 
 girl ransack her memory to enumerate all that could be 
 reasonably demanded, according to her way of thinking. 
 
 As Bobbie clapped everything down on paper as soon 
 as it was mentioned, afterward amending it according 
 to consultation, the list when finally completed was com- 
 plicated in the extreme. One thing only was plain, and 
 
114 GRET 
 
 that was the need for immediate despatch. Then the three 
 decided that a fitting end to such an expeditious business 
 transaction would be to row down to the Harbor and see 
 themselves that the letter was safely mailed. Which was 
 accordingly done. After which the committee, as Bobbie 
 called it, returned home and retired to its several couches, 
 worn out with the strenuous mental and physical en- 
 deavors of the day. 
 
 The extra rooms were completed in three days, being 
 but roughly built, of course, in accordance with the rest 
 of the house. And on the fifth day the consignment of 
 furniture arrived from Portland. Then followed times 
 of the wildest excitement while the goods were hauled up 
 from the boat and installed in what was considered to be 
 their rightful places by the committee, aided by a push 
 here and a pat there by the Unutterable Anna, as Bobbie 
 had long since dubbed her. 
 
 Many were the anxious discussions and more or less 
 stormy arguments before all was said and done; but 
 finally the last piece of furniture, beaming with polish 
 and newness, was tugged into its place, and then the com- 
 mittee sat down and pronounced its work very good. 
 
 Almost all the camp, which felt a sort of proprietorship 
 in the young mill-owners, came down to view their en- 
 larged residence. And as all the display and effort was 
 for the benefit of the mother of one of them, it was com- 
 mended and admired, where it would otherwise un- 
 doubtedly have been condemned as showing a desire to 
 adopt airs. 
 
 Then when all was done that could be done, and seen 
 that could be seen, both committee and community 
 awaited with impatience the arrival of the distinguished 
 guests. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 MRS. BARING MEETS THE " 
 
 MRS. BARING enjoyed her trip to Portland, and con- 
 descended to greatly admire that city upon looking 
 it over. A wire was sent to Bobbie to join the party there, 
 as they purposed remaining a few days before starting on 
 the final stages of the journey. Ludlowe wanted to pur- 
 chase a launch, and he thought it advisable to learn from 
 Bobbie a few particulars of the waters upon which it 
 would be required to run. So Bobbie came, and Mrs. 
 Baring's cup of complacency was full. To be sure, there 
 was a sort of slap-dash air about the young man which 
 jarred slightly on a cultured understanding; but Mrs. 
 Baring reflected that this was hardly to be wondered at. 
 And as Bobbie, impressed himself by his temporary re- 
 turn to civilization, was on his most careful and best be- 
 havior, all went well. 
 
 But alas, a change came o'er the spirit of the scene 
 when at Sooginaw Junction they boarded the little local 
 train that was one of the various Hnks in the journey 
 which would eventually land them at Quellish Harbor. 
 Here was no Pullman, but just one common car into 
 which all— all — entered! Mrs. Baring's face lost its 
 contented serenity, and a look of thinly veiled horror and 
 disgust appeared, which, by the way, no one seemed to 
 notice. 
 
 At Granite Harbor they all went on board the little 
 steamer which was the next link on the way, and here 
 conditions were even worse. It was either a matter of 
 
 "5 
 
ii6 . GRET 
 
 standing out on deck or herding in the one small, stuffy 
 cabin with all and everything on the boat. Fortunately 
 the weather was pleasant, and Mrs. Baring was able to 
 keep on deck, safely glued to the side of one or other of 
 her party. She observed how Ludlowe and Massinger 
 were accosted by men who generally seemed to evince 
 immediate interest and curiosity as to the date of their ar- 
 rival in those parts and the probable length of their stay, 
 and felt that she would faint if subjected to a like indig- 
 nity. However, luck and an unprepossessing expression 
 saved her this last straw ; and finally, after many changes 
 and tribulations, the party arrived at Quellish. Here they 
 were met by Bertie Fonseker, who was still, Mrs. Baring 
 reflected with a little inward sigh of relief, his own 
 gentle, aristocratic self. ^ 
 
 Mrs. Baring boarded the Transfer in trepidation of 
 spirit. "Is it safe?" she inquired anxiously, surveying 
 with distrust the flat, barge-like deck that was almost 
 level with the water. 
 
 "Hope so," responded Bobbie blandly. "All we have 
 to get up and down the river on !" And so Mrs. Baring 
 resigned herself with a little hopeless sigh to fate and 
 the Transfer. 
 
 The other members of the party were all greatly inter- 
 ested in the journey up the river, at the various landings 
 and the still more various specimens that appeared upon 
 them. Mrs. Baring noted with amazement that Bobbie 
 was frequently hailed with great familiarity, and grieved 
 a little to think that he had not, in consideration of his 
 position as mill-owner, preserved a greater show of dig- 
 nity among the natives — as she mentally termed the un- 
 suspecting dwellers on the Wishkah. 
 
 As the Transfer was within a few minutes' run of Sil- 
 way's landing, a scene typical of their new home ap- 
 peared. Round the bend of the river floated a raft of 
 
THE "CAMP-GIRL" 117 
 
 splendid logs, and on it in one of her fine, dare-devil 
 poses was the redoubtable Gret. In a boat tied to the tail 
 of the raft was Oly, lolling in a state of complete abandon. 
 
 As the raft bore down upon them, swinging sharply 
 with the newly-turned tide, the Transfer scuffled hastily 
 off into backwater. One of the wide, triangular sides of 
 the raft touched her, however, and then, as if shuddering 
 at the contact, rippled the whole of its sinuous length. 
 Gret swayed like a willow in a wind-storm, and with 
 about as much ease; but Mrs. Baring was horrified. 
 
 ''Oh dear, oh dear!" she cried. "That girl will be 
 drowned." 
 
 "Pooh, not she!" said Bobbie, rushing to the side of 
 the Transfer and waving his cap. "It 's Gret. Hello, 
 Gret! I Ve got 'em — see!" with a wave of his hand 
 toward the astonished group behind him. 
 
 Mrs. Baring was perfectly scandalized. "My dear!" 
 she gasped. 
 
 Bobbie turned an innocent face over his shoulder. 
 "What? Oh! Oh, pooh, mother; you 're in the back- 
 woods now, not in Golden Gate Park." 
 
 "I know. Still, you should preserve a slight semblance 
 of — of — " Mrs. Baring saved herself the trouble of 
 specifying what, for Bobbie had already begun to explain 
 to his interested friends the progress of the log from the 
 tree to the raft. "Who is that girl — what do you call her 
 — Gret?" she inquired then, during a momentary pause 
 in Bobbie's discourse. 
 
 "Big camp above us — Silway's — where we get our 
 logs," said Bobbie in a rapid aside, and then resumed his 
 discussion of the intricacies of logging. 
 
 Mrs. Baring did not listen, not being particularly in- 
 terested in logging processes, but stood surveying the 
 passing banks of the river with a certain dismal, tired 
 expression of countenance. She saw no beauty in their 
 
ii8 GRET 
 
 overhanging luxuriousness, and found nothing of in- 
 terest, but much of distaste, in the Hfe that was just 
 being introduced to her. For that reason her soul was 
 tired and jaded within her. 
 
 When at last the Baring-Fonseker establishment was 
 reached, Mrs. Baring was so glad to find herself once 
 more sheltered from the gaze of a seemingly vastly in- 
 terested pubHc, that she made no comment on the appear- 
 ance of her new home, but sat down and smiled weakly. 
 This was taken by the happily indiscriminating Bobbie to 
 betoken unqualified satisfaction, and he dilated to his 
 audience upon the rapid and clever way in which they 
 had all turned to and, as he expressed it, "fixed things.'* 
 Ludlowe and Massinger, having really some idea of what 
 had been accomplished, gave liberal and unstinted praise, 
 and both proprietors beamed with satisfaction. Then the 
 guests retired to their apartments to refresh themselves 
 and perform an impromptu dinner toilet; while Bobbie 
 strolled round with his hands in his pockets, went into the 
 kitchen and comforted the expectant Anna, and ex- 
 changed views with Bertie. 
 
 The dinner passed off without any serious break in the 
 serenity of the social atmosphere, although Mrs. Baring 
 was secretly horrified both at the meal and the serving 
 thereof. She vowed to change matters as soon as she 
 could grasp the situation well enough to know where she 
 stood. While Anna, having no conception whatever of 
 the relationship of the modern lady of the house and her 
 servant, was immediately indignant at receiving no greet- 
 ing and being completely ignored, and signalized her dis- 
 pleasure by serving the next course with a decided sniff. 
 Mrs. Baring was amazed afresh. 
 
 "What an uncouth girl! I must see about changing 
 her as soon as I understand anything about housekeeping 
 in these parts." 
 
THE ^^CAMP-GIRU' 119 
 
 "Well, if you do, that 's just where your trouble will 
 begin," said Bobbie with a warning nod of the head. 
 "Anna 's a peach as girls go out here." 
 
 "A what?" inquired Mrs. Baring. 
 
 "A peach," repeated Bobbie unconcernedly. "I thought 
 just as you do when I first came up. But now I know 
 difiPerent. Bertie knows, don't you, Bert?" appealing to 
 that gentleman. 
 
 "Yes, indeed; Anna is very desirable as domestics go 
 in these parts," coincided Bertie gently. "Most of them 
 are ignorant Swedish or Norwegian girls, straight from 
 the cabins or from the old country. But we have suc- 
 ceeded in giving Anna a few general ideas as to how 
 things should be done." 
 
 "Good gracious me !" said Mrs. Baring, trying to real- 
 ize such a hopeless state of affairs. 
 
 Bobbie grinned in open lack of sympathy, and the rest 
 of the assembly smiled more or less overtly. But Mrs. 
 Baring looked blank during the rest of the meal, and 
 conversation flourished without any further contribution 
 on her part. 
 
 The greater part of the following day was spent by the 
 two women in disposing of their effects as well as might 
 be in such accommodations and receptacles as were to 
 hand. Probably both were a trifle appalled at the life that 
 for the next few months lay before them ; but neither 
 uttered a word of complaint or apprehension. To each 
 one contemplation of the original motive was solace 
 enough. Mrs. Baring thought of a recouped bank-ac- 
 count and redecorated house, and Maude reflected on 
 three months' matchless opportunity to be near Ludlowe 
 and to demonstrate her worth as a cheerful and sensible 
 companion through any and all circumstances. No 
 woman had a better chance with a man than was before 
 her now, she knew — thrown into daily companionship, 
 
I20 GRET 
 
 with no other woman about to attract or divert attention. 
 Of course, Gret did not count ! 
 
 As for the men, their simpler wardrobes were soon dis- 
 posed of, and they salHed forth to be shown round by the 
 attentive hosts. During the performance of this hospita- 
 ble duty, Bobbie remarked with surprise that Gret was 
 nowhere to be seen. As it happened, that young lady was 
 exceedingly busy upon this particular day. A raft went 
 down to the mills, logs were taken up into the boom, and 
 logs came down the skid-road; and though anxious to 
 inspect the new arrivals at close range, yet Gret wisely 
 reflected that, interesting though they undoubtedly were, 
 they would be there every day for her inspection, whereas 
 every day did not offer for her delectation such a stirring 
 program as this one. Therefore she was invisible for the 
 better part of the day. 
 
 In the evening, however, just before shutting-down 
 time, Dick sent her down to the mill with a message to 
 the bolter. It was also just a little before the Barings' 
 dinner-hour, and Mrs. Baring, her arrangements for the 
 day completed and having nothing particular to do, 
 strolled across to the mill in search of Bobbie, of whom 
 she had not so far seen very much. She reached the 
 building, and entered gingerly over the sawdust-strewn 
 threshold. Standing just inside was Gret. Mrs. Baring's 
 eyes fell on her immediately, and her lips took on a de- 
 cidedly supercilious curve, as she lifted her dainty skirts, 
 and stood hesitating whether or not to enter further. 
 And then, seeing that Gret did not shrink away in a 
 properly obsequious manner, she gave that enterprising 
 little lady an inquiring glance of arrogance. What was 
 this camp-girl doing here in her son's mill ? Waiting for 
 him to appear, she supposed. This kind of girl was 
 brazen enough for anything. These reflections and more 
 were expressed in the august lady's stare. 
 
THE ^^CAMP-GIRL" 121 
 
 As for Gret, she in turn surveyed the visitor with a cool, 
 unwavering interest that was considerably tinged with 
 amusement. She was just wondering whether this was 
 the lady's natural expression. If it were, Gret considered 
 her unfortunate, especially as long as she remained on 
 the Wishkah. 
 
 Presently, enraged at the general lack of respect dis- 
 played in the looks of those about her, Mrs. Baring 
 turned and, with an expression of more pronounced dis- 
 gust than ever on her countenance, departed the way she 
 had come. As she disappeared a roar of laughter went 
 round the mill, whose hands had been to a man interested 
 spectators of the dumb pantomime just enacted. Faint 
 strains of this mirth reached Mrs. Baring's ears as she 
 stepped carefully and daintily on her way, and did not 
 tend to restore her good humor. And she did not forget 
 to voice her indignation as they all gathered round the 
 dinner-table. 
 
 ''I went across to the mill this afternoon," she said with 
 an air of severity and addressing Bobbie more particu- 
 larly; "and that camp-girl was there. What does she 
 want, hanging about the mill in that way ?" 
 
 Both Bobbie and Bertie looked amazed, and it took 
 Bobbie fully a minute to grasp his mother's meaning. 
 
 "Do you mean Gret?" he inquired open-eyed. 
 
 "I think you did call her by some such name — yes." 
 
 Bobbie's indignation was immediate, unfeigned and 
 undisguised. "How idiotic to talk in such a way, mother ! 
 Camp-girl ! Why her father owns that camp, and acres 
 and acres of timber— in fact, about all this timber 
 round about us. We have to pay him for every log we 
 get into our mill. You bet, you wish you owned as 
 much !" 
 
 Mrs. Baring was secretly a little astonished. But she 
 would not show it. 
 
122 GRET 
 
 "That may be. Nevertheless, I fail to see what she can 
 want in the mill. No nice girl would want to hang about 
 a place full of rough men. But she certainly looks brazen 
 enough for anything." 
 
 "Well, she is n't!" almost shouted Bobbie, filial cour- 
 tesy quite forgotten in righteous indignation. "There 's 
 no nicer girl living. She 's a girl that no fellow would 
 dream of saying anything to that was n't just so. None 
 of her father's men, and none of our men either, ever say 
 anything out of the way before her. Do they, Bert?" 
 
 "No," corroborated that gentleman in his quiet way. 
 "She is quite nice, really, Mrs. Baring. You would be 
 surprised if you were to know her, really." 
 
 "I have no desire to improve the acquaintanceship," 
 observed Mrs. Baring sarcastically. 
 
 "Don't trouble," said Bobbie with equal sarcasm. "You 
 won't get the chance. I can see that. There 's only one 
 good thing— Gret 's too sensible a girl to take any notice 
 of the ridiculous way you act toward her. Otherwise 
 she 'd make things jolly uncomfortable for us." 
 
 "Really!" Mrs. Baring was offended, both at Bobbie's 
 tone and the sentiments expressed. "How can she possi- 
 bly affect your comfort?" 
 
 "You 'd soon see," grimly. "She manages the mill 
 practically." 
 
 Mrs. Baring looked astonished and indignant at this 
 assertion ; and the rest of the assembly, who had so far 
 been more or less amused, looked surprised also. 
 
 "What nonsense are you talking, Bobbie?" demanded 
 Mrs. Baring then. "What are you two men here for, 
 then ?" 
 
 "To draw the money," laconically. "Oh now, you can 
 all look incredulous, but it 's true. Bertie can tell you. 
 The mill was just bound to smash— and smash badly— 
 when I got here. Is n't that so, Bertie ?" 
 
THE "CAMP-GIRL" 123 
 
 Bertie looked slightly confused, but nevertheless bent 
 his head in corroboration of the damaging statement. 
 
 "You bet it was !" went on Bobbie, indignant still and 
 forgetful of the discomfort he might be causing his 
 friend. "Bertie did n't know a thing about running a 
 shingle-mill; neither did I. And there is a whole lot to 
 know. Gret had told the other fellow, Transome, at the 
 start just what mistakes they were making, but he 
 would n't listen to her. So he drew out in time to escape 
 the smash. But when I came she was sorry for me, and 
 offered to do what she could to help. And she just actu- 
 ally took the mill right over, for a time, and you see how 
 she pulled it out of the mud. If you don't believe me, ask 
 Bertie here. He '11 tell you the same thing, and perhaps 
 you '11 believe him." 
 
 "I am not doubting your statements," said his mother, 
 still in an offended tone; "but it 's certainly difficult to 
 realize why two men should not be able to do as much as 
 a mere girl." 
 
 "I don't see why it 's difficult. Anyhow, it 's so," re- 
 sponded Bobbie decidedly. "The explanation is easy 
 enough. There is n't a man down at the Harbor con- 
 nected with the timber trade but knows her ; there is n't 
 a man or woman in all this locality up here but knows 
 her, too. And there is n't one of them would see her 
 make a mistake. She went down to the Harbor and 
 fetched out of those mills there the best men there were 
 to be had; she got only the finest lumber out of her 
 father's camp ; and she watched over this mill of ours day 
 and night almost. And then her father sent us lots of 
 orders from the city." 
 
 "Oh, well! Of course, I can understand that benefit- 
 ing you," allowed Mrs. Baring, referring to the last 
 clause in her son's statement. 
 
 "Her father sent the orders just the same before Gret 
 
124 GRET 
 
 had anything to do with the mill," said Bobbie quickly; 
 "but they were n't filled rightly. Well, anyway," with an 
 air of dismissing the subject, '*it does n't make any differ- 
 ence what you think of Gret. Only if you offend her you 
 offend all the locality, for it 's most of it connected with 
 the camp in some way or other." 
 
 "What a pity I did n't know all this a little sooner," 
 remarked Mrs. Baring with gentle sarcasm, "so that, on 
 seeing her, I could have made obeisance." 
 
 Bobbie laughed, his usual good humor returning. "All 
 right. You '11 see," he said. And therewith resigned his 
 mother to her fate. 
 
 As for Gret, she was perfectly unconcerned over what 
 was to her merely an episode of passing amusement. She 
 did not even mention the matter to the camp, whither she 
 returned to supper. Instead, being tired with the long 
 day's activity, she went early to bed and forgot it all in 
 sound, dreamless sleep. 
 
 In the morning she awoke with the sweet May sun- 
 shine full in her eyes. She sprang up with that eager, 
 glad resumption of life that is one of the greatest gifts 
 of a sound body and clear mind, and dressed in her usual 
 rapid way. She descended the bluff in break-neck style, 
 sprang into the boat, and was up in the camp before the 
 men were well out of their bunks. And then, when 
 breakfast was over, and the men turned to, she decided 
 to go down to the mill for a while. She would make it 
 her business to see that peculiar woman again. She 
 would see the other three arrivals, too, and learn what 
 they were like. 
 
 She struck out in a bee-line from the camp to the path 
 down the river. Down in the hollows and up on the 
 bluffs she went, her feet too light to walk or do anything 
 but dance. She was like a young animal, intoxicated 
 with the beauty of the earth and life and living. 
 
THE "CAMP-GIRL'' 125 
 
 On one of the upri&i.i;.s of the path she stood a mo- 
 ment. A strong breath of the morning rose to her nos- 
 trils and she breathed it in — the warm, rich earth smell, 
 that vibrating down some animal cord that fold on fold 
 of evolution has not effaced, can stir always the pulse of 
 those reared close to nature. Gret breathed it in, and her 
 breast swelled with the volume of it. It ran down her 
 veins like wine, and she stared before her into many- 
 colored vistas like a dazed thing, carried out of herself 
 by something hypnotic and potential rising out of the 
 earth to her. And just for a moment she did not notice 
 Ludlowe, walking slowly up the path toward her. 
 
 Ludlowe examined Gret with critical eyes, both on ac- 
 count of what Bobbie had said and because of something 
 oddly striking in her appearance. She was very interest- 
 ing, this woman-creature out of another world. She was 
 not pretty— not in a conventional way. There was some- 
 thing quaint and taking about her face ; that was all. But 
 Ludlowe admired again the beautiful poise of her body — 
 not very tall, and slim, but so lithe, so sinuous, with such 
 velvet-smooth grace of action ; a body in perfect muscular 
 harmony. Ludlowe decided that this poise must be the 
 secret of her distinctive charm. Because it certainly was 
 not beauty. 
 
 In a moment Gret had perceived him, and returned in 
 full the measure of interest meted out to her. She, too, 
 saw a creature of another world, and was quick to note, 
 or rather to try and trace, the evident points of distinc- 
 tion and difference. Was it in the way his clothes had 
 of hanging on him, or in the expression of the eyes that 
 had seen and knew so much? Or — or what? He was 
 quite different from the men round about her; that was 
 plain even to her— one of the same kind as Bertie and 
 Bobbie, only more so— more of a man. 
 
 Ludlowe passed on, and Gret, too, started on her way 
 
126 GRET 
 
 again. She was glad of the advent of these people fresh 
 from the big outside world. As a rule, life in the woods 
 was like playing a game without any pieces on the board ; 
 and the new people promised new interests. 
 
 There was no sign of either Bobbie or Bertie about the 
 mill as Gret entered. But she was hailed immediately by 
 Ritchie, the sawyer. 
 
 "Hallo, Gret! Dick about the boom when you came 
 down ?" 
 
 "No ; up on the grounds," replied Gret, coming to the 
 man's side and watching the whirling saw with a sort of 
 admiration; it was so powerful and resistless. 
 
 "How soon are you going back up ?" demanded Ritchie 
 then. 
 
 "Not yet a while. Why ?" asked Gret. 
 
 "Oh, I just thought perhaps you were; that 's all. 
 Yesterday I told Dick I did n't think we 'd be able to 
 start on that J. C. Ban order this week, but I see we shall. 
 I just thought perhaps it would save him booming those 
 logs; that 's all. He could have rafted 'em right down. 
 But it '^ all right if you 're not going back up," concluded 
 Ritchie amiably, knowing full well that Gret would run 
 a mile to save the men half an hour's unnecessary work. 
 
 She looked exasperated now, and regarded him with a 
 comical frown. "Bother !" she muttered, and then turned 
 and walked out of the mill in her own abrupt way. The 
 actual walk up to the felling grounds and back was noth- 
 ing to her ; but she had come down to the mill determined 
 to see the other two of the new arrivals. However, she 
 reflected philosophically that there would be plenty of 
 opportunities in which to study them. 
 
 Gret reached the camp, and was about to pass right on 
 through to the skid-road, when two things claimed her 
 attention and called a temporary halt. One was the sight 
 of the interesting man from the mill-house, seated on a 
 
THE "CAMP-GIRU' 127 
 
 log, smoking, and apparently watching the camp pro- 
 ceedings with interest; and the other was the sight of 
 Jake within the cook-house, violently gesticulating in 
 order to attract her attention as she passed. Gret jumped 
 off the road, and went toward the cook-house. 
 
 "Say!" began Jake, an apple in one hand, a peeling 
 knife in the other, and a chunk of apple in his mouth. 
 "That 's one of them people down at the mill-house, is n't 
 it?" Gret nodded. 
 
 "Looks kind of lonesome, does n't he?" observed Jake. 
 
 Gret contemplated the distant figure a moment. She 
 had not been struck herself with anything forlorn in his 
 appearance. However, of course he might be feeling 
 strange. 
 
 "Be kind of nice and neighborly to go up and tell him 
 a few words, eh?" wondered Jake. "We could tell him 
 to make himself at home, and walk around as much as he 
 wants to." 
 
 Gret was undecided. 
 
 "I believe he 'd walk about if he wanted to," she said 
 dubiously. "Still— he might like to have us say some- 
 thing friendly. There 's no telling with these kind of 
 people." 
 
 Jake hastily called to Charlie, the second cook, to make 
 up the fire in the cook-stove, opened a near-by drawer and 
 pulled out a clean apron, donned it, adjusted his coat, 
 patted his hair and started for the door. "Come on !" he 
 called over his shoulder to Gret, and that young woman 
 started obediently to follow. 
 
 Ludlowe was in a mildly contemplative mood this 
 morning. He was enjoying a peaceful cigar and devoutly 
 hoping that nothing would occur to disturb his enjoy- 
 ment. But he eyed the couple advancing upon him, in 
 single file and with business-like gait, with curiosity 
 tinged with amusement. 
 
128 GRET 
 
 Jake advanced and gave what he imag-ined to be a care- 
 less and unstudied nod of good fellowship. ''Good 
 morning !" 
 
 "Good morning, too," added Gret, ranging herself 
 alongside, having suddenly reflected that to remain in the 
 background would be to convey the impression that Jake 
 was spokesman for the whole delegation. 
 
 "Good morning, three," said Ludlowe gravely. 
 
 Gret stared; so did Jake, while Ludlowe regarded 
 both with grave composure. Then Gret, to whom a 
 humorous situation never appealed in vain, longed to 
 creep off somewhere and laugh to her heart's content; 
 while Jake, in something of the same state of mind him- 
 self, curled the corner of his apron with great rapidity 
 and then snorted right out, whigh was immediately Gret's 
 undoing. She was taken with one of her uncontrollable 
 fits of mirth, and very nearly cried with laughter. Lud- 
 lowe laughed softly too. 
 
 Then Jake essayed to straighten his face and apologize. 
 "Say, this is a great way to act first show-off, stran- 
 ger." 
 
 "It 's all right," said Ludlo^Ye good-humoredly. "If 
 this young lady," indicating the still shaking Gret, "ever 
 recovers safely, there will be no harm done." 
 
 "Oh, she '11 come round all right," said Jake, casting 
 an experienced eye on the girl. "She has those fits now 
 and again. We thought we 'd come and tell you to walk 
 around and make yourself quite at home." 
 
 "Thanks, I will," responded Ludlowe quietly, betraying 
 by no sign the superfluity of the permission. 
 
 "And come in and have lunch with us, or dinner, when- 
 ever you feel like it," went on Jake affably. "That ^s a 
 good way to get acquainted." 
 
 "Thanks. Yes, it would be," agreed Ludlowe in bland, 
 non-committal tones. 
 
THE "CAMP-GIRL" 129 
 
 Not seeing- how to prolong the interview to further 
 advantage, and feeling that all had been done that could 
 be justly required of his courtesy, Jake turned to go. 
 And Gret, having overcome her mirth, and now feeling 
 somewhat disgusted with herself, bethought herself of 
 the mission to Dick and turned away also. 
 
 "Where are you going, Gret?" inquired Jake. 
 
 "Up to the grounds to see Dick for the mill," re- 
 sponded Gret. 
 
 Ludlowe rose from the log and threw away his cigar. 
 "I should like to accompany you, if I may." 
 
 "Sure," assented Gret readily. 
 
 She walked back to the skid-road and sprang up on it, 
 followed closely by Ludlowe. As she began to walk 
 rapidly along the road, however, she was not followed 
 quite so closely. The great logs that formed the sleepers 
 of the road were connected by stringers of smaller timber, 
 and along these Gret walked with the ease of long prac- 
 tice and the skill of a tight-rope walker. Ludlowe 
 essayed to do likewise, seeing that it looked so easy, and 
 only saved himself from an ignominious fall down be- 
 tween the sleepers by a long spring on to one of them. 
 After that he varied his progress by more or less balanc- 
 ing and by a series of springs, keeping fairly well up with 
 Gret, but finding that he was taking all the exercise he 
 cared for. However, it was better than scrambling 
 through the brush on either side the road. But he saw at 
 once the secret of Gret's lithe, erect poise. 
 
 Gret went on up the road, unconcerned and apparently 
 unobservant of the trials of her companion. She was by 
 no means as oblivious as she seemed, however. 
 
 When they left the skid-road and began to climb the 
 si.de of the mountain, Ludlowe attempted to open up a 
 conversation. Evidently this girl did not intend to. She 
 was the most laconic thing in the shape of a woman that 
 
130 GRET 
 
 Ludlowe ever remembered to have met, although she did 
 not appear at all shy. 
 
 "Who was the man that came up with you?" he in- 
 quired amiably, 
 
 "That was Jake, the cook," explained Gret. And then 
 reflecting that possibly her companion was considering 
 the validity of the invitation extended to him by that 
 worthy, she turned her head coolly over her shoulder. 
 Ludlowe was following close behind her in the narrow 
 path by the side of the shute. "It 's all right if he tells 
 you to come to lunch or anything like that." 
 
 "Yes?" said Ludlowe in a tone of gentle interest, at 
 the same time indulging in a quiet laugh behind his com- 
 panion's back. He probably flattered himself that the tone 
 was non-committal and ordinary, but Gret was keen to 
 detect the over-smoothness and to suspect fun, and turn- 
 ing her head sharply encountered the laugh. 
 
 "Awfully funny country, is n't it?" she observed with 
 a laugh of soft mockery. "Don't do things like that in 
 San Francisco, do they ?" 
 
 "Like what?" demanded Ludlowe, amused and in- 
 terested. 
 
 But Gret only laughed slightly again, just a chuckle of 
 fun and mockery as lively as his own ; and Ludlowe felt 
 that for once he was met on his own ground. 
 
 When they reached the felling grounds, Gret could see 
 that Ludlowe was pleased and interested. She called up 
 Dick and, after giving Ritchie's message, indicated the 
 man by her side. 
 
 "This gentleman 's one of Bobbie's friends from the 
 mill-house. You show him round, Dick." 
 
 And with that Gret formally handed Ludlowe out of 
 her keeping. After a few words to this man and that, 
 she departed, much to Ludlowe's amusement, vanishing 
 down the other side of the mountain. 
 
THE "CAMP-GIRU' 131 
 
 She wanted to get back to the mill and see the re- 
 mainder of the new specimens. Ludlowe was going to be 
 very interesting; she could see that. At the same time 
 she wanted to see the other man and the young woman, 
 especially the young woman. A fashionable woman, a 
 real swell from a big city, was a creature she had never 
 seen or imagined. 
 
 She reached the mill at a lucky moment. Bobbie and 
 Bertie were escorting round the three new arrivals, ex- 
 plaining to them the different processes. Oly was also 
 standing within the building, being on his way down to 
 Quellish and having been bidden stop in at the mill for 
 probable orders for the Transfer. By the elaborate 
 gravity of his countenance Gret knew that something 
 highly edifying must be transpiring. 
 
 The group was in contemplation of Ritchie's saw, and 
 that worthy looked studiously over their heads across at 
 Gret. 
 
 "All right. They '11 be down some time this afternoon," 
 she called to him, with a smile of bewildering brilliancy 
 by way of expressing her approval of his policy of ignor- 
 ing supercilious and entirely superficial interest. 
 
 Gret would have passed on up the mill herself, for she 
 did not like the elder woman's expression, but Bobbie 
 would not have that. He came quickly up to her, and tak- 
 ing her affectionately by the hand, drew her to meet his 
 mother. 
 
 "Mother, this is Miss Margaret Silway. Gret, this is 
 my mother." 
 
 Mrs. Baring signified her pleasure at the introduction 
 by a bow of most punctilious proportions ; while Gret, 
 having in mind the formula usually heard in those parts 
 on the consummation of an introduction, "Pleased to 
 meet you," and disdaining to utter it, compromised mat- 
 ters by saying nothing and looking on with a smile that 
 
132 GRET 
 
 might mean anything. Then Bobbie introduced Miss 
 Vibart, whose bow was less elaborate, in better taste and 
 more cordial.' Again Gret smiled, but her eyes took in all 
 particulars of the simple but faultless gown, the intrica- 
 cies of a fashionable coiffure, the details of the pretty 
 fancy linen collar and cuffs, tiny diamond brooch, dainty 
 slippers and still daintier petticoats. And she noted the 
 general air of well-groomed elegance, and knew in a 
 moment just where she herself would stand among civil- 
 ized women. These reflections took but a second of time, 
 and then Bobbie was introducing Arthur Massinger. 
 Arthur dispensed with the bowing ceremony, and put out 
 his hand with a pleasant smile. 
 
 "We Ve heard so much of you already, Miss Silway," 
 he observed, with a glance at Bobbie, "that an introduc- 
 tion seems a mere formality." 
 
 Gret smiled, too, and held out her hand at once, and 
 Arthur was surprised at the grip of those very brown, 
 thin fingers, 
 
 Bobbie was pleased at this exhibition of cordiality on 
 Arthur's part. He hoped his mother would also say 
 something pleasant before the interview ended, but she 
 did not. Instead, she started to walk forward with the 
 air of one who has discharged an unpleasant duty and is 
 glad of it. Bobbie was on thorns. He remarked Oly's 
 presence, and knew that every stiff and unprepossessing 
 detail of the whole affair would be rehearsed with dis- 
 astrous faithfulness for the benefit of the assembled camp 
 at dinner that night, and he knew what it meant to snub 
 Gret. For once, too, he was disgusted with his mother's 
 supercilious ways. Formerly she, like the king of old, 
 could do no wrong, especially in matters of etiquette and 
 correct procedure. Now it dawned on him that these 
 things were a long way from being the sum total of life ; 
 and that one might be past mistress of etiquette and still 
 
THE "CAMP-GIRL" 133 
 
 act in a very under-bred way. Bobbie felt that more 
 real kindliness and courtesy had been extended to him by 
 these rough people in the time of his perplexity and 
 trouble than he would meet with among his own people 
 if he lived to be a hundred. 
 
 After his mother had left the building, Bobbie turned 
 back, and in his well-intentioned but bungling way tried 
 to apologize for his mother without appearing to do so. 
 
 "I hope you '11 get to know my folks well, Gret." 
 
 "Do you?" said Gret good-humoredly enough. She 
 liked Bobbie, and he was not to be blamed if he had a 
 peculiar kind of a mother. 
 
 "Of course, you know, mother (Joes not understand the 
 ways of this part of the country yet," went on Bobbie 
 gently. 
 
 "She '11 learn," observed Gret grimly ; and then, totally 
 uninterested in the present subject, "Oly 's going down 
 to the Harbor, and he 's going to tell the Transfer about 
 the twenty bundles for Litherland." 
 
 "That 's a good idea," agreed Bobbie, a trifle ab- 
 sently. "If they take on much freight besides, I should 
 n't think they could carry them." He turned away 
 slowly. "Well, I must go and have my breakfast. Have 
 you had yours, Gret?" 
 
 "Twice," replied Gret in a matter-of-fact way. 
 
 When Gret predicted that Mrs. Baring would speedily 
 learn the ways of the locality, she had not really any in- 
 tention of helping to teach the lesson. But that evening 
 she sat on the edge of the bluflf in front of their house 
 with Eva a little while before going to bed. She told that 
 soft-eyed maiden of the new arrivals from San Fran- 
 cisco, and all about the mysterious differences that ap- 
 peared between them and the people among whom they 
 dwelt, and was surprised to find that Eva, out of her stock 
 of romances, could at once comprehend and classify 
 
134 GRET 
 
 them. And then as she described for Eva's benefit the 
 haughty and supercilious mannerisms of Bobbie's mother, 
 it occurred to her to wonder how Anna, the previous 
 autocrat of the mill household, got along with them. 
 Immediately following came a desire to find out, and not 
 deeming it advisable to interview Anna herself on the 
 subject, Gret went in search of the enterprising Lizzie. 
 
 To Lizzie Gret gave a faithful representation of Mrs. 
 Baring's peculiarities, and charged her with the task of 
 visiting Anna upon the first favorable opportunity and 
 testing the state of that lady's feelings. Lizzie was 
 greatly interested, very curious and altogether delighted 
 with the mission : and she made it her business to visit the 
 mill-house the very next evening. Anna needed very 
 little encouragement to pour forth the tale of her indigni- 
 ties and the slights to which she was daily subjected, and 
 Lizzie bestowed unlimited sympathy. Indeed, so very 
 sympathetic was she, and so horrified at such treatment 
 of a hard-working and honest subject of a free country, 
 that Anna's smouldering wrath was fed into a fierce 
 flame. She was paid by the month, and only a few days' 
 pay was, as it happened, due to her, and this small sum 
 she decided to forfeit in the interest of a most dramatic 
 and masterly coup. She hastily packed her grip and de- 
 parted through the brush with the secretly edified Lizzie, 
 remarking that it remained to be seen what kind of airs 
 the obnoxious Mrs. Baring would indulge in when she 
 cooked her own breakfast— or went without. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 NEW PIECES ON THE BOARD 
 
 THE four new-comers at the mill-house were entirely 
 different from anything Gret had ever come in con- 
 tact with; yet, singular to say, she made very little mis- 
 take in adding them up and setting them down for very 
 near their respective worth as individuals and as acquisi- 
 tions to her life-circle. Mrs. Baring she mentally dis- 
 posed of as a person of slight or no individual value, 
 possessing a set of ideas not seemingly likely to accord 
 with any one or anything ; Maude, she decided, had plenty 
 of common-sense and a certain reserve power, but very 
 little personal charm or value. In her own mind Gret 
 doubted whether either of the women could teach her 
 anything she would care to learn ; she certainly could not 
 see anything that she cared to emulate in either, save, of 
 course, the style and neatness of Maude's appearance; 
 and as that was entirely out of the question, she never 
 bothered about it. No, it was on the two men that Gret 
 pinned her faith. Both, she saw, were well educated, and 
 very refined. Beyond that she could hardly add them up 
 with any degree of certainty. Massinger had something 
 about him that she could not understand, and Ludlowe 
 betrayed a subtle perfection of experience and wisdom 
 that she could not begin to fathom ; only that in judging 
 the two men she felt that in Arthur Massinger's gentle, 
 kindly temperament there could be no place for a keen, 
 analytical mind such as Errol Ludlowe was possessed of. 
 
 135 
 
136 GRET 
 
 She watched eagerly for an opportunity to get either of 
 the men to herself and, not talk, but listen. 
 
 Arthur Massinger, as it happened, was the first to dis- 
 close himself and the hidden treasures of his mind. He 
 was an ardent lover of nature, and notwithstanding his 
 weak health roamed and climbed about untiringly. This, 
 of course, was just such an opening as Gret needed. In 
 the first place he recognized an invaluable guide, and she 
 an invaluable opportunity. One afternoon started the 
 friendship, which thereafter throve exceedingly. Gret 
 was rowing up the river, and noticed Massinger standing 
 hesitatingly on one of the landings. 
 
 "Want to get across ?" she called. 
 
 "No-o. I was just wondering where I could get a 
 boat," explained Massinger. "I feel strongly inclined for 
 a pull on the river." 
 
 "All right," said Gret, rowing toward him at once. 
 ''Jump in. You can have the oars." 
 
 Arthur obeyed. "Am I not keeping you from some 
 errand ?" he asked anxiously. 
 
 "No— oh, no!" laughed Gret. "I was n't going any- 
 where in particular. I 'm always going somewhere; 
 that 's all." 
 
 She handed up the oars, and then sat with her head in 
 her hands and watched while the young man sculled. 
 She noted the beauty and finish of his style, the dainty 
 feathering and the rhythm ; but she knew at the same time 
 that she could go five miles to his one. She waited until 
 his breath began to shorten and a slight flush to appear 
 on the worn, ascetic face, and then she coolly put out her 
 hand. 
 
 "Stop now. I 'm going to row." 
 
 "Just a little way, then," allowed Arthur, yielding up 
 his place. 
 
 Gret sat a moment, her hands on the oars, and looked 
 
NEW PIECES ON THE BOARD 137 
 
 attentively at the sky. 'It 's only about two o'clock, and 
 it 's going to be fine all day," she said. ''How would you 
 like me to take you up to the Forks ?" 
 
 "What is it— the Forks ?" inquired Massinger. 
 
 "Where the river divides into two," explained Gret. 
 "It 's fine— all between great tall bluffs. Don't suppose 
 you ever saw anything like it." 
 
 "I should like to go immensely," said Arthur. "Is it 
 far?" 
 
 "Oh, no ; I go up often," responded Gret, who did not 
 honestly think anything of a five-mile row. 
 
 They rowed on, and Massinger watched with delight 
 the increasing beauties of the river, a fact which sent 
 him up considerably in Gret's estimation. Presently 
 he demanded to row again, but Gret would not hear 
 of it. 
 
 "No; it tires you, and it does n't me. You 've had 
 enough rowing for to-day." 
 
 "But, my dear girl!" remonstrated Arthur, surprised 
 and amused at the abrupt way she settled things. "Do 
 you suppose I 'm going to let you pull me for a mile or 
 so up-stream ? You 'd be worn out." 
 
 Gret laughed outright. "Why, I could row all day! 
 You watch, now. If you see me looking tired, even the 
 least little bit, you can have the oars." 
 
 And Arthur did watch, but not the faintest sign of 
 weariness could he detect, neither the slightest increase 
 of breath or color, nor the slightest break in the even, 
 monotonous stroke that was neither slow nor quick. 
 
 At last the Forks was reached, Massinger being greatly 
 overcome at the distance and the imposition he considered 
 it to be on Gret. And the amount of breathless, reverent 
 admiration he bestowed on the scene satisfied even that 
 exacting young lady, who stood to it in the light of pro- 
 prietor. The island, with its crown of giant pines, that 
 
138 GRET 
 
 Stood at the divide of the river, the great somber bluffs 
 down which the sunHght slanted, and the vistas of dim, 
 receding forests, all seemed to Massinger too beautiful 
 for words. 
 
 "Let us land on the island for a few minutes, shall 
 we?" he asked of Gret. And she complied by turning her 
 boat immediately into the bank. 
 
 Sitting on one of the innumerable fallen trees near the 
 water's edge, Arthur gave himself up to rapt contempla- 
 tion of the beauty spread about him. Gret sat near, and 
 covertly studied her companion. His admiration she 
 could understand ; the spectacle was grand and imposing, 
 and he was viewing it for the first time. But there was 
 an element in his admiration that she. did not understand, 
 and that— though, of course, she did not know it— was the 
 reverence with which it was so deeply tinged. Arthur 
 viewed nature as the loving work of a beneficent Creator, 
 who adorned a house for him and his fellows; while to 
 Gret nature and life and being were all so indissolubly 
 mixed and related that she merely viewed and loved that 
 of which she was a part. Of course, she never had know- 
 ingly thought the matter over at all; but the gracious 
 sunshine and the blue skies that these forests and these 
 growing things gloried in, she gloried in, too; and the 
 radiance and delight that shone on the earth each morning 
 burned in her, too, every morning that she arose. She 
 could not understand feeling separate from it all, and it 
 was just this reverent aloofness in Arthur's attitude that 
 puzzled her. 
 
 By and by, having filled his soul, for the time being, 
 with the beauty of it all, Arthur turned his attention to 
 his companion. He felt drawn toward her, and was 
 ready to take a great interest in the peculiar young life 
 that carved its own way with such a bold, free hand. He 
 questioned her in many ways as to her life and amuse- 
 
NEW PIECES ON THE BOARD 139 
 
 ments, and Gret answered with a frank, unconcerned 
 candor that made questioning easy. And then, ever feel- 
 ing in others for what in his own Hfe was the greatest joy 
 and comfort possessed, Massinger sought by tactful ways 
 to discover how great a share religion played in Gret's 
 life. He naturally failed in the quest, seeing that there 
 was nothing to discover. Then he went about the search 
 in another way. He inquired into the lives, generally, of 
 the community, and asked among other things how many 
 denominations existed in that locality. Gret was entirely 
 at a loss, and hastened to confess unqualified ignorance. 
 Pursuing the matter, Arthur was concerned to find that 
 Gret had never been inside a church in her life, and did 
 not remember ever to have looked into a Bible. She knew 
 there was such a book, and observed that there were one 
 or two churches down in Quellish. She had an idea, how- 
 ever, that those were institutions principally for the 
 Swedes. Arthur saw plainly that she knew very little of 
 the subject and troubled less. He was surprised. It had 
 always been a pet theory of his that in the peace and quiet 
 of the country religion invariably found a home; in his 
 own mind he had invested it with a simple and crude, it 
 is true, but yet a very real piety. Of course, Gret might 
 be but a single instance, but he doubted it. She was 
 among the people too much to fail to absorb whatever 
 was prevalent. Arthur had in mind the rural farming 
 districts of the eastern states, and failed to allow for the 
 vast difference between that and a western logging dis- 
 trict. 
 
 Then in his gentle, kindly way Arthur questioned Gret 
 as to her home and parents ; and, accustomed as he was to 
 hearing accounts of human lives, was not long in reach- 
 ing a conclusion that, though erroneous in some respects, 
 was near enough right for purposes of analysis. 
 
 Gret was conscious, as they rowed home, of a feeling 
 
I40 GRET 
 
 of having been weighed in the balance and found want- 
 ing. She could not exactly tell where the mental defi- 
 ciency came in, but discerned enough to feel sure it would 
 never be made good by any effort of hers. She had seen 
 enough of Arthur, however, to want to see more ; and so 
 she proceeded to lay bait. She described Spirit Lake, the 
 lake of the marvelous shadow, and related the Indian 
 legend concerning it. Massinger was immediately inter- 
 ested, and wondered if it would be possible for him to 
 find it on her description of the trail ; whereupon he was 
 informed that such an effort was not necessary, as she, 
 Gret, stood ready to escort him thither any day he liked. 
 Massinger was delighted. 
 
 "Will it take us a whole day, do you think?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 "Well, it does n't me," said Gret thoughtfully. 
 
 "But you think it might take me that long," smiled 
 Arthur. "I think in all probability it would. I don't be- 
 lieve I 'm at all likely to climb as you could. Well, would 
 we take provisions with us ?" 
 
 "Oh, no. I '11 fix that," answered Gret laconically. 
 
 "Oh ! Well, then, all that is necessary is just to let you 
 know over night." 
 
 "Need n't do that," replied Gret. "Just come and find 
 me any morning you feel like going, and we '11 start right 
 away. You can almost always find me in the camp in the 
 mornings." 
 
 With this agreement they parted, Gret having taken 
 her companion as near to the mill as a landing would 
 allow. . 
 
 It was two or three days before Massinger started on 
 the proposed expedition. He did not care, unless every- 
 thing were propitious, to absent himself from his fellows 
 a whole day. However, one bright morning, when Maude 
 and Mrs. Baring were struggling in mutual disgust with 
 
NEW PIECES ON THE BOARD 141 
 
 the intricacies of cooking and a new girl, and when Bob- 
 bie and Bertie were going down to QuelHsh to discuss 
 with the mill-owners there the idea of a shingle combine, 
 he decided that the absence for the day of himself and 
 Ludlowe, who had requested permission to join in the un- 
 dertaking, would be more of a blessing than a deprivation. 
 So the two men donned old and easy shoes, and repaired 
 to the camp to find Gret. She was not to be seen, and 
 they went to the door of the cook-house for information. 
 Jake was busy cutting meat, but he hastened to wash his 
 hands and seat his visitors, at the same time cordially in- 
 viting them to partake of pie and coffee. 
 
 "Gret 's gone up on the grounds," he explained; "but 
 the logs will be coming down in a few minutes, I guess, 
 and she '11 be on them sure." 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour the shrill whistle of the 
 donkey sounded, the cable started, and presently, wob- 
 bling and wriggling down the skid-road came the train 
 of logs. On the most uneven monster of the lot, balanc- 
 ing for dear life and laughing aloud in her heart's glee, 
 was Gret. Jake poked his head out of the door and 
 shouted to her ; and she, at the imminent risk of breaking 
 'her neck, as it seemed to the two men, turned her head 
 and took in the situation at a glance. 
 
 "She saw you," said Jake contentedly. "She can't get 
 oflf till they reach the slough and the engine stops, but 
 she '11 be right back then." 
 
 And she was. In about two minutes after the engine 
 stopped she came skimming up the skid-road, jumped off, 
 and reached the cook-house like a whirlwind. 
 
 "We thought it would be a lovely day to go up to that 
 lake," said Arthur, after cordially greeting her. 
 
 "It would— fine," agreed Gret in her business-like way, 
 but with a pleasant smile, "We 'd better have some lunch 
 before we start, then." 
 
142 GRET 
 
 "Yes, you bet you had," agreed Jake, having immediate 
 understanding of the lake in question. 
 
 "Oh, but really, we only had breakfast an hour ago," 
 protested Massinger. Ludlowe looked on in unconcerned 
 amusement. 
 
 "Yes ? Still, it 's a long climb, and it '11 be quite a while 
 before we get anything else to eat," said Gret. "We 'd 
 better eat. Jake, don't you want to make us some coffee ?" 
 
 Jake did, bustling about in a most hospitable way. 
 Presently there was set before the guests cold beef, 
 cheese, pie, and steaming coffee ; and certainly, after the 
 reign of experimental cooking endured at home, these 
 comparatively simple viands proved very tempting. Gret 
 attended to herself, leaving Jake free to discharge thor- 
 oughly the duties of host. She went to a cupboard, the 
 top shelf of which by dint of long fighting and long cus- 
 tom was sacred to herself —anything placed upon it being 
 as good as in sanctuary, even if stolen in the first place 
 from the very kitchen in which it stood— and took from it 
 half a pie. This, together with a big mug of coffee, she 
 placed before her upon the table, and then sat down and 
 disposed of it with marvelous, yet silent celerity. Then in 
 the same matter-of-fact way she took a pail, went to the 
 spring and filled it, laved her hands and face, emptied the 
 pail and brought it back to the kitchen, examined her 
 broad-brimmed and untrimmed hat, placed it on her head 
 best end foremost, and then sat down to await the readi- 
 ness of her charges. And then for the first time she no- 
 ticed the amusement in Ludlowe's eyes. She laughed, 
 not altogether understanding the cause of his evident 
 mirth, but unoffended in any case. 
 
 Added to what she had observed herself, Gret gathered 
 from different remarks of Ludlowe's that Arthur Massin- 
 ger's health was in a weak and failing state, and she eased 
 off as far as possible the rigors of the climb to the lake. 
 
NEW PIECES ON THE BOARD 143 
 
 Naturally tender-hearted to anything weaker than herself, 
 she unconsciously showed the tired and worn young min- 
 ister a deal of gentle consideration — a fact which was no- 
 ticed without comment by both men. Altogether she was 
 a very attentive and conscientious guide, going on first 
 herself to see that all was well, and able to tell her com- 
 panions the local if not the scientific name of every bird, 
 beast and plant to be met with. Beyond the giving of lib- 
 eral information on every subject asked, however, Gret 
 said but little ; and the two men, taking her to be naturally 
 taciturn, chatted more particularly to one another, re- 
 joicing in the unrestricted opportunity for conversation. 
 Afterward they realized that every word they said had 
 been both heard and considered, in face of which instruc- 
 tive occupation Gret had considered talking herself mere 
 waste of time. 
 
 Before the lake was reached, Massinger was plainly 
 very tired, but when at last he looked on the shining face 
 of that great mirror of nature he forgot his weariness. 
 And Ludlowe, too, less openly enthusiastic and more lazy 
 in his enjoyment, yet still in his peculiar way a lover of 
 nature and solitude, sat on one of the blue-gray rocks that 
 bordered those singularly lucid waters and gazed about 
 him with appreciative eyes. Gret sat close by, awaiting 
 with patience what remarks might presently be forthcom- 
 ing. 
 
 "Not a tree anywhere on its edge, you see, to ward off 
 the reflection of those snow-peaks," mused Massinger 
 presently. "I imagine this lake fills some volcanic crater. 
 What do you think, Errol ?" 
 
 '*Yes, the surroundings do appear volcanic,'^ agreed 
 Ludlowe, his eyes resting in sleepy contemplation on the 
 beauty before him. "I 've not seen anything to equal this 
 in the Swiss lakes." 
 
 Massinger shook his head, and returned to his reverent 
 
144 GRET 
 
 survey of the lake. But Ludlowe presently transferred 
 his attention for a few moments to Gret. 
 
 "Tired?" 
 
 Gret shook her head with a laugh. ''No I" 
 
 "Been up here many a time, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes, hundreds of times." 
 
 Ludlowe looked at the girl attentively. She was in re- 
 pose mentally and physically, in a crouching attitude on 
 the top of a boulder, her face turned toward the lake. 
 
 "What is your name an abbreviation of ?" he inquired. 
 "Gret— Margaret?" 
 
 "Yes ; that 's one of my names," responded Gret. "But 
 when I was young I used to call myself Gret, and the 
 name has always stuck to me." 
 
 Ludlowe laughed. "When you were young? Well, 
 what are you now, pray ?" 
 
 "Eighteen," said Gret calmly. 
 
 "Oh, are you that much ?" 
 
 "Yes," slightly surprised. "Did n't you think I was, 
 then?" 
 
 "I could n't tell exactly. You 're one of those persons 
 whose age cannot be told to five years," explained Lud- 
 lowe. "And then your age and manners do not coincide." 
 
 Gret pondered the probable effect of an arrangement 
 like this, and Ludlowe gazed about him again for a while. 
 After a time he turned to Massinger. 
 
 "It is a barbarous confession in the face of so much 
 soul-satisfying beauty, Arthur ; but the fact remains that 
 the base and earthly inner man of me is crying out loudly 
 for sustenance." 
 
 "So is mine," confessed Arthur smiling. "This moun- 
 tain air is so bracing. Miss Silway, we are hungry and 
 athirst." 
 
 Gret jumped up on her boulder, and stretched herself 
 into readiness for action. "All right. I '11 take you 
 
NEW PIECES ON THE BOARD 145 
 
 straight down to Murray's. But don't call me Miss Sil- 
 way. Call me Gret. We don't have Miss This and Mr. 
 That about here." 
 
 "Does no one get called by his surname?" inquired 
 Ludlowe, rising and flicking odd particles off himself. 
 
 "Oh, yes. I never heard any one call my mother any- 
 thing but Mrs. Silway," replied Gret. 
 
 "I see; and so until you attain to the dignity of mar- 
 riage you '11 be called Gret ?" 
 
 Gret nodded and laughed, a laugh that the slight humor 
 of Ludlowe's observation did not altogether account for. 
 
 Then she led the two men by a very precipitous, but 
 very direct, route down to Murray's placer mining-camp, 
 conducting them straight into the kitchen, where Mrs. 
 Miner was in the midst of preparations for dinner. 
 
 "These two gentlemen are from the new mill down by 
 us," she explained to that open-eyed individual. "Friends 
 of the bosses. They came up from San Francisco a few 
 weeks ago. I 've been taking them up to see Spirit Lake. 
 Can they have something to eat, Mrs. Miner ?" 
 
 "Sure!" responded Mrs. Miner emphatically, hastily 
 donning a clean apron and bustling about to find chairs. 
 
 The two men sat down with a distinct feeling of relief, 
 while Gret helped Mrs. Miner prepare a small table in the 
 corner of the kitchen. Upon this she presently placed a 
 bountiful dish of ham and eggs, fried potatoes, coffee and 
 the inevitable pie. Then while the three ate she stood 
 about chatting, inquiring as to the strangers' impressions 
 of the Northwest, the proposed length of their stay, the 
 amount of kinship, if any, existing between them and the 
 mill-bosses, the actual size and glory of San Francisco as 
 compared with rumors, and other questions of like note. 
 Finally Gret, having already established a sort of pro- 
 tectorate over Arthur, and noticing that he, out of the 
 depths of his courtesy, was doing all the answering and 
 
 10 
 
146 GRET 
 
 none of the eating, came to the rescue. She turned a 
 critically elevated nose in the direction of the stove on the 
 other side of the kitchen. 
 
 "What's burning?" 
 
 Mrs. Miner fled at once, and during her anxious in- 
 vestigation Arthur was able to proceed with his meal in 
 peace. He did not notice the true significance of the 
 move on Gret's part, but Ludlowe did, and smiled. And 
 Gret, looking up and catching the smile, felt a kinship of 
 understanding established there and then. 
 
 On the way down home Gret talked more freely her- 
 self. The men were discussing the marvelous beauty of 
 the lake they had just seen, and she told them of other 
 natural marvels and beauties, known in many instances, 
 according to her belief, only to herself. She told of a 
 lake whose waters had unaccountably receded, and whose 
 sloping shores of baked mud and shale were, during the 
 summer, a wriggling mass of snakes; she described a 
 natural and almost perfect monolith of granite that stood 
 in one of the higher mountain passes, and spoke of huge 
 bluffs that formed a circle whose center was a majestic 
 amphitheater. And then she went on to talk of her own 
 lakes, the shining fruits of her youthful researches. 
 
 "Your 'own' lakes?" queried Ludlowe, catching at the 
 words. 
 
 "Yep," Gret nodded contentedly. "I found them, and 
 nobody knows where they are but me. Oh, perhaps 
 some of the Indians do. But I don't think so; nothing 
 gets touched that I leave there. One of them— the best 
 of them all— is so funny." She drew an elliptical form 
 on the palm of her hand. "It is shaped just like an egg, 
 and right out of the middle rises a pointed peak of rock, 
 like the top of a mountain sticking out above the sea. 
 And it 's ever so deep, too. One day I took up one of 
 those big balls of twine— you know, about a hundred 
 
NEW PIECES ON THE BOARD 147 
 
 yards in them— and tied a piece of rock on one end and 
 dropped it over the side of the canoe. And when all the 
 string had run out I had n't touched bottom." 
 
 "A hundred yards— three hundred feet! Yes, pretty 
 deep for a lake," observed Ludlowe. 
 
 "But you don't know how much deeper it was," said 
 Gret impressively. ''It 's a very funny lake to look at, 
 too. The trees dip in all the way round, so that it looks 
 like a hole in the woods filled up with water. Quite the 
 funniest lake I ever found." 
 
 The men smiled. "You spoke of a canoe," said Lud- 
 lowe. "Did you put one on this remarkable lake, then ?" 
 
 Gret nodded. "Yes. Skookum — he 's gone now — 
 made me a little canoe. One of those tarred canvas ones, 
 you know. It 's up there now. I have n't been up to look 
 at it for quite a while, though. I expect it '11 want an- 
 other coat of tar by this." She laughed softly. "It was 
 so funny. I took the canoe up and put it on my lake, 
 and no one could think what I 'd done with it. Robin— 
 don't know him, do you? But you will. Robin Start, of 
 that Orchard place up above the boom — well, he never 
 got over it. Wants to know even to-day what I did with 
 the canoe." 
 
 "Well, are we to be favored with a glimpse of the 
 Hidden One— the lake, I mean?" asked Ludlowe. 
 
 Gret looked thoughtful. "Oh, yes— some day when 
 we 're up near there. It 's hard work to reach it; the 
 brush is so thick." 
 
 "How on earth did you get the canoe up there, then ?" 
 demanded Ludlowe. 
 
 "Carried it," laconically. "Took me three days." 
 
 "Did n't your mother wonder what had become of 
 you ?" queried Massinger. 
 
 "Oh, I had to go home each evening, of course. That 
 was the trouble," replied Gret, with a slight frown at the 
 
148 GRET 
 
 mere recollection of her struggles. "I had to take it as 
 far as I could, and then hide it. Then I 'd go up the 
 next day and take it further. I got it up, though," she 
 concluded triumphantly. 
 
 "You generally do manage to accomplish what you 
 want, don't you ?" queried Ludlowe amusedly. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know about that," said Gret with an air of 
 caution. 
 
 "Well, then, perhaps you have the knack of only want- 
 ing what you believe you can accomplish ?" pursued Lud- 
 lowe, merely curious to probe the girl's ability to grasp a 
 distinction. 
 
 "Both," bluntly. "I 'm not fool enough to long for a 
 star. But I always tell myself that if it is possible for 
 any one on earth to do a thing — that is, if they were 
 placed like me— it is for me." 
 
 Ludlowe laughed at such colossal assurance, and Mas- 
 singer smiled. 
 
 "Well, there is no doubt," observed the latter in his 
 gentle, thoughtful way, "that much more is possible to a 
 confident nature than to one who makes a practice of sit- 
 ting down and weighing the apparent possibilities of a 
 situation." 
 
 "Most decidedly," agreed Ludlowe. "Many more 
 things are possible, even in every-day life, than the 
 bounds of possibilities are generally credited with includ- 
 ing. In fact, it 's astonishing how few things are really 
 impossible." 
 
 Gret pondered this statement a little as they descended 
 into the camp, and considered it one of undeniable wis- 
 dom and truth. Arrived in the camp, she invited her 
 companions to stay for supper. . But the invitation was re- 
 fused with thanks. 
 
 "Mrs. Baring will be expecting us," said Massinger. 
 "And I imagine that under present conditions getting up 
 
NEW PIECES ON THE BOARD 149 
 
 a dinner is an effort not to be despised." This last was 
 more to Ludlowe than to Gret, but Gret heard and turned 
 away toward the cook-house with a faint smile. 
 
 So with many thanks for a delightful day the two men 
 went home to the mill-house, and Gret went in to supper 
 in the camp. 
 
 During supper she was, of course, called upon to de- 
 liver her impressions of the two men whose escort she 
 had lately been. 
 
 "Did they come the swell act on you like the woman 
 did ?" inquired Oly with a grin. 
 
 Several of the other men laughed, too, having had the 
 memorable introduction scene most minutely and faith- 
 fully re-enacted for their delectation, and having been 
 many times assured that in missing the sight of Gret's 
 face on that occasion they had missed the sight of their 
 lives. 
 
 "Oh, no ; oh, no !" observed Jake knowingly from his 
 vantage-point in the doorway. "They don't give you the 
 glad hand and the glassy eye. If they did they would n't 
 be back here in camp with a whole skin, you bet. There 'd 
 have been an accident somewheres. Trust Gret for that. 
 Eh, Gret?" 
 
 Gret smiled amiably, but a trifle absently; and then 
 during the rest of the meal she sat in thoughtful silence. 
 The men did not remark this silence particularly; they 
 were accustomed to having her take in the whole of a con- 
 versation in judicial silence, and then at the end of it 
 deliver in few but pregnant words both her opinion of the 
 subject discussed and those discussing it. But, as it hap- 
 pened, she really was paying very little attention to-night 
 to what was going on about her. All that had been 
 previously of unfailing and permanent interest to-night 
 failed to divert. Gret was face to face with a new set of 
 ideas, new vistas, new worlds to explore. 
 
ISO GRET 
 
 After supper she slipped quietly away and went home. 
 It was rather earlier than her usual time for returning, 
 and looking across from the camp-landing she saw that 
 Eva was not yet on the bluff waiting for her arrival. It 
 had become a habit of Eva's to sit on the bluff overlook- 
 ing the river and wait for Gret to come home, when the 
 two would sit chatting for an hour or more before going 
 to bed. Eva looked forward to this chat, and Gret never 
 allowed anything to cause her to be disappointed. There 
 was great affection between the two girls; there always 
 had been, and now they were yearly growing in com- 
 panionship. Though as widely different as night from 
 day, yet they were equals in intelligence. Eva was natu- 
 rally a dreamer and a bookworm, her tastes sentimental 
 and all her ideas romantic ; and though in earlier years a 
 sadly bewildered little student and a vague dreamer, yet 
 in recent years her mind had cleared and her grasp and 
 perception of subjects widened wonderfully. Moreover, 
 as she got older she took to going to her mother with 
 such as were puzzling or incomprehensible to her. And 
 though at first inclined to slightly deprecate interruption, 
 yet Mrs. Silway was struck with the precocious nature 
 of the girl's questions and the wide range of her subjects, 
 and gradually began to take an interest in the awakening 
 of her mind. She took to passing her books on to Eva, 
 with remarks and explanations where advisable, and Eva 
 in return afterward discussed the work with her mother. 
 And by and by, into the older woman's poor, frozen heart, 
 with its unnatural peace and calmness, there crept the 
 sweet warmth of companionship. 
 
 But this entente between mother and daughter did not 
 interfere at all with Eva's love for Gret nor the eager 
 delight she took in her companionship. She made it a 
 practice after having read a particularly interesting or 
 stirring book to lay a resume of it before Gret, or if a 
 
NEW PIECES ON THE BOARD 151 
 
 new or startling scientific theory to present it for Gret's 
 inspection. And Gret, who was far too restless and busy 
 to read a book through for herself, liked well enough to 
 listen in the evenings to an account of what Eva had 
 been reading during the day. She would pass judgment 
 on the heroine, or the plausibility of theory, in her usual 
 unhesitating, downright way. It was rarely in the case 
 of fiction that Gret knew the author, and she never cared 
 particularly to know. She always treated the subject 
 with more or less condescension, as being merely the 
 product of another's imagination. Still, she was often 
 carried by Eva's enthusiasm into discussing various ficti- 
 tious characters with much ardor. Very various and 
 quaint were the discussions held by these two lonely girls, 
 ranging all the way from the atomic theory of creation 
 to Ibsen's heroines. And in all Gret's intensely practical, 
 blunt mind counterbalanced Eva's dreamy, poetic, and 
 highly fanciful tendencies, while partaking slightly now 
 and again of the younger girl's fine enthusiasm. Thus 
 each worked the other's weal. 
 
 Eva was sitting on the porch with her mother, read- 
 ing, and as Gret appeared over the edge of the bluflf 
 she put her book down in the chair and came running 
 to meet her. Together the two went round to the back 
 of the house to find Jack, and procure for him the piece 
 of cake which was his usual and highly prized supper. 
 
 ''You did n't come home to lunch, Grettie," observed 
 Eva. 
 
 "No," responded Gret. "I took those two new men 
 from the mill-house up to see Spirit Lake. I 'm going to 
 tell you all the funny things they said soon." 
 
 The two girls came back to the bluflF with the piece of 
 cake divided equally between them and Jack hopping con- 
 tentedly after them. Gret placed herself on the ground, 
 her sinuous body lying passive on the mossy sward, and 
 
152 GRET 
 
 Eva seated herself on her feet— a favorite position of 
 hers, which allowed of her rocking her body gently to 
 and fro. Here, while they alternately fed and teased 
 Jack with the cake, Gret related the experiences of the 
 day, detailing most of the conversation that had taken 
 place between the two men. 
 
 "They must lead lives a great deal like some of those 
 people in your books," she remarked, regarding Eva with 
 unwavering eyes. "They talked of receptions and crushes 
 and balls and things. And they spoke of a woman— I 
 guess she must have been a swell, too— who did just as 
 she liked, and about a girl who had to marry a horrid 
 man ever so much older than herself. At least, they said 
 they expected her mother would make her do that." 
 
 "I told you !" said Eva triumphantly. "You said books 
 were n't natural. Mother said people led lives exactly 
 like many of those in the books." 
 
 'We don't," observed Gret with charming egotism. 
 
 "No; but mother says that 's just because we are n't 
 civilized." 
 
 "Why are n't we, then ?" demanded Gret. 
 
 "Oh, because father keeps us here and won't let us be," 
 explained Eva in an unconcerned, matter-of-fact way. 
 
 "Humph! If I were mother I 'd see about it," com- 
 mented Gret ominously. 
 
 "Oh, well !" said Eva thoughtfully. "It 's awfully nice 
 and quiet here. And I believe mother would just hate to 
 be with father all the time. And I know I should." 
 
 Gret nodded, her mind roving quickly to other things. 
 "Say Evie, I do wish you could see these new people. 
 They 're so different to all these about here. You should 
 just see the young lady — her clothes are lovely. She 
 looks quite a different shape, even, to us. Come down 
 to the mill with me, and I '11 show them all to you." 
 
 "Oh, no, Grettie, I could n't !" said Eva shrinkingly. 
 
NEW PIECES ON THE BOARD 153 
 
 Gret stared, her sister's shyness being an undiminishing 
 source of amazement to her. "Why not ?" she demanded. 
 
 "Oh-h," hesitatingly. ''I don't like to come out all 
 down there. I would like to see them, but— And then 
 I would n't know what to say to them." 
 
 "Say the same as the people in books/' advised Gret. 
 "You ought to know all about that." Then she grinned 
 roguishly, having in mind her own introduction cere- 
 mony. "Say nothing. Just look at them." Then, indig- 
 nantly : "I never saw such a girl in all my life ! I believe 
 you think that if you were to come out of this old house 
 you 'd get eaten up right away, or else somebody would 
 look at you and you 'd melt." 
 
 "Oh, no; I don't think that," contradicted Eva in a 
 gentle, deprecating way. 
 
 "Yes, you do. Won't go near the camp because the 
 boys look at you. Of course, they look at you." And 
 Gret laughed wickedly. ''Why not? Suppose they 're 
 going to keep their eyes on the sky while you pass by? 
 If I were as pretty as you I 'd want them to look at me." 
 
 Eva blushed, and rocked herself to and fro on her toes. 
 She had all a student's self -consciousness and shyness; 
 and as there had been no one to insist on her overcoming 
 it, nothing to push her forward into the light of day, it 
 had grown almost abnormal. It was a state of mind 
 perfectly incomprehensible to Gret, who had never in her 
 life wasted a second thought as to whether others watched 
 her or what they thought if they did. 
 
 "Well," observed Gret presently, "I 'm going to go to 
 San Francisco and get civilized myself one of these days." 
 
 "Oh, you don't have to go to San Francisco to do it," 
 said Eva quickly. "Anywhere— any big town will do. 
 Why, in Portland, where father is so much, they 're quite 
 civilized. I saw a lot of pictures in the Pacific Magazine 
 that father left here— big hotels, with palm-trees in front, 
 
154 GRET 
 
 and street-cars and big ships, and carriages, and stores so 
 big that you could get Dimsdale's into one of the win- 
 dows." 
 
 "Yes, but I don't know any one in Portland," remarked 
 Gret, quite ignoring the fact that her father lived there. 
 
 "But you don't know any one in San Francisco, either," 
 objected Eva. 
 
 "But I shall when these people get back," explained 
 Gret. 
 
 "But— I don't see how that helps things," said Eva, 
 puzzled. "How does it, Gret?" 
 
 "Don't know yet," replied Gret with a little frown. 
 "I 've got to think about it." 
 
 And that ended the conversation on this particular sub- 
 ject for the time being. But though for a couple of hours 
 or more Gret discussed other and widely different things, 
 yet when at last she went to bed the thoughts that had 
 been only laid aside came trooping back. The expedi- 
 tions to Quellish, the glories of Dimsdale's store, and the 
 affairs of the camp— all those things that had filled her 
 life with interest became suddenly childish and insuffi- 
 cient. There comes a time when the interests that have 
 held youth fall silently away, and the individual stands 
 face to face with the half -wild, half -stern, but wholly 
 sweet ambitions of womanhood or manhood. 
 
 Gret stood on the edge of this change, and to-night her 
 mind was a chaos. Soon it would calm down, and she 
 would grasp the new order of things. And then she 
 would plan. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 A BENEVOLENT CONSPIRACY 
 
 IT is safe to say that no character, man or woman, ever 
 astonished Gret Silway quite as much as did Arthur 
 Massinger. In the first place it was only her curiosity 
 that was aroused, and that she was determined to satisfy. 
 She was quick to detect the mysterious something behind 
 that gentle personality, some hidden delight, some ever- 
 present sweet reflection, which gave the mild yet fever- 
 bright eyes that unfailing look of peace and love. But 
 what this mysterious something was, casual observation 
 would not disclose. A systematic study was necessary. 
 
 One thing Gret did soon discover, however, as a result 
 of close observation. And that was that Massinger suf- 
 fered physically, though he said nothing of it. In this 
 matter she felt free to go to Ludlowe for information, 
 having already set that unconscious gentleman up in her 
 own mind as the highest authority obtainable on most 
 matters, the Gamaliel at whose feet she would sit. 
 
 "Is n't Mr. Massinger sick?" she asked abruptly, hav- 
 ing sought Ludlowe high and low and finally finding him 
 seated on the camp-landing, lazily watching the drift- 
 wood floating down with the tide. 
 
 He looked up at her with a smile. The girl's abrupt, 
 uncompromising ways amused him a dozen times a day. 
 "Yes, he is, and a very sick one, too, sometimes," he said. 
 "But he can't or won't believe it." 
 
 "What 's the matter with him ?" inquired Gret. 
 
 "Consumption." 
 
 "And does n't he know it?" marveled Gret. 
 
156 GRET 
 
 "Oh, yes; he knows it, I suppose. But consumptives 
 rarely think they are as bad as they are," explained Lud- 
 lowe. "I fancy Arthur thinks it 's only a case of being 
 over-tired and over-worked, and that he can remedy mat- 
 ters at any time he chooses." 
 
 "Can't he be cured?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I think he might be, if he would take care of 
 himself," frowning as the many-wasted arguments in this 
 line occurred to him. "But he won't." 
 
 "What 's good for him?" demanded Gret. 
 
 "Plenty of fresh air and rest and nourishing food. 
 That 's all I know of," replied Ludlowe. "The mill- 
 house, in that hollow down by the river, is not the best 
 place in the world for him, I imagine. I 'm glad to see 
 you take him out into the woods and higher places. En- 
 tice him out as much as you can, Gretchen; only don't 
 overtax his strength." 
 
 Gret accepted the charge in a grave, matter-of-fact 
 way. "I will. Is that all ?" 
 
 "Well, I don't think there 's anything else you can do," 
 said Ludlowe, smiling again. "No one can really do very 
 much with him. He barely eats enough to keep a spar- 
 row alive. A consumptive's appetite is a most capricious 
 thing." 
 
 Gret nodded thoughtfully. "And I don't suppose the 
 cooking 's any too good down at your place now Anna 's 
 gone." 
 
 "It 's not easy to prepare delicacies in a locality like 
 this," returned Ludlowe evasively. "Besides, Arthur 
 would be indignant if anything were prepared especially 
 for him. He does n't own to being an invalid, you see." 
 
 Gret sat down on the landing and buried her face in 
 her hands. Apparently she thought very deeply on some 
 subject or other for a few minutes, after which she 
 jumped up and, having seemingly forgotten Ludlowe's 
 
A BENEVOLENT CONSPIRACY 157, 
 
 presence, went up the board-walk into the camp. She 
 entered the cook-house and sat down with a thoughtful 
 air; and Jake, noticing the meditative expression and 
 observing that it was also an amiable one, brought his 
 chopping-bowl over and sat near her. 
 
 ''Ever know any one that had consumption, Jake?" in- 
 quired Gret, opening the campaign without any prelude 
 as usual. 
 
 ''Lots," responded Jake complacently. "Dozens of 'em 
 in the hotel in Arizona where I worked once." 
 
 "And what did they have to eat ?" demanded Gret. 
 
 "Oh, oysters and beef broth and chicken and eggs and 
 cream beaten up with wine, and — oh, most anything 
 that 's good," replied Jake. "What do you want to know 
 for, Gret?" 
 
 "You know Arthur Massinger, don't you?" said Gret. 
 "The tall one — wears the light suit." Jake nodded. 
 "Well, would you think he had consumption ?" 
 
 "Yes, looks like he might have," responded Jake with 
 an air of wisdom. 
 
 "He has. You 're not to tell any one," with a frown 
 to emphasize her words. 
 
 "Course not ! What do you take me for ?" 
 
 Gret did not specify, but a faint smile rounded the 
 corners of her mouth. "Well, say, Jake, the cooking 
 must be awful down at the mill-house for a man that 's 
 sick and can hardly eat anything, must n't it ?" 
 
 "You bet; awful tough proposition," agreed Jake. 
 "That was a bad stroke of business— losing Anna 
 Shogren." 
 
 Gret nodded agreement. "Say, Jake, could n't we 
 manage to fix up something nice now and again for that 
 young man to eat? Only, of course, we would n't have 
 to let him know why we did it. I think he 's very nice 
 and good." 
 
158 GRET 
 
 "Yes, he is that," agreed Jake readily. "Came in here 
 and sat down and talked about an hour the other day, 
 just as nice as anything; no preaching, either. Nothing 
 stuck up about him — not so much as the other one." 
 
 "Oh, the other one is n't stuck up really," said Gret 
 quickly. "It 's just his manner." 
 
 "Perhaps so," allowed Jake, chopping thoughtfully. 
 "Well, of course, I can make beef broth for the young 
 fellow, and I guess I can manage chicken now and again. 
 Robin 's got a fine showing, more 'n necessary," with a 
 grin. "He 's getting too much pocket-money anyhow 
 lately— taking on airs. See that new tie of his ?" 
 
 "See it !" Gret laughed. "Saw it as soon as it turned 
 the bend of the river." 
 
 "Told me he was saving up, too," went on Jake. 
 
 "Pooh ! Fancy Robin saving," scoffed Gret. 
 
 "Oh, I guess he is all right," said Jake impressively. 
 "It 's all off with his going to Portland if he does n't." 
 
 "Going to Portland," echoed Gret. 
 
 "Why, yes." Jake looked surprised. "Did n't he ever 
 tell you? Yes, he says he 's tired of working on the 
 farm and taking his uncle's jaw. He 's going to Port- 
 land to be a store-clerk or something like that." 
 
 "Humph ! May not be so easy as he thinks," observed 
 Gret. "Say, Jake, I believe that egg and cream and wine 
 affair is one of the best things for a sick man; don't 
 you?" 
 
 "Ought to be," agreed Jake. 
 
 "Well, we 've got eggs and cream up here, if I get the 
 wine," went on Gret. 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 "All right. I '11 get the wine," with a confident nod 
 of the head. "What kind shall I get ?" 
 
 "Dago red," responded Jake promptly. 
 
 Gret looked a trifle dubious. "Well ! All right, then," 
 
A BENEVOLENT CONSPIRACY 159 
 
 jumping up. She stood in the doorway a moment 
 or so, debating; then she went up the skid in search of 
 Oly. 
 
 "Going down to Quellish to-night?" she inquired of 
 that bronzed and amiable personage. Oly had lately 
 joined the gang of roystering spirits which went down 
 from the camp every Saturday night. 
 
 Oly nodded with a smile of gleeful anticipation. 
 "Why ? What do you want, Gret ?" 
 
 "Want you to go into Hoffman's sample-room and get 
 me a bottle of wine," explained Gret gravely. 
 
 "Eh ?" in open-eyed amazement. 
 
 "Did n't you hear what I said ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes — only— all right, Gret. What do you want it 
 for?" 
 
 "To drink, of cours.e," dryly. "What did you suppose? 
 Here 's the money," proffering a dollar. 
 
 Oly pocketed it, laughing, but understanding that no 
 more questions were to be asked. "What kind of wine, 
 Gret?" 
 
 "Dago red," gravely. 
 
 Oly roared. 
 
 "Why? Is n't it a wine?" demanded Gret sharply. 
 
 "Yes, course," still laughing. 
 
 "What other name has it got ?" inquired Gret keenly. 
 
 "Why, it 's mostly called port wine." 
 
 "Oh!" Gret looked thoughtful for a njpment, but re- 
 served her remarks for Jake. "Well, get it whatever it 
 is. Take it to Jake and tell him to put it away for me," 
 turning to go back down the road. 
 
 "All right— if the boys don't find it and drink it up," 
 said Oly facetiously. 
 
 Gret paused on her downward way. "It '11 be there on 
 Sunday morning," she observed finally. 
 
 Oly grinned. 
 
i6o GRET 
 
 It amused Ludlowe— and other observers, too, more or 
 less— to see the solemn, matter-of-fact way in which Gret 
 took possession of Arthur Massinger. With that com- 
 plete disregard of all extraneous considerations of others 
 and the opinions of others, which is at once the chief 
 power and the chief characteristic of a strong will, Gret 
 pursued her course all unconscious of criticism or notice. 
 She had made up her mind to do two things : to cure 
 Arthur Massinger if fresh air and good food would do 
 it, and to discover the secret of that unvarying calm and 
 sweetness. She took him up to the felling grounds, and 
 together they would sit and watch the great trees fall, 
 clutching the air with giant arms in a last, despairing 
 grasp. She took him up to her lakes, and together they 
 retarred the hidden canoe; she took him down to Quel- 
 lish and over the sweet-smelling timber mills— in fact, 
 she managed to have him with her wherever she went. 
 But in all these expeditions she husbanded the man's fail- 
 ing strength as a mother might that of an ailing child ; if 
 it was a matter of rowing, she did it all ; if the climb was 
 stiff, she had numberless excuses for rests and a rest in- 
 variably meant the beginning of a conversation or dis- 
 cussion which would last at least half an hour. And she 
 never started anywhere, on any sort of an expedition, 
 without first of all being stricken with hunger which 
 nothing but a visit to Jake could appease. And in the 
 kitchen, while she ate heartily — which was a feat that 
 presented no difficulty at any hour of the day— Jake 
 would be taken with a sudden hospitable notion and pre- 
 pare a glass of cream beaten to a froth and diluted with 
 wine, or bring forth a bowl of delicately clear beef broth, 
 or a plate of chicken and biscuits. And so sad, crest- 
 fallen, and altogether upset was he if Arthur would not ac- 
 cept these delicacies that that kindly soul would eat any- 
 thing at any time rather than inflict the pain of a refusal. 
 
A BENEVOLENT CONSPIRACY i6i 
 
 Many a consultation and rehearsal did the conspirators 
 have in order that the performance might be varied suf- 
 ficiently to escape the danger of premeditated appear- 
 ance ; and many a time did Gret sit down and indulge in 
 one of her fits of laughter over their duplicity and 
 Arthur's innocence. And Ludlowe, too, frequently ac- 
 companying the two about, perceived the manoeuvering 
 and was secretly amused and not a little touched. 
 
 Being thus constantly in Massinger's company, it was 
 not long, of course, before Gret discovered the leading 
 influence in the young minister's life. For— whether 
 rightly or wrongly is for theologians and scientists to dis- 
 cuss—Arthur believed in a personal Christ, whose Pres- 
 ence was with him every moment of his life. Not less 
 real than the girl Gret in flesh and blood beside him was 
 this Divine, Invisible Presence, and to Arthur the "Friend 
 that sticketh closer than a brother" was no myth of an 
 apostle's imagination. Gret heard all this in so many 
 words from his own lips, otherwise she would never have 
 credited her senses. Arthur spoke very little of his re- 
 ligion as a rule ; but Gret had none, and he hoped to win 
 her over to the service in which he delighted. From 
 the first he had leaned toward the girl, whose fearless, 
 independent nature, magnetic by reason of its very 
 strength, had drawn him as no other woman nature ever 
 had done, and, zealous disciple first and man afterward, 
 he coveted her for the Master he loved. 
 
 For a while Gret regarded Arthur with wonder not 
 untinged with amusement and a little secret scorn. How 
 a man of so much learning and of such intellect— a fel- 
 low, in fact of the same college as Ludlowe— could harbor 
 such an hallucination passed her understanding. That he 
 did, wholly and unreservedly, and that it was second 
 nature with him, she could not long doubt. And presently 
 she reconciled herself to him as a beautiful character and 
 
 u 
 
i62 GRET 
 
 a scholarly, manly man, with just this one peculiar twist 
 in his intellect. She was too kindly natured to show her 
 amusement and utter incredulity in the matter, for she 
 saw how dear the subject was to the man's heart. And 
 so to his dying day Arthur never knew how utterly and 
 pathetically futile were his endeavors and his hopes- 
 confident to the end— to win to the cross of Christ the 
 pagan soul of Gret. 
 
 The difference in opinions between Arthur and Errol 
 Ludlowe was of course as wide as the poles, and this 
 Gret soon realized. They were frequently together with 
 her, and nothing in their conversation ever escaped her. 
 As a rule they avoided arguing on matters of creed and 
 belief ; their friendship was too deep and their realization 
 of the futility too great. Still, now and again they 
 touched swords lightly on such matters. 
 
 "How can you look on all this and not be thankful, you 
 pagan ?" demanded Arthur one evening, with faint, good- 
 humored regret. 
 
 Gret was rowing them home from Quellish. It was 
 evening, just a little past sunset, and they rowed up a 
 river like an endless ribbon of opal light set in banks of 
 green filigree; pointed daggers of light thrust through 
 the towering walls of pines, and the air was full of in- 
 cense and the night call of birds. 
 
 *T am thankful," responded Ludlowe serenely. 
 
 "What for?" inquired Arthur dubiously. 
 
 "That I happen to suit my environments, and so am 
 here," explained the pagan. 
 
 "Why should n't you suit them when they were made 
 for you ?" smiling. 
 
 "Well, you see," said Ludlowe, who was in the mood 
 to tease even his best friend, "you take it that your en- 
 vironments were made specially for you and that there- 
 fore they are bound to suit, while I take it that I am a 
 
A BENEVOLENT CONSPIRACY 163 
 
 product of those same environments which are Hkewise 
 bound to suit. Either way works satisfactorily in this 
 case." 
 
 "How can you avoid beHeving they were made for you 
 if you beheve in creation at all ?" asked Arthur gravely. 
 
 ''I don't — as you do," coolly. "Organic and chemical 
 laws acting on primordial nebulae appeals more strongly 
 to my reason than a Creator evolving planets by a thought 
 out of chaos." 
 
 "Ah, you 're a hopeless case," said Arthur smiling, 
 but still with that faint shade of regret. 
 
 Ludlowe regarded him with a sort of affectionate 
 amusement for a moment or so, and then glanced away. 
 Facing them both sat Gret, rowing. Her wide eyes were 
 on Ludlowe's face ; the sunset-light streamed straight 
 into them, and to Ludlowe they looked afire. 
 
 Once in a Hfetime there comes to the eyes of men and 
 women this lightning flash of delight. For the merest 
 part of a second, quenched instantly by conventionality 
 and reserve and rarely noticed, it yet comes — this light- 
 ning acclaim of the heart and senses. Happy the soul that 
 once in a cycle of time reaches out and touches its mate. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED 
 
 "/^^ RET, come here and let us look at you. What have 
 Vjr you been doing with yourself all this frightful day?" 
 
 From the mill threshold, over which she was about to 
 cross, Gret looked across to the mill-house lawn, or that 
 more or less uneven slope of bank which lay directly in 
 front of the house and did duty in that capacity. Upon 
 it in various attitudes of prostration lay Ludlowe, Mas- 
 singer, and Fonseker ; near-by, in a folding chair, Maude 
 recHned. Gret strolled across and joined them. 
 
 *7ust look at her," went on Ludlowe in injured tones. 
 "Cool as a, cucumber. Gret, nothing but a savage could 
 be cool on a day like this." 
 
 "No?" Gret smiled unconcernedly. Then she looked 
 down on the recumbent figure of the man, the smile dying 
 away. From Ludlowe her glance wandered off down the 
 river, and then back to the lawn. She looked Massinger 
 over critically, and then glanced across at Maude. Maude 
 smiled sweetly. She liked Gret about as well as she liked 
 any woman. There was nothing dangerous to present 
 interests about her, and then Maude was secretly de- 
 lighted at the way in which, from the day of the intro- 
 duction until the present, Gret had methodically ignored 
 Mrs. Baring's existence. Many a time after that memo- 
 rable incident, when household troubles began to thicken 
 about her and she had nowhere to turn for advice and 
 help, Mrs. Baring would have been glad to call on and 
 consult the once despised camp-girl. And then as she 
 
 164 
 
A FRIEND IN NEED 165 
 
 came to live in the place and to see local things and people 
 in something like their true local perspective, she recog- 
 nized, in part at all events, her mistake — mistake, that is, 
 from the point of present advisability and comfort. She 
 recognized too, as she was bound to do, the girl's domi- 
 nant character and the practical, resourceful mind; but 
 with recognition her interest had to cease. She could not 
 avail herself of any of these same useful qualities. Gret 
 had never crossed the threshold of the mill-house since 
 she herself had entered it, and in face of the indiflference 
 of Gret's serene manner even Mrs. Baring's hauteur was 
 abashed. If Gret had been playing a part, or merely re- 
 taliating, it is doubtful whether she could have been so 
 eminently successful. But she was not. Her indifference 
 was as real and unfeigned as it was complete. 
 
 Mrs. Baring made many overtures, and tried in several 
 inconspicuous ways to make amends for early errors, but 
 to no purpose. She could not succeed for the simple 
 reason that she was entirely without the range of Gret's 
 consideration. And of these manoeuvers and these fail- 
 ures Maude was fully cognizant, being in secret much 
 edified. She invited Gret to be seated now with as much 
 cordiality as she ever displayed to any one. But Gret 
 shook her head. 
 
 "I 'm not going to stay, thank you. I just came down 
 to the mill to. see if an order was out." She turned her 
 head in Fonseker's direction. "I don't think it is, is it — 
 that Hart and Kern ?" 
 
 ''Was n't at noon," replied Bertie, gazing at Gret side- 
 ways from out the shelter of a straw hat laid flat on his 
 face. 
 
 "Dick thought if the Transfer was coming up for that 
 it could bring us up some supplies instead of sending for 
 them," said Gret thoughtfully. "I was going down to 
 have them put on board." 
 
 "Yes ?" murmured Bertie with polite interest. 
 
i66 GRET 
 
 "Well, there 's no hurry for that. Sit down, Gret,'* 
 commanded Ludlowe. '^Arthur and I had an argument 
 this morning, and as you are about the only person who 
 can properly settle it, we postponed it until your arrival. 
 He said-" 
 
 At this juncture Bobbie appeared in the doorway of 
 the mill-house. Through the open window of her sitting- 
 room Mrs. Baring had noticed Gret. Being at present 
 engaged in a gloomy discussion of the ever-present hired- 
 girl difficulty, she had been struck with an idea. 
 
 "1 wonder whether Gret could help us at all." 
 
 "Could if she would, I dare say," responded Bobbie, 
 who was actively engaged in collecting together the para- 
 phernalia necessary to the establishment of himself in 
 comfort on the lawn. 
 
 "Well, I don't see why she should n't," observed Mrs. 
 Baring plaintively. 
 
 "And I ^m afraid she does n't see why she should, 
 either," commented Bobbie. 
 
 "Well,—" Mrs. Baring looked entirely unconvinced. 
 She reflected for a few minutes, and then, just as Bobbie 
 was about to depart with his collection of necessaries, 
 looked up. "Well, tell her— Gret— that I want to see her." 
 
 Bobbie paused in his career and called across the lawn, 
 cutting short Ludlowe's sentence, "Gret, mother wants 
 to see you!" Then, in response to remonstrance from 
 within, "What? Oh, it does n't matter. Gret does n't 
 mind my shouting." 
 
 Gret smiled. "Well, I 'm not going to run away." 
 
 "I know; but mother wants you to come into the 
 house," explained Bobbie. 
 
 Gret shook her head calmly : "I 've got to hurry back 
 to the camp." 
 
 Bobbie lugged his load of creature comforts back over 
 the threshold. "I told you so. She won't come." 
 
A FRIEND IN NEED 167 
 
 Mrs. Baring looked. resigned, but like most persons of 
 haughty tendencies she was able, when her comfort or 
 convenience became involved, to stoop with equal and 
 sometimes amazing facility. "Take a chair out for me, 
 then, Bobbie. I must come out myself." 
 
 Bobbie seized another deck-chair, and dragging it 
 across the lawn deposited it near Gret. "Don't you move, 
 madam. Mother 's coming out to talk to you." 
 
 Gret looked with a slight smile from Bobbie to the 
 chair, and then at the stately figure sailing toward her 
 over the sward. She varied not a muscle from her easy 
 standing attitude, but watched Mrs. Baring thoughtfully 
 as she gracefully intrusted herself to the yielding mercies 
 of the deck-chair. Being comfortably ensconced, Mrs. 
 Baring looked up at the girl before her, the faint, puzzled 
 look of interest coming into her eyes that the sight of 
 Gret now quite frequently awakened. She could not un- 
 derstand the girl's self-possession and poise, it being a 
 pet theory of hers that these were the positive hall-marks 
 of long and consistent good birth and breeding, obtain- 
 able in that and no other way. 
 
 And Gret stood and looked thoughtfully at Mrs. Bar- 
 ing, not because she found anything puzzling or even 
 interesting in that lady, but because she was wondering 
 whether— in view of certain nebulous ideas and plans 
 already floating in her brain— she would ever need to 
 make use of her. 
 
 "Gret," began Mrs. Baring plaintively, "does your 
 mother have much trouble with her servants ?" 
 
 "No." Gret shook her head. "Oh, no ! Lizzie 's been 
 with us ever since I was a little girl." 
 
 "How fortunate!" murmured Mrs. Baring enviously. 
 "I have had so much trouble with mine. Really some- 
 times I get so much discouraged that I feel I must give 
 up and go home sooner than I intended." 
 
i68 GRET 
 
 This was a result Gret had not considered and did not 
 desire. She frowned thoughtfully. "What is the matter 
 with all the girls?" she inquired. 
 
 "Why, they 're ignorant— absolutely ignorant," an- 
 swered Mrs. Baring, with emphasis almost amounting to 
 excitement. "And if you attempt to teach them they get 
 insulted and leave!" 
 
 Gret drew a mental outline of Mrs. Baring's probable 
 attempts at teaching and smiled. She said nothing, how- 
 ever, and Mrs. Baring went on tentatively. 
 
 "Do you happen to know of a good girl, Gret? You 
 seem to know every one about here." 
 
 Gret shook her head. "I don't know anybody better 
 than Anna Shogren was, and you did n't like her." 
 
 "She did n't wait to see whether I did or not," said 
 Mrs. Baring petulantly. 
 
 "Well, she thought you did n't anyway," smiling 
 slightly. "You know, out here hired girls are just as 
 good as those that hire them. Any one that thinks differ- 
 ently has got to do her own work. They don't think that 
 way down in San Francisco, do they ?" 
 
 "They 're a perfectly different class, of course," said 
 Mrs. Baring with an unconscious return to hauteur. 
 
 "Yes? Well, they 're not here. It 's considered all 
 right to work for one's living," explained Gret coolly. 
 She was not at all interested in having Mrs. Baring come 
 to a right way of thinking; but she felt that the senti- 
 ments propounded would be distasteful to that lady and 
 insisted on them accordingly. 
 
 "Oh, well, it 's not necessary for us to discuss the back- 
 woods view of the servant question as against the city 
 view," said Mrs. Baring with cold resignation. "The 
 question is, how am I to get a decent girl? I must get 
 one somehow. I feel sure Linda means to go this even- 
 ing. I notice all her things are gone from round the 
 
A FRIEND IN NEED 169 
 
 kitchen. They never say anything until they are ready 
 to walk out." 
 
 Gret laughed amusedly. Then she reflected for a sec- 
 ond or so, looking thoughtfully at Mrs. Baring from 
 time to time. 
 
 "Well, if Anna could be got back," went on Gret, with 
 emphasis on the "if," "could you keep her, do you think ?" 
 
 "Oh, dear me, I should never go near her," declared 
 Mrs. Baring dramatically. 
 
 *'Well, I '11 tell you what I 'd do if I were in your 
 place," said Gret thoughtfully. "When I wanted any- 
 thing done, or altered, or anything like that, I 'd let Bob- 
 bie or Bertie do it. They always got along with her all 
 right. She never seemed to get mad at anything they said 
 to her, and yet they were always teaching her something." 
 
 "Oh, yes. We managed the Unalterable beautifully, 
 did n't we, Bert ?" 
 
 "You did," said Bertie gently. 
 
 "Bobbie is of a happily democratic and cosmopolitan 
 nature," remarked Ludlowe, who was lying taking in 
 everything in indolent amusement. 
 
 "But how could we get Anna back ?" asked Mrs. Bar- 
 ing, intent on the main question. 
 
 "I '11 see," replied Gret shortly. 
 
 "Oh, do you know where she is, then?" inquired Mrs. 
 Baring instantly. 
 
 The auditors on the lawn, knowing of Mrs. Baring's 
 suspicions as to Gret's share in Anna's sudden departure, 
 suppressed smiles— an effort which was not lost on Gret. 
 She looked into Mrs. Baring's eyes with unwavering 
 gaze. "I know where her home is, of course." 
 
 "Oh!" Mrs. Baring's sharpness subsided. "Well, 
 will you—" 
 
 "Yes, I '11 see," replied Gret with a nod of the head. 
 Then she turned hastily on her heel, suddenly remember- 
 
I70 GRET 
 
 ing her original errand. "Goodness, I must hurry back ! 
 Dick won't know what has happened to me." And with 
 a smihng glance round the prostrate group on the lawn 
 she walked off. 
 
 "Well, I wonder when she '11 see,'' grumbled Mrs. 
 Baring. "She 's such a funny creature— never says what 
 she intends to do." 
 
 "No, but she does it," grinned Bobbie. 
 
 "Yes. I consider Gret the most pronounced character 
 in the way of a woman that I ever met," observed Lud- 
 lowe. "Placed in other circumstances she 'd have been a 
 Cleopatra or a Catherine." 
 
 "Oh, no, not that, Errol," demurred Massinger. "Gret 
 is quite womanly, and her heart is in the right place." 
 
 Ludlowe lay near Massinger, and he turned his head 
 and glanced quizzically at his friend. "I hope it is, 
 Arthur," he said, "wherever that may be." 
 
 Gret stayed in the mill for a few minutes, and then 
 went back to the camp. About half an hour later the 
 mill-house company beheld her rowing down-stream in 
 her deliberate, automatic way. Three or four heads were 
 raised off cushions and camp-chairs. 
 
 "Where are you going, Gret ?" 
 
 "Quellish," came the laconic answer. 
 
 "Bet you what you like she 's going to find Anna," 
 prophesied Bobbie. 
 
 "Bobbie, don't get into the habit of saying that word 
 *bet' so frequently," entreated his mother. "Every other 
 sentence lately contains it. If you ever go back home 
 you '11 have the greatest difficulty in eliminating from 
 your speech these slang words and phrases." 
 
 "Won't want to," responded Bobbie promptly. "Sas- 
 siety will think it 's awfully cute. At least, if I can't be 
 rich I can be famous." 
 
 Bobby's prophecy was very correct. 
 
A FRIEND IN NEED 171 
 
 It was not very long before Gret's boat, with Anna sit- 
 ting stolidly upright in the stern, rounded the bend of the 
 stream and came in sight of the mill-house. A ripple of 
 laughter went round the lawn. 
 
 "I told you so," said Bobbie. "There 's Anna, sure 
 enough." And Bobbie went off into a series of chuckles, 
 and rolled on the grass in ecstasy. 
 
 ''What an extraordinary girl !" gasoed Mrs. Baring. 
 
 ''Just think of all she 's done while we 've been loung- 
 ing here on this lawn without stirring," said Bertie in 
 accents of awe. "It makes one warm to think of it." 
 
 "I 'm afraid she '11 grow old very young," commented 
 Maude with a little laugh. 
 
 "I don't know, now," said Ludlowe, surveying the 
 approaching boat with interest. "Do you think any one 
 with an energy like hers ever does grow old ?" 
 
 Gret ran the boat hard into the bank, and held it along- 
 side by the aid of a willow branch. Bobbie and Massin- 
 ger both hurried down to help Anna and her telescope 
 bag, which &he seemed to consider by far the most pre- 
 cious part of the load, out of the boat. 
 
 "Glad to see you back, old lady," said Bobbie with 
 genuine cordiality. 
 
 "Hallo, Anna !" smiled Bertie sweetly. 
 
 The rest of the company smiled amiably, and among 
 them was Mrs. Baring herself, though she found nothing 
 to say. And Anna went on her way up the lawn with the 
 telescope and a wide smile. As she passed on Mrs. 
 Baring rose and hurried after. 
 
 Gret, from her position in the boat, glanced from one 
 to another of the little group. Then her eyes fell on 
 Massinger, who was coming toward her down the lawn, 
 and she smiled. Massinger seated himself as near the 
 edge of the boat as safety permitted. 
 
 "Where have you been all day?" he asked. 
 
172 GRET 
 
 "Why, I went up to see our new timber tract with 
 Dick," explained Gret. "I did n't quite know how far it 
 was or how hard to get to, so I thought I 'd better not 
 take you." 
 
 "It has seemed so strange not to see you all day," went 
 on Massinger, his gentle, kindly eyes resting on the girl's 
 face with almost unconscious affection. And in truth it 
 had seemed strange. He had gone up to the camp look- 
 ing for her, and it seemed to him the camp was positively 
 deserted when that laconic, dominant personality was 
 absent. He had made several plans for the disposal of 
 his time, and then had felt too tired to carry any of them 
 out. And yet he never did feel tired in the face of any- 
 thing Gret proposed to do. It seemed as if her energy 
 were enough for both and bore him along on its never- 
 failing tide. 
 
 "Well, it was awfully hot to-day," said Gret in a matter- 
 of-fact way. "I guess you were better off down here." 
 
 "Well, I did n't like being better off," responded Arthur 
 with a laugh. 
 
 Gret smiled, too, and indicated by a tap of her foot the 
 bright new pails in the bottom of the boat. "Well, to- 
 morrow — " 
 
 "What are those for, Gret?" shouted the ever-inquisi- 
 tive Bobbie, his attention attracted by the movement. 
 
 "To go blackberrying with," replied Gret. 
 
 Bobbie sat up from out the depths of his cushions. 
 "Well, say, let 's all go up and have a picnic, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes, that 's a good idea," commended Maude; "and 
 get Jake to put up the lunch. Just at present our larder 
 is sadly depleted." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," said Gret, placing her oars in the 
 rowlocks and preparing to push off. "Well, then, you '11 
 all be in camp to-morrow morning by eight o'clock ?" 
 
 "Eight o'clock ?" in chorus. 
 
A FRIEND IN NEED 173 
 
 "Why, yes. The earHer we start the cooler it will be 
 to climb/' explained Gret with a laugh. 
 
 "Can you get up that early, Miss Vibart?" inquired 
 Bobbie with undue solicitation. 
 
 "Of course !" responded that lady indignantly. 
 
 "All right, then, Gret ; as near eight as ever we possibly 
 can," said Bobbie with an air of finality. 
 
 Gret nodded, and pushed off into the stream, smiling as 
 she went. She tied up at the camp landing and went up 
 to prepare Jake for the task ahead of him in the morning. 
 That long-suffering gentleman was meditatively plucking 
 a fowl. 
 
 "Another?" laughed Gret, scanning the unfortunate 
 bird and trying by what remained of its feathers to locate 
 it among the flocks she knew. "Don't see how you get 
 them, Jake." 
 
 "Easy," laconically. And then he observed in a tone of 
 voice that sufficiently separated the two statements. "I 
 just been up to the Orchards, Gret." 
 
 "Well. You did n't bring that from there, did you?" 
 nodding laughingly at the fowl between Jake's knees. 
 
 "No, oh no ! Got this last night," still meditative. 
 "Say, Gret, I '11 tell you one thing and that ain't two. 
 Robin Start 's a darned fool." 
 
 "Yes ?" Gret sat down carefully on the sack of potatoes 
 in front of Jake. 
 
 "Yes," went on Jake impressively. "He 's just a fool, 
 that 's what he is, with his talk of Portland. Now you 
 mind me, Gret. If he goes to Portland, or any other 
 place, his uncle '11 die and old Widow Bennett will have 
 that place deeded on to her so tight that it '11 make 
 Robin's head swim." 
 
 Gret's apathy vanished, and her eyes opened wide. 
 Robin as a chum and running partner was a back num- 
 ber, but Robin, or any other friend or associate, in danger 
 
174 GRET 
 
 of being injured or defrauded was quite another matter, 
 though she did not immediately accept Jake's assertions 
 as fact. 
 
 "What makes you think that ?" she demanded. "I don't 
 beheve old man Start ever would deed the ranch to 
 Widow Bennett. What business would she have with it ?" 
 
 "All right, now— you '11 see," predicted Jake sagely. 
 "It 's not the first time I 've seen that racket worked. 
 She 's not the first woman by a good many that 's stepped 
 in with an old man at the last minute and got what should 
 have gone to others. Course, Start 's not so old as all 
 that; but he 's quite old enough for a woman to fool. 
 There 's no telling," added Jake with sad philosophy, 
 "when a man ain't. Besides, the old man Start is n't go- 
 ing to live very long neither," said Jake decidedly. 
 
 Gret regarded Jake with steady interest. "Well, but, 
 Jake, why should Uncle Start take to Widow Bennett all 
 of a sudden? She 's been with them for years, and I 
 never heard that he—" 
 
 Jake wagged his head wisely. "When a man 's sick, 
 and a woman begins to do for him, that 's the time she 
 gets her work in. You get kind of dependent on them, 
 and then if they know anything at all they can just wind 
 you all up." 
 
 "And does Widow Bennett know anything at all?" 
 queried Gret smiling. 
 
 "You bet she does. She 's just managing things in fine 
 style." Jake laughed. 
 
 Suddenly Gret rose, a little impatient frown on her face. 
 "I 'm going up to the Orchards right now, Jake," she 
 observed with a nod of the head. "When I come back 
 I '11 tell you what I think." 
 
 Gret went on her errand in her own deliberate way, 
 neither turning aside nor hurrying overmuch. She 
 paused at the head of the slough to listen to an altercation 
 
A FRIEND IN NEED 175 
 
 between the engineer and one of the skid hands, and she 
 held a conversation with Eva on the bluff from out the 
 boat as she prepared to row round the bend. Eva was 
 reading a "lovely book," whose motif she wished to im- 
 part and discuss, and Gret promised to get home early. 
 But never once did her mind really wander from the mat- 
 ter in hand, and as she tied the boat at the Start landing 
 she observed with satisfaction that the old man was sit- 
 ting on the porch. 
 
 Gret's face was a study in amiable, nothingness as she 
 walked through the orchard up to the house and seated 
 herself on the porch steps a little below where the old man 
 sat. 
 
 "Well, Uncle Start," she observed with smiling famil- 
 iarity. 
 
 "Well, Gret," responded he, regarding her with friendly 
 curiosity. As far as his interest in her went he had rather 
 liked Gret from a little girl up. Something in her 
 blunt, purposeful make-up attracted him, who had always 
 been himself a man of few words and much work. 
 
 "You have n't been around much lately, Gret," he re- 
 marked then. "What you been domg with yourself?" 
 
 "Minding other people's business mostly," replied Gret 
 coolly, her eyes resting a moment on the old man's face. 
 Jake was quite right; a certain drawn, chalky look had 
 come over it, it seemed to Gret, even since she last saw 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Bennett came into the doorway behind them, and 
 Gret fancied there was an alert, inquiring look in the 
 comely widow's eyes, but was willing to make due al- 
 lowances for imagination, knowing she had come seeking 
 just such signs as these. She made a mental note, though, 
 of the fact that she had come uncalled to the door at all. 
 She had not been wont to do so, and it struck Gret just in 
 a passing way that she had probably thought it Robin 
 
176 GRET 
 
 talking and had grown into the habit of interrupting tete- 
 a-tetes. Seeing Gret, she was reassured and smiled pleas- 
 antly. Supposing she really had any plans Gret was the 
 last person in the world she would suspect of either in- 
 terest or desire to frustrate. 
 
 "Well!" she ejaculated in jesting surprise. "Not very 
 often we see you nowadays, Gret. Expect you Ve got 
 lots of company down at the mill^house." 
 
 **! never go into the mill-house," said Gret, truthfully 
 enough. 
 
 "No?" surprised, and sinking with her pleasant, unas- 
 sertive familiarity into a seat near the old man. "Not 
 very sociable, are they — those ladies ?" 
 
 "Oh, sociable enough in their way, I suppose," replied 
 Gret non-committally. And then, changing the subject 
 with the ease of one not particularly interested in any- 
 thing. "Has Rob been to get you any blackberries yet, 
 Mrs. Bennett?" 
 
 "No, he has n't," wistfully. "I guess they 're mostly 
 all gone, are n't they ?" 
 
 "No— oh, well, yes, perhaps so, just in the well-known 
 places," said Gret. "But I know a patch, on a west slope 
 —my! Mrs. Bennett, you should just see them; big as 
 tame berries, almost." 
 
 "Well!" said Mrs. Benne-tt, with enthusiasm. "Fine 
 they are to put up, too. I 'd like awfully well to have 
 some." 
 
 "I 'm going to pick all day to-morrow for Lizzie and 
 Jake to put up," went on Gret; "and I just thought if 
 Robin had not picked already he could go along, and I 'd 
 show him my patch. Can't possibly pick them all my- 
 self," she added, as an artistic toning down of a possibly 
 unnatural display of generosity. 
 
 It never occurred to either of her listeners that Gret 
 really was showing an unusual amount of kindly fore- 
 
A FRIEND IN NEED 177 
 
 thought, or that she was just as likely to know what 
 Robin had and had not done as they themselves. 
 
 'Terhaps he might go," observed Mrs. Bennett gently. 
 
 "Where is he now ?" inquired Gret. 
 
 "Goodness knows," put in the old man with cold sar- 
 casm. "Come here at meal times and you Ve sure to find 
 him. But that 's about all." 
 
 Gret smiled as she noted the heartfelt disgust in the 
 tones of old Start's voice. "Oh, no doubt I shall run 
 across him somewhere," she remarked lightly. "If not, 
 just tell him to come up to camp to-morrow morning very 
 early." 
 
 "I '11 tell him you said to come," agreed Mrs. Bennett 
 with gentle amiability. "Robin 's too big now for us to 
 tell him to go do this, or do that." 
 
 "We 're never too big for that," said Gret hypocriti- 
 cally. She did not wish them to suppose her an especial 
 advocate of Robin's. In that case they would hardly air 
 any of their views concerning him and his ways, and she 
 would have no opportunity of judging in the matter. 
 
 "Some people are,", observed Start ; "and they ' re 
 mostly those that ain't worth a cent themselves— just owe 
 all they 've got to others." 
 
 Gret nodded in grave assent, and Mrs. Bennett stroked 
 creases in her apron. In reality Gret wanted to laugh 
 aloud ; they were so like two children reciting their parts 
 to her. But it certainly would not do to laugh at this 
 stage of the proceedings, and so she sat in a state of be- 
 coming gravity. No one spoke, and Gret turned over in 
 her mind for an auspicious and profitable opening. Her 
 eyes fell on the long rows of strawberry plants traversing 
 one side of the orchard. 
 
 "Have a good crop of berries this year ?" she inquired 
 of Start. 
 
 "Not so very— no," replied the old man, glancing with 
 
 12 
 
178 GRET 
 
 stern disfavor at the plants in question. "You see I Ve 
 been most too sick all summer to tend to things. I used 
 to think that when Robin grew up and I was old, he M 
 take over the management of the ranch. But seems it 's 
 not to be. The farm that gave him a home when he had 
 n't none, but was just a homeless young one on the face 
 of the earth, is the last thing he thinks of now. You can 
 see for yourself." 
 
 Gret glanced round critically. Just immediately round 
 the house was spick and span and carefully kept; Mrs. 
 Bennett saw to that. But farther than that a general air 
 of negligence pervaded the place. Gret's lip curled in- 
 sensibly. Robin always was a fool, always had been lazy, 
 too, for that matter ; of duty Gret did not think in connec- 
 tion with Robin. In reality, she reflected, the loss that 
 seemed imminent would serve him just about right, and 
 no more. He had invited it, and he richly deserved it. 
 But Robin had been a playmate and regarded her as a 
 friend, and it was against her nature to see him sup- 
 planted by an alien to the family, however just such a 
 consummation might be, without at least giving timely 
 warning. She concluded her rapid survey of the sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 ''You 're right," she said laconically, with a glance at 
 the old man. 
 
 "Oh well, you see it 's like this," said Mrs. Bennett in 
 an apologetic way. "Some people just naturally don't 
 like the country and ranching and such like, and some 
 does. Robin don't like the country ; never did. He never 
 took interest in it and never could. He 's not to blame. 
 It 's just the way people are born, I suppose." 
 
 "Certainly," agreed old Start with a smile. "It 's the 
 way they 're born. Some are born shiftless and good for 
 nothing and some ain't." 
 
 "Now, I '3 just pine to death in a town," went on the 
 
A FRIEND IN NEED 179 
 
 widow, gazing thoughtfully out across the orchard. "It 's 
 what I 've kept on working and put by my little savings 
 for— just so I could maybe buy me a little place out here 
 in the quiet when I get old— real old. But as for Robin," 
 she went on more briskly, *'his ambition 's not that 
 way; that 's all. He just wants to go and be a business 
 man." 
 
 *'The sooner the better," observed Start. 
 
 "That 's what I say," agreed Mrs. Bennett, with an in- 
 quiring glance at Gret. "Let him go all nice and 
 friendly-like. There is n't no work here but what can be 
 hired done. There 's no occasion to feel badly about it. 
 The boy 's not to blame. His heart 's not here with us old 
 folks and the old ranch. That 's only natural. Old folks 
 just want to be quiet and comfortable, but young folks 
 are ambitious." 
 
 "That 's right." Gret smiled assent, her eyes resting 
 on the suave widow's face. She was doing her work 
 with a very fair amount of artistic perception. Possibly 
 she was overdoing it a little, but then her subjects were 
 not discriminating. Gret wondered rather that she had 
 not before discerned the latent diplomatic possibilities in 
 this woman. There was a time — and Gret smiled to her- 
 self to think of it— when she might have had to cross dip- 
 lomatic swords with the crafty widow herself. She won- 
 dered which would have come off victor. 
 
 As it was, knowing all she wished to know, she now 
 prepared to gracefully withdraw. 
 
 "Well, I suppose I must be going," she observed, draw- 
 ing her feet together on the step and carefully inspecting 
 a short rip on the front of one of her shoes. 
 
 "Oh, what 's the hurry? Stay and have some supper 
 with us," said Mrs. Bennett. 
 
 "Oh, thank you, but I can't stay," replied Gret, rising 
 and smiling very pleasantly. "I 've got to hurry back to 
 
i8o GRET 
 
 the camp to tell Jake about putting up lunches for to- 
 morrow. And then after that Eva wants me." 
 
 "Oh, well, then, of course—" agreed Mrs. Bennett 
 smilingly. "Come up again, Gret." 
 
 "I will." Gret nodded in a friendly way. Indeed, she 
 really did not feel the slightest personal animosity in the 
 case. She did not blame Widow Bennett at all. It was a 
 business deal all the way through, and the race was to 
 him that could. She stepped down on to the walk and 
 then paused. "Please tell Robin when he comes home 
 that I said to be in camp to-morrow at half past seven." 
 
 The indifference fell from her face for a moment, and 
 the "I said" had a strange ring of power and command. 
 Mrs. Bennett glanced up in involuntary surprise; and 
 then Gret added with a little laugh, "I 'd hate to see those 
 lovely berries spoil, and I can't pick enough for you and 
 Jake and Lizzie." 
 
 "Of course not," agreed Mrs. Bennett immediately. 
 "I '11 be sure and tell him." 
 
 "All right, then. Good-by." And with a parting smile 
 to each of the unsuspecting subjects of her investigation, 
 Gret departed through the orchard and up the river. 
 
 Supper was partly over as Gret entered the camp and 
 took her usual seat on Dick's right hand. Dick looked 
 up from wholesale consumption of baked potatoes and 
 smiled, and Oly voiced a sentiment with his mouth full of 
 the same. 
 
 "Thought you were n't going to take supper with us 
 any more, Gret." 
 
 "Why?" inquired that lady calmly. 
 
 "Been two weeks since you did." 
 
 "Just nine days," with an air of exactness. 
 
 "Well, that 's just the same," grumbled Oly. 
 
 "You won't think so if you ever come to pay rent every 
 two weeks," chuckled Cassidy. 
 
A FRIEND IN NEED i8i 
 
 "Would n't think so if he got paid for nine days instead 
 of two weeks, either," added Gret, looking up. As she did 
 so she noticed Jake standing in the doorway eying her 
 with inquiring gaze. Guessing the inquiry in his mind, 
 she smiled, and immediately her mind went back to the 
 Orchards. Doubtless Mrs. Bennett had got supper, too, 
 by this, and was ministering to her master's wants with 
 watchful care. The only thing that annoyed Gret about 
 the whole matter was the maturity of it. Right in her 
 immediate proximity, yet without her even suspecting its 
 existence, had this thing hatched out and grown to full 
 perfection. 
 
 "I wish," she said with a little snap, and speaking from 
 the depths of her soliloquy, 'T wish I were a spider." 
 
 Dick looked up from his plate, and Oly's hand, on its 
 way to the potato bowl, paused midway. ''Why?" came 
 in chorus. 
 
 "Then I 'd have eyes that would look front and back- 
 wards and sideways and all." 
 
 Most of the men within hearing chuckled, and Dick 
 smiled broadly. "I think your eyes about manage that 
 already, Gret," he observed. 
 
 Gret's face relaxed into a smile. She reflected that to 
 those in ignorance of the trend of her deliberations the 
 remark just made might appear a trifle eccentric. She 
 vouchsafed no explanations, however, but went on with 
 her meal, on her face a queer, half humorous, half piqued 
 expression. 
 
 After dinner Gret went and seated herself on the bench 
 outside the cook-house door, where she was soon joined 
 by Jake. 
 
 "Well?" interrogated he. 
 
 Gret nodded. "It 's all right. You 'd got it down 
 right enough." 
 
 In view of this frank admission of his penetration and 
 
i82 GRET 
 
 acumen Jake refrained from any self-laudatory remarks, 
 and awaited further statements. 
 
 "And I 11 tell you, Jake," went on Gret with that grim 
 narrowing of the eyes, "if Rob were to lose that place 
 root and tree it would be no more than right. It 's just 
 a shame the way he 's neglecting things now the old 
 man 's sick." 
 
 Jake nodded. "That 's what I think. Better just let it 
 go." 
 
 "Oh, no!" demurred Gret. "He may have sense 
 enough to turn over a new leaf when he sees how things 
 are going. If he does n't after we We shown him, then 
 it 's his fault." 
 
 Then she rose deliberately. "Well, I must go. Eva 
 wants me. Oh, say, Jake, I was almost forgetting," turn- 
 ing back. "I want you to put up six lunches for to-mor- 
 row. Will you?" 
 
 "Six," ejaculated Jake. 
 
 "Yes. All the mill-house folks are going berrying to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "Land— six!" Jake shook his head. 
 
 "I '11 get up real early and help," said Gret coaxingly. 
 "I '11 cut all the sandwiches, Jake." 
 
 Jake smiled. "Well, guess I 've got enough pie," he 
 said then, with a sigh of resignation. 
 
 "Oh, yes. We '11 make out," said Gret confidently. 
 "Well, I '11 be down early in the morning, Jake," she said 
 finally, and with a nod of adieu went out of the kitchen. 
 
 She went home and lay on the bluff with Eva and the 
 lovely book. The river flowed in molten light, speared 
 across with lengthening pine shadows ; and Robin and the 
 Orchards and the blackberrying and all things trouble- 
 some whatsoever were put on one side and forgotten as if 
 they had never been. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 A day's enjoyment 
 
 VERY early in the morning Gret awoke ; the sunlight 
 was streaming across the floor, and the room was 
 full of the moist dawn, odorous with the breath of pines 
 and plants. She sat up and gave a little sigh of pure de- 
 light ; then she sprang up and going to the window leaned 
 out. The rose mists lay deep among the pines, and the 
 river wound in and out a thread of palest blue. 
 
 Gret drew her head in and dressed, her soul rising in 
 glee within her. She was a lion refreshed, and the world 
 was not wide enough for her to conquer. 
 
 When the blackberrying toilet was complete, she crept 
 down the lean-to roof, leaped to the ground, and was off 
 like a deer for the camp. 
 
 Arrived at the camp, she found Jake and Charlie busy 
 with breakfast preparations. And so Gret busied herself 
 cutting a pile of thinly sliced bread ready for the sand- 
 wiches. 
 
 A little before eight o'clock Robin arrived at the camp. 
 The expression on his face could hardly be construed into 
 one of pleased anticipation ; apparently the idea of a day's 
 blackberrying with Gret no longer held the charm it had 
 in days of yore. Gret marked the expression, but did 
 not choose to take open note of it. Instead she was very 
 gracious, and hailed him in terms of good fellowship. 
 
 ''Hallo, Robbie ! So Mother Bennett told you to come." 
 
 "Oh, yes. She was bound she 'd have those berries," 
 said Robin a trifle discontentedly. "There was no getting 
 out of it." 
 
 Z83 
 
i84 GRET 
 
 "Well, did you want to ?" inquired Gret brightly. "All 
 the mill folks are going. Why, I just thought you 'd like 
 to go." 
 
 ''Oh, are they ?" Robin looked more interested. "Oh !" 
 
 "Yes ; Miss Vibart, too," said Gret, with eyes gleaming 
 mockery and amusement. 
 
 "Oh!" Robin's face brightened amazingly. "Where 
 are you going, Gret? Mother Bennett said you had a 
 splendid patch somewhere or other." 
 
 "I have ; berries as big as that," and Gret illustrated with 
 her thumb and finger a berry about as big as a good-sized 
 bantam egg. "You know the mountain back of Murray's 
 camp?" Robin nodded. "Well, the vv^est side of that. 
 It 's covered with salal — deep salal, too — and that keeps 
 the berries from drying up. They 're just thick there." 
 
 Robin nodded his comprehension. "But can Miss Vi- 
 bart get along among stuff like that, do you suppose ?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 Gret's lips slowly melted into a smile of the broadest 
 possible dimensions. "That 's what we shall see!" she 
 said. 
 
 Robin looked up into the eyes dancing with fun, and 
 his soul expanded as of old. Here once more was the girl 
 who had been wont to go into ecstasies of silent laughter 
 when he fell off a log, or stubbed his toe when his pail 
 was full of berries; whose dancing feet he had followed 
 from childhood alike in willingness and reluctance, and 
 alike to his profit or undoing. His face relaxed into one 
 of the old comprehensive grins. 
 
 "I guess it will be funny, all right !" he observed. 
 
 More punctually than Gret had altogether expected, the 
 mill-house party arrived, variously attired according to 
 their varied conceptions of the task in hand. Gret scanned 
 Maude's appearance with considerable interest. As far 
 as that lady could possibly judge of the expedition about 
 
A DAY'S ENJOYMENT 185 
 
 to be entered upon it was the perfection of good sense 
 and taste; but Gret's experienced eye detected several 
 pitfalls. The wide-brimmed straw sailor was all right, 
 as was also the plain but dainty gown of blue linen ; but 
 the starched white collar was a vanit\ that would soon 
 wither away, and the stout-soled walking-shoes, which 
 Maude in view of the rough nature of the ground to be 
 covered had considered the best, were badly chosen see- 
 ing that the main foothold in the dense brush and seas of 
 salal would be on fallen timber. On the other hand, 
 Maude surveyed Gret in much secret surprise, from the 
 wide straw hat, conical-crowned and innocent of trim- 
 ming and faded waist whose loose collar-band was left in 
 its simplicity, to the thinnest of old shoes. 
 
 Gret solemnly presented each of the men with a ten- 
 pound lard-pail, in which was his lunch. She herself car- 
 ried two pails, one within the other, as did also Robin. 
 Maude was given a five-pound pail, as being probably 
 equal to any demand she might put upon it. 
 
 To begin with, the way lay up the skid-road, and upon 
 this Robin and Gret jumped with the ease of long ac- 
 quaintanceship. Maud was helped up, and the other men 
 followed with more or less enthusiasm. And here hap- 
 pened the first of Maude's disasters. Observing the ease 
 of Gret's progress. Miss Vibart essayed the balancing act 
 herself with much confidence, and promptly collapsed 
 with a little screech between the big sleepers. She was 
 helped out, and then decided to walk alongside the road, 
 over the baked mud and clumps of bramble and brush. 
 Ludlowe and Massinger walked with her and all went 
 well, except that the band-snakes, sunning themselves in 
 harmless abandon, were the source of many sudden stop- 
 pages and much screaming. Robin and Gret balanced and 
 pirouetted along a little way ahead, taking in the whole 
 proceedings with joyous appreciation. 
 
i86 GRET 
 
 From the top of the canon Murray's trail was struck, 
 and after this every one got along famously. Maude re- 
 covered from her mishap of the skid-road, and, helped on 
 her way by ready gallantry, decided that expeditions into 
 the brush were exactly to her taste. 
 
 The ground to which Gret conducted her party was the 
 lower western slope of a hill leading into a shallow ravine. 
 Over the inevitable fallen timber with which the ages had 
 latticed the side of the hill the salal grew into a smooth 
 green sea, out of which stood clumps of buckle- and sal- 
 mon-berry bushes, dogwood and hazel. At the edge of it 
 Gret called a halt to empty the buckets. 
 
 "Would n't think it would be a good berry-patch 
 at all, would you ?" observed Robin, surveying it critically. 
 
 *'No, but it is— fine," replied Gret. "They 're all among 
 the salal— big, juicy ones. And I '11 tell you," she added 
 with a knowing nod, "there are places where you can drop 
 off a log six feet into the salal if you want to." 
 
 Robin shut one eye in a prodigious wink. The schemes 
 of maturity were all forgotten for the moment, and he 
 was a mischievous boy again. 
 
 The luncheon supplies were stacked in a shady holk)w 
 beneath a thick clump of bushes, and the group went glee- 
 fully to work. Before allowing her to start off into the 
 salal, however, Gret took Maude by the hand and led her 
 to the foot of a thick tangle of brier and bush. She lifted 
 the growth, and displayed to that uninitiated lady a clus- 
 ter of shining blue-black berries. Maude gave a little coo 
 of delight, and sitting down began to pick with enthusi- 
 asm. Ludlowe, observing the comparative ease of the sit- 
 uation, came and seated himself by her side and also be- 
 gan to lazily transfer a few of the berries from the parent 
 bush to his pail. Bobbie and Massinger prospected cau- 
 tiously along the timber into the salal, and Gret went back 
 to Robin, who stood waiting for her. 
 
A DAY'S ENJOYMENT 187 
 
 "That '11 get the berry fever up," said he, indicating by 
 a bend of the head Maude and her patch. 
 
 Gret nodded, and struck off down a slender prostrate 
 tree, followed by Robin. Half-way down she paused and, 
 parting the salal and bramble that grew over the rotting 
 bark, disclosed clusters of berries. "You see," she 
 said contentedly, "we could fill a water-pail if we wanted 
 to." 
 
 "Yes, could n't we?" agreed Robin, seating himself 
 astride the tree and beginning to pick. "Funny we never 
 found this patch before, all these years." 
 
 "Well, it 's out of the way we always went to berry," 
 rejoined Gret, seating herself carefully. "I just happened 
 on it coming down from Molalla one day." 
 
 "Been up to Molalla lately, then?" inquired Robin. 
 Gret nodded. 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 "No," nodding her head in Massinger's direction. "He 
 was with me." 
 
 Robin scanned Massinger's tall, slight figure critically. 
 "Rather taken up with him, are n't you ?" 
 
 Gret looked up, a berry held to her lips. "Why, I like 
 him— yes. No one could very well help that; he 's so 
 good." 
 
 "Should n't have thought the goody-goody kind would 
 have taken you at all," went on Robin thoughtfully. 
 
 "I don't exactly know what you mean by 'taken me,' " 
 said Gret with a laugh. "You can't help liking a person 
 who always thinks of every one else before himself, and 
 is kind and fair to everything. Besides, he likes to rove 
 all about just as I do. I 'm not taken any further than 
 that." 
 
 "Think you ever will really like anybody?" wondered 
 Robin, looking curiously into the girl's unmoved face. 
 
 Gret chuckled— a mere little grunt of discontent and 
 
i88 GRET 
 
 scorn. "I don't think I '11 ever like anything that '11 like 
 me," she replied oracularly. 
 
 Robin was silent a moment, and Gret suddenly changed 
 the subject. 
 
 "Uncle Start was telling me yesterday that you thought 
 of going to Portland." 
 
 The look of mischievous ciiriosity vanished instantane- 
 ously from Robin's face and he glanced quickly and fur- 
 tively at his companion. 
 
 "Yes," he said, with an attempt at carelessness. 
 
 She nodded. "Very good idea, I should think," in a 
 voice of no particular interest; "because you never did 
 like ranching really, did you ?" 
 
 "No, never did," agreed Robin, brightening immedi- 
 ately as he saw no opposition was likely to be forthcom- 
 ing. "The old man 's sore about it, though, is n't he ?" 
 
 "Oh— said he 'd have to hire the work done," said Gret 
 evasively. 
 
 "Well, that 's the best thing. Don't you think so?" 
 asked Robin quickly. 
 
 "Of course. You don't do the work, and what 's the 
 good of keeping some one else out of it," agreed Gret in 
 a matter-of-fact way. "I 'm only surprised you did n't 
 both come to some agreement of that sort a long time 
 ago." 
 
 "Did you tell uncle that ?" inquired Robin eagerly. • 
 
 "Oh, forget now what I did say— something of the 
 kind," replied the girl. "It 's none of my business any- 
 way. When are you going?" 
 
 "Just as soon as Cecil can get me a place," explained 
 Robin eagerly. "You see, just now, in the middle of the 
 summer, it 's very quiet in the dry-goods business; but 
 just as soon as fall sets in business picks up, and then 
 they put more clerks on. Cecil says he 's sure he can get 
 me a position in his store." 
 
A DAY'S ENJOYMENT 189 
 
 "Won't that be nice?" sympathized Gret. "And then 
 Cecil can show you what to do and all that." 
 
 "Of course. He '11 put me next to everything," said 
 Robin, delighted with such ready comprehension. 
 
 "Do vou think you '11 like to live in town?" queried 
 Gret. 
 
 "Will I ?" echoed Robin, his whole face beaming with 
 enthusiasm. "You see," he went on confidentially, "I '11 
 learn the dry-goods business, and then— then, some day 
 I '11 go in business for myself and have Cecil with me. 
 See ? As Cecil says, it would n't do to go into a business 
 you knew nothing about." 
 
 "Of course not," acquiesced Gret amiably, as she turned 
 away to reach for a trailing, well-laden bramble. 
 
 About fifty feet away, picking with great deliberation, 
 and, as far as Bobbie was concerned at all events, chatter- 
 ing at double the speed, were Bobbie and Massinger. 
 Maude having embarked on a fallen tree, piloted by Gret, 
 glanced round contentedly, and then stooping began to 
 pick the berries lying across the trunk. 
 
 "I suppose," she said to Robin, who was v/ithin speak- 
 ing distance, "one can walk anywhere here — no swamp or 
 anything of that kind ?" And she looked critically at the 
 smooth, inviting expanse of salal. 
 
 "Oh, yes," responded Robin in tones of deep assurance ; 
 "the ground is all just as dry and hard as can be." 
 
 He never, as he afterward assured Gret, expected such 
 immediate results to follow his words. But Miss Vibart 
 decided to prospect farther round the cluster of berries 
 she was at present dealing with. Rising, she picked up 
 her pail and stepped forward. There was a shriek, a 
 shower of berries in the air, and Miss Vibart vanished 
 from mortal ken. 
 
 Robin, in reality paralyzed past all usefulness by 
 laughter, ran to the brink and peered into the salal, which 
 
igo GRET 
 
 had closed peacefully over the spot ; and Ludlowe, Arthur 
 and Bobbie hastened thither as fast as uncertain foothold 
 would allow. Together, with much acclaim, they rescued 
 the vanished one from her leafy grave, physically none 
 the worse for her experience, but considerably ruffled in 
 spirit and attire. 
 
 Gret all this time remained quietly seated some distance 
 up the log, apparently unnoticing and entirely engrossed 
 with the berry-picking. But when, about ten minutes 
 afterward, she had so far recovered from her fit of si- 
 lent laughter as to be able to sit up once more, she felt the 
 smooth, long fingers of a man's hand slip under her chin, 
 and her face was raised to meet the quizzical eyes of Er- 
 rol Ludlowe. 
 
 "Ah!" said that gentleman calmly. "I thought as 
 much." 
 
 Presently Maude, better instructed as to how to walk 
 amidst salal brush, and encouraged by much sympathy 
 and the contributions of berries from other pails to make 
 up for the loss of her own, started afresh on her career 
 as a berry-picker. She considered Robin the prime agent 
 of her disaster, and told him so. 
 
 "You said I could walk anywhere," she observed in of- 
 fended tones. 
 
 "So you can," returned Robin in injured accents. "The 
 ground is quite dry and hard. But I supposed you 'd get 
 down off the log first, and not try to walk on the top of 
 the salal." And Maude was silenced. 
 
 Gret sat on, automatically picking berries, but with her 
 thoughts on other things. The touch of fingers was still 
 about her throat and chin, shaping into other channels 
 the mood that had beforetime been so mirthful. The 
 smile on her lips was half reflective, half comprehensive, 
 and faintly sweet. 
 
 When the party returned to the camp that night, Jake 
 
A DAY'S ENJOYMENT 191 
 
 invited them all to be seated in the dining-hall while he 
 prepared for them a quick repast, the camp dinner being 
 long since over. The mill-house people, not having been 
 able to set any definite time for their return, and not, 
 therefore, expecting anything to be in readiness for them 
 at the mill, accepted the invitation, and the whole berry 
 party sat down together to supper. Afterward the mill 
 people took their berries and, with many thanks to the 
 graciously smiling Jake, went home rejoicing. 
 
 Robin did not happen to come into the camp for several 
 days; but finally Gret walked casually into the cook- 
 house one afternoon to find him there with Jake. 
 
 Gret did not, of course, expect Robin to take with any 
 degree of pleasure the information— or suspicions— to be 
 imparted to him, but she was hardly prepared for the 
 state of rage in which she found him. His face was red, 
 and it seemed to the amused girl that his hair fairly stood 
 on end. 
 
 "I tell you, Robin," Jake was saying in kindly tones, 
 "it 's none of my business. I don't care which of you 
 gets the ranch. Only I kind of hate to see you make such 
 a fool of yourself— if you don't know it, that is. But 
 don't you take my word for it— or Gret's either. Just 
 you go home and keep your eyes peeled, and you '11 soon 
 see for yourself." 
 
 Here Gret entered the field. "Yes," she laughed, "he 
 will. And just as soon as he sees anything that points to 
 what we say being true, he '11 jump up and come down on 
 Widow Bennett with all four feet and row with his 
 uncle." 
 
 "Well, it 's all off with him if he does," said Jake posi- 
 tively. 
 
 "Yes, and, besides, if old lady Bennett ever finds out 
 that Rob is on to her game she '11 quietly find some other 
 way of fixing him," added Gret. 
 
192 GRET 
 
 "Sure," agreed Jake amiably. "There 's more ways 
 than one of killing a cat always." 
 
 "I won't say anything," said Robin, his eyes full of a 
 sullen rage; "but I 'm just going right home and watch. 
 I believe you 've got on the wrong street altogether. But 
 I '11 soon see." 
 
 "That 's right," assented Jake. "You will— mighty 
 soon, too, now your eyes are open ; that is, unless you 're 
 a bigger fool than I take you for. And say, Rob," as that 
 gentleman turned to the door, "when you 've made up 
 your mind, come and tell us." 
 
 Robin nodded, and went out, slowly and almost deject- 
 edly. He was enraged to the heart's core, and though on 
 the whole unbelieving, yet secretly very considerably 
 startled. He had been, as usual, chasing just the one idea 
 to the exclusion of everything else. At the same time, 
 though rash and unthinking in a general way, he was not 
 by any means a fool. When he did actually get down to 
 the consideration of a matter, he was usually able to see 
 pretty well on all sides of it. Indeed, he was crafty by 
 nature, and, although the impulsive streak in his composi- 
 tion generally bent alike his energies and his craft in one 
 channel at a time, yet by the insight thus afforded him he 
 was well able both to measure the craftiness of another 
 and to meet it on equal grounds. By the time he had 
 reached the Orchards he had reviewed a considerable por- 
 tion of the widow's actions of late, and had come to the 
 conclusion that, as far as she was concerned, Jake might 
 easily be right in his surmises. But he could not bring 
 himself to believe that his uncle would ever will the well- 
 beloved ranch, upon which his life's labors had been 
 spent, out of the family and to a woman. 
 
 During the following week he worked closely about the 
 farm, and no move, no word, on the part of either the 
 widow or his uncle escaped him. And one thing he did 
 
A DAY'S ENJOYMENT 193 
 
 realize, if nothing else, and that was the depth of his un- 
 cle's dislike and disgust for himself. And on the strength 
 of this alone Robin knew it would never do to go away 
 and leave the place unguarded in the hands of the enemy. 
 
 Sadly disappointed and dejected, yet once more in his 
 rig'ht mind, Robin went back to the camp one morning and 
 confessed that Jake was right, or nearly so, forlornly add- 
 ing that all his future hopes were dashed to the ground. 
 
 Then Jake and Gret administered much consolation 
 and more advice. He was coached to the last detail of 
 his procedure. He was solemnly adjured not for anything 
 to let the widow suspect he had recognized her designs, 
 but to still talk to her of his city plans; he was to quietly 
 set to work and bring the ranch into proper shape, being 
 patient and courteous to his uncle in the face of anything 
 and everything; and he was to begin, when the widow 
 was not present, in a wisely graduated way to plan with 
 his uncle the future of the ranch. 
 
 Robin listened resignedly, but heeded withal. Indeed, 
 he was obliged to heed, for, when all was said and done 
 the ranch was the basis of even his dream of Portland. 
 When that was gone, all else faded with it. For Robin 
 was quite shrewd enough to know that even the good 
 friend Cecil would be very much less of a friend if Robin 
 came to him merely as a penniless man instead of as one 
 with prospects of a comfortable start in life. 
 
 There was no help for it— nothing to do but stand by 
 his post; and Robin was a forlorn being. Time would 
 doubtless shortly supply him with a new motive for living, 
 with the necessary something to pursue ; but just now he 
 had but one object in view, and that was the undoing of 
 the Widow Bennett. 
 
 13 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 
 
 IT was a surprising thing that almost every one, includ- 
 ing those who from their fairly correct estimate of her 
 character should have known better, during the summer 
 made the mistake of supposing Gret to have conceived a 
 more or less decided fancy for Arthur Massinger, and he 
 for her. The very unblushing, matter-of-fact openness of 
 her monopoly of the young minister should have been 
 sufficient disproof to those who in other ways had meas- 
 ured fairly well the intense secretiveness of her nature. 
 But it seemed it was not. For once the deductions of the 
 various and in the main kindly observers were at fault, 
 and a general mistake obtained. 
 
 Arthur really had become very fond of the girl, it is 
 true; and, like every one else whom Gret towed into the 
 strong stream of her personality, had come to be almost 
 unable to imagine life without her ; but there was no love, 
 as from man to woman. There probably never had been 
 very much passion in Arthur's physical make-up, and 
 what little there might have been his esthetic life and prin- 
 ciples had gradually eliminated. But he had turned to 
 Gret as the strongest and, to him, most inspiriting per- 
 sonality he had ever met. With her he literally forgot 
 his weakness. It seemed to him that, when she stood be- 
 fore him in that intense, conscious delight in being that 
 was one of her great charms, and breathed one of her 
 deep, swelling breaths, she actually breathed into his nos- 
 
 «94 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 195 
 
 trils a magnetic vitality that carried him along and made 
 him forget that ever there was a weak body that some- 
 times failed to carry out the demands of an eager spirit. 
 
 And as for Gret, she was sorry for Massinger ; and, as 
 she had truthfully said to Robin, she recognized the 
 sweetness and beauty of his disposition and sincerely liked 
 him. None could well be with him and help that. But 
 love? No! Great was the mistake of those who sup- 
 posed that Gret would love and carry her love openly 
 through the rounds of her life for the whole world to see 
 and comment on. 
 
 And then Gret was very much taken with Arthur's de- 
 scription of his life-work among the outcasts of society, 
 and her sympathies were extended instantly and unques- 
 tioningly to the women whose unhappiness he portrayed 
 in a tender, pitying way. He spoke of them always as 
 "poor unfortunates," and of course Gret had not the 
 faintest idea in the world of the real offense of these wo- 
 men against that society which cast them out and held 
 them at bay. She took them to be poor, homeless, friend- 
 less, sick— something evidently that caused them to be in 
 trouble and misery; and her soul rose up in wrath at the 
 more fortunate women whom Arthur sometimes sadly de- 
 picted as thrusting still further down, and ostracizing still 
 more hopelessly, their fallen sisters. And when he told 
 her of the difficulty he at all times encountered in getting 
 kind and helpful housekeepers, or, indeed, housekeepers 
 of any kind, on account of contact with these girls, her 
 disgust was simply too great for words. She had at once 
 that pity, entirely irrespective of caste or kind, which re- 
 ligion alone had been able to supply to Arthur himself. 
 
 Partly because she would not, for the sake of the love 
 Arthur evidently bore the theme, hurt his feelings by at- 
 tacking it, and partly because she encouraged any and 
 every discussion that gave insight into his and other men's 
 
196 GRET 
 
 lives, and partly because of a certain enjoyment it af- 
 forded her, Gret heard with apparently receptive interest 
 all that Arthur ever said concerning his religion— the 
 softly uttered, loving praise of the Divine Master, the 
 faith in His power and the joy in His service. To do her 
 justice, she was artist enough to recognize the beauty of 
 the idea, even while she smiled at it as a pretty fable, and 
 Arthur's finely rounded, tuneful sentences fell on appre- 
 ciative ears. But that was all. As for any interest in re- 
 ligion, or any idea of becoming converted thereto herself, 
 that was merely one of the grim, secret jokes in which 
 Gret reveled. For very early in the day she had di- 
 vined Arthur's confident hopes of winning her, through 
 her interest and sympathies, for the service of the God he 
 served : and it amused her to humor him. 
 
 Ludlowe often joined Gret and Arthur in their various 
 expeditions hither and thither, and was, strange as it may 
 seem, thoroughly amused and content while with them. 
 The man who, in a society gathering, would have been 
 bored to distraction, and who was so unfeignedly and 
 really tired of many things in life, with these two entirely 
 different but equally sincere beings was fairly satisfied. 
 Moreover, Errol Ludlowe had, fortunately for him, 
 never lost his love for nature. The moods and the kinds 
 of his fellow-men had become a matter of easy arithme- 
 tic ; but the moods and the ways of the Great Mother were 
 still alluringly above and beyond him. 
 
 And then Ludlowe considered Gret a most unusually 
 interesting specimen of femininity, whose ultimate devel- 
 opment it had pleased him for reasons of his own to cal- 
 culate to a nicety ; and being interested, he was therefore 
 gracious in his lazy, caressing way— a fact which, to Lud- 
 lowe's great secret amusement, seemed to cause Arthur 
 some slight perturbation of heart. Being well versed by 
 long observation as to the general results of any attention 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 197 
 
 to women from Errol, Arthur grew afraid for Gret, and 
 ventured one afternoon to gently intercede for what he 
 considered might be her future peace of mind. 
 
 "Errol/' he smiled at the end of a period of reflection, 
 and glancing affectionately at his friend, who lay prone 
 on the moss of the river, "we know you are generally not 
 to blame, but there are so many scalps hanging at your 
 belt. Don't add Gret's." 
 
 Ludlowe raised his head and looked hard at his com- 
 panion for a moment, and then laughed. "Why, I have 
 n't the faintest intention of trying to do any such thing 
 — as collect her scalp." His head dropped back on the 
 moss. "Also my innate modesty leads me to enter a pro- 
 test against your statement." 
 
 Arthur smiled. "You never do 'try' to do anything of 
 the kind, but we know what frequently happens neverthe- 
 less. Gret is no society flirt and weakling. She would 
 suffer hard and long." 
 
 "I quite agree with you— if she ever began to suffer," 
 said Ludlowe coolly. "But falling in love is a diversion 
 in which Gret will indulge only when all other forms of 
 amusement fail, or I am much mistaken. Besides all 
 which, she appears to dislike me — just in a casual way." 
 
 Arthur smiled, a faint, unbelieving smile. "Yes? But 
 you like her, don't you ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes— immensely," responded Errol promptly. 
 "One could n't help it." 
 
 And in that he spoke the truth and nothing but it. He 
 did like Gret— more than any woman he knew. It was 
 merely liking as yet, but still a great deal for Ludlowe to 
 extend to a mere chance acquaintance as Gret had prom- 
 ised to be. Very few women had ever roused any greater 
 liking, very few even as much. He liked that downright, 
 wholesome quality about her both for good and bad, and 
 the compelling egotism that went straight to the goal, tak- 
 
198 GRET 
 
 ing heed of nothing by the way. He knew that wherever 
 Fate placed her she was going to be a woman to be reck- 
 oned with, and he watched her about with contemplative 
 interest. At the same time he did not flatter himself that 
 Gret returned his liking. He did not see that she had any 
 cause to dislike him ; but, though not avoiding him, he no- 
 ticed that she never sought his company. And for this 
 reason, if for none other, out of the pure contradictori- 
 ness of his nature, Errol would approach her on all con- 
 venient occasions and exert himself to be entertaining— 
 a feat that for a man of such classic training and wide 
 travel and experience was an easy matter, of course, not- 
 withstanding Gret's peculiar tastes. He early discovered 
 that everything presented to her if to be really interesting 
 and acceptable, must be fact, or, if theory, based on a solid 
 foundation of reason. And he was surprised, too, in those 
 early days, at the class and magnitude of the subjects that 
 interested her. When one day he cursorily explained to 
 her such atomic laws as probably governed the for- 
 mation of planets, Gret sat right down and dived body 
 and soul into the subject; and Ludlowe was kept busy for 
 an hour or more explaining laws of matter, its inde- 
 structibleness, probable first causes, protoplasmic theories, 
 and finally the latest electric theories of Hfe. Gret lis- 
 tened, keen-eyed and open-souled, and when one of the 
 men from the mill approached her to say that Mr. Fonse- 
 ker would greatly like to see her in that flourishing estab- 
 lishment, she came to the earth with a crash. 
 
 But notwithstanding the great apparent success of each 
 and every conversation held, Gret never voluntarily 
 sought to repeat it; and Ludlowe finally concluded that 
 something or other in his manner must repel her. But 
 this conclusion did not alter or in any way aflPect his pro- 
 cedure. He talked to her whenever he felt inclined or op- 
 portunity presented, and his manner, careless, indulgent, 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 199 
 
 and sometimes faintly imperative, remained the same. A 
 faint, puzzled frown would sometimes knit Gret's brow 
 when bidden, in a quiet voice that yet left no room for 
 disobedience, to do this or that thing which previously she 
 had either decided not to do at all or had not yet con- 
 sidered. She could not see any particular reason for 
 obeying, and yet there hardly appeared anything else to 
 do. So she generally obeyed. 
 
 "Come here, Gret," he called one afternoon from his 
 favorite basking-spot by the river's brink, having ob- 
 served that young lady entering a boat and preparing to 
 row down stream. He probably would not have interrupted 
 her intention but that, instead of rowing swiftly off with 
 her usual promptitude of action, she drew the oars across 
 her knees and sat quiet. Ludlowe could not see her face, 
 only a bent head and clear-cut profile ; but, with her body 
 leaning slightly over the oars and her hands lying still 
 upon them, she was a beautiful study in repose. She 
 woke with a start when Ludlowe's voice reached her ear, 
 and turned her head sharply to look for him. He bent his 
 head and smiled slightly in repetition of his command, and 
 Gret got out of the boat and went over to where he lay. 
 She stood looking questioningly down on him, and he 
 gazed up at her deliberately, searching in her face for any 
 trace of the thoughts that had just flown. 
 
 "It was so amazing to see you sitting still and think- 
 ing," he observed, "that I have to comment upon it. What 
 were you thinking so deeply about?" 
 
 Gret smiled, probably at the idea that she would be at 
 all likely to retail her thoughts for any one's benefit. "Oh, 
 of all sorts of things," she replied. 
 
 "Ever tell any one your inmost thoughts, Gret?" in- 
 quired Ludlowe amusedly. "Ever confide in any one at 
 all?" 
 
 "What do you mean ?" replied Gret carefully. 
 
200 GRET 
 
 "Well, I mean, have you any one— a friend— to whom 
 you tell everything ? Everything, mind." 
 
 "Of course not !" with a prompt laugh. 
 
 Ludlowe laughed, too. "I thought not. Extraordi- 
 nary girl !" 
 
 "Why?" asked Gret. "Does any one ever tell every- 
 thing?" 
 
 "Certainly ; most women," calmly. 
 
 Gret smiled, and mentally reviewed some of the fem- 
 inine members of her wide, though cursory, acquaintance- 
 ship. "Yes, some women do tell quite a lot," she admitted 
 impartially ; "but not everything." 
 
 "Not just at first," said Ludlowe. "Not until you have 
 been bosom-friend for at least a week. But sit down, 
 Gret. Where were you going ?" 
 
 "Down to the mill." 
 
 "Well, everything 's all right down there," declared 
 Ludlowe. "I overheard Bobbie say before I came up here 
 that So-and-So's order would go out to-morrow, and 
 somebody else's order was well under way, and that he 
 thought they would be able to get some one else's order 
 out this week after all. So if you were only going down 
 to give business advice you are not needed." 
 
 Gret smiled at the not very lucid account of business af- 
 fairs presented. "I don't believe you 'd make a very good 
 business man. Do you ever have anything to do with 
 business— making things pay, and so on?" 
 
 "No. Have stewards to do that, thereby accomplishing 
 two things : getting out of the work and trouble myself, 
 and giving a few other men a chance to live, and live 
 easily. Please sit down, Gret." 
 
 Gret slowly obeyed. She picked up a pocket edition of 
 Julius Caesar that lay on the sward near Ludlowe's hand. 
 
 "What a wee, pretty book," turning over appreciatively 
 the dainty morocco-bound trifle. 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 201 
 
 "Yes— Shakspere. Ever read Shakspere, Gret?" 
 
 "No ; never read anything." 
 
 "You don't !" surprised. "Why, I thought you seemed 
 to be quite well-read." 
 
 "Eva reads, and tells me all about the books every 
 night," explained Gret. • 
 
 "I see. And why don't you read for yourself, Gret?" 
 
 "I would n't have patience. Want to see things." 
 
 "I don't quite understand," said Ludlowe. "Do you 
 mean that you must actually see to believe, or that you 
 have no patience to read because you want to be out and 
 about seeing anything and everything that goes on ?" 
 
 "Both," replied Gret. 
 
 "I should imagine," said Ludlowe, "that you M make a 
 good traveler. Would you like to travel?" 
 
 "Yes, I should," unhesitatingly. "Have you traveled? 
 I don't mean just from one town to another, but all about 
 the world." 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 "But you 're not doing it now." 
 
 "No ; had my fill of it years ago. In fact, I came pretty 
 near the end of my list; saw everything worth seeing." 
 
 "How quick you must have been," commented Gret sar- 
 castically. "Unless the world 's a very small place." 
 
 Ludlowe laughed. "You 're right. I merely meant 
 from a historical or sentimental point of view." 
 
 These limitations presented no very lucid idea to Gret, 
 and her brows wrinkled slightly. Ludlowe saw this and 
 explained further. 
 
 "You see, when I was fresh from college I was full, of 
 course, of book-lore. With the histories of great dead peo- 
 ples bright in my mind, I naturally went to view the 
 scenes where they lived and fought and died, and in many 
 instances the ruins they left behind them. That is histori- 
 cal interest." 
 
202 GRET 
 
 "Dead peoples," repeated Gret reflectively. 
 
 "Yes; the ancient Egyptians, ancient Greeks, Ro- 
 mans—" 
 
 "That 's in this book— Romans," said Gret, with her 
 finger on the little Shakspere. "I saw the word as I 
 picked it up." 
 
 "No doubt. That is a Roman play." 
 
 "What did they do, the Romans ?" 
 
 "Many things in their time," smiling. "They were 
 quite energetic." 
 
 "Tell me," said Gret in her terse way. 
 
 And Ludlowe proceeded to tell, very ornately, and with 
 probably more regard to effect and sentiment than strict 
 historical truth, pressing into service for the task the poet- 
 historians that rose readily from out his well-stored 
 memory. Gret listened, with wide eyes and quivering 
 nostrils. The greater the fight, the greater the odds, the 
 keener her appreciation and interest. She was a born 
 lover of a struggle, it mattered not of what kind. Lud- 
 lowe laughed to himself as he saw this, and confined his 
 treatise principally to the most strenuous characters and 
 circumstances of Roman history, concluding with Macau- 
 lay's stirring poem on that most intrepid Roman, Hora- 
 tius, the "Keeper of the Gate." 
 
 Gret went through the fight with the three brave men, 
 and stood defiant with Horatius on the farther bank of 
 the Tiber. 
 
 " 'Now yield thee !' cried false Sextus, 
 With a smile on his pale face ;" 
 
 Gret's lip curled, and Ludlowe preserved gravity with 
 great difficulty. 
 
 " 'Now yield thee !' cried Lars Porsena, 
 'Now yield thee to our grace.' " 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 203 
 
 Gret fairly snorted defiance, and Ludlowe burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 "I knew it!" he laughed. "I knew you were some 
 battle-scarred old Roman reincarnated." 
 
 "Go on !" commanded Gret, impatient of the interrup- 
 tion ; and Ludlowe proceeded to take Horatius safely back 
 across the Tiber, much to the relief of his listener. 
 
 "Don't do that sort of thing nowadays, do they?" she 
 observed at the conclusion, returning to the present era 
 with a sigh. 
 
 "Well — no, not exactly. There is n't any hand-to-hand 
 fighting done nowadays. It 's done with machines, like 
 everything else." 
 
 "Well, I don't think there are any men who could fight 
 like that now, anyway," declared Gret contemptuously. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," responded Ludlowe in amused pro- 
 test. 
 
 Gret reviewed rapidly all the men of her acquaintance 
 and found them wanting — most of them. Ludlowe di- 
 vined her thoughts and laughed afresh. 
 
 "They may be rather a poor set of specimens that you 
 've happened to meet," he said quizzically; "but do 
 let 's believe that there are yet a few men left in the 
 world." 
 
 "Oh, I suppose so— somewhere," unconsciously crush- 
 ing. She rose, then, and returned with a little sigh to the 
 needs of the present. 
 
 "Where to now ?" inquired Ludlowe. 
 
 "To dinner. The five-o'clock whistle 's gone." 
 
 Ludlowe drew out his watch. "By Jove, so it is. The 
 history class is a great success by way of passing time, 
 even if.it does call into derision the present race of man- 
 kind; eh, Gret?" 
 
 Gret nodded, and Ludlowe lazily got himself up from 
 the bank and stood by her side. "Well, we '11 take the an- 
 
204 GRET 
 
 cient Greeks next time, and weigh the case of Helen and 
 Paris against Antony and Cleopatra." 
 
 "What did they do?" inquired Gret curiously, stretch- 
 ing one foot across the space that intervened between her 
 boat and the landing and drawing the boat toward her. 
 
 'The usual thing," replied Ludlowe, preparing to 
 walk on; "only distance lends enchantment. Adieu, 
 Gret." 
 
 "Adieu," responded Gret gravely, with perfect imita- 
 tion of his accent. 
 
 Gret went home ana discussed across the dinner-table 
 with her mother and Eva the merits of the heroes of old 
 as compared with those of the present. Since Eva had 
 become so pronounced a book-worm, and since Gret, 
 through Eva, had become fairly conversant with bookish 
 topics, the three found a common and pleasant meeting- 
 ground. And though Mrs. Silway had never attempted 
 to enter into Gret's life when it consisted of merely girl- 
 ish pranks and escapades, yet she was willing and glad to 
 discuss with the two girls, and hear their views of, subjects 
 outside their own lives. Neither did she wish to limit 
 the subjects to those things external to their lives, for she 
 always enjoyed listening to the short psychological stud- 
 ies of local thought and character frequently presented 
 by the always intensely observant Gret. And Mrs. Sil- 
 way was quick to note the keen, analytical qualities of the 
 elder girl's mind, wondering sometimes how far it would 
 avail her, whose future, if she was to have one, must evi- 
 dently be of her own making. 
 
 After dinner was over the two girls and the jackdaw re- 
 paired to the bluff, as usual. This evening Eva had a 
 magazine whose leading article, "Famous Types of Fe- 
 male Beauty, Past and Present," had taken her attention 
 for the time being. Though not caring so very particu- 
 larly for them herself, Mrs. Silway had taken of late 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 205 
 
 years to requesting that copies of the best magazines be 
 included ir her boxes of books. 
 
 Gret scanned the smiHng beauties on the pages before 
 her with severely critical eyes, noting keenly each point 
 wherein the art of the present woman improved on that 
 of the beauty of the past. Neither did she fail to observe 
 that the big, fluffy pompadour, falling softly over one side 
 the brow of the most famous type of modern American 
 beauty, was that night faithfully reproduced in Eva's 
 pretty, wavy hair. The plain cotton shirt-waist, too, was 
 pouched gracefully in required fashion in front, and at 
 the back pulled down carefully to form the short straight 
 line. Gret was slightly amused and altogether approving. 
 She considered Eva by far the prettiest girl in the locality, 
 or, in fact, of anything she had ever seen in the way of a 
 girl, and whatever was calculated to further set off this 
 undeniable superiority of looks was both justifiable and 
 advisable. 
 
 "Of course," said Eva thoughtfully ; "it 's easy to dress 
 up for some special occasion and look nice." 
 
 "Yes, perhaps. Better if some of them had n't dressed 
 up so much, though," said the exacting Gret. "Just look 
 how horrid those curls look," scrutinizing a famous 
 Gainsborough beauty with unadmiring eyes. "Exactly 
 like sausages!" 
 
 Eva laughed. "Yes, they do— in the picture. I don't 
 suppose they did, though, themselves — I mean, in life. 
 Janice Meredith wore curls like that, Gret. Don't you 
 remember how it showed her on the cover of the book?" 
 
 Gret nodded, but her eyes and attention were turned 
 down to the river. A gang of the boys came down from 
 the camp, and with much laughter and shouting rowed 
 off down the river. They would not go down to Quellish 
 as late as this— week-day night, too; and besides they 
 were such a mixed lot, men of such diverse tastes. Gret 
 
2o6 GRET 
 
 wondered exceedingly. Where could they be going? 
 She half opened her lips to hail them, but desisted. Her 
 mother was reading on the porch and she was pronounced 
 in her dislike of hearing Gret hail people from the bluff. 
 
 In a few minutes Gret's wonder increased. Another 
 group came down the board-walk, this time comprising 
 Dick, Jake, the foreman feller and other responsible 
 spirits of the camp. Evidently something was going on 
 down the river, and Gret grew indignant to think she had 
 not been duly informed. The peace of the evening was 
 broken, all literary interest dispelled, and Gret fidgeted on 
 the grass. And then presently the last straw arrived in 
 the shape of Robin rowing energetically down-stream. 
 
 That was too much. Gret jumped up. "Evie, I won't 
 be a minute. I just want to ask Rob what 's going on." 
 
 She swooped down the bluff steps, and Robin, seeing 
 her, dutifully swerved toward her. "Are you coming?" 
 he shouted. 
 
 "Coming where ?" demanded Gret with traces of. indig- 
 nation. 
 
 "Why, to the camp-meeting. Did n't you know ?" 
 
 "No, of course not ! Nobody told me." 
 
 "That 's funny," reaching out a hand for the landing. 
 "Everybody knows. Widow McCarty's got a real camp 
 preacher — fine shouter, they say — and she 's going to 
 have a revival meeting on the marsh outside her house. 
 Going to be a bonfire when it gets real dusk, and every- 
 thing. Jump in !" 
 
 A shadow fell on Gret's face. "I can't, I 'm afraid, 
 Rob. I was just with Evie, and—" 
 
 "Well, bring her along," promptly. Robin had never 
 taken very much notice of Eva, but he did not suppose she 
 would be any particular damper on the proceedings. 
 
 "I don't think she 'd come," said Gret. "She never will 
 go anywhere. . . . Look here !" suddenly. "You come 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 207 
 
 Up with me, and while I run and ask mother, you talk for 
 all you 're worth to Eva so that she won't have time to 
 think whether she '11 go or not. See ?" 
 
 Robin climbed out in a moment, accustomed of old to 
 obeying Gret's commands. Together they charged up 
 the bank, and while Gret ran on across to her mother, 
 Robin overwhelmed with a perfect torrent of words the 
 astonished Eva. He was at the same time astonished 
 himself. He had known Eva all his life of course, but 
 during the last year or two he had been coming to the Sil- 
 way house very little. And during this time Eva had 
 transformed herself into a real young lady, and a very re- 
 served and grown-uppish one at that. He was surprised. 
 So was Eva. Robin was so big and tall when he came 
 close; and then he had a way of carrying one off one's 
 feet and giving one no time to think. 
 
 Mrs. Silway was amused when Gret asked whether 
 Robin might take her and Eva to a camp-meeting down 
 at Widow McCarty's. The name, camp-meeting, was 
 redolent of old Southern days. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I suppose so," she said. "I don't see why not. 
 Don't be late, though." 
 
 "I don't know how long it lasts," answered Gret truth- 
 fully. "But if it 's very late we can come away before it 
 ends." 
 
 She rushed into the house for her own hat and Eva's, 
 and then back to the bluff. And as she had directed, Eva 
 was down the steps and into the boat before she had much 
 chance to realize what had happened. 
 
 "There '11 be heaps of people there, and nobody '11 
 bother about us," observed Gret soothingly to Eva, pick- 
 ing up oars as she spoke and helping to send the boat like 
 a rocket down the stream. 
 
 As far as the number of people was concerned, Gret 
 was right. The prospective audience— men and boys 
 
2o8 GRET 
 
 principally, though there was a fair sprinkling of women 
 — were already seated on every available log and mound 
 on the little marsh before the widow's cottage when they 
 arrived on the scene. On the edge of the marsh, near the 
 river, over a heap of oiled gunny sacks, a pile of wood 
 was erected, to which some enterprising youths, in whose 
 eyes, doubtless, the bonfire was the main attraction, were 
 adding anything and everything inflammable within sight. 
 But in her prediction that no one would notice them Gret 
 was very wide of the mark. Xhey became immediately 
 the center of attraction, not, of course, on account of 
 either Gret or Robin, but of Eva. The women eyed her 
 critically and curiously, and the men without exception 
 admiringly. To most of those present her existence was 
 known well enough ; but of late years few had had an op- 
 portunity to notice the girl at close range. And then, 
 again, to some of them she was a complete stranger. 
 
 Every soul present was known to Gret, and she glanced 
 round with alert, interested eyes; but Eva felt the keen 
 scrutiny given her and shrank back a little. And when 
 Gret, unthinking of her sister's mental discomfort, darted 
 here and there to speak to this one and that, she turned 
 her eyes — big, soft eyes of red-brown, with heavy white 
 lids— appealingly on Robin. 
 
 "Don't you leave me," she said. 
 
 "Oh, I won't," responded Robin gallantly, noticing the 
 admiring glances of the men around and proud to be the 
 escort of the new belle. "Let 's go and sit on the bank 
 near the table. That 's where the preacher 's going to 
 stand to preach." 
 
 Eva agreed, and they crossed over. And then when 
 she was seated and no longer a target for all eyes, she 
 felt easier. 
 
 The mill-house party turned out in its entirety, even 
 to Mrs. Baring herself. Indeed, that lady declared her- 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 209 
 
 self delighted with the opportunity of viewing anything 
 so quaint and primitive as an open-air revival meeting, 
 only begging her companions to stay, one or another, 
 constantly by her, so that it would not appear to devolve 
 upon, any of the rustic community to draw near and 
 cheer her solitude. 
 
 Gret gazed in surprise as the well-laden mill launch 
 nosed its way among the row of boats, and then she 
 laughed as Bobbie began frantically to claw out tufts of 
 the bank in his endeavors to effect a landing. 
 She went up, took the line he threw to her, and made the 
 boat fast to the near-by stump of a willow. Then the 
 party climbed out with greater and less exhibitions of 
 agility. 
 
 "Dear me!" said Mrs. Baring, gazing about. "What 
 do we sit down upon?" 
 
 "Mother Earth, I fancy," replied Ludlowe, looking 
 about him with amused interest. 
 
 "Let 's go and sit on the bank by the table. I expect 
 that 's where the old boy will hold forth," proposed Bob- 
 bie, his arms clasped tightly about a collection of rugs 
 and wraps. And the proposal seeming good to the rest 
 of the party, they repaired to the ledge of slightly rising 
 ground near the cottage and the table previously chosen 
 by Robin as apparently the best vantage point. 
 
 Here, some little time after they were all comfortably 
 seated, came Gret and stood smilingly before them. 
 "That is my sister, Eva," she remarked collectively to the 
 whole group, with a glance at the girl a few feet away. 
 
 "Oh, yes!" Mrs. Baring smiled graciously in that 
 young lady's direction. "How do you do ?" 
 
 Maude followed suit, and the men all lifted their hats 
 
 and naturally looked with interest at the girl whom none 
 
 had seen nearer than the bluff above the river. Eva felt 
 
 and looked awkward and self-conscious, and devoutly 
 
 u 
 
2IO GRET 
 
 wished the earth would swallow her up, or that she had 
 never come. And then Gret, immediately compassionate, 
 coolly inserted her person between the distressed girl and 
 the eyes of a too interested world, and remained standing 
 so until the first excess of interest should have subsided. 
 
 "She 's very pretty," remarked Mrs. Baring in an un- 
 dertone to Ludlowe, who reclined on her right. **But 
 then, dear me, pretty girls are plentiful enough. She 
 would n't be half the acquisition that Gret would be. She 
 has n't an atom of her self-poise." 
 
 "Oh, no. She ^s an exactly opposite being," agreed 
 Ludlowe. "But she 's undeniably pretty ; refined-looking, 
 too." 
 
 When she had at last finished her ramble round among 
 the assembled people, Gret came and took up her seat 
 near Eva. She looked about with eyes wide and bright 
 with contentment and appreciation. The air was grow- 
 ing delightfully cool and still; and the people, having 
 mostly arrived, were seated about in groups, chattering 
 and keeping a watchful eye on the long-coat-tailed figure 
 of the preacher visible in earnest converse within the cot- 
 tage; the river was turning to gold and the pines were 
 sharpening against the sky, and Gret's heart swelled with 
 delight. 
 
 Presently, just when expectation had reached the point 
 when, neglected, it must decline into impatience, the much- 
 expected one came forth, followed by the widow bearing 
 a glass of water, from which from time to time the lips 
 of eloquence would be moistened. He came and stood by 
 the table, looking smilingly round on his audience. 
 
 Gret scanned him curiously, very curiously, for here 
 was another of the same calling as Arthur. He was a 
 small, lean man, the largest thing about him, it seemed to 
 her, being the wide, shapeless mouth. His lips were de- 
 void of hair, but from the very tip of his chin depended 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 211 
 
 a long scanty beard. His manner was unctuous and 
 self-satisfied in the extreme, and Gret disliked him there 
 and then and was prepared to scout every word he said 
 before he had uttered one. 
 
 He began to talk very gently and blandly, smiling with 
 the air of one who had great surprises in store for them, 
 as doubtless he had in the way of sound and. flurry. He 
 was experienced in just such work and— barring, of course, 
 such born skeptics as Gret and such cultured hsteners as 
 those from the mill-house— just such audiences as that in 
 hand, and his opening preamble was a more or less ego- 
 tistical string of reminiscences and worn anecdotes. Then, 
 as the rich August evening mellowed and waned, he 
 warmed to his work. From the delights of travel and a 
 world-wide reputation he had come — he — to tell them 
 what they were doing; to show them how, leading their 
 careless lives, amassing wealth, feasting and drinking, 
 ploughing and reaping, they stood on the very verge of a 
 precipice over which any day might hurl them. They 
 lived so, not knowing each night they laid them down but 
 that in the midst of their sleep they might be awakened 
 by the awful trump of doom that should shake the earth 
 to its foundations. 
 
 All this, and more, in very questionable grammar and 
 with much repetition. Still, the audience was for the 
 most part unable to criticize these points, and as there was 
 certainly no faltering nor lack of conviction, they were 
 on the whole impressed. The preacher paused, took a sip 
 of water, and instructed the nearest boy, standing open- 
 mouthed and hands in pocket, to touch a match to the 
 bonfire— an order which was obeyed on the instant. 
 
 Then as the flames rose up the preacher spread his 
 arms abroad and began the revival in earnest. His voice 
 rose as the wind in winter, and so many and great were 
 his writhings and contortions that it seemed to Gret that 
 
212 GRET 
 
 he could not really be standing on the same spot all the 
 time. He wailed and ranted and tore, and pictured in 
 terrifying terms the endless death in the lake of brimstone 
 awaiting those who did not avail themselves of the heaven 
 he came to offer. And so great was the frenzy into which 
 he worked himself that to Gret's surprise some of the wo- 
 men present became infected and began to weep hysteri- 
 cally. She looked round to see how others were taking 
 it, and her eyes fell on Widow McCarty. The little 
 widow was seated near the preacher, her hands folded in 
 her lap, and on her face sL look of bittef satisfaction so 
 profound that Gret's eyes were arrested immediately. 
 She rose up softly, and quietly crossing the slight inter- 
 vening distance slipped down by the old woman's side. 
 
 "Is n't it nice to think of McCarty burning like that 
 forever," she whispered. 
 
 Widow McCarty started and looked shocked. "I 
 would n't wish anybody such a thing, child," she said. 
 
 Nevertheless, when Gret, with a slight smile, turned 
 her attention to the speaker, the woman looked down into 
 her lap with perturbed eyes. For down in her heart she 
 knew it was just that thought— not exactly the burning, 
 perhaps, but the thought of how he who had wronged 
 her would be punished— that alone of all the religion 
 preached had been gladdening her heart that night. 
 
 By and by Gret looked at the widow again, and noticed 
 the dejection that had succeeded satisfaction. She 
 smiled amusedly, though a sort of half-pitying compre- 
 hension crept into her eyes, as if for a moment she di- 
 vined the feelings of the poor, rebellious embittered heart. 
 Then she got up and went back to Eva and Robin, just as 
 the preacher had begun to exhort those who were repent- 
 ant to come and kneel at the mercy-seat— presumably 
 somewhere near him — and wrestle with the devil while 
 he prayed with them. And as Gret reseated herself she 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 213 
 
 saw the widow go and kneel sadly and uncomfortably at 
 the chair upon which, when all was said and done, the 
 man of God would sit. 
 
 "What do you bet," whispered Robin, "that Mike Wes- 
 terfeldt does n't go and kneel and get religion." 
 
 "What does it cost ?" inquired Gret. 
 
 "Oh-h, nothing, I suppose— anything you like to put in 
 the collection." 
 
 "Oh, perhaps he will, then," said Gret smiling. "They 
 won't do a thing to him in camp to-morrow if he does." 
 
 And perhaps this same conviction was borne in upon 
 Mike, because, though plainly very interested in the pro- 
 ceedings, he yet remained among the unrepentant. One 
 other woman joined the widow at the mercy-seat, and 
 over these two the preacher prayed loud and long, finally 
 dismissing them to go back among the wolves and set a 
 bright and shining example — a concluding sentence which 
 Gret thought sounded distinctly spiteful. Then, conclud- 
 ing that the laborer was worthy of his hire, and asking 
 some one to pass the hat round, the revivalist sat down 
 and rested from his labors. 
 
 Gr^t noticed that as soon as the hat appeared, borne 
 round by the widow, there was a general desire to see to 
 the boats and an immediate necessity to start for home. 
 However, most of the camp hands contributed a nickel, 
 and the mill-house people— perhaps grateful for the nov- 
 elty, if nothing else, of the entertainment — gave liberally, 
 so that the preacher's strenuous efforts did not go alto- 
 gether unrewarded. 
 
 As soon as the obnoxious hat had returned to its 
 source, the people closed back again, chattering with much 
 energy. Among others, Jake strolled up to the two girls 
 and Robin. 
 
 "Well, how was that for a spiel?" he asked, his eyes 
 wandering curiously over Eva as she stood by Robin. 
 
214 GRET 
 
 "Fine !" laughed Gret. "But I was hoping to see you 
 go up and repent." 
 
 "Not much in my Hne," said the truthful Jake; "un- 
 less I 'm found out." 
 
 "That 's about right, too," observed Dick Swinton, 
 who had approached in time to catch this expression of 
 sentiment. 
 
 "But I '11 tell you what I was thinking," went on Jake, 
 looking knowingly at Gret, and then glancing up the 
 caiion behind them, upon whose sides, despite the deep 
 shadows, the smooth outlines of second growth could be 
 plainly traced : "I was thinking that perhaps you might 
 go up and repent yourself !" 
 
 Robin burst into a loud guffaw. "You bet— the fire !" 
 he said, quick to catch Jake's meaning. Dick, too, laughed 
 in remembrance; and Gret, rendered indifferent by the 
 lapse of time, laughed herself. 
 
 Here the mill-house party, about to embark, came up to 
 speak a parting word. 
 
 "You must bring your sister down to see us, Gret," 
 said Mrs. Baring gushingly. "You so rarely go out, do 
 you ?" to Eva. "Are n't you ever lonely ?" 
 
 "Oh, no !" replied the girl quietly. 
 
 "No. She reads all day, like mother," explained Gret. 
 
 "Dear me ! A real book-worm. Well, come and see us 
 even so," said Mrs. Baring, smiling and turning away.. 
 "A few studies in real life are to be recommended occa- 
 sionally." 
 
 Here Bobbie, who had stared at Eva with unblinking 
 ardor for a moment or so, having finally arrived at the 
 conclusion that she was very pretty, but too quiet, broke 
 in: "We came down in the launch. Come along; we '11 
 take you home." 
 
 "Oh, yes. How thoughtless of me!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Baring, pausing. "Of course we can take you home." 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 215 
 
 But Gret feeling a gentle kick on her ankle from be- 
 hind, and knowing it came from Robin, who was not 
 pleased with the proposition, declined with thanks. 
 
 "We like the row home by starlight," she said. ''Robin 
 brought us down, and he will take us back all right. 
 Thank you, though." 
 
 So with cheerful good-nights the mill party embarked, 
 and Robin and his two charges prepared to follow their 
 example. 
 
 "Say!" called out Jake, ambling over the uneven 
 ground. "Our party 's kind of growed some way or 
 other since we came down. We can't all get in the boats. 
 You three don't fill that. Can't you give some of us a 
 lift?" 
 
 "Yes, of course," acquiesced Gret. "Come on, Dick," 
 waving her arm ; "and Oly." 
 
 That amiable youth accepted the invitation immediately, 
 coming over the bunchy grass in a series of long hops. 
 "I '11 help row, Rob." 
 
 "All right," said Robin a trifle sulkily. And Gret, 
 whose quick ear the tone caught, glanced quickly at him 
 and saw at once that for some reason or other he did not 
 care for the addition to the boat party. However, that 
 was a matter of absolutely no moment, and she did not 
 even trouble to decide why he should be thus displeased. 
 
 Eva sat in the stern, and Dick, being the heaviest man 
 present sat by her side. On the footboard, with her back 
 against Dick's knee, Gret planted herself, and facing them 
 sat Robin rowing. Behind him rowed Oly, and behind 
 him again in the bows, a plank held firmly under his arm 
 by way of a rudder, sat Jake. So the heavily laden boat 
 started homeward up-stream. 
 
 Eva enjoyed the row home, her shyness dispelled by the 
 half darkness. She was essentially the child of dreams 
 and shadows; and as she sat, with her back to the faint 
 
2i6 GRET 
 
 light of the horizon, her oval face with its natural pallor, 
 and the big, soft eyes with that faint, attractive droop of 
 the white lids, looked very spirituelle and sweet. Gret 
 shared with Eva the naturally pale, creamy skin, only that 
 in her case perpetual tan effectually disguised the original 
 delicacy of coloring. Not so with Eva, who never ven- 
 tured into the sun until it was well down on the horizon. 
 
 Robin sat rowing with the ease of great strength and 
 long use, his eyes taking in the previously unnoticed 
 points of beauty in Eva Silway, the slim, pointed white 
 hands folded languidly in her lap, and the soft, creamy 
 throat. 
 
 There is always a time when a man first sees a woman, 
 even if he has known her all his life. And Robin looked 
 at Eva Silway for the first time that night. 
 
 Notwithstanding that two of the boat's crew were silent 
 —the one naturally, and the other on account of much 
 thinking — there was no dearth of noise or excitement on 
 board. Oly did his best to run into every boat they passed 
 or that passed them, treated the luckless Jake behind him 
 to copious showers, and then quarreled vociferously with 
 that justly incensed gentleman. Gret delighted with the 
 whole affair, sat on the floor and chuckled and giggled 
 all the way home, watching betweenwhiles, with keen, 
 unconscious love, the water, oily in its smoothness, and 
 with a sort of sullen light in its depths, move in heavy 
 swells from the boat's side. 
 
 No stop was made at the camp-landing. The boat was 
 sent straight on to the Silway steps; and here Robin 
 jumped out and helped Eva to alight with almost exag- 
 gerated deference. For this service, as may be expected, 
 he was duly taken to task as they rowed on up to the Or- 
 chards. 
 
 "Never knew you was so smart around ladies," ob- 
 served Jake maliciously. 
 
FAINT SHAPES OF THE FUTURE 217 
 
 "Me neither!" snorted Oly. ''Bowed plumb down to 
 the ground !" 
 
 "Shut up," said Robin tartly. 
 
 "She 's a mighty pretty girl," remarked Oly blandly. 
 
 "Yes. She 's got the looks, and Gret 's got the brains," 
 said Jake, summing up. 
 
 "Oh, I don't see that Gret 's so extra clever!" said 
 Robin. 
 
 "You don't!" echoed Jake, astonished at such heresy. 
 "Well, you will if you ever fall out with her, sonny !" 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 A GREAT SURPRISE 
 
 LUDLOWE'S actions were always more or less of a 
 J surprise, even to his intimates. The deliberations 
 which preceded his actions were rarely expressed ; conse- 
 quently there was little to guide expectation. But if one 
 person could be said to know more than another of his 
 intentions, present and future, it was Arthur Massinger, 
 who was certainly favored with more of Errol's plans and 
 ideas than any one else ; and yet even he was sometimes as 
 much taken aback as the rest of the world. 
 
 One day, towards the end of August, Ludlowe came 
 and seated himself near his friend, as that gentle individ- 
 ual lay reading in his favorite spot near the cool of the 
 river brink, and opened up, in as casual a way as he might 
 have discussed plans for the morrow, a conversation that, 
 for the time being, at all events, astounded Arthur as 
 much as anything his erratic friend had ever said or done 
 in his life. 
 
 "In the midst of that anxiety for Gret's peace of mind 
 which you once mentioned, Arthur, did it ever occur to 
 you to think of her as a possible wife for me?'* 
 
 Arthur's amazed countenance was a sufficiently decided 
 answer in the negative, and Ludlowe laughed. 
 
 "It did n't, I see. Well, I can quite understand that at 
 first glance the idea is astounding." He lay back on the 
 moss and, clasping his fingers behind his head, watched 
 
 3l8 
 
A GREAT SURPRISE 219 
 
 his friend from between lazily drooping lashes. "First of 
 all, though, what objection first shot into your mind when 
 I spoke?" 
 
 "None !" Arthur shook his head in a manner intimating 
 his total inability to grasp the subject in hand. "Nothing 
 so definite. I simply can't imagine — " He gazed hard at 
 his companion, and shook his head again. "Well, not 
 without time to recover. You came to the idea gradually 
 yourself, no doubt. As you say, upon consideration it 
 may not be so amazing. Just at first glance it is—" Once 
 more he shook his head. "I never tried to — " 
 
 "Well, spend a few minutes in stern imagining," ad- 
 vised Errol, smiling. "Then kindly avail yourself of my 
 formal invitation to express an opinion." 
 
 Arthur glanced at the river, and then back at his friend. 
 Apparently it was not easy to imagine. to order. "She is 
 the last person on earth I should have dreamt of —I mean 
 for you. She is so inexperienced, so— well, not exactly 
 crude or rough, but— why, it would take a trained woman 
 of the world to fill the position of your wife, Errol." 
 
 "I don't know about that. I am not at all partial to the 
 species," objected Errol with a slight shake of the head. 
 "I have been watching Gret pretty closely, and unless I 'm 
 mistaken she is a girl who would be no time at all grasp- 
 ing a new situation, and becoming mistress of it, too." 
 
 "Oh, yes." Arthur smiled, a faintly troubled smile, it 
 would almost seem. "Yes, I believe that. But,—" he 
 shook his head hopelessly— "I can't imagine Gret leading 
 your life." 
 
 "What is my life ?" inquired Ludlowe, amused. 
 
 "Well, I meant more particularly the life that as your 
 wife she would have to lead," explained Arthur; "that of 
 a prominent society woman. You see, when you marry 
 you will have to formally open up your establishment, 
 and entertain, and all that sort of thing." 
 
220 GRET 
 
 "Oh,. I don't know," obviously unimpressed. "I don't 
 feel bound in any such manner. I suppose gradually 
 some such procedure would have to develop." He turned 
 to his friend with sudden curiosity. "But you must have 
 imagined some sort of a future for me, Arthur, or this 
 idea of mine would n't run so evidently counter to pre- 
 conceived ideas of your own." 
 
 "Oh, yes ; I had, of course," confessed Arthur readily. 
 "I 've always supposed that, when the necessity for mar- 
 riage could be no longer put off, you 'd go home and 
 marry whichever of the young society women over there 
 appealed to you as the most suitable and congenial." 
 
 "Just what I would n't do !" declared Ludlowe emphat- 
 ically. "Such a life would be lifelong bondage, and I can 
 arrange to perpetuate my race at less cost. I am weary 
 heart and soul of society women. Their minds are as fast 
 bound and inexpansive as the four walls of that build- 
 ing." 
 
 "But where there is no love present— and love, I notice, 
 is never mentioned as a possible factor to marriage — a 
 conventionally reared woman makes the safest wife," ob- 
 served Arthur. 
 
 "She does," agreed Ludlowe easily. "That is just why 
 I am not married to-day. I can't find a woman who could 
 be depended upon to recognize convention when neces- 
 sary, but who, when away from that necessity, could be 
 herself and had a self to be." 
 
 "And do you think Gret answers that description?" 
 queried Arthur. 
 
 "I think Gret is a woman who will always be guided by 
 reason," replied Ludlowe. "Conventionality I could teach 
 her." 
 
 "And does n't it matter at all whether the woman you 
 make your wife is one you could love- or not?" asked 
 Arthur softly. 
 
A GRF\T SURPRISE 221 
 
 "Why, it certainly does matter whether or not we could 
 be congenial," responded Errol evasively. "And, as I 
 said, that has been one of my main stumbling blocks. 
 Now, I can't imagine Gret ever disgusting me. She 
 could never become an intriguing society woman. Her 
 mind could n't be brought down to that gage. It has 
 been shaped amid too much bigness," and he motioned 
 toward the hills that circled them. 
 
 "Yes," Arthur nodded, "and I 'm afraid if she stuck to 
 her post her heart would break." 
 
 "I would be gentle with her," smiled Ludlowe. "She 
 should have her seasons of freedom every year, until the 
 chains had worn easy, at all events. And to begin with I 
 would have the yacht over and take her on what the so- 
 ciety papers call an 'extended cruise.' " 
 
 "You would joke if you were going to be executed, I 
 do believe," complained Arthur. 
 
 "What an unfortunate simile!" laughed Ludlowe, his 
 eyes, serenely contemplative, on the rippling brightness 
 of the waters. 
 
 "Don't you ever expect to love ?" queried Arthur wist- 
 fully then. "Are n't you afraid that some day, when you 
 are committed irrevocably to some other woman, you will 
 come across the one you are to love ?" 
 
 "I expect eventually to love the woman who becomes 
 my wife and the mother of my children," replied Ludlowe 
 coolly. "No one else." 
 
 "Every man loves at least once," said Arthur gravely ; 
 "and it is n't always his wife and the mother of his chil- 
 dren either. But if your love dream is safely over and 
 done with, then all may be well." 
 
 Ludlowe smiled, just a mere faint curving of the lips; 
 and Arthur watched him with that faintly puzzled ten- 
 derness so often in his eyes when regarding his friend. 
 He would fain believe that in the chambers of that heart 
 
222 GRET 
 
 so deeply hidden from passing notice there stood a grave 
 of evergreen beauty, whose presence perpetually pre- 
 cluded the entrance of another guest. But it was only 
 hope or conjecture, or both. After a little while he took 
 up the temporarily abandoned discussion. 
 
 "And so you think you could love Gret, as your wife 
 and the mother of your children?" 
 
 "Yes ; I think she is a girl one might become very at- 
 tached' to." Ludlowe waked from his short reverie and 
 took up his former theme willingly enough. "Moreover 
 —and this is one of the main considerations, Arthur— she 
 will be the mother of fine children. She is lion-hearted, 
 and I don't believe her children could be commonplace. 
 And then she is a woman of splendid vitality; she will 
 bring vigorous blood into my family instead of the slug- 
 gish stuff emanating from the veins of an effete and more 
 or less degenerate aristocracy." 
 
 "Yes, that is all very true," admitted Arthur in a tone 
 that implied many reservations. 
 
 "Still, you can't feel happy about it ?" queried Ludlowe, 
 amused. 
 
 Arthur smiled deprecatingly. "It is a great risk. And 
 I 'm fond of you both." 
 
 "And upon whose side, pray, are your anxieties most 
 deeply enlisted ?" queried Ludlowe further. 
 
 "Upon Gret's," confessed Arthur readily. "You are a 
 hardened old sinner, and can recover from anything. Be- 
 sides, a man does n't risk so much upon marriage; a 
 woman generally adventures her all— her all in the way of 
 happiness, at all events." 
 
 "I don't think Gret will be any more of a rash plunger 
 in that respect than I myself," declared Ludlowe, the 
 amused smile still on his lips. "Moreover, I do pro- 
 test, my friend, that I mean no harm to the maiden, 
 notwithstanding that you seem to regard her heart as 
 
A GREAT SURPRISE 223 
 
 a blank page upon which I shall inscribe for weal or 
 woe." 
 
 Arthur laughed, and once more shook his head, refus- 
 ing maybe the challenge to further combat, or perhaps 
 the cynical comfort proffered. 
 
 "Then," said Ludlowe, with an air of dismissing the 
 subject, "after having discussed with engaging egotism 
 my side of the question, we will postpone it indefinitely, 
 recollecting as a casual consideration that, after all, the 
 real issue of things lies entirely in Gret's own hands." 
 
 "No ; I think it lies mostly in yours," said Arthur. 
 
 "You mean on account of my position, and all that?" 
 queried Ludlowe sharply. "Because I don't believe that 
 would weigh a particle with Gret if she did n't happen to 
 like the proposition otherwise." 
 
 "I don't either," agreed Arthur decidedly. In spite of 
 an inquiring glance from Errol, he refrained from giv- 
 ing the real reason for the opinion expressed, but went 
 on, always with the faint, troubled wistfulness of man- 
 ner: "So you have n't approached Gret herself in the 
 matter at all yet ?" 
 
 "Oh no ; nor shall I for some time to come. I intend to 
 have aunt take her back to San Francisco on a more or 
 less lengthy visit. Then I can judge how she seems in- 
 clined to take to civilized life." 
 
 Arthur laughed in spite of himself. "I should just like 
 to see Mrs. Baring's face when you mention your wishes, 
 Errol. I suppose you '11 drop it on her like a bolt from 
 the blue, as you did me." And Ludlowe laughed too. 
 
 Arthur silently passed on to a consideration of the 
 problem so lately presented to him, a problem of which 
 the future alone could show the gradual unfolding and 
 the answer. Somehow he did not doubt for a moment 
 but that when Errol held out his hand Gret would unfal- 
 teringly place hers within it. He was the master intellect 
 
224 GRET 
 
 of them all, and to him long ago Gret had quietly sworn 
 allegiance. So Arthur had divined, with a divination 
 born of affection for them both. 
 
 When Ludlowe felt inclined to divulge his somewhat 
 loosely molded plans to his aunt, he was not in the least 
 disappointed at the effect. That good lady was at first 
 plainly paralyzed beyond speech, and Ludlowe sat and 
 watched her face in open appreciation of its many and 
 rapid changes. 
 
 At the opening of it Mrs. Baring received her nephew's 
 communication in silence — for two reasons: in the first 
 place, she was too aghast, too utterly dumbfounded, to 
 even gasp her dismay; and in the second place, because, 
 when she had regained composure sufficiently to enter a 
 protest, she was equally able to realize the futility of it. 
 And then she cast rapidly, almost frantically, about in an 
 attempt to discover where she herself stood in the matter. 
 One of her first thoughts was of Maude, and this 
 prompted her first question. 
 
 "Does Gret— is this— this known?'' 
 
 "No," promptly ; "and I don't intend it to be for a time. 
 You can arrange matters precisely how you like, aunt- 
 tell any yarn you please— as long as you oblige me by 
 bringing about the visit I have mentioned and keeping the 
 whole thing strictly to yourself." 
 
 Mrs. Baring's lips closed on further questions for a 
 few moments. She felt like a prisoner given brief respite. 
 Maude need not know for a time, then, and in the mean- 
 time she could think things over and devise a plan 
 whereby suspicion might be averted until almost the final 
 moment. Ultimately, of course, she would lose her— 
 Maude. But then that was only a matter of time in any 
 case. And whatever happened, one thing was quite clear 
 to Mrs. Baring : if Gret was to enter society as any such 
 personage as Errol's wife, she wanted to be chief factor 
 
A GREAT SURPRISE 225 
 
 and sponsor. She did not flatter herself that Gret was a 
 very dirigible quantity, but, keen as the girl evidently 
 was, she would still be a total stranger to the kind of life 
 her new position would call for, and would surely need 
 advice of some kind, sometimes. Just for one fleeting sec- 
 ond Mrs. Baring considered the possibility of so manip- 
 ulating Gret's ignorance as finally to disgust Errol, and 
 cause him to abandon as impractical this wild idea of his; 
 but she dismissed the thought even in the forming. Errol 
 was too sharp, and Gret herself could not be fooled very 
 long. No ; Mrs. Baring felt that any insincerity on her 
 part toward Gret's interests would surely be discovered 
 and visited on her head with vengeance in time to come, 
 and that the best possible .thing for her to do would be to 
 strive to make herself indispensable to the coming mis- 
 tress of Ketton. 
 
 All these things passed very swiftly through Mrs. Bar- 
 ing's mind, and then she sat and gazed at her nephew. 
 Apparently she was sadly wondering why such men were 
 created for the confounding of rightly ambitious relatives. 
 Gret of all women under the sun! Though, of course, 
 there was no telling at all how she might turn out. 
 
 "She might become quite a celebrity," she observed, 
 speaking her thoughts aloud. "She is so odd, you 
 know." 
 
 "I don't doubt at all but that she will," responded her 
 nephew coolly. "She is not the woman to stay in the 
 background anywhere. It won't take her long to feel her 
 way and get accustomed to the somewhat problematical 
 ways of society in our fair city, and then if she does n't 
 sit down hard on some of those who fancy they are run- 
 ning affairs there, I am greatly mistaken." 
 
 "I would n't be at all surprised, either," agreed Mrs. 
 Baring, smiling at so pleasant a prospect. "I believe she 
 is quite equal to it." 
 
 15 
 
226 GRET 
 
 "Oh, yes. She is equal to anything." Ludlowe's head 
 lay back in the chair, and he watched his aunt from be- 
 tween half-closed lashes. "I think you '11 find she will 
 cope very successfully with all that arrives in the way of 
 circumstance, both friend and foe." 
 
 Mrs. Baring nodded, and sat in almost resentful silence 
 for a moment or so. *'I thought," she said then, "that 
 Gret— that Arthur— well, everybody thought that—" 
 
 "Very good ! Let them go on thinking so," advised 
 Ludlowe. 
 
 Mrs. Baring intended to, but did not say so. "Well! 
 If I 'm to have her down in San Francisco with me, I 
 must get her here more and break her in somewhat." 
 
 "Oh, she 's not so great a savage as you seem to sup- 
 pose," said Ludlowe. "The mother is a very refined wo- 
 man, I am told." 
 
 "Yes, so Bobbie says," with faint scorn. "But I ima- 
 gine she is very peculiar." 
 
 Ludlowe's eyes rested on his aunt's face in ill-con- 
 cealed amusement. He knew that in Mrs. Baring's eyes 
 the chief proof of Mrs. Silway's peculiarity lay in the fact 
 that she had all the summer been able to deny herself the 
 privilege of calling on her fashionable and newly im- 
 ported neighbors. Mrs. Baring had begun life on the 
 Wishkah by devoutly hoping she would not have a lot of 
 uncouth calls inflicted on her. As there was absolutely 
 no other woman in that region at all likely, or in any posi- 
 tion, to call except Mrs. Silway, her hopes and fears were 
 obviously limited in range. When, however, time passed 
 and Mrs. Silway showed not the slightest disposition to 
 either call or in any other way obtain a sight of her new 
 neighbors, Mrs. Baring began to be aggrieved. Finally 
 she came to long for commune with a woman somewhat 
 her own age, only to have the longing remain unappeased. 
 Now, without any loss of dignity, she would have a valid 
 
A GREAT SURPRISE 227 
 
 excuse for storming the stronghold of indifference; and 
 Mrs. Silway should be shown a distinguished woman of 
 the world, whether or no. For of course it would be nec- 
 essary to call and obtain that lady's permission to take 
 Gret back to San Francisco with her. 
 
 "I shall have to call and see Mrs. Silway about it— Gret 
 — of course," she observed, shaping her thoughts aloud. 
 
 "You will, eventually," agreed Errol ; ''but let me re- 
 mind you, in closing the subject, that Gret herself is in 
 ignorance of any ulterior motive either on your part or 
 mine. I want her to remain so until I myself enlighten 
 her." And Mrs. Baring, somewhat offended, nodded as- 
 sent. The matter was closed for the time being. 
 
 But from this it came to pass that, with all extraneous 
 motives hidden, and with that wholesale graciousness 
 characteristic of her when she chose, Mrs. Baring began 
 to cultivate Gret's friendship and confidence. And Gret, 
 also with hidden motives, allowed herself to be cultivated. 
 There was ample time for both processes, as Mrs. Baring 
 did not intend to return to San Francisco until the middle 
 or end of September, or even, should the weather remain 
 good, until perhaps the middle of October. That was 
 about the time when people began to return to the Bay 
 City, for one thing; and for another, now that she was 
 fairly reconciled to her present mode of living, Mrs. Bar- 
 ing wished to remain as long as possible at the mill. For 
 when she and her party departed for town Bobbie accom- 
 panied them. That was definitely settled between him and 
 Bertie Fonseker. After some discussion the two young 
 men had arrived at the conclusion that one of them at a 
 time was quite sufficient to manage the business, and they 
 had arranged each to spend half the winter in the city, 
 Bertie generously allowing Bobbie to spend the first half. 
 The one in the city, however, was to send up, from time to 
 time, guests for the duck-shooting, which during the rainy 
 
228 GRET 
 
 season was plentiful on the Wishkah, so that the solitary 
 resident at the mill would not become afflicted with mel- 
 ancholia. 
 
 For the rest, the mill had now resolved itself into a 
 smooth and settled affair. It had its regular customers ; 
 and, moreover, thanks to Gret and her influence, both 
 owners had managed to obtain a fair insight into what 
 a concern of its size ought to do, and not only that, but 
 what it must do, in order to make it pay. Business had 
 been good and brisk all the summer, but when the rain 
 set in all down the coast, in October or November, and 
 building to any extent ceased, Mrs. Baring surmised that 
 orders would doubtless fall off both in number and mag- 
 nitude. Obviously, then— and if possible not till then — 
 was the time to take the restless Bobbie away from a busi- 
 ness that Mrs. Baring still fondly imagined he more than 
 half controlled. 
 
 Notwithstanding that she still had a month or so at her 
 disposal, Mrs. Baring considered it none too early to be- 
 gin to take soundings in the mysterious ocean of Gret's 
 personality. As she observed to Ludlowe, she was averse 
 to taking charge of so decided a quantity while yet un- 
 known. Gret on the other hand, had no desire at all to 
 learn more of Mrs. Baring's personality, being probably 
 of the opinion that it was not of a kind to repay research ; 
 but for reasons of her own she had decided to part 
 with that lady on terms as nearly approaching familiarity 
 and friendship as possible. Though for Mrs. Baring to 
 make a sudden change of front was the easiest thing in 
 the world, to Gret it was one of the most difficult. In her 
 heart she never did change her opinions, or at all events 
 but rarely ; but sometimes it suited her to bury them away. 
 
 However, the first bread broken in Mrs. Baring's house 
 was the rubicon which, safely passed, ended most of the 
 difficulty. And the task of prevailing upon Gret to pass it 
 
A GREAT SURPRISE 229 
 
 was accomplished one afternoon when the mill-house 
 party returned from a trip to Quellish in the launch. 
 
 "We Ve just twenty minutes to dress," observed Mrs. 
 Baring, consulting her watch. "Come in to dinner with 
 us, Gret." 
 
 "Thank you, but I don't think I will," replied Gret in 
 her usual way. "I believe I 'd better go home." 
 
 "Why?" demanded Ludlowe, recognizing his aunt's 
 motive. "You '11 refuse us, and then go right up to the 
 camp and dine with all that rabble. You know you will." 
 
 "We have n't any rabble in our camp," retorted Gret 
 quickly. "Dick won't have any." 
 
 "Well, I mean— you know what I mean !" said Lud- 
 lowe, still busy with his task of gathering up wraps and 
 unaware of the extent of his offense. 
 
 "He means old and young, those you know and those 
 you don't know," explained Massinger, smiling. 
 
 "Yes, that had just better be all he means!" chuckled 
 Bobbie. "Rabble, indeed ! The idea— Gret's camp rab- 
 ble!" 
 
 Ludlowe looked up, realizing for the first time the ef- 
 fect of his words. He laughed. "Why, I meant it in the 
 way of assortment, Gret," he said; "not reflecting at all 
 upon the individual worth and qualities of the members." 
 
 "Well, as long as you don't quarrel over it—" observed 
 Mrs. Baring, turning to go up the bank; "remember, I 
 commission you three to bring Gret in to dinner, some 
 way or other." 
 
 "We will," repHed Bobbie cheerfully. "Give me some 
 of those bundles, Arthur. Man alive ! You '11 bury your- 
 self. Come along, Gret !" holding out a disengaged hand. 
 
 But still Gret hesitated. She glanced at the cotton 
 waist, once blue, but the cuffs and front of which, having 
 claimed Lizzie's most vigorous attention, were now al- 
 most white ; and at the long, thin, brown hands, and for 
 
230 GRET 
 
 perhaps the first time in her life was troubled over per- 
 sonal appearance. 
 
 ''Oh, pooh !" said Bobbie, divining the cause of her hesi- 
 tation. "You 're the finest old lady on the coast. Come 
 along !" 
 
 And so Gret went up to the house, where she was taken 
 in hand by Maude. That entirely unsuspecting lady, hav- 
 ing from the very first conceived a liking for Gret, and 
 not for a moment deeming her dangerous to personal in- 
 terests, had noticed with amusement Mrs. Baring's hos- 
 pitable overtures and stood in readiness to back them up. 
 She took Gret with her to her room to prepare for the 
 evening meal; and here Gret proceeded to wash her 
 hands, and was about to follow that performance by 
 washing her face, when stopped by a little shriek from 
 Maude. 
 
 "No, no ! Oh, dear me, never wash your face after 
 having been out of doors so long. Here ! Refresh your 
 face with this." 
 
 "This" was a delicate preparation of glycerin, rose- 
 water, cucumber, and such emollients, and Gret looked at 
 it doubtfully. However, she applied it dutifully to the 
 smooth, brown skin of her face ; and then underwent the 
 novel sensation of having her waist pulled down at the 
 back and loosened gracefully in front, and of having her 
 hair, plentiful, but heavy and straight, pulled loosely over 
 her forehead and coiled in loose and pretty fashion at the 
 back of what Maude discovered to be a small, well-shaped 
 head. All this done, Maude surveyed her handiwork. 
 She longed to complete the work by winding a dainty rib- 
 bon round the girl's neck, but something, some dig- 
 nity which she felt might be on edge just now, prevented 
 her. However, even so, she was very satisfied with her 
 work and the change even such slight improvements ef- 
 fected in her charge. 
 
A GREAT SURPRISE 231 
 
 At the table Gret was treated as if she had sat there a 
 hundred times before, and, of course, not the least ap- 
 parent notice was taken of her actions. Nevertheless, 
 she knew very well that nothing she did or left undone 
 would go unobserved. Any discomfort or embarrassment 
 caused by this knowledge, however, was only manifest in 
 a greater deliberation of manner than usual. Mrs. 
 Silway had always insisted on strictly conventional be- 
 havior at table, so that Gret had little to fear from irreg- 
 ularities of this kind; still the fare she was accustomed 
 to was very simple, and there were several dishes on the 
 mill-house table to the manipulation of which she was a 
 stranger. But Gret was wary ; she took nothing that she 
 had not previously been able to notice the others handle. 
 Altogether she made few mistakes, and her lack of ease 
 was veiled beneath stolidity. She was cool and shrewd, 
 two very essential attributes in dealing with the unknown. 
 
 Mrs. Baring expressed herself afterward to Ludlowe 
 as very well satisfied, all things considered. 
 
 "She is very smart," she declared impressively. "She '11 
 never have to see a thing but once. And I really think 
 that with a little decent dressing she can be made to look 
 quite handsome." 
 
 "I don't know about that," replied Ludlowe judicially. 
 "She never will be pretty, but she '11 always have a sort 
 of distinction that to my mind is worth more than looks." 
 
 "Oh, certainly, I agree with you," assented Mrs. Baring 
 with emphasis. "That 's what I value about her so much 
 —that something striking, I don't exactly know what." 
 
 "Poise," decided Ludlowe promptly; "nothing but 
 poise— perfect poise of mind and body." 
 
 "Perhaps that is it," allowed Mrs. Baring. "I have 
 great hopes of her; really I have." And Ludlowe smiled, 
 perhaps merely in pleased assent. 
 
 Mrs. Baring took to breathing such sentiments to 
 
232 GRET 
 
 Maude— with important reservations, as may be imag- 
 ined. And then presently she confided in that lady her in- 
 tention of taking Gret back to San Francisco with her. 
 She felt herself somewhat indebted to Gret for valuable 
 aid rendered Bobbie at a critical time in his business ca- 
 reer, she explained, and Maude accepted the explanation 
 with her usual indifferent gravity. Secretly she was a 
 little astonished that Mrs. Baring should go to the length 
 of having Gret visit her in her home, though she was able 
 to fill out to her own entire satisfaction that lady's some- 
 what meager explanation of motive. Mrs. Baring had 
 noticed— indeed, she had called Maude's attention to it 
 more than once— the evident liking of Arthur and Gret 
 for each other. Arthur was somewhat of a celebrity in 
 his way, and Gret, were she ever to be his wife, would be 
 more of one ; socially it might pay to advance their inter- 
 ests. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE PLANS OF MEN 
 
 AFTER having expressed his wishes to his aunt, and 
 ^ thus given, for the time being, at any rate, all nec- 
 essary impetus to affairs, Ludlowe was content to sit back 
 and calmly watch the course of events as they rolled along 
 the path of his prescribing. In accounting to the public 
 for actions to be taken, Ludlowe had given his aunt free 
 rein, and it amused him to note with what diplomacy, 
 according to that good lady's ideas, but duplicity accord- 
 ing to Ludlowe's, she guided into convenient channels 
 the thoughts and beliefs of her companions. 
 
 On the other hand, and also in secret, Gret, too, was 
 amused. She allowed herself to be cultivated with a de- 
 parture from her usual reserve that she sometimes feared 
 was almost too sudden. Though sifted down to a fine 
 point, Ludlowe's was about the only observing intelli- 
 gence that she feared. 
 
 Her time was certainly very much occupied in the days 
 that followed. She spent one way or another quite a por- 
 tion of her time with the mill-house fraternity ; and then 
 she would not forsake her place at the camp counsels, nor 
 neglect the call Eva had come to have on her evenings. 
 No matter how tempting the project for the cool of the 
 evening, the thought of the gentle, patient girl waiting on 
 the bluff at home would send Gret speeding to her. Eva 
 read and dreamed the day away very contentedly ; it was 
 entirely the life of her choice. But when evening came 
 
 233 
 
234 GRET 
 
 she watched for Gret ; and that day greatly lacked some- 
 thing which was not rounded off by the twilight talk on 
 the bluff. 
 
 Of late she had become greatly entranced with the 
 work of a modern authoress of most quaintly fanciful 
 turn. So taken was she with this lady's sentiments that 
 she insisted each evening on reading certain portions of 
 her works to Gret, and each evening Gret amiably strove 
 to get into touch with a mind the exact opposite of her 
 own, failing on the whole, it must be admitted ; for Gret 
 had no more imagination than a bird. If she had had, she 
 probably would not have possessed the power she had of 
 dealing with actual events. 
 
 "I think that 's such a nice idea— 'Like a bird in a forest 
 calling aloud if perchance somewhere its mate might 
 hear,' " said Eva, closing the book over her fingers. 
 "Don't you, Gret?" 
 
 Gret fidgeted on the sward in her endeavor to be sym- 
 pathetic. "Well, what is it does that?" 
 
 "Why, one's heart." Eva laid her head back on the 
 moss and gazed at the serene darkening blue of the sky. 
 "You see, she believes all through that one's own will 
 surely come to one ; no need to go out and seek. I 'm so 
 glad of that." 
 
 "Humph! May be all right in books," said Gret the 
 unbelieving. 
 
 Eva turned her head on the moss the better to look at 
 her sister. "Well, if you go out and rush to and fro in 
 life what do you get?" 
 
 "There 's no telling," practically ; "something, anyhow. 
 If you don't get your own you can get somebody else's. 
 Somebody," added Gret wickedly, "who is waiting at 
 home for her own to come to her." 
 
 Eva laughed good-humoredly. "You bad old Gret!" 
 she sighed. "No, but I see you don't catch the meaning 
 
THE PLANS OF MEN 235 
 
 of the thing-, the real meaning. If you did you 'd know 
 you could n't take anybody else's." 
 
 "Well, anyhow," said Gret finally, "if one's own is 
 bound to come to one it does n't matter where one is. 
 Much less dull to be about doing things than sitting at 
 home waiting." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Eva absently. Then with interest: 
 "Have you ever been in love, Gret ?" 
 
 "Don't know," with a laugh. 
 
 "Well, but— of course you know. Don't you love any- 
 body?" 
 
 "Yes-you." 
 
 "Oh, well," impatiently ; "but I mean a man !" 
 
 "How can one tell?" inquired Gret, scoffingly. "Can 
 you ?" 
 
 "Yes, of course I could," raising her head, the large, 
 soft eyes opening wide for a moment. "It must be beau- 
 tiful to love— really love. Would n't you think so, Gret?" 
 
 Gret thought for a moment, a sort of resentful curl on 
 her lip. "No !" she said bluntly then. "I think it 's only 
 a kind of biting and rage deep down in one's heart all 
 the time." 
 
 Eva listened unimpressed to this novel presentation of 
 love. It did not concur with hers in the least. She her- 
 self was steeped in sentiment from head to foot. Natu- 
 rally imaginative and sentimental, her life fostered these 
 tendencies. Just now, like most young women of her 
 kind with nothing particular to do, she was craving for 
 romance, for a lover of her own, really her own, not read 
 of in books and appropriated in imagination. 
 
 "Robin 's going to read this book," she observed after 
 a pause. 
 
 "Robin!" echoed Gret in amused surprise. 
 
 "Yes. He came up this afternoon when I was reading 
 it," explained Eva. "He asked what kind of a book it 
 
236 GRET 
 
 was, and when I told him he said he 'd Hke to read it 
 and then he 'd come up and tell me what he thought of 
 it." 
 
 "Oh, yes ! He '11 take it home, look at the beginning 
 and the end, and then bring it back and say he thinks it 's 
 lovely !" laughed Gret. 
 
 "Oh, no ; I don't think so," gently. "I should know if 
 he did that. He said he 'd read it, and I think he will." 
 
 "Oh, he might ; might take a streak of liking that sort 
 of thing; get all wrapped up in it and want more," said 
 Gret out of the infinity of her experience. "I expect he 's 
 pretty dull just now, anyhow. What did he want— me?" 
 
 "He did n't say; but, of course, he did," answered Eva. 
 "That 's what he always does come for." 
 
 "I wonder whether anything 's gone wrong," mused 
 Gret. "I must go up one of these days and see how 
 things are going on." 
 
 She was saved that trouble, however. The very next 
 night Robin rowed down, tied his boat up, mounted the 
 steps and seated himself near the two girls with an air of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 "Hallo, Rob!" said Gret cordially. "Anything gone 
 wrong ?" 
 
 "No, nothing in particular." 
 
 "All wrong, I suppose," observed Gret. 
 
 "Yes; awful job living up there with those two, I can 
 tell you," said Robin wearily. 
 
 Gret smiled, reflecting that he had managed to do it all 
 his life so far. "Yes. Still, I expect it 's easier than 
 working out for a living," she observed. "Is uncle any 
 nicer to you yet ?" 
 
 "Yes, a little; tells me what he wants done, and all 
 that." 
 
 "Well, we never thought he 'd make up in a hurry," 
 said Gret sagely ; "he 's not that kind. But you' 11 come 
 
THE PLANS OF MEN 237 
 
 out all right if you keep on being careful. What does 
 Widow Bennett think of it?" 
 
 "I don't think she knows what to think," replied Robin 
 with a slight laugh and the air of one taking but little 
 interest in the subject. 
 
 "Has she ever asked you anything?" queried Gret. 
 
 "Yes ; asked me once or twice whether I'd given up the 
 idea of going to Portland." 
 
 "Not when uncle was by?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Ah!" said Gret exultingly. "And what did you say?" 
 
 "Said I was waiting for Cecil to get me in." 
 
 "Think she believed it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 "That 's right," approvingly, and smiling at the wid- 
 ow's helpless credulity. "And so you 're just dull, and 
 come to talk for a while, h'm ?" 
 
 "Yes," responded Robin with a very taking assumption 
 of wistfulness. "You don't mind, do you?" The ques- 
 tion was addressed to both of them. 
 
 Eva smiled in her languid but altogether sweet way. 
 "No, indeed !" 
 
 And Gret, her keen ear catching a peculiar note some- 
 where, glanced sharply at him and answered in her 
 brusque fashion, "Of course not. What do you want to 
 ask a crazy question like that for ?" 
 
 However, from that point on conversation seemed to 
 languish, try how they might to revive it. And it was not 
 until almost time for Robin to start home that it really 
 began to flow freely as of old. Gret was greatly puzzled, 
 and could not tell at all what the change was that had 
 come over some one or something. However, Robin 
 took the promised book, and agreed to come down again 
 on the second night and render his verdict on the much 
 discussed work. 
 
238 GRET 
 
 "Robin 's getting— I don't know what," observed Gret, 
 frowning on the receding boat. "He never did have much 
 sense, but he used to be jolly. Now he is n't even 
 that." 
 
 "Why, I think he 's nice," said Eva stoutly. "Grown 
 so big, too. Seems to have grown into a man all of a 
 sudden." 
 
 "Oh, he 's as big as he ever will be, of course," an- 
 swered Gret, not so greatly impressed ; "but it 's growing 
 the mustache that makes him look a man so suddenly. 
 Then, of course,— I suppose he is a man." 
 
 Eva nodded thoughtfully, and Gret was quiet for a few 
 minutes. Then she said reflectively : "Dull ! How funny 
 he should get dull suddenly like that. He 's got as much 
 company now as he ever had. It 's not that. He 's got 
 something on his mind." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know, Gret. You used to be a great com- 
 panion of his, but since the mill people came you dropped 
 him altogether," said Eva in gentle reproach. 
 
 Gret opened her eyes at this view of matters. Then 
 she laughed in sheer amusement. "I dropped him before 
 that," she said truthfully enough. 
 
 However, when two nights later Robin appeared, as ap- 
 pointed, conversation ran smoothly enough, having for 
 excellent start the book under discussion. Robin sided en- 
 tirely with Eva's views of the question, and Gret fought 
 them both with great display of scorn and much real 
 amusement. The evening passed genially and quickly, 
 and the faint instinctive feeling of uneasiness in Gret's 
 mind wore off. After that she apparently thought noth- 
 ing of it when, as was often the case, Robin joined the 
 literary conclave on the bluff. 
 
 Toward the end of August Mrs. Baring broached the 
 subject of the visit to Gret. 
 
 "How would you like to come back with us and spend 
 
• THE PLANS OF MEN 239 
 
 a month or so in San Francisco ?" she inquired in a casual 
 way one afternoon. 
 
 Gret's eyes opened. Such an invitation was genuinely 
 unexpected and unforeseen, and she was amazed at her 
 own good fortune and at the happy way in which circum- 
 stances seemed about to fit in with her plans. For Gret 
 had made up her mind by some means or other to visit 
 San Francisco herself that winter, and had intended 
 pressing Mrs. Baring into service as chaperone. As far 
 as money went she would have been able to carry out her 
 designs, for though she had long ago ceased to accept 
 anything from the mill profits, recognizing that the time 
 had gone by when her advice or help was of any vital im- 
 portance, yet she still had lying safely in the little bank 
 at Quellish most of the money earned in the days of the 
 early struggles. She had often been tempted in many 
 ways to spend it, but had each time resisted temptation, 
 it being borne in upon her that some day her desires and 
 her financial ability, if represented by her father, would 
 clash sadly. In the San Francisco project she had ex- 
 pected many difficulties to overcome, and was delighted 
 with the new turn in affairs. 
 
 "I should very much," she responded unhesitatingly. 
 
 "Well, we must try and arrange it," went on Mrs. Ba- 
 ring suavely. "I must call and see Mrs. Silway about it. 
 Do you imagine she will have any objections ?" 
 
 "No, I don't think mother will," replied Gret. "I think 
 she '11 be quite willing. Father 's the one that will have 
 something to say." 
 
 "Well, I must talk him over ; that is, if I can see him," 
 said Mrs. Baring. "But he never seems to be at home. 
 Is your father a difficult man to get on with ?" 
 
 "Difficult !" echoed Gret. She said no more, but the lit- 
 tle laugh and curling lip added volumes. Then, suddenly 
 reflecting that Mrs. Baring might, in the light of these 
 
240 GRET 
 
 revelations, reconsider her idea of applying for the per- 
 mission in question, she added quickly. "But you won't 
 find him so. You '11 think him awfully nice!" 
 
 Mrs. Baring laughed and allowed the matter to drop. 
 But that evening at dinner she expressed her opinions to 
 the table at large. 
 
 "You know, I really imagine they 're virtually separa- 
 ted, but remain nominally together for the sake of the 
 children." 
 
 But Bobbie and Bertie, on the strength of long intimacy 
 with Gret, and Ludlowe by virtue of an intuitive mind and 
 the ability to gather facts from trifles, scouted the idea. 
 
 "He 's a selfish bear, that 's all," declared Bobbie con- 
 fidently. "And his family are so glad to have him away 
 that they make no kick at the very small share of pros- 
 perity that comes their way." 
 
 Gret went home and informed her mother of the visit 
 to be paid her some time in the near future, and also of 
 its motive. Mrs. Silway was surprised. 
 
 "Why, I gathered from the way you talked that you 
 did n't like this Mrs. Baring," she said, looking inquir- 
 ingly across the table at the undisturbed Gret. 
 
 "I did n't." 
 
 "But you do now ?" 
 
 Gret looked up at her mother with a smile so roguish 
 that her face for the moment was absolutely winsome. 
 "I 'd like to go to San Francisco !" she said demurely. 
 
 Mrs. Silway smiled too. "Well, I shall offer no objec- 
 tions. It would be a most wholesome change for you. 
 Your father is the one to consider." 
 
 "I know," assented Gret. "That 's what I told Mrs. 
 Baring— that I knew you 'd let me go, but that father 
 would be the one to stand in the way, if any one did." 
 
 "You should n't display family matters too much be- 
 fore strangers," said Mrs. Silway quietly. 
 
THE PLANS OF MEN 241 
 
 ."I don't think I do— much," said Gret, after a moment's 
 unbiased consideration of the matter; "but it 's no good 
 pretending father 's good to us, and all that, when he 
 is n't." 
 
 "Pretend nothing at all, merely leave the matter undis- 
 cussed," instructed Mrs. Silway. And then she went on 
 reflectively, "Well, if she asks your father herself, in all 
 probability he would not refuse her." 
 
 "Yes. I '11 tell her all that," said Gret with a nod. "We 
 mus' n't say anything about it to him ourselves." 
 
 "And you '11 have to have a complete outfit, too," 
 mused Mrs. Silway. "Well, if your father agrees to let 
 you go, he '11 have to see to that." 
 
 And so she dismissed the matter altogether from a 
 mind trained most obediently to return to and remain at 
 will in those calm regions of philosophy and study where 
 the troublous waves of life never break in to dis- 
 turb. But Gret and Eva discussed it far into the even- 
 ing. 
 
 "Do you really like to go ?" queried Eva, staring at her 
 sister. 
 
 "Yes, of course. Would n't you ?" 
 
 "No, indeed !" in a heartfelt way, "I 'd hate to live with 
 strangers and have to do all they did !" 
 
 "Why, I don't know that I will have to do all they do," 
 said Gret, surprised at such a view of matters. 
 
 "Of course you will. You '11 have to go out when they 
 do and come in when they do, and go to bed and get up 
 when they do, and, oh, you '11 just have to wait till they 
 do everything before you can do it," explained Eva. "Be- 
 sides, fancy meeting strangers every day— fresh ones all 
 the time !" 
 
 Gret laughed. "I sha'n't mind that. And then, if I 
 don't like it I can always come home. But just think 
 what I '11 see— a big city, and how people live in it, and 
 
 16 
 
242 GRET 
 
 —oh, you know, civilization altogether. Besides, I 'm not 
 so scared of strangers as you are !" 
 
 **I 'm not scared of them. I just don't like them," said 
 Eva. "How Iqng will you stay, Gret?" 
 
 "Oh, a month or so, I suppose. As long as she asks 
 me to." 
 
 "Well, I shall be awfully glad when you get back," ob- 
 served Eva somewhat disconsolately. 
 
 "I 'm not gone yet," responded Gret tritely. "Don't let 
 us say anything about it until I am really going. Be so 
 silly if I did n't go after all." 
 
 And this was agreed upon. Nevertheless, somehow or 
 other, a rumor of her proposed visit crept about and 
 reached the camp before long, its members, individually 
 and collectively, being sincerely disgusted at the receipt 
 of it. Hearing one day that it had got about and been 
 discussed at the camp the evening before, Gret went to the 
 camp the very next morning for breakfast and slid quietly 
 into her seat by Dick. She had not to wait long for the 
 expression of opinions she had come prepared to hear; 
 she was immediately taken to task by at least half a dozen 
 of the older hands, those who from long residence in the 
 camp were very intimate, and taxed with a desire to enter 
 the ranks of swelldom. 
 
 "Suppose," said Oly scornfully, "when you come back 
 there '11 be no getting near you." 
 
 "Of course not," agreed Gret, carefully refraining from 
 anything that might be constrained into administering 
 comfort. "I shall be able to see what a lot of hobos you 
 really are." 
 
 "How long will you stay, Gret?" inquired Dick. His 
 head rested on his hand, and his eyes scanned the girl's 
 face reflectively. 
 
 "About a month, I suppose." 
 
THE PLANS OF MEN 243 
 
 "Don't worry," put in Jake, holding converse, as usual, 
 from the doorway. "She '11 be so tired of all that high- 
 falutin' business in two weeks that she '11 come back 
 quicker 'n she went." 
 
 "Well, anyhow, I expect I can get all the pie I want 
 down there," observed Gret maliciously. 
 
 "Yes. And I can take a lay-off the while," retorted 
 Jake. 
 
 "What '11 you do if your pa won't let you go ?" inquired 
 Cassidy, stepping quickly into the breach. 
 
 "Stay at home," replied Gret, smiling. 
 
 "Not if I know you," said Oly decisively. 
 
 Gret glanced at him, the faintest flicker of a smile ris- 
 ing and dying in her eyes. Then she glanced at Dick, 
 whose steady blue eyes were still regarding her curiously, 
 and ended her scrutiny with a survey of Jake's sage coun- 
 tenance framed in the doorway. And there was a slight 
 softening of the wide, firm lips. These rough men, who 
 all her life had been so good and gentle to her, had a 
 more abiding place in Gret's heart than she knew. 
 
 In spite of assurances to the contrary from Bobbie 
 and Bertie, both of whom had been once or twice in her 
 presence, Mrs. Baring started for the Silway residence 
 prepared to meet a downtrodden, resigned woman, who 
 would probably be more or less embarrassed during her 
 call. Needless to say, she was astonished at the reality. 
 Margaret Silway saw her coming as she sat reading on 
 the veranda, and closing her book rose to meet her, 
 standing at the head of the steps until her guest ap- 
 proached. Her attitude was repose, her face serenity. 
 The many ambitions, the little jealousies and little victo- 
 ries, the hopes and fears and worries and delights that go 
 to make up the life of the average woman were mere 
 names now to Margaret Silway. She was not embar- 
 
244 GRET 
 
 rassed, or hampered by the consideration of what kind of 
 an opinion her visitor was going to form of her and her 
 surroundings, because it was a matter of not the faintest 
 moment. Indeed, she never even thought of it. Still, in 
 her rather cold way, she was very courteous. 
 
 "This must be Mrs. Baring, I know," she said with a 
 welcoming smile. "In this locality it could not possibly 
 be any one else." 
 
 "I suppose not," Mrs. Baring laughed— the little society 
 laugh that of late had been very appropriately dropped. 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Silway? Oh yes, I think it would 
 be so much pleasanter to remain out here," in response to 
 an inquiry from her hostess. "Dear me!" sinking into 
 the seat drawn forward for her. "How very pleasant it 
 is up here!" She gazed round upon the splendid pano- 
 rama spread beneath her in surprise. "Why, I never 
 would have believed the difference between this and the 
 level of the river where we live. Dear me ! It is pleas- 
 ant ; so cool, too. I don't wonder you never leave it." 
 
 "I am very attached to the spot," assented Mrs. Silway. 
 
 "Your younger daughter, too, quite takes after you in 
 opinions evidently," commented Mrs. Baring, with a 
 smile in the direction oi Eva, who lay reading under the 
 low-spreading boughs of her favorite tree, an enormous 
 spruce. 
 
 "Yes— oh, yes, quite," agreed Mrs. Silway. "But the 
 same can't be said for the elder one." 
 
 "No, indeed !" laughed Mrs. Baring. "The amount of 
 energy daily expended by Gret in covering superficial 
 area is positively alarming. Still, I am very much taken 
 with her. I think with suitable opportunities she would 
 carve a very marked future for herself." 
 
 "Yes, I think so m3^self," assented Mrs. Silway. "She 
 has decided force of character." 
 
 "That is one of the things I wanted to see you about— 
 
THE PLANS OF MEN 245 
 
 Gret, I mean " went on Mrs. Baring-. "I want, if I can 
 gain vour consent, to take her back to San Francisco with 
 me."' 
 
 "It would be a nice change for her, and I should like 
 her to have it," replied Mrs. Silway quietly. "But Mr. 
 Silway, of course, might not agree." 
 
 "Oh, we must talk him over," confidently ; "that is, if 
 he should come down before I go." 
 
 "When do you think of returning to San Francisco, 
 then, Mrs. Baring?" inquired Mrs. Silway. 
 
 "Oh not until about the end of September," replied that 
 lady. "In fact, not until this nice weather gives out." 
 
 "Oh, well, then, he will undoubtedly be here before 
 then," said Mrs. Silway. "I expect. him home about the 
 end of the month." 
 
 "Oh, then, I Ve no doubt we can arrange it," said Mrs. 
 Baring confidently. "We would all like to have Gret 
 with us. Though not understanding her at all at first, we 
 have become so accustomed to her that she seems like one 
 of the family." 
 
 Mrs. Silway smiled. "She is very uncompromising in 
 her attitudes," she observed, her eyes resting on the bluff, 
 on the top of which Robin Start had just appeared. He 
 looked quickly round, noticed Eva in the shade of the tree, 
 made a detour of the house and approached her. Appar- 
 ently he made some request ; and apparently, too, Eva de- 
 murred, for he threw himself on the sward and appeared 
 to argue with her. Finally Eva rose, and again hesitated. 
 She seemed to wish to approach her mother, but hesitated, 
 Mrs. Silway judged, on account of Mrs. Baring's pres- 
 ence. Then Robin approached the veranda steps. 
 
 "Mrs. Silway, Eva is just corning with me to see a 
 family of coon-kittens up the river." 
 
 Mrs. Silway nodded, smiling. "Very well." 
 
 The two went off, watched with more or less curiosity 
 
246 GRET 
 
 by both women, who for the next half hour conversed 
 together on such topics as could form neutral ground be- 
 tween their widely diverging personalities. Toward the 
 end of the interview Mrs. Baring spent her conversa- 
 tional energies in adroit— or so she imagined— efforts at 
 eliciting information concerning Mrs. Silway's family, 
 career, etc., and went away well content with the fruits 
 of her diplomatic probings, having, as a matter of fact, 
 learned exactly as much as Mrs. Silway intended her to 
 know and no more. 
 
 "I can quite see where Gret gets her self-possession," 
 she told Maude afterward in relating to that lady particu- 
 lars of the visit. "The mother is self-possession itself. 
 Rather distinguished-looking, too, and was of excellent 
 family. I find she is one of the Lederers of Baltimore." 
 
 "Oh, is she?" said Maude, who would have been just as 
 much interested to learn that the absent woman was a 
 member of any other family. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Silway, left alone once more, mused a 
 few moments on this creature from the old world that 
 had just been with her. Then she stretched out her hand 
 and took up her book again with a feeling of added con- 
 tentment and serenity. 
 
 Gret came home for dinner, and as she reached the top 
 of the bluff looked quickly round for Eva. 
 
 "Has Eva got a headache, mother ?" she asked, coming 
 and seating herself on one of the veranda steps. 
 
 "No; she went up the river with Robin to see some 
 coon-kittens," replied Mrs. Silway. 
 
 "She did !" Gret's eyes opened as big as saucers. "Why, 
 how did he ever get her to go? I never can get her to 
 go out." 
 
 "I fancy she did protest," said her mother, smiling; 
 "but you know how insistent Robin can be when he wants 
 anything." 
 
THE PLANS OF MEN 247 
 
 Gret nodded, still gazing widely at her mother. "Well," 
 she said then, "I 'm very glad. Eva is altogether too shy, 
 and perhaps she '11 get over that if she goes out a little 
 more. It 's so funny, though, for Robin to bother," she 
 concluded, the puzzled expression coming back to her 
 eyes. 
 
 "He probably wanted company on his expedition to see 
 the kittens, and Eva was the only person available," haz- 
 arded her mother. 
 
 Gret nodded again. "Very likely. Whose kittens, 
 Sam Davis'?" 
 
 "He merely said a man up the river," replied Mrs. Sil- 
 way. 
 
 "Well, they must be pretty old kittens," observed Gret 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Must they?" Mrs. Silway was consulting her watch. 
 "I think Eva is going to be late for dinner. We have just 
 ten minutes to wash, Gret." 
 
 Just as dinner was on the table Eva came hurrying in. 
 The first pretty flush of sunburn was on her face, and her 
 manner was shyly animated. 
 
 "Well," observed Gret, "you did manage to go out, did 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Eva hurriedly, looking rather more em- 
 barrassed than the occasion seemed to call for. "I went 
 up to see the baby-coons. Are n't they sweet ? Have you 
 seen them, Gret?" 
 
 "I 've seen lots of them," answered Gret. 
 
 There was a pause, in which Gret seemed to wait for 
 Eva to proceed with her experiences and Eva seemed to 
 find nothing to say. Then Mrs. Silway unconsciously en- 
 tered the gap with the remark to Gret that Mrs. Baring 
 had been there that afternoon. 
 
 Eva's next venture abroad was a still more ambitious 
 one. She went down to Quellish with Robin and Gret, 
 
248 GRET 
 
 her only stipulation on starting being that she should not 
 be required to meet strangers. Apparently she enjoyed 
 the trip immensely, but she refused absolutely to go up 
 into the camp or down to the mill-house ; and when Gret 
 rushed home one day with an invitation for her to make 
 one of the party going to Quellish in the little launch, no 
 persuasions on earth would induce her to accept. 
 
 As Robin began to spend quite a portion of his time 
 on the bluff with Eva, on the river, or taking one or both 
 girls out here and there, Gret thought it advisable one 
 day to administer a warning. 
 
 "Don't forget, now, what you 're watching out for up 
 there. You 've been getting along very well so far ; but 
 mind you don't spoil it all. Remember, you may go off 
 watch for a time, but the Widow Bennett won't." 
 
 "I 'm not. I do all my work before I go out," replied 
 Robin, looking sulky and injured instantly. 
 
 Gret gave her shoulders a queer little Frenchified 
 shrug. ''It 's nothing to me," she observed coolly. 
 "How 's uncle getting along ?" 
 
 "First rate," responded Robin, it must be admitted, 
 very discontentedly. "Last week the heat seemed to make 
 him very short of breath, but this week he 's been out and 
 round the place again." 
 
 Gret nodded gravely. "Still you can never tell," she 
 observed a trifle indefinitely. And then dropped the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 But old John Start contrived to get better and 
 stronger; and then, just as people began to get accus- 
 tomed to ranking him as an active member again, he died 
 suddenly one evening, just when least expected. 
 
 It was late in the evening, and Gret and Eva, lying 
 on the bluff, had just made up their minds to go to bed. 
 The light of the day had waned into deep twilight, and 
 the peculiar hush and stillness of sunset was over every- 
 
THE PLANS OF MEN 249 
 
 thing, when round the bend of the river a boat was heard 
 coming. Something pecuUar in the rowing caught on 
 Gret's ear ; the oars wriggled noisily in the rowlocks and 
 the stroke was uneven, now deep and now splashy like 
 that of a person in most urgent hurry. Gret sat up and 
 watched, her keen eyes frowning into the shadows. 
 
 "It 's Robin !" she exclaimed, long before Eva could 
 make out if it were man or woman. "I 'm going down to 
 see what 's the matter. I '11 bet his uncle 's worse." And 
 she sprang up and dashed down the steps to the landing. 
 
 Robin saw her. In all probability he was looking for 
 her to appear, for he rowed straight up to the landing. 
 
 "What 's the matter?" inquired Gret, before he had 
 fairly reached her. 
 
 "Uncle 's dead!" he gasped. He had no hat on, and 
 his eyes stared with excitement, mixed, perhaps, with a 
 little fear and awe. 
 
 "Sure ?" asked the ever practical Gret. "I mean, quite 
 dead?" 
 
 "Yes, quite," jerked out Robin. "We were eating sup- 
 per—fried clams we had— and all of a sudden uncle got 
 up and then sat down again. And then he turned blue in 
 the face and died." 
 
 Gret listened ; and then to her own intense disgust and 
 shame, was struck comically by Robin's odd way of re- 
 counting the case. The vein of irrepressible, and it al- 
 most seemed irresponsible, fun and glee in her. nature as- 
 serted itself for a moment and she broke into a little bub- 
 ble of laughter. 
 
 "What does it matter what color he turned, you stu- 
 pid ?" she said angrily then, endeavoring to cover her mis- 
 demeanor. "Go on down for a doctor— quick !" 
 
 "He 's dead, though," repeated Robin mechanically. 
 
 "Well, even so. You must get a doctor, or people will 
 say that perhaps he might have been saved. Remember 
 
250 GRET 
 
 there are those who will be ready to say you wanted the 
 farm. Go on !" pointing down the river authoritatively. 
 
 And Robin picked up his oars and hurried on, while 
 Gret went back to the bluff to tell Eva what had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 Eva stood gazing at her sister, her delicate face show- 
 ing cameo-like in the misty light. 
 
 "And now Robin will have the farm, and be able to do 
 just as he likes, won't he ?" she said under her breath. 
 
 "Yes, of course," replied Gret, somewhat surprised at 
 this reception of the news. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 GRET GOES TO BE CIVILIZED 
 
 IN the middle of October the mill-house party reached 
 Portland on their way to San Francisco. Gret was 
 with them. 
 
 Mr. Silway had come down to Quellish toward the end 
 of September, and a few days after his arrival had, in 
 company with his wife, been invited to dinner at the mill. 
 Mrs. Silway did not appear, pleading a headache, just as 
 Mrs. Baring expected she would, and just as she herself 
 would have done in like circumstances; but Mr. Silway 
 arrived, unsuspecting and complacent. 
 
 When he had feasted and wined and was in excellent 
 spirits, Mrs. Baring put forth her request ; indeed, it was 
 more of a demand, as she declared she absolutely would 
 not take "no" for an answer. Mr. Silway was startled, 
 but quickly summoned up an array of. excuses and reasons 
 for withholding consent, all of which Mrs. Baring, 
 coached by Gret down to the minutest detail, still more 
 quickly dispensed with, until there was nothing left to do 
 but consent more or less willingly. So he consented, and 
 went home to visit his wrath upon his wife. 
 
 "Seems you consented to let the girl go," he observed, 
 with that peculiar dog-like twitch of the corners of his 
 mouth characteristic of him when enraged. 
 
 "I certainly did— as far as my consent goes," replied 
 Mrs. Silway calmly. "I think the change will be an ex- 
 cellent thing for her." 
 
252 GRET 
 
 "Cost a pretty penny," declared Mr. Silway savagely. 
 
 "Oh, nothing more than -you can well afford," said Mrs. 
 Silway comfortingly. 
 
 "That 's what you say !" retorted Mr. Silway jerkily. 
 "But you don't know what expenses I Ve got to contend 
 with, you see. Perhaps you don't know that I 've got to 
 see a specialist this month." 
 
 "No, I did n't know it," looking up at him with amiable 
 interest. "Why ? Is tired nature giving way somewhere, 
 then?" 
 
 "I don't know what tired nature is doing," v/ith exas- 
 peration. "I know I don't like this pain I have in my 
 side so often. But of course it 's no good coming to you 
 for sympathy." 
 
 "Hardly," agreed Mrs. Silway with tantalizing calm- 
 ness. 
 
 "Mr. Silway gasped with the effort to control, himself, 
 and finally, knowing that to remain in the room was to 
 increase his exasperation almost beyond the limits of en- 
 durance, he left it with a bang. Mrs. Silway resumed her 
 book with a smile. In the early days of her married life, 
 when she had nervously done every conceivable thing to 
 keep peace and avoid crossing her irritable and unreason- 
 able spouse, she had never been able to stem for a mo- 
 ment the torrent of his petulance when aroused ; but now 
 that her eyes were long since opened and she knew him 
 for what he was, now that in the utter calm of contempt 
 and indifference she cared not whether he were pleased 
 or vexed, the power to overcome him seemed to have been 
 given her. Such was the contrariness of life. 
 
 Nothing further was said between them concerning 
 Gret's proposed visit; but Mr. Silway questioned Gret 
 herself very closely on the matter, being very little more 
 enlightened after the cross-examination than before. So 
 the matter dropped during the time of his stay in Quel- 
 
GRET GOES TO BE CIVILIZED 253 
 
 lish. Just before returning to Portland, however, he ar- 
 ranged to meet the party on their arrival in Portland. 
 And this he did. 
 
 Seeing that there was no getting out of it, Mr. Silway 
 decided to carry his part through graciously. The party 
 put up at the Hotel Portland, which was also his head- 
 quarters all the year round, or all of it spent in Portland, 
 and on the evening of their arrival he entertained them all 
 at dinner. 
 
 "This," said Mrs. Baring, glancing complacently round 
 the elegantly appointed dining-room, "is a really fine ho- 
 tel. This is your headquarters when away from home, 
 Mr. Silway?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," glancing involuntarily at Gret as he spoke. 
 "I have to be in some place central and well known com- 
 mercially. You see, my dealings are with big lumber 
 men, members of big commercial bodies, and so forth, 
 and it is necessary for me to— to be among that class." 
 
 Gret was interestedly gazing down the long room with 
 its delicately lovely tintings and had apparently taken no 
 notice of his words. She had heard, though ; and looking 
 round the really sumptuous hotel, the like of which 
 she had, of course, never even imagined, she contrasted it 
 in her heart with the severely plain, almost humble, home 
 that had been her mother's for the last eighteen years of 
 her womanhood. Gret was old enough now to know, if 
 not exactly what marriage was in all its intricacies, yet 
 something of the equal partnership it ought to be. Her 
 father had always been a pretty transparent book to her, 
 but never had she realized the full extent of his selfish- 
 ness as she did now. And nothing he could do for her 
 now or in years to come would ever obliterate by a quar- 
 ter of a shade the effect of that five minutes' thinking. 
 
 The rest of the party round the table were struck by 
 the incongruity of the two scenes also, as who could help 
 
254 GRET 
 
 being? And Walter Silway either divined as much or 
 was afraid some such reflection might enter their 
 minds. 
 
 "It 's unfortunate and disagreeable, though, having to 
 be away from one's family so much," he said in a com- 
 mendably casual tone. "But Mrs. Silway detests cities, 
 and my business demands that I should be in them so 
 much of my time. So there appears to be no way out of 
 it." 
 
 "Does she, indeed ?" said Mrs. Baring, not quite so suc- 
 cessful in her tone of voice. 
 
 And here the conversation ended, much to Bobbie's re- 
 lief who had been straining every nerve to look inordi- 
 nately grave and to avoid meeting the eyes of any of the 
 rest of the party. 
 
 The next three days were spent by the three women in 
 shopping. Mrs. Baring had playfully demanded carte 
 blanche from Mr. Silway in the way of fitting Gret out 
 for her coming debut into San Francisco society. She ex- 
 plained that nothing very costly or elaborate would be 
 required for so young a woman, but that a deal of femi- 
 nine experience was required in the choice of articles, 
 which Mr. Silway could not be expected to have at his 
 command, but which she would be delighted to bestow on 
 the matter. And having nothing else to do, Mr. Silway 
 acquiesced in all her proposals with the best grace possi- 
 ble. What was the use of pleading limited means, or 
 even hinting at restrictions, in the face of the manner in 
 which he evidently lived himself. 
 
 Mrs. Baring and Maude took a keen, and it must be 
 admitted a somewhat malicious, delight in fitting Gret 
 out with the most stylish and dainty, even if simple, arti- 
 cles to be found in the city and sending the bills in to her 
 father. They visited nothing but the high-class establish- 
 ments, and forgot nothing that Gret would be likely to 
 
GRET GOES TO BE CIVILIZED 255 
 
 want on her visit. Mrs. Baring even took the precaution 
 to add several dress-lengths of material to be made up as 
 occasion required. 
 
 When arrayed in her new garments Gret certainly 
 looked almost handsome and, as Ludlowe had predicted, 
 very distinguished. Though secretly somewhat hampered 
 by the unaccustomed sweep of skirts and restrictions of 
 stylish cut, yet, since her slender figure called for gar- 
 ments of loose and graceful design, she managed to over- 
 come her first feeHngs of discomfort and to preserve to 
 all appearances her usual ease and poise. She would not 
 have allowed herself to do anything short of this. 
 
 All unconsciously she amused her companions greatly 
 by the calm almost stolid way in which she met scenes, ex- 
 periences, and objects which were utterly new, and most 
 of which must surely have been amazing to her. No 
 startled gazing round, no exclamations of surprise or de- 
 light, rewarded those who had suddenly plunged her into 
 the midst of civilization's wonders. Bobbie for one was 
 somewhat disappointed. 
 
 ''Are n't you ever going to be surprised ?" he demanded 
 at dinner the second evening. 
 
 "No ; I came expecting to be surprised," replied Gret 
 paradoxically. "You did n't suppose I thought I 'd find 
 things pretty much the same as on the Wishkah, did 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, no ! Still, I thought you 'd be a little bit surprised 
 at some of the things," responded Bobbie in slightly in- 
 jured tones. "I was surprised at you and the Wishkah 
 when first I came down there." 
 
 "And so Bobbie evidently thinks you owe him a debt 
 on that account which you have failed to pay," interposed 
 Ludlowe, armused. 
 
 Every one laughed. And Massinger looked at Gret in 
 the almost wistful, questioning way so often to be noticed 
 
256 GRET 
 
 of late. "Gret 's thoughts don't appear on her face," he 
 said. 'That 'sail." 
 
 On the evening of the fifth day the party started for 
 San Francisco. The journey, which seemed tedious and 
 uninteresting to her companions, was interesting and en- 
 joyable in every particular to Gret, who could not see 
 what Mrs. Baring could find to grumble at in the accom- 
 modations offered. But Mrs. Baring, who was now just 
 resuming the status and personality for a time perforce 
 laid by, entertained the idea that it did not become ex- 
 perienced travelers to be content, much less pleased, with 
 anything provided for them while traveling. But to Gret 
 every acre of the country was interesting to the last de- 
 gree, as were also the various people who passed in and 
 out on the road. 
 
 Arrived in San Francisco, the party broke up, Arthur 
 going, with the promise of an early call, straight to his 
 home, and Ludlowe, whose chauffeur and automobile were 
 waiting for him, to his apartments in the St. Francis, 
 while the remaining three entered the carriage waiting for 
 them and drove off to Van Ness Avenue. 
 
 Gret was secretly delighted with the beautiful little es- 
 tablishment into which she accompanied her hostess, and 
 secretly also very much surprised. She could not under- 
 stand how a woman of such slight intellectual caliber, 
 and such mercenary, almost sordid, ideas as she instinct- 
 ively knew Mrs. Baring to be possessed of, could put to- 
 gether so artistic and delightful a home. And in this mat- 
 ter, of course, Gret was judging out of her depth. She 
 did not take into account, and would not have been able to 
 judge of the effect, if she had, of the years abroad, in 
 cities that were the very home of art, that had molded 
 Mrs. Baring's tastes, or rather given them to her, for she 
 had none naturally. 
 
 The first week was spent by the ex-mill-house party in 
 
GRET GOES TO BE CIVILIZED 257 
 
 various ways ; by Bobbie in a delighted visiting of clubs and 
 routing out of old friends ; by Arthur in unbroken effort to 
 gather up and establish again the work which he sadly 
 discovered had fallen away to almost nothing ; and by the 
 ladies in getting settled, shopping, and long consultations 
 with modistes, milliners, etc. They took Gret with them 
 everywhere, sometimes to that young lady's edification, 
 and sometimes not. She was having a gown made up 
 herself, which was interesting, of course. Mrs. Baring 
 was having one of the lengths of silk so thoughtfully pro- 
 vided in Portland turned into a confection to be worn at 
 the "at-home" about which Gret constantly heard so 
 much. Otherwise Gret soon tired of standing and sitting 
 about while Mrs. Baring and Maude matched this and 
 prepared that. She decided that, after all, there was more 
 in Eva's objections to having to do what they did when 
 they did than she had at first believed, although, of course, 
 the joys and the revelations of the visit were worth more 
 than a thousand such small objections as this. Still, the 
 objection was sustained, especially in the matter of getting 
 up and lying down. Gret found herself becoming unrea- 
 sonably sleepy hours before the establishment was ready 
 to retire, or in the midst of whatever performance they 
 happened to be attending ; and then again in the morning 
 was awake long before even the servants were about. She 
 tried going to sleep again, but the effect of this on the day 
 following was so wretched that she tried it no more, but 
 rose each morning, dressed, and slipping down to the big 
 drawing-room overlooking Van Ness, sat in the oriel win- 
 dow and watched the people come and go. From this 
 somewhat monotonous method of spending her mornings 
 Ludlowe, who happened to overhear his aunt's chidings, 
 rescued her. 
 
 "You know, Gret, you can't burn the candles at both 
 ends," Mrs. Baring was saying impressively. "You are up at 
 
258 GRET 
 
 nights several hours later, IVe no doubt, than you are accus- 
 tomed to being, so you must sleep later in the morning." 
 
 "But I can't !" protested Gret, opening wide those sin- 
 gular, bronze-colored eyes and staring at her hostess with 
 comical earnestness. "If I do go to sleep again I feel 
 sleepy and horrid all day after." 
 
 "She 's quite right, aunt," interposed Ludlowe, who 
 was drinking tea a la Russe with becoming resignation. 
 "It does serve any one that way who is not accustomed to 
 sleeping late. I We found that out for myself." 
 
 "Well then, what do you do ?" demanded his aunt. "Go 
 to bed late and get up early ? No woman is going to keep 
 young long at that rate !" 
 
 "I get up as soon as I awake. No sooner, no later," re- 
 plied Ludlowe, with a charming smile in the direction of 
 his aunt. "I generally take a spin in the auto before 
 breakfast. So get your hat ready to-morrow morning, 
 Gret. I see we 're partners in misfortune. I '11 take you 
 down to the Cliff to see the seals, and we '11 leave these la- 
 dies to slumber as long as they like." 
 
 And so Gret's mornings, from being rather a trial, be- 
 came her chief delight. The ocean appealed strongly to 
 her, and her eyes widened as she gazed over it and drank 
 in its free, salt breath. The seals, too, were a source 
 of never-ending interest ; and when in the early mornings 
 they shot along the flat expanse of the Ingleside road like 
 a sling out of a bow, Ludlowe, watching for the least 
 signs of nervousness or fear, saw how her nostrils dilated 
 with keen satisfaction. 
 
 "What is the 'at-home' that Mrs. Baring is going to 
 have to-morrow ?" she inquired one morning. "Seems to 
 me a lot of people must be coming to it." 
 
 "There are," replied Ludlowe grimly. "Everybody that 
 rejoices in the acquaintanceship of my esteemed aunt will 
 — or should— be there." 
 
GRET GOES TO BE CIVILIZED 259 
 
 "What for?" demanded Gret curiously. 
 
 "To see what new gowns she has, and how she is look- 
 ing. 
 
 "No— do they?" looking at her companion in surprise. 
 Then, noticing the quizzical curve of his lips, "No — what 
 do they really come for ?" 
 
 "That 's what they really do it for," replied Ludlowe. 
 "What they are supposed to come for is to express their 
 extreme satisfaction at seeing my aunt and Miss Vibart 
 back in their midst once more." 
 
 "Oh, I see," nodded Gret. "I thought it was something 
 like that." 
 
 "Yes. And if you watch Mrs. Baring closely to-mor- 
 row, Gret, you '11 obtain a valuable lesson," went on Lud- 
 lowe. "You '11 see how to be very gracious to the most 
 important caller, a little— just a little— less so to the next 
 in importance, and so on. Of course, it 's all so fine that 
 you '11 have to watch very closely." 
 
 "I don't see any sense in that," said Gret. "If you 're 
 glad to see them, you 're glad to see them, and that 's all 
 there is about it." 
 
 "Not in society." 
 
 "Oh, well, of course, one can't like all alike ; some peo- 
 ple are much nicer than others." 
 
 "Very much ; especially in their bank account," agreed 
 Ludlowe. 
 
 "Is that all? Perhaps you 're mistaken," remarked 
 Gret, making allowances for Ludlowe's unfailingly skepti- 
 cal nature. 
 
 "Well, if I am, after being in the thick of the fight for 
 fifteen years, I deserve a medal!" laughed Ludlowe. 
 
 "Oh, well, I don't care. I believe I shall see people I 
 like and people I don't like," insisted Gret good-hu- 
 moredly. 
 
 "You will. You 're not a hostess and a chaperon and a 
 
26o GRET 
 
 mother of eligibles/' returned Ludlowe, secure in the 
 knowledge that part at all events of his meaning would 
 escape Gret at this stage of her social growth. 
 
 And so, in consideration of the many preparations made 
 for it, and the amount of discussion concerning it, and 
 having in mind, too, Ludlowe's joking remarks as to the 
 procedure observed during it — to say nothing of Bobbie's 
 wholesale ridicule— Gret entered upon the first "at-home" 
 of her experience with profound interest. She took up 
 her station near Mrs. Baring, as carefully instructed by 
 that lady beforehand, with great satisfaction and much in- 
 ward anticipation. She was looking very distinguished in 
 the gown made for her under Mrs. Baring's supervision — 
 a crepe de chine of a peculiar shade of fawn, that toned 
 in a strange, taking way with the girl's greenish hazel 
 eyes and dull-brown hair. But Gret, though duly inter- 
 ested while being arrayed for the affair, had long ago for- 
 gotten how she looked, in the interest of coming events ; 
 for she regarded the whole thing as a sort of entertain- 
 ment, never pausing to realize that she herself was about 
 to make her first bow to what would be a very curious 
 world. And it was this view of the occasion, of course, 
 that helped materially to give her attitude that perfection 
 of ease, and her face and expression the amused and in- 
 terested, but cool and unembarrassed, look which many 
 remarked. But that generally was one of the main secrets 
 of Gret's unfailing self-possession. She was always too 
 greatly interested in all that was going on outside to 
 think much about herself. 
 
 Mrs. Baring, in an exquisite afternoon toilet, accom- 
 panied by Maude in an equally charming gown, received, 
 as Ludlowe had predicted, almost every friend of which 
 she had imagined herself the possessor. Gret was pre- 
 sented to them all, and grew so tired of making the little 
 bow that Mrs. Baring had taught her that presently she 
 
GRET GOES TO BE CIVILIZED 261 
 
 forgot all about it half the time. And once, catching 
 Ludlowe's eye full of malicious amusement, she was 
 struck by a sense of absurdity and broke into a little bub- 
 ble of laughter just as Mrs. Baring turned to present her 
 to the somewhat astonished wife of a naval captain. 
 
 Gret watched for the nice gradations of courtesy in the 
 welcoming of callers mentioned by Ludlowe, but, except 
 that now and again she could distinguish an extra burst 
 of graciousness, she was not experienced enough in social 
 matters to detect fine variations. Once, though, toward 
 the middle of the afternoon, when the rooms were filled 
 with people and Mrs. Baring was floating hither and 
 thither, all smiles and chat, and this person and that was 
 approaching Gret and engaging her in conversation— 
 mostly a deft process of questioning, she noticed— there 
 entered a lady who, to Gret's ignorant eye, was one of the 
 most important yet to arrive. And then Gret noticed, not 
 a gradation, but a distinct change in the character of the 
 greetings on all sides. She could not tell where the 
 change came in, but she knew that something about it 
 made her feel uncomfortable. It did not seem to have this 
 effect on the lady in question, however; she went about 
 with a smiling aplomb that Gret was quick to ad- 
 mire. She felt that in some way this woman was showing 
 grit. With her was a dark-faced girl, who, though she 
 was not at all pretty, was so gentle and amiable-looking as 
 to be almost attractive; nevertheless Gret felt sure she 
 noticed the chilliness of their reception, for a timid, 
 startled look came into her eyes, and Gret's sympathy 
 went out to her at once. She seemed not to know exactly 
 what to do, and Gret did not see how she could help her, 
 for Mrs. Baring had not presented her to these people as 
 she had done to all the others. She was wondering and 
 turning the matter over in her mind when she observed 
 Ludlowe coming toward her through the wide, carved 
 
262 GRET 
 
 arch dividing the two rooms. He evidently had not no- 
 ticed the arrival of the lady and the girl, but just as he 
 got near Gret he caught sight of the girl. A slight ex- 
 clamation seemed to escape his lips, and, veering straight 
 off at a tangent from Gret, he went up to her as she stood 
 hesitatingly near her mother. Gret, watching keenly, 
 saw him greet the lady in a familiar way and then speak 
 to the girl. She saw him lead her away to a group of 
 seats, place her in one and seat himself in another, and his 
 manner and actions were so unusually kindly that Gret was 
 at first inclined to be surprised. Then it seemed to her 
 that she divined his motive, and her heart applauded it. 
 For some reason or other these people were not much 
 liked; but evidently the girl knew and understood noth- 
 ing of it all, and Ludlowe was sorry for her. It was a 
 nice act, and Gret thought the better of Ludlowe for it. 
 
 She stood and watched his face keenly, hoping that, if 
 she could catch his eye, he might invite her over to sit 
 down with him and the girl at the little table. But he 
 never looked once in her direction, and it was borne in 
 upon Gret that, instead of merely not happening to catch 
 her eyes, he carefully avoided doing so. Why ? The idea 
 took sudden hold of her. He had evidently known the 
 girl previously, and he was so nice to her. Unusually in- 
 terested in something that seemed no particular concern 
 of hers, Gret longed to hear Ludlowe talk to this girl, to 
 hear how he talked to her. And presently when Bobbie 
 passed near her and gave an encouraging smile over his 
 shoulder, she made a sudden plan. She beckoned to the 
 amiably beaming youth to come to her, and when he 
 obeyed, expressed herself as weary. 
 
 "Can't I sit down at a table or something, as so many 
 of the others are ?" she queried, her eyes traveling over to 
 Ludlowe's corner, where two more might easily accom- 
 modate themselves. 
 
GRET GOES TO BE CIVILIZED 263 
 
 "Of course," agreed Bobbie, his eyes following hers, 
 though all unaware of being led. "Let 's go over to Er- 
 rol's table— be fun. Don't very often see him taken up 
 with a girl, eh?" And with a gesture to Gret to follow 
 him Bobbie sailed off to Ludlowe's retreat. 
 
 Gret fancied Ludlowe gave him a queer look as they 
 approached, but he accepted the invasion very coolly, 
 making way for Gret to sit by himself. 
 
 "So you think you '11 rest a while from your labors," 
 he said quizzically. "What a chatterbox you are." 
 
 Gret was indignant at the accusation. "I was n't chat- 
 tering," she declared. "It was the other women." 
 
 Ludlowe laughed; so did the girl— a sweet, merry 
 laugh that Gret liked. 
 
 "Yes ; she said she was tired," put in Bobbie, who was 
 sitting on the extreme edge of his chair, giving the im- 
 pression of a bird contemplating flight. "Fancy Gret 
 tired!" 
 
 "It is rather funny," commented Ludlowe. "Gret, let 
 me introduce you to Miss Gabrielle Devreux. Miss Ga- 
 brielle, this is Miss Margaret Silway." 
 
 The girls looked across at one another and smiled in a 
 friendly way, though neither uttered the commonplaces 
 of introduction. Gret had liked the looks of the girl at 
 first glance, and Gabrielle, looking into the keen, bright 
 eyes— over keen, perhaps, for so young a woman— liked 
 her also. 
 
 "Are n't you people going to have tea, and some of 
 those hit-and-miss sandwiches or those cute little cakes ?" 
 inquired Bobbie. 
 
 "Yes; I was just about to go and see what I could 
 gather in," said Ludlowe. "You 're supposed to be doing 
 the honors in that line, are n't you ?" 
 
 "Yes, I 'm supposed to be," confessed Bobbie with a 
 grin. 
 
264 GRET 
 
 "Well, go and bring up an assortment, there *s a good 
 fellow." 
 
 Bobbie good-humoredly sauntered off, and Ludlowe 
 turned back to the two girls. ''You two ought to be 
 good friends at once," he observed. 
 
 "Why ?" demanded Gret in her blunt way. 
 
 "Because you 're entering upon the same experience 
 at one and the same time. You 're both viewing the de- 
 lights of civilization for the first time, both taking your 
 first plunge into society for the first time. You can com- 
 pare notes." 
 
 "Have you just come down from the woods, then?" in- 
 quired Gret, unable to conjure up any other form of so- 
 cial retirement. 
 
 "No; I have always been in a convent," replied Ga- 
 brielle. 
 
 "Always!" exclaimed Gret, to whose ideas— gathered 
 from fiction, of course— a convent was something on the 
 order of a penitentiary. "Goodness !" She looked curi- 
 ously at the girl before her, reflecting that she was of 
 surprisingly contented and amiable countenance for one 
 reared in the stern, cold atmosphere of a convent. 
 
 Gabrielle looked a trifle surprised, too, that her early 
 life should occasion so much amazement. 
 
 "Are n't you glad you 're out?" queried Gret then. 
 
 "Out?" inquired Gabrielle. 
 
 "Yes, of the convent." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" with simple candor, "because I 'm having 
 such a good time. But still the sisters were always kind 
 and good to me, and it was beautiful among the birds and 
 flowers." 
 
 Gret stared at this altogether new setting of the con- 
 vent idea, and Ludlowe, wondering what particular fal- 
 lacy was being upset, smiled. "Well, have you enjoyed 
 your first social function, Gret ?" he inquired. 
 
GRET GOES TO BE CIVILIZED 265 
 
 "Oh,"— Gret glanced round indulgently— "it 's all 
 right. Looks very pretty at first, but after a while it 
 looks all alike." 
 
 "Not in it with coming down the skid-road on a chain 
 of logs, eh?" quizzically. 
 
 "There are a great many things it 's not in it with," 
 emphatically. 
 
 Ludlowe laughed. "And you. Miss Gabrielle? How 
 does this brilliant gathering strike you ?" 
 
 "It 's very nice," replied Gabrielle with cautious grav- 
 ity; "and I suppose it would be very enjoyable if one 
 were friendly with every one." 
 
 "You 're neither of you as enthusiastic as the occasion 
 demands," said Ludlowe. And then to Gret : "I wonder 
 why Arthur has n't turned up. He said he intended to 
 come. He has n't been up for several days, has he ?" • 
 
 Gret shook her head. "No ; but just as soon as he 's 
 got things straightened out in his home he 's going to 
 come and tell us, and then Mrs. Baring wall take me down 
 to see it." 
 
 "Humph!" Ludlowe looked profoundly disgusted. 
 "He 's worrying and fuming over that confounded place 
 like a lunatic. I saw him yesterday and he looked posi- 
 tively wretched — just seems to have undone in one week 
 all the good the past three months had done him. His 
 mission work has all fallen away, and the 'Christian' 
 housekeeper has just been having a high old time doing 
 nothing and doing it in style. And now Arthur has been 
 chasing about to get another 'Christian' to keep house, 
 and is out in the highways and hedges gathering in sin- 
 ners." 
 
 At the close of this sentence, lengthy for usually lazy 
 lips, Gret burst into her little, irrepressible chuckle of glee. 
 She was overcome by the sight of Gabrielle's face, which, 
 as she listened to Ludlowe's discontented statement of 
 
266 GRET 
 
 affairs, was a study in blank amazement. Ludlowe looked 
 up, and catching the expression laughed himself. 
 
 "I never saw you really provoked before," remarked 
 Gret with satisfaction. 
 
 *'Well, he 's simply throwing his life away," said Lud- 
 lowe ; "literally throwing it away for a pack of thankless 
 people!" 
 
 "He that loseth his life shall find it," said Gabrielle 
 softly. And Gret and Ludlowe said no more, because 
 Gabrielle had removed the argument to strange ground. 
 
 "Well," said Ludlowe after a moment, "Bobbie has 
 evidently forgotten that we exist. I must go myself and 
 get us some tea, or whatever it is that aunt is dispensing 
 over there." 
 
 Standing before a silver urn, and assisted by Maude, 
 Mrs. Baring dispensed tea European fashion, the gentle- 
 men present conveying it to the fair companion of the 
 moment. Ludlowe took up two of the delicate cups that 
 Mrs. Baring had imported herself direct from Paris, and 
 looked coolly at his aunt. 
 
 "You want Gret here with you, don't you ?" 
 
 That lady gave him a wrathful glance. "I should think 
 so!" 
 
 Ludlowe looked amused, and strolled back to the two 
 girls. "Gret, aunt wants you to go and help her." 
 
 Gret looked at him sharply and questioningly. She did 
 not want to go, and it needed but a word of encourage- 
 ment from him to make her disregard the summons. But 
 he had not brought her any refreshment, and he looked 
 as if he expected her to go ; and so she rose with a sudden 
 movement, and, with a parting smile to Gabrielle, walked 
 off to Mrs. Baring's side. And Ludlowe saw her no more 
 that day, for she"carefully avoided him. 
 
 After the unpopular and, it must be confessed, more or 
 less notorious, Madame Devreux had borne Gabrielle off, 
 
GRET GOES TO BE CIVILIZED 267 
 
 with many a swish and smile, Ludlowe still sat on, idly- 
 watching the throngs of people. And to him presently 
 came Bobbie, pleasantly ignoring all previous lapses of 
 duty. 
 
 "The mater says she 's awfully tired, Errol, and we '11 
 dine strictly en neglige to-night; and she wants you to 
 stay." 
 
 "Can't, Bobbie ; wish I could," replied his cousin, smil- 
 ing. "That confounded Santa Clara delegation, or com- 
 mittee, or whatever it calls itself, intends to 'wait on me' 
 this evening." 
 
 "What for ?" inquired Bobbie. 
 
 "Oh, going to build a trolley-line out somewhere or 
 other, and wants a piece of land for a park to wind up 
 in." 
 
 "Well, so long as you give them a piece right away 
 from your own place," said Bobbie. 
 
 "Yes. Oh, I shall turn the whole business over to Cal- 
 forth with just that provision. What 's the good of a fel- 
 low having half a dozen stewards if he has to be pestered 
 afterward ?" 
 
 "Of course," sympathized Bobbie. "Tell them to go to 
 blazes !" 
 
 "I shall, as represented by Cal forth," agreed Ludlowe. 
 "So give my adieux to aunt, Bobbie. Tell her I will drop 
 in to dinner to-morrow, if I may. I 'm going to escape 
 now before any further entanglement arises." 
 
 "By-by !" said Bobbie, strolling off, and forgetting the 
 message before he was half-way across the room. 
 
 As the little family dined quietly together that night 
 Mrs. Baring took the unsuspecting Gret to task for her 
 share in the afternoon's annoyance. 
 
 "I 'm going to scold you, Gret," she announced, gazing 
 at that young lady's undisturbed countenance. 
 
 "Are you ?" said Gret, looking faintly surprised. 
 
268 GRET 
 
 "Yes. You were assisting me in the reception of 
 guests, and should not, therefore, have seated yourself 
 in one spot for so long a time. But," indulgently, "you 
 could not be expected to know all these points as yet. 
 Errol should have known better than to have allowed you 
 to stay there. But what I want to take particular excep- 
 tion to is your forming an acquaintanceship with that 
 girl, Gabrielle Devreux !" 
 
 "Why, what 's the matter with her?" inquired Gret, 
 her surprise increasing. 
 
 "I don't know that anything is the matter, as you call 
 it, with her herself— as yet," replied Mrs. Baring calmly. 
 "But her mother is quite impossible." 
 
 Gret only stared at this, to her, totally inexplicable ob- 
 jection. Bobbie burst out laughing, and Maude smiled. 
 
 "Lord, mother, what on earth is the use of talking to 
 Gret like that?" demanded Bobbie. "J^st look at her 
 face." 
 
 "Gret will learn," said Mrs. Baring severely. "It will 
 be necessary for her to know how to make these discrim- 
 inations if she is ever to take a place in society. I mean," 
 she went on, addressing herself to Gret, "that this Mad- 
 ame Devreux, as she calls herself, is impossible as an 
 acquaintance. When a person acts in such a way as to 
 offend against all the laws of decent and good society, 
 that person has to be dropped." 
 
 "Well, Major Ludlowe seems to like them," said Gret 
 sturdily. 
 
 "That is nothing. He is a man. Society is not guided 
 at all by what a man does," responded Mrs. Baring. 
 "There is nothing a man— a single man at all events— 
 cannot do except get into jail or become poor." 
 
 She did not intend to be epigrammatic, but merely 
 voiced her serious opinion; and Maude, whose usually 
 composed face was somewhat harsh and discontented 
 
GRET GOES TO BE CIVILIZED 269 
 
 to-night, expressed her entire sympathy with the senti- 
 ment. 
 
 "Yes, indeed. It sounds extreme, but Hterally it 's the 
 truth as society stands to-day. I think it 's perfectly 
 hateful to be a woman." And a little sigh that sounded 
 like pure weariness of heart escaped her. 
 
 Mrs. Baring glanced covertly at her, in no wise at a 
 loss to understand this sudden vexation of spirit. Indeed, 
 Maude's chagrin formed a part of Mrs. Baring's own 
 displeasure. Had she not watched all that afternoon how 
 Maude's eyes had turned again and again to where Errol 
 sat entertaining that dark-faced girl with the look of 
 perfectly foolish innocence and amiability ! And though, 
 of course, Maude was ignoring a real danger for an 
 imaginary one, yet there was no need for her to be dis- 
 turbed and upset this early in the day. Mrs. Baring 
 could not feel that there was any danger in the Devreux 
 quarter to a man of Errol's cool discretion ; for beneath 
 that indolent disregard for people's opinion there was 
 great and unbending pride of family and caste. 
 
 "I wonder how she ever began to come here if you 
 don't want her," the thoughtful tones of Gret broke in 
 upon her reflections. 
 
 "Oh, I knew her when she was a girl. She is of very 
 good family, indeed," explained Mrs. Baring readily. 
 "At one time she was everything that is desirable. But 
 she branched off into a very headstrong career ; and now, 
 in spite of every possible intimation that she is not wel- 
 come, she still persists in coming." 
 
 "I suppose that is how Major Ludlowe comes to know 
 her, too," surmised Gret. 
 
 "Of course. They were children together," said Mrs. 
 Baring. "Errol's mother used to pass a portion of each 
 year on the Santa Clara estate, and the estate of Helen's 
 father, old Mr. Vandyke, adjoins." 
 
270 GRET 
 
 "And he never gave her up when she got— got impos- 
 sible," said Gret. 
 
 "No, you bet your boots he did n't," broke in Bobbie. 
 "Errol's not that kind of a fellow." 
 
 "Bobbie, I simply will not tolerate such slang," ex- 
 postulated Mrs. Baring. "It 's dreadful. Please remem- 
 ber you have not an audience of loggers now." 
 
 Bobbie subsided into crushed silence, and quiet reigned 
 round the table for a few moments. Each was busy with 
 his or her own thoughts ; and Gret's, to judge by the 
 tuck of her lips, were very decided ones. She tried to 
 sum up the Devreux case and judge accordingly; but, of 
 course, she was ignorant of some of the main essentials 
 of the case, and her judgments were necessarily one- 
 sided. But one thing she had seen clearly : Ludlowe had 
 sent her away from the little table so that he could have 
 the "impossible girl" all to himself. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 NOT COUNTING THE COST 
 
 THE next morning, as they took their usual drive, 
 Gret detailed to Ludlowe as nearly as possible the 
 chiding she had received the evening before anent the 
 Devreux. And after giving Mrs. Baring's version of the 
 case, she demanded her companion's. "How does it all 
 seem to you?" 
 
 And Ludlowe gave, as near as was possible, an account 
 of Madame Devreux's misdemeanors, necessarily omit- 
 ting, of course, what were really the most serious, and 
 concluding with a brief resume of the social problem as 
 it stood. 
 
 "Of course, aunt 's quite right in one way: if your 
 house is to be the thing, you must bar out people like the 
 Devreux. Either that or you must content yourself with 
 that class altogether. The two elements won't mix — 
 can't really. When you 're more acquainted with society 
 and its ways you '11 find it a mass of contradictions and 
 inconsistencies. The main distinction really is between 
 those that are found out and those that are not. But the 
 distinction remains, nevertheless, and is in full force. 
 However," he added smiling, "you need not bother your 
 head about these matters. You could not hope to grasp 
 these nice discriminations all at once. It will come 
 gradually." 
 
 "Still Gabrielle has n't done anything," observed Gret. 
 "It 's not her fault what her mother did." 
 
 "No; but have n't you ever heard of the sins of the 
 
 271 
 
272 GRET 
 
 parents being visited on the heads of the children? Be- 
 sides," he added, with a sudden return to his old quizzical 
 self, "in that atmosphere she '11 soon learn. Evil comes 
 naturally to a woman." 
 
 "Why not — with such good teachers round about them 
 all the time ?" retorted Gret instantly, not waiting to com- 
 prehend the full sense and meaning of his words. And 
 Ludlowe laughed as he speeded the machine on the long 
 run for the beach. 
 
 "Let 's go down and see the seals," proposed Gret, as 
 they ran down the hill to the shore. And so they drove 
 up to the Cliff House, and went through to the veranda 
 over the water. And here Gret leaned her elbow on the 
 sills and gazed down into the lucid, green depths of 
 water beneath them in pure contentment of soul. She 
 watched the tawny, sinuous seals, and saw the ships cross 
 in and out the bay, and sighed for very delight. "It 's 
 all so pretty !" 
 
 Ludlowe sat with his face resting on his hands, his 
 eyes, with their look of tired knowledge, resting on the 
 faint rose rim of the horizon. "Yes. When I was a boy, 
 and lay on the shores at Santa Clara, and watched, from 
 among the flowers and grasses, the brown and white sails 
 grow and wane over the rim of the sea, I used to wish I 
 could sail out into the lovely rose morning and drop the 
 sail and stay there in the calm, half awake half asleep, 
 and not have the rose mists go or the sun go down or the 
 night come." He smiled, but the shadows deepened in his 
 eyes. "But the rose lights go, and the night comes— 
 over one's soul." 
 
 Gret turned her eyes from the rocks and the water. 
 She looked keenly into her companion's face, and then 
 turned her head away again and wrapped strong, brown 
 fingers round her own face. 
 
 "You 're like my sister, Eva. At home, in the morn- 
 
NOT COUNTING THE COST 273 
 
 ing, before a hot day, long lines of red mist lie among 
 the far-off pines; and Eva has always been wanting to 
 get into the mists and lie among them and see nothing 
 but rose light. I told her that as soon as she got there the 
 mists would still be farther off. But she would n't be- 
 lieve it ; said she did n't want to believe it." 
 
 "No. You like to think you can creep off into the 
 beauty of things and be rested." Ludlowe gazed 
 amusedly at the girl's grave face. "But you 're a little 
 materialist. Do you ever get tired, Gret ?" 
 
 "No," replied Gret truthfully. "Only my body some- 
 times, and then I lie down and sleep." 
 
 "You will, some day," said Ludlowe smiling. "We all 
 get tired sooner or later, even if all goes well. There 
 comes a time when you turn away from everything, like 
 a child that drops its toys. When the heart is tired, 
 everything is over." 
 
 "Do you think that kind of tiredness comes to work- 
 ers?" inquired Gret thoughtfully. 
 
 "No, I don't. I think it comes after a life has been 
 devoted solely to the pursuit of pleasure," said Ludlowe 
 coolly. "But so often we have to learn too late." 
 
 "Is it ever too late?" asked Gret. 
 
 "Yes, for some things," quietly. 
 
 Silence reigned for a few moments; and then, Lud- 
 lowe, catching the eye of a waiter watching from a re- 
 spectful distance, ordered coffee. 
 
 That evening Ludlowe dined with the Baring family, 
 discreetly arriving too late for the tete-a-tete which he 
 knew his aunt intended to have with him to take place 
 before dinner, probably reasoning that a good dinner 
 would fortify him against the ordeal. At the table the 
 family discussed the visit which Mrs. Baring and Maude 
 and Gret had made that afternoon to Arthur's place. 
 
 13 
 
274 GRET 
 
 "The poor boy is so invariably unfortunate in his 
 choice of housekeepers," said Mrs. Baring. "For such a 
 trying position one needs a woman full of tact and — oh, 
 I suppose vou would say amiability, or something of that 
 kind." 
 
 "Decidedly!" agreed Ludlowe. "Instead of that vine- 
 gary old tab he has. What did you think of her, Gret?" 
 noticing that that young lady preserved discreet silence. 
 
 "Oh, I did n't like her at all!" immediately; "looks as 
 if she had been killing flies all her life." 
 
 Mrs. Baring stared, and Bobbie gurgled, that being all 
 he could do with a mouthful of soup. Ludlowe and 
 Maude burst out laughing. 
 
 "That does n't sound at all nice, Gret," expostulated 
 Mrs. Baring. "Though she really does look something 
 like that !" she added. 
 
 Gret accepted the reproof with calmness, and Bobbie, 
 who had found his tongue, concluded the discussion : 
 
 "Trust Gret to hit the nail on the head every time !" 
 
 Mrs. Baring looked severely across at her irrepressibly 
 slangy offspring, and Ludlowe hastened to the rescue. 
 
 "Found any one to go up and join Bertie yet, Bobbie?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. I was going to tell you," brightl>' ; "Ostan- 
 der and Hewlett are going— next week. They '11 be just 
 the fellows, won't they?" 
 
 "Yes," assented Ludlowe idly. "Yes, I imagine they '11 
 be able to get as much fun out of the expedition as any 
 one." 
 
 "I 'm awfully glad it 's all arranged," said Bobbie, 
 contentedly. "Now I can go ahead and have a good 
 time." 
 
 "I thought you had been going ahead in that line at a 
 pretty good gait," observed his cousin. And Bobbie 
 laughed. 
 
 In about three weeks' time Gret wrote a letter to Eva. 
 
NOT COUNTING THE COST 275 
 
 To her mother she had written upon her arrival in San 
 Francisco, which she felt ended her responsibilities in 
 that quarter. -The girls had agreed to write, but had also 
 agreed that, as the pen was a strange and unwieldy in- 
 strument in their hands, it would be a mere formality. 
 The real comparing of notes would come when they met 
 again. For knowledge of anything and everything of 
 importance that transpired during her absence Gret de- 
 pended on Jake, who had volunteered his services as 
 scribe, declaring himself as really more at home in that 
 capacity than in his chosen profession; and, indeed, the 
 handwriting, with highly curled and ornate capitals, 
 which appeared on the envelopes handed to Gret was not 
 at all bad ; and the style of the epistles, which were very 
 voluminous, was flowing and easy, so much so that some- 
 times one meaning slid into another. Gret read these 
 epistles out loud for the benefit of the one-time dwellers 
 on the Wishkah, suppressing with unbroken voice and 
 admirable solemnity such portions as she deemed it un- 
 fair or unwise to read. 
 
 Mrs. Silway, when teaching the girls to write, had told 
 them that a long or complex sentence was never advisa- 
 ble, and that the height of literary excellence lay in short 
 and concise ones. That Gret had not failed to absorb her 
 teachings was evident in her letter, written in a large, 
 bold hand. 
 
 "My dear Eva : 
 
 "I have been in San Francisco three weeks now. It is 
 a beautiful city in parts. Most of the people that I meet 
 seem to live in a silly way. They dress up all the time, 
 and go to teas of different colors. I have been to a pink 
 tea and a green tea and a chrysanthemum tea and a heart 
 tea. And one person does not know some one else be- 
 cause they are higher up or lower down. But I like 
 
2/6 GRET 
 
 going for drives in the automobile. And I like going to 
 the theater pretty well. I have some awfully pretty 
 dresses. You will see them all when I come. How many 
 books have you read? Remember them all till I come. 
 How is Jack? Please give my love to mother. And I 
 send my love to you, Evie. 
 
 "Your loving sister, 
 
 "Margaret Silway." 
 
 This took Gret about half an hour to write, and then 
 she read it over with critical eyes. Then she laughed, 
 a little, bubbling, chuckling laugh. It sounded to her 
 rather like a section of the primer out of which she could 
 remember laboriously spelling her first reading lessons. 
 "I see a cat. It has two kittens." 
 
 Gret received several letters from Jake altogether ; but 
 toward the end of November she received one that puz- 
 zled her a Httle. It was quite a newsy letter, and so suf- 
 ficient excuse for itself in every way; but at the end of 
 the epistle was a postscript over which Gret puzzled 
 considerably : 
 
 "P.S. I guess you ^11 perhaps be having a bit of a sur- 
 prise one of these days. Don't say I don't know nothing 
 about it." 
 
 Gret discussed this postscript over the luncheon-table, 
 and the assembled family speculated upon it. 
 
 "Perhaps your people are going to move to Portland to 
 live," suggested Mrs. Baring. 
 
 "Don't think so," laughed Gret. "Father would n't 
 keep them all at the Portland Hotel." 
 
 "No," agreed Maude. "They 'd see too much of the 
 inner workings of the lumber business." 
 
 "Perhaps the old man 's going to sell out," hazarded 
 Bobbie. 
 
NOT COUNTING THE COST ciyy 
 
 "What would he do that for?" inquired Gret. "He 'd 
 only have to buy another camp again." 
 
 "I 'm sure I can't think what it could be, then," de- 
 clared Mrs. Baring. 
 
 "Rather odd to warn you of a surprise," observed 
 Maude. 
 
 "Oh, I know what he 's done that for," said Gret with 
 a chuckle. "He knows that after it comes— whatever it 
 is— it would be no good telling me he knew all about it 
 all the time." 
 
 "Yes ; you have to take due precautions in dealing with 
 Gret," remarked Bobbie. "She 's such an awful little 
 skeptic." 
 
 "Oh, well, I expect it 's some unimportant matter 
 really," said Mrs. Baring after a moment. "Small hap- 
 penings are magnified in small communities. Some one 
 or other married, perhaps that servant of yours." 
 
 "Well, but that would n't be a surprise on me in par- 
 ticular," argued Gret. 
 
 "No, that surprise would be principally on Lizzie," 
 said Bobbie with a short laugh. 
 
 "Oh, no, indeed," contradicted Gret, in amusement. 
 "Not if I know Lizzie. It would be on the other fellow 
 —a surprise that would n't wear out in a hurry, either." 
 
 They laughed, and the subject was dropped. Gret 
 thought of it once or twice afterward, and then dismissed 
 the matter with a frown. Time enough to be surprised 
 when surprise came; just now she had other things to 
 think of. 
 
 Mrs. Baring was going to give a dance for Gret. The 
 "lumber magnate's daughter from up Bobbie's way" had 
 become quite popular in a sort of impersonal way. Young 
 army and navy men, whose pay was generally inadequate 
 to their mode of life, decided that her father's supposed 
 
278 GRET 
 
 thousands would help out very pleasantly, and made much 
 of her; and ladies with eligible sons, quite convinced in 
 their own minds that Mrs. Baring had selected Gret for 
 Bobbie, longed to cut her out. And then the girl herself 
 "took," as Bobbie remarked, for the very simple reason 
 that she did not care an atom whether she did or not. She 
 was not inclined to flirt, which greatly commended her to 
 the female portion of her set; and, in addition to the halo 
 of her father's money, she was a kind of attractive puzzle 
 to the young male portion thereof. She had a way of 
 looking at them with a sort of amusement, as if she were 
 wondering whether they really existed or whether they 
 were worth the ground they occupied, which kept them 
 in a certain spicy uncertainty as to her secret opinion of 
 them. And this uncertainty, it may be remarked, was the 
 kindest thing about the opinion. For down in her heart 
 Gret was full of a mild contempt for the society youth she 
 met. All her life she had been surrounded by men — 
 rough, and even sometimes uncouth, ,it is true, but still 
 men, working for the subsistence they took from the 
 earth, virile, earnest, and undaunted by difficulty. And 
 though Gret had no particular standard by which to 
 judge men— indeed, she did not know that she judged 
 them at all— yet something, some strong instinct within 
 her, which never failed to assert itself, made these men 
 she was now meeting for the first time for the most part 
 physically and mentally distasteful. Highly educated, 
 many of them educated abroad, handsome in many in- 
 stances, and perfectly at home at any kind of a function, 
 yet Gret could not take them seriously. Jo her they were 
 a set of polished mountebanks, spending their time in 
 preparing themselves for teas, receptions, and dances; 
 and she could not imagine how other girls managed to 
 feel flattered by their attentions and soft speeches, and 
 even, it seemed, to fall in love with them. Gret's leaning. 
 
NOT COUNTING THE COST 279 
 
 or rather her interest, was toward men much older than 
 herself. Now and again she met men distinguished in 
 this line or that, who claimed her immediate attention; 
 but this was not often, for the reason that men with a 
 purpose in life rarely trouble society much. She noted 
 with a sort of satisfied pride that Ludlowe was not to be 
 seen at the round of smart functions to which Mrs. Bar- 
 ing so industriously led her ; occasionally he would attend 
 an affair, generally at his aunt's urgent request; but he 
 was always most distinctly a man apart from the throng. 
 
 After Mrs. Baring had decided on giving a dance for 
 Gret, she instructed Gret to write to her father for money 
 for a gown suitable for the occasion. Gret did so, 
 though frankly informing her hostess of her doubts as to 
 the outcome of the appeal. 
 
 'Well, of course, if he won't send us the money we 
 must do the best we can without it," observed that lady 
 philosophically. "I 'm so glad I was thoughtful enough 
 to put in that length of cream silk organdy while we were 
 in Portland. If your father sends us money we '11 have it 
 trimmed— let me see— what would you have it trimmed 
 with ?" turning reflectively to Maude. 
 
 "I would n't trim it all," replied that lady decidedly. 
 "I hate to see a debutante loaded down with gimps and 
 laces. It 's a rich length, and if it 's well made — " 
 
 "Yes," assented Mrs. Baring, interrupting. "You 're 
 right. We '11 put the money into the make. We '11 take 
 her to Madame Bertinelle." 
 
 "Better wait till you hear from father," observed 
 Gret. 
 
 "I suppose so," resignedly. "How much money have 
 you left, Gret?" 
 
 "I 've got seven dollars left out of the fifty father gave 
 me when I came away," replied Gret ; "and I 've got one 
 hundred dollars in my trunk." 
 
28o GRET 
 
 "You have!" gasped her astonished hostess. "Where 
 did you get that, pray ?" 
 
 "Out of the bank before I left QuelUsh. Thought I 
 might need it. Never can tell. Still," with a business- 
 like air, "I don't want to spend it if I can help it. I don't 
 suppose I '11 ever get any more— of my own— and— oh, 
 can't tell what may turn up. Some day I may need money 
 awfully." 
 
 "Quite right," commented Mrs. Baring. "You 're the 
 longest-headed girl for your age that I ever met. Upon 
 my word, you are. Is n't she, Maude ?" 
 
 Maude glanced with a sort of friendly smile at the 
 girl. "It 's well for her that she is," she remarked by 
 way of reply. 
 
 In a few days came Mr. Silway's reply to Gret's letter. 
 He enclosed two ten-dollar bills, with the remark that that 
 was all he could spare just then. He informed his daugh- 
 ter that his health had been far from good during the last 
 two months, and that he was in the hands of a physician 
 and about to go home for rest and recuperation. Gret, 
 who knew her father so well, read smothered rage in 
 every line of the curt, yet garrulous communication. 
 
 "If only he had me there !" she said with a laugh. "I 'm 
 awfully sorry for the folks at home when he goes up for 
 a rest. He '11 be the only one in the house that does rest ; 
 that 's one thing. Well, I 've got twenty dollars, anyway." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Baring thoughtfully, "we must man- 
 age somehow. I don't suppose madame will charge more 
 than twenty-five or thirty dollars for making a plain, un- 
 trimmed gown. The question is, would you have it made 
 high or low ?" wondered Mrs. Baring. 
 
 "I always think a high neck is best taste for a debu- 
 tante," answered Maude. "Don't you ? Besides, I imag- 
 ine Gret's neck is still brown above her collar— browner 
 than the underneath. I believe it would show." 
 
NOT COUNTING THE COST 281 
 
 "It does !" corroborated Gret. 'Tlain as a timber-line." 
 
 "Yes. Well, I 'd have it shirred right up to the neck, 
 part way down the sleeves and a puff to the elbow," ad- 
 vised Maude. 
 
 "Yes, I believe that would be about as taking as any- 
 thing," agreed Mrs. Baring. "We '11 take her to madame 
 this very afternoon." Then with a speculative eye on 
 Gret : "I think cream ought to look pretty well on Gret." 
 
 "No doubt it will," agreed Maude with her lack of en- 
 thusiasm. Maude was not looking altogether her serene 
 self. Round about her mouth were nervous lines that told 
 of a soul in suspense and unrest. Many a time lately 
 had Maude taken herself to task for the aimless game of 
 waiting she was playing ; and yet she could not tear her- 
 self away. The episode of the Devreux girl on the after- 
 noon of the first 'at-home' had shown her how frail, 
 after all, was the foundation on which she built her 
 hopes. Some day, any day, might sweep them out of 
 sight. 
 
 "I suppose, Gret," said the voice of Bobbie, breaking 
 in on her reflections, as that gentleman looked up from 
 the remains of a cold duck, "you '11 be all puffed up on 
 the night of the jamboree high-monkey-monk in a new 
 frock made by a Madame Parlez-vous, shirred up to the 
 neck and all down the front—" 
 
 "Bobbie, don't tease," remonstrated his mother. 
 
 Gret nodded contentedly. "Of course." 
 
 "Well, you 're welcome!" said Bobbie with a chuckle. 
 "You '11 have to dance with every guy that 's there !" 
 
 "I don't think so," responded Gret undisturbed. "For 
 one thing, I can't dance." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, as if a bomb had sud- 
 denly fallen on the table. Then Mrs. Baring threw up 
 her hands. 
 
 "Goodness gracious ! The idea of giving a dance for a 
 
282 GRET 
 
 girl who does n't dance ! Why ever did n't you speak be- 
 fore ?" 
 
 "Why, I never thought of it!" answered Gret truth- 
 fully, a trifle surprised herself at the new aspect of affairs. 
 
 Bobbie went off into fits of laughter, and even Maude 
 laughed heartily. 
 
 "You must go to a dancing-master at once," went on 
 Mrs. Baring still horrified. "I Ve bespoken the parlors. 
 Besides, I Ve mentioned my plans to several. We can't 
 draw back now." 
 
 "Oh, Bobbie and I can teach her," said Maude, still 
 smiling. "Can't we, Bobbie ?" 
 
 "Oh, I suppose so," agreed Bobbie, grimly. "I 've 
 nothing specially tender in the way of corns. Just as 
 long as she does n't want to dance with me on the night." 
 
 "But I shall," said Gret calmly. "Because you '11 know 
 how I dance. If I dance one or two dances with you I 
 shall begin to feel my feet." 
 
 "Yes, and so shall I !" said Bobbie ruefully. "Don't 
 see why / should be crippled up at the start." 
 
 "You '11 get over it," observed Gret, philosophically. 
 
 For the next week it seemed to Gret that her time was 
 about equally divided between the modiste and the parlor- 
 carpet, upon which she mastered some of the intricacies 
 of modern dancing. She soon learned the different steps, 
 but as Bobbie ungraciously, but truthfully, remarked, she 
 would never make a good dancer. She was lithe and 
 sinuous and springy, but not yielding ; and as for gliding, 
 there was not a ghde in her body. 
 
 As she had said to Eva, there were some things in her 
 new life that Gret liked; but, take it all in all, she was 
 heartily tired of it after the first month. And if just to 
 pay the visit and be entertained had been all the motive 
 for her coming to San Francisco, Gret would assuredly 
 have been back home before this. But it was not all, nor 
 
NOT COUNTING THE COST 283 
 
 the beginning, nor anything at all of her motive. For one 
 thing, she had calmly decided with herself that it was ad- 
 visable, if not exactly necessary, to become civilized, or, 
 at all events, to learn what civilization was ; and for an- 
 other, she was following her lifelong rule of taking the 
 good whenever she could and meeting the evil when she 
 must. She had followed a star. One night it would set 
 suddenly from out of her horizon; but at least she had 
 followed it as long as she could. 
 
 One afternoon she sat thinking of these things when 
 Ludlowe entered the room ; he always came and went un- 
 announced in the Baring household. Gret was alone and 
 sitting very still, her fingers clasped loosely over a letter. 
 It was this letter that had made her think. 
 
 Ludlowe seated himself in a long, low chair, and threw 
 back his head with an air of weariness that did not 
 escape Gret. He looked the girl over from between half- 
 closed lids. 
 
 "You are in such repose, Gret, that it is quite restful to 
 look at you. What have you there— a letter from home ?" 
 
 "Yes." Gret rustled the letter ever so little. "It is 
 from mother. She thinks I should come home now. I 
 have been here over a month, and she does n't want me to 
 outstay my welcome." 
 
 Ludlowe smiled. "Have you enjoyed yourself so far, 
 Gret?" 
 
 "Yes and no," replied Gret, smiling, too. 
 
 "Explain," commanded Ludlowe, amused. 
 
 "Why, there were some things I knew I should n't 
 like," said Gret thoughtfully. "And then, again, there 
 were some things I knew I should like, and I have." 
 
 "I observe an excellent diplomat in embryo !" said Lud- 
 lowe. "You have apparently explained, but I am as 
 wise as I was before." 
 
 Gret laughed, but offered no further explanations, and 
 
284 GRET 
 
 Ludlowe pursued the subject. "May I inquire what you 
 have not liked?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't care much for the parties and receptions, 
 and all that sort of thing." Gret looked a trifle apolo- 
 getic. "It seems to me it makes people very busy doing 
 nothing." 
 
 "It does," agreed Ludlowe. "And so you don't think 
 you 'd like to live this life altogether?" 
 
 "No." Gret shook her head. "I can't see how it is 
 necessary for people— even those that belong to this kind 
 of life— to live it just the way they do." 
 
 "There is no necessity; it 's choice. They don't know 
 of anything better," explained Ludlowe 
 
 ''You don't seem to have to be on the go all the time !" 
 
 Ludlowe smiled. "Every one thinks it simply shocking 
 the way I neglect social duties. But how do you come to 
 be alone, Gret?" 
 
 "Mrs. Baring and Miss Vibart had to go to the mo- 
 diste's," explained Gret, pronouncing the French word 
 with grave ease ; "and then they had a few calls to make. 
 But I expect they '11 be home soon. It 's getting late, 
 is n't it?" glancing at a clock. "Did you want to see 
 Mrs. Baring very particularly ?" 
 
 "Oh, no," calmly. "I think I 'm rather glad to have 
 missed her." 
 
 "Tired ?" inquired Gret, with a glance of keen scrutiny. 
 
 "I have an intolerable headache," replied Ludlowe, 
 smiling. "Stupid thing for a man to have, is n't it?" 
 
 Gret smiled, but said nothing; and so they sat in 
 silence, while the short, swift twilight fell. It was equally 
 characteristic of both that if nothing specially occurred to 
 them to say they recognized no necessity for speech. 
 
 Presently, however, Ludlowe rose. "I think I shall 
 go, Gret. Aunt will be appearing on the scene soon, 
 now, and I am less in the mood for talk than ever." He 
 
NOT COUNTING THE COST 285 
 
 held out his hand, and in response to this Gret got up 
 and approached him, hardly knowing why. She glanced 
 up in his face, feeling more than seeing the gaze of the 
 >quiet, tired, but searching eyes. 
 
 ''Does your head still ache?" He nodded. "I 'm 
 sorry. Will you be able to do anything for it ?" 
 
 "I don't know." He looked down on the girl with 
 sudden mischief. "But you could do something for it." 
 
 "I?" She scanned his face questioningly. "What 
 could I do?" 
 
 He took the hands clasped loosely before her. "You 
 can kiss me good-night." 
 
 Gret glanced down at her imprisoned hands, and then 
 looked up again in that wide, unshrinking way she had 
 when startled or particularly interested— just as he knew 
 she would. For a moment or so she met calmly enough 
 the sleepy, yet potent gaze of the man, and then, perhaps 
 for the first time in her life, her eyes fell, forced down by 
 something in his. The warm blood flew into her face, and 
 something leaped up from her heart and seethed in her 
 brain— something bewildering, and yet not altogether 
 strange. For no simplicity, however absolute, no igno- 
 rance of the ways of men however utter, can veil away for 
 one moment the primal instincts of a woman who stands 
 before her master, too terribly primitive and fundamental 
 for culture ever to eliminate, too sweet and natural for 
 custom ever to stale. 
 
 Ludlowe stood looking down on the girl for a moment, 
 content to wait on her hesitation. Then, still with the in- 
 dulgent smile on his Hps, he bent and kissed her, whis- 
 pering good-night with his cheek against hers. And then 
 he left her — a woman standing at the gates of dawn. 
 
 All that evening Gret was very quiet, though none re- 
 marked that particularly, for she was often so. But if 
 those around her had not been so intent on other matters 
 
286 GRET 
 
 they might have remarked the faint, sweet smile that 
 played about her lips and the dreaming light in the usu- 
 ally wide, alert eyes. Like most quiet people, Gret was 
 very intense. Her joys and her sorrows did not effer- 
 vesce into words and flow over into the ear of some con- 
 fidant. In silence within her they grew and waxed 
 strong. A kiss set on her lips had waked undreamed-of 
 passions, and all that night she lay and gazed at the dark 
 blue of the sky through the open window of her bedroom. 
 
 But the next morning as, taking Ludlowe's hand, she 
 climbed into the auto for their morning drive, she veiled 
 beneath a greater deliberation of manner than usual the 
 faint trepidation of spirit that would make itself felt. 
 
 Without consulting his companion as to the direction 
 of their drive for that morning, Ludlowe turned the ma- 
 chine up the avenue for Golden Gate Park. "We '11 drive 
 to the Cliff and take our coffee with the seals," he re- 
 marked. "I want to talk to you, Gret." 
 
 Gret glanced instantly and covertly at her companion, 
 and Ludlowe caught the look. He laughed. "Why do 
 you look at me like that?" 
 
 "I was looking to see if you were cross, and were per- 
 haps going to give mc a scolding," confessed Gret, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 "And you were going to take it with becoming meek- 
 ness, of course ?" quizzed Ludlowe. "No, I am not going 
 to scold. Going to have a little business chat with you." 
 
 This puzzled Gret more than ever; but she asked no 
 questions, and they drove down to the beach with little 
 more than a few cursory remarks on either side. At the 
 Cliff House Gret walked out upon the veranda and sat 
 down near the parapet. Ludlov/e drew a seat near her, 
 and they prepared to be comfortable for a half -hour or so. 
 Ludlowe inquired if she would care for coffee just then, 
 but Gret thought not. "Well, then, we 11 talk matters 
 
NOT COUNTING THE COST 287 
 
 over." He leaned his head back in the chair, and looked 
 with quiet, amused eyes into the puzzled, expectant face 
 of the girl opposite him. "About your mother's letter, 
 Gret— have you answered it yet ?" 
 
 "No." Gret shook her head. "I was going to speak to 
 Mrs. Baring about it to-day." 
 
 "Yes? Well, I did n't want you to answer it until I 
 had spoken to you, and that is why I choose such an odd 
 time and place for what I am about to say." He glanced 
 about. They were quite alone on th.e wide, overhanging 
 verandah. Then his eyes wandered out to sea, and then 
 back to the intent face of the girl. "I meant to wait a 
 little longer before speaking. Though I don't think it 
 matters very much. I believe you can form an opinion 
 now as completely and safely as you could a month hence. 
 You have seen my life, Gret ; or at least something of it. 
 Do you think you would care to share it?" 
 
 Gret started violently, and gazed at the man before her 
 with wide, questioning eyes. "You mean — " 
 
 "Yes ; I mean marry me, of course." And then, taking 
 no apparent notice of her amazement, "Of course, it 
 could not be as free a life as you have led ; but it will still 
 be more free than the lives of most of the women you 
 can observe around you. We will not trouble society 
 much, nor let it trouble us. And to begin with, to break 
 the change, I would send for the yacht and take you on a 
 long trip. What do you think of the idea, Gret? We 
 don't either of us run to sentiment much ; but our tastes 
 seem to be similar in the main, and I believe we should 
 be very companionable. Don't you think so? What do 
 you say?" 
 
 What did she say! It seemed to Gret that the blood 
 released from her heart rushed in one great wave to her 
 face, even blinding her eyes for the moment. She could 
 hardly believe that in this quiet way he was asking her to 
 
288 GRET 
 
 be his wife ! She had never imagined such a possibility. 
 Why, she had been afraid, she had thought — 
 
 But her whole being turned to him without a moment's 
 thought. She did not think for a second of the wealth 
 this man had, nor of the position in which he could place 
 her ; she thought nothing of right or wrong, of the past 
 or of the future. She only knew that he said "Come and 
 be with me." And if death had threatened every step of 
 her way, she would not have hesitated. 
 
 For love has no yesterday and no to-morrow ; it has but 
 to-day. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE SUMMONS HOME 
 
 IN the days that first followed the announcement of her 
 engagement to Errol Ludlowe, Gret did not pay much 
 attention to current events, or the actions of those around 
 her, or she would surely have noticed many more things 
 than she did. Maude was confined to her room with a 
 bad headache for two days, but Gret thought nothing par- 
 ticularly of it. There was no very perceptible change in 
 her manner when she emerged from her solitude, for 
 Maude was too diplomatic to let her sore amaze and de- 
 feat be seen. Neither would she beat any very hasty re- 
 treat from the field ; she had too much pride for that. 
 
 And congratulations flowed in upon Gret from all sides, 
 accompanied by such a marked change of bearing on the 
 part of her acquaintances that, if Gret had been less 
 wrapped up in herself and her happiness than she was, 
 she must have noticed and been amused. 
 
 Within a few days there came replies from Mr. and 
 Mrs. Silway to the letters addressed to each by Lud- 
 lowe. Gret also received a letter from each of her par- 
 ents. Mrs. Silway expressed quiet pleasure at the news 
 sent her ; Mr. Silway, in transmitting the requisite paren- 
 tal consent, expressed the same amount of pleasure in a 
 more pompous way. But from Eva came never a word ; 
 and Gret wondered at that. 
 
 Backed by instructions from Ludlowe, Mrs. Baring 
 
 i» 289 
 
290 GRET 
 
 made a very handsome affair of the dance she gave for 
 Gret. The news of the girl's engagement leaked about 
 with great rapidity, too, and made a great many anxious 
 to see her who otherwise would not have been in the least 
 interested. On the eventful evening Gret stood by Mrs. 
 Baring, as did also Maude, and, for a time, Bobbie. The 
 latter, as soon as the room began to fill, flitted off, how- 
 ever, followed by a warning glance from Gret, to which 
 he replied with an artfully concealed grimace. 
 
 Gret contrived to get through her dances without any 
 very great show of awkwardness, though doubtless her 
 partners realized that they had danced with better dancers. 
 She liked standing and looking on better than anything 
 else, a predilection which Mrs. Baring discovered and 
 warned her against. If she could have done this, she 
 would have been content all night, her eyes were so keen 
 to catch every move, every little scheme, each decoying 
 glance. As, however, she had to talk and dance and 
 otherwise make herself agreeable, she was bored before 
 two hours were over. 
 
 To her delight and relief, while the evening was yet 
 young, Ludlowe and Massinger came in together. Ar- 
 thur, while not leaning greatly toward dances or any- 
 thing of that kind, and attending this one purely on Gret's 
 account, did not share the dislike, on moral grounds, that 
 many of his clerical brethren cherished. Bobbie brought 
 the two men up to Gret, who greeted them with open sat- 
 isfaction. 
 
 "Give me the next dance, Gret," said Ludlowe, taking 
 her program. "It 's a waltz." 
 
 "No. "Don't want it," advised Gret. "You know I 
 don't dance, really." 
 
 "Never mind. You may as well dance with me as any 
 one," repHed Ludlowe, scribbling his initials. 
 
 "Well, not a waltz, then. I do a minuet best." 
 
THE SUMMONS HOME 291 
 
 "Listen to her ! 'Do it !' " said Bobbie. "She does 'do' 
 a minuet pretty well, though. She bends nicely." 
 
 Ludlowe laughed. "How do you like dancing, Gret?" 
 
 "I don't call it dancing," replied Gret, glancing at the 
 couples just gHding off into a dreamy waltz melody. "I 
 call it wriggling round." 
 
 " 'Breathes there a girl with soul so dead !' " gasped 
 Bobbie. 
 
 "There was a time in my callow youth— about the age 
 of Bobbie here," said Ludlowe with a glance at that gen- 
 tleman, "when I thought dancing the most divine inven- 
 tion of the ages. Now certain conditions must be present 
 before I can tolerate it at all. Gret, let 's you and I con- 
 spire together. I '11 put my name down for three dances 
 if you '11 promise to sit them out." 
 
 "Oh, yes !" agreed Gret with delight. "In that way we 
 can sit and look on most of the time, can't we?'" 
 
 "Yes, and mother won't do a thing to you to-morrow," 
 threatened Bobbie. 
 
 "Nor to you with your slang. Be off, young man!" 
 said Ludlowe sternly. "Had n't you a partner for this 
 waltz?" 
 
 "Yes, but she wants to sit it out with young Leland." 
 
 "How do you know she does?' 
 
 "Because she 's tucked carefully away behind a palm," 
 responded Bobbie with a grin. "She would n't be if she 
 wanted me to find her. Of course, I shall say I looked 
 everywhere, and do the injured!" 
 
 "Of course— hypocrite !" 
 
 "Yes. I 'm having a lovely time!" declared .Bobbie 
 with a bland smile. He turned on his heel. "Now I 'm 
 going to put the mater next to your little dodges." 
 
 He did not, of course. But it might almost be thought 
 that he had, for that lady surprised the three as 
 they were sitting out the third dance and broke up the 
 
292 GRET 
 
 combine immediately. She took Gret to be introduced 
 to a big railroad man's wife, and Errol she almost com- 
 manded : 
 
 "You dance with Maude, now, Errol. You need not 
 slight her altogether." 
 
 Ludlowe glanced at his aunt, a certain slight drooping 
 of the lids betraying displeasure. "I have n't danced with 
 any one so far. I certainly have no wish to neglect Miss 
 Vibart any more than any other of my friends." 
 
 Mrs. Baring safely launched Gret on a waltz, which 
 eventually landed her high and dry at the top of the long 
 ball-room. The railroad man's wife was sitting near 
 where Mrs. Baring stood, and she motioned to Gret to be 
 seated by her side. She was disposing of an ice, and 
 Gret 's partner went to fetch one for her. 
 
 "This is your first season," opined Mrs. Railroad affa- 
 bly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And I expect you find it all new and delightful." 
 
 "I find most of it idiotic," responded Gret. She had 
 hated her waltz, and was in an aggressively truthful mood. 
 
 "Indeed !" The smile was still on the august lady's lips, 
 but it was, perhaps, not quite so condescending and pleas- 
 ant. "Well, when you become a hostess we shall see what 
 innovations you make. What— er— idiotic element shall 
 you eliminate from your affairs, pray ?" 
 
 "The smiling, if I could," said Gret. 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 "The smiling. Does n't it make you tired— the perpet- 
 ual smiling of every one?" inquired Gret confidentially. 
 "They smile when they come and when they go and all the 
 way between. I think they 're afraid people would be 
 insulted if they were to stop for a minute. If I were a 
 hostess I think I would have a sign tacked up all along 
 my wall : 'Not required to smile all the time.' '* 
 
THE SUMMONS HOME 293 
 
 "Well, who ever heard!" breathed the railroad man's 
 wife, swallowing her last mouthful of ice with a dis- 
 tinct effort. 
 
 But Gret did not observe the effect of her words on her 
 companion. Her partner came up with an ice, and she 
 ate it reflectively. Then she glanced at her program. 
 The next dance was a quadrille with the initials E. L. 
 against it, and she gave a little inward sigh of relief. 
 She did not trouble to talk to the important and somewhat 
 supercilious youth at her side, but sat looking down the 
 long room with its crowd of handsomely dressed beings. 
 A great many of them— the younger ones, anyway — 
 looked happy. She wondered if they were really, if any of 
 them were as happy as she was. And then somehow her 
 thoughts went out to Gabrielle. Poor Gabrielle, born into 
 wrong and misfortune, and too gentle, Gret felt, to ever 
 force her way out of adverse circumstances. Ludlowe 
 came up, and Gret glanced at him with a smile. 
 
 "This is my dance, I think, Gret," he said with com- 
 mendable gravity. And Gret rose, and, bowing to her 
 previous partner, went off with content in her heart. 
 
 "I was just thinking," she said, as Ludlowe piloted her 
 to a shady corner whereof he knew, "that I wish Gabrielle 
 were here." 
 
 "I 'm glad she is n't," replied Ludlowe quietly. 
 
 "Oh, well," went on Gret quickly, "there are too many 
 here to— to — you know — And we could have kept her 
 happy." 
 
 "That is the first time, Gret, that I remember hearing 
 you speak a broken or hesitating sentence," reproved 
 Ludlowe. "Your frank outspokenness is usually one of 
 the best things about you. Is society spoiling you al- 
 ready?" 
 
 "Well, I meant, to be unkind to her, and did n't know 
 how to put it," apologized Gret. "Because unkind is n't 
 
294 GRET 
 
 exactly the thing. You see, I need new words nowa- 
 days." 
 
 "You think there are too many here for all to give her 
 the cold shoulder?" said Ludlowe. "Oh, it 's wonderful 
 how that sort of thing spreads. There 's Arthur. He 's 
 looking for us, no doubt. How can we attract his atten- 
 tion without attracting that of other people as well, I 
 wonder, Wave your program gently, Gret." 
 
 Gret did so, and Arthur's searching eye caught the 
 movement. He came up gladly and seated himself with a 
 little sigh that might be either weariness or relief. He 
 was looking handsome, though very tired and worn. 
 
 "Well, Gret," glancing down on her with gentle curi- 
 osity, "does all this enchant you ?" 
 
 "No." Gret shook her head summarily. "Although," 
 she added quickly, "I think it 's awfully good of Mrs. 
 Baring to do all this for me. Of course, she thinks I '11 
 like it. I suppose I 'm too green yet." 
 
 "Too sensible is nearer the mark," asserted Ludlowe, 
 consulting a small watch produced from somewhere out 
 of sight. 
 
 "What time is it?" inquired Gret. 
 
 "Quarter to two. Arthur, you 're worn out, old man. 
 Go home and turn in." 
 
 "How much longer will this last ?" wondered Gret. 
 
 "Not much after three, I think," said Ludlowe. "Aunt 
 and Miss Vibart won't be up till after noon to-morrow, 
 Gret. What are you going to do with yourself?" 
 
 "I don't know," replied Gret thoughtfully. 
 
 "What would you like to do ?" 
 
 "I should like to go down town and look in all the 
 store-windows just as long as I like," replied Gret 
 promptly. 
 
 Ludlowe groaned. "Well ! So be it, then. Can't you 
 come, Arthur ?'* 
 
THE SUMMONS HOME 295 
 
 "There 's a woman dying slowly of consumption in a 
 room on Howard Street," he said. "She has n't a soul to 
 do anything for her. And so Patty — that 's a poor girl I 
 have with me — and I go every morning and make her as 
 comfortable as we can. It does Patty good; makes her 
 forget her own troubles. It would make it too late for 
 you to wait for me." 
 
 Gret looked sympathetic. "Can't we come and see her 
 too?" 
 
 "That would only embarrass her," said Arthur gently. 
 
 At three the people began to go, as Ludlowe had pre- 
 dicted. But it was four o'clock before Mrs. Baring and 
 her party were free to put on their wraps and drive home. 
 Once in bed, Gret did not review the events of the eve- 
 nixig, but promptly fell asleep. 
 
 It had been arranged between Gret, Ludlowe and Mrs. 
 Baring that she should remain in San Francisco for at 
 least another month before going home to prepare for her 
 marriage. Mrs. Baring predicted that, as soon as the 
 news of her engagement to Ludlowe became known, Gret 
 would be entertained far and wide— a prospect that did 
 not fill her with very great delight. However, Gret re- 
 ceived a letter from home one morning that altered the 
 situation. It was written by Eva at her mother's request. 
 
 "Dear Gret :" (she wrote) 
 
 "Mother wants you to come home just as soon as you 
 get this. Father is very sick. We have a nurse in the 
 house and one doctor. Another doctor is coming from 
 Portland to-morrow. If he says so, father will have an 
 operation. Mother says please take the very next train. 
 
 "Your loving sister, 
 
 "Eva." 
 
296 GRET 
 
 Gret frowned reflectively as she read the letter. She 
 was struck by the entire absence of any personal note in 
 the communication— "Mother says" — and then Eva had 
 never written since the news of her engagement reached 
 home. Could she be offended in any way? However, 
 she would soon see. She put the letter into Mrs. Baring's 
 hands without a word. 
 
 "Dear me! Sounds quite urgent; what a pity!" ex- 
 claimed that lady. "I suppose you—" 
 
 "Yes, I must go home at once," said Gret quietly. 
 "When is the next train?" 
 
 That evening Ludlowe and Arthur, Bobbie and Mrs. 
 Baring escorted Gret over to Oakland in order to see her 
 safely on the Southern Pacific train. It was a frankly 
 regretful group that stood to say good-by as the girl was 
 about to board the car. Gret's dislike at parting was 
 openly expressed. 
 
 Ludlowe kissed her good-by, Bobbie insisted on follow- 
 ing suit, and Arthur refused to be left out in the cold. 
 And so Gret kissed them all, and then a moment later 
 went on board, followed by the procession laden with 
 candy, rugs, and magazines. She was safely ensconced in 
 a chair, hedged about with all possible comfort, then the 
 train pulled out and Gret was gone. 
 
 Bobbie was unusually silent as they crossed back to San 
 Francisco. Presently he turned on his unsuspecting 
 mother. 
 
 "Good old Gret ! I '11 tell you what— that 's a pretty 
 good walk-over for the camp-girl. Eh, mother? And 
 we 're every one of us sorry to see her go, too. You bet ! 
 Gret 's a little devil, and is going to do just as she likes ; 
 but her heart 's in the right place all the time." 
 
 "Bobbie!" breathed his scandalized mother. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE FIRST SHADOW 
 
 FOR once, as she went northward, Gret's fellow-pas- 
 sengers were not of such absorbing and satisfying in- 
 terest as usual. She treated each one to a more or less 
 cursory inspection and then turned back to the window 
 and her own reflections, from which none attempted to 
 arouse her. The sociably and charitably inclined were 
 not moved to pity by her solitary state, for her expression 
 was too thoughtful and businesslike to be construed into 
 one of loneliness ; and the flirtatiously inclined among the 
 men could find no possible excuse for advances in the 
 casual glances she now and then cast about the car. 
 
 Gret's thoughts were divided between her destination 
 and the scenes she had just left. She thought for a while, 
 with a little smile on her lips, of the leave-taking at Oak- 
 land, and over the wide, bright eyes there fell the strange, 
 mistlike curtain of a soul withdrawn for the moment 
 from outward things. 
 
 Then Gret thought of home, and of Eva's letter, and of 
 her father's illness. She wondered if it were really seri- 
 ous, or if he were just making his usual fuss about noth- 
 ing. In that case Gret hardly thought her mother would 
 cause her to be sent for. She wondered and then sud- 
 denly she ceased her speculations as a futile occupation. 
 Soon she would be home to see for herself. 
 
 She stayed one night in Portland. Knowing no other, 
 she got into the Hotel Portland 'bus and was driven tx) 
 
 »97 
 
298 GRET 
 
 that commodious hostelry. Next morning she paid her 
 bill with much inward wonderment, but no outward 
 comment. She was not much accustomed to using her 
 arithmetical powers, but a hasty computation of the prob- 
 able cost of each year of the many her father had spent 
 there occurred to her. 
 
 As she completed the final and most primitive stages 
 of .her homeward journey, Gret was conscious of a hu- 
 mor, an amusement, that had not before been possible to 
 her. Before this comparisons of any kind had been out 
 of the question for one who knew little beyond the simple 
 life of the backwoods. Now she knew at least two as- 
 pects of life, two so entirely at variance that she could 
 not but be amused; she exercised an odd, unconscious 
 care, however, that her comparisons did not belittle that 
 life to which she was still quite loyal. 
 
 It was early evening when Gret finally reached Quell- 
 ish. It had been raining, for the starlight sparkled on 
 wet roof and walk ; but the air was soft and fragrant, and 
 its damp sweetness was dear to the nostrils of the North- 
 ern girl. She walked quickly through the Httle town, not 
 pausing to reveal herself to the many acquaintances who 
 passed unsuspectingly by the smartly dressed girl. At 
 the foot of the loggers' steps several boats were moored 
 together. Gret suspected that they were mostly from her 
 own camp, but not being able to distinguish much in the 
 starlight, she felt carefully on the oars for the rough 
 carven "S" that distinguished the camp boats, and, hav- 
 ing found it, climbed unceremoniously into the outer boat 
 and rowed off. 
 
 As she felt the grip of her oars on the water, and felt 
 the boat glide obediently forward, Gret gave a little sigh 
 of satisfaction. The old sense of defiant freedom came 
 back to her. Before half a mile was covered her coat was 
 pulled off and the stylish collar and trim belt summarily 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 299 
 
 removed. The river was a ribbon of softest velvet, span- 
 gled over with starbeams, and the pines whispered in lit- 
 tle tittering rushes of sound. And Gret rowed evenly 
 and leisurely, having no particular desire to hurry her 
 long row to a close. 
 
 Arrived at her landing, however, she grasped her long 
 skirts in both hands and scampered up the steps in her 
 old lithe way. There was an unusual number of lights 
 about the house, otherwise all was quiet as usual, and 
 Gret passed round to the kitchen from long force of habit. 
 Standing with arms akimbo, staring vacantly out through 
 the open door, was Lizzie, and she jumped with a star- 
 tled scream as Gret appeared in the square of darkness 
 formed by the doorway. 
 
 "Gracious me, Gret!" And then, her quick feminine 
 eye taking in the radical change in the girl's appear- 
 ance: 
 
 "Goodness, it did n't take long to make a fine lady out 
 of you, did it?" 
 
 "Did n't take long to make me look like one," amended 
 Gret briefly. 
 
 She entered and threw herself in the little wooden 
 rocker that was Lizzie's one article of luxury. She 
 looked round the small kitchen, with its scrubbed floor 
 and table and ancient cookstove, with smiling eyes. How 
 "homey" it all was, after all. 
 
 "Ma write for you to come home ?" queried Lizzie, who 
 was still "taking her in." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Eva did, then?" 
 
 Gret nodded, looking at Lizzie with a smile. "Got any 
 coflfee, Lizzie?" 
 
 "Oh, my !" Lizzie reached the stove in two jumps, and 
 drew the kettle forward. "Never thought about that! 
 Are you hungry, Gret ?" Gret nodded again. Lizzie dis- 
 
300 GRET 
 
 appeared into the pantry. ''Like a piece of warm mince 
 pie ?" she inquired from within. 
 
 "Yes," said Gret, "and some cottage cheese and bread 
 and butter, and— that 's all I want, Lizzie." 
 
 Lizzie prepared this menu with much whisking and 
 fussing, and then, when Gret was fairly started on the 
 meal, seated herself near and prepared to converse. 
 
 "What all did you do down in San Francisco, Gret?" 
 
 Gret laughed. "No good beginning to tell you to- 
 night, Lizzie. I 'd never get through." And then, in or- 
 der to divert Lizzie's conversational bent into other chan- 
 nels : "How is father to-night ?" 
 
 "Operated to-day," replied Lizzie. "There 's two doc- 
 tors and a nurse there ; and one went home to-day." 
 
 "Oh !" Gret opened her eyes. "Has he been operated 
 on already ?" Lizzie nodded. "When ?" 
 
 "This afternoon." 
 
 "Well! What was it for? Did it take long?" 
 
 "Yes — 'pendicitis," explained Lizzie in triumph. 
 
 "Oh !" said Gret, who had not the faintest idea in the 
 world as to the type of malady represented by that term. 
 "Two doctors with him?" she repeated. 
 
 "Well, one of them 's gone home," amended Lizzie; 
 "but there 's a nurse !" And she gave a slight additional 
 lift to the organ already elevated by nature. 
 
 Gret was quick to catch the gesture. "Don't like her ?" 
 she queried. 
 
 "No ! Never saw such a got-up thing in your life," 
 declared Lizzie. "Blue print dress, all starched. Apron 
 with great long strings all spread out," spreading her 
 hands in an imaginary fan behind herself. "Cuffs. Cap 
 with more strings. Humph ! Thinks she 's such a boss 
 cook, too, that nobody else but her can do anything. And 
 picks up everything like she was afraid it was awful 
 dirty!" 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 301 
 
 Gret laughed, both at Lizzie's portrayal of the obnox- 
 ious nurse and at the mental picture she could conjure up 
 of their attitude toward one another. 
 
 "Does she eat down-stairs with us ?" she inquired. Liz- 
 zie nodded. "Where 's Eva, I wonder," said Gret then. 
 
 "Up-stairs, I guess." 
 
 "And mother?" 
 
 "Don't know if she 's up-stairs or not." 
 
 In a few moments Gret went along the little, narrow 
 passage that led to the front of the house in search of her 
 mother. Contemplation seemed to be the order of the 
 evening, for Mrs. Silway, too, sat gazing before her, 
 hands folded in her lap. Her quiet eyes fell on Gret, 
 noting instantly with a certain quick pleasure the marked 
 change in her appearance. Then she rose and kissed her 
 with a kindly smile of welcome. 
 
 "I 'm so glad you Ve come, Gret. I have been afraid 
 that perhaps Eva did not make it sufficiently imperative 
 that you should start at once, and I was too worried at the 
 time to give her very explicit instructions. Moreover, 
 matters then were not so serious as they are now. Your 
 father underwent an operation at noon, and the surgeon 
 cannot say as yet whether it is going to be a success or 
 not. But I imagine from their manner that neither of the 
 doctors feels over-confident of the issue, and that your 
 father's life hangs in a very uncertain balance. I 'm thank- 
 ful you 've arrived. You must have some supper. Take 
 off your hat." 
 
 "I have had some supper, thank you, mother," said 
 Gret quietly. "Lizzie gave me some. But I quite forgot 
 that I still had my hat on." 
 
 Accustomed as she was to Gret's deliberate, business- 
 like ways, Mrs. Silway looked at the girl half in amuse- 
 ment. Gret returned the gaze, not amused, but critical. 
 
 "You look very tired, mother." 
 
302 GRET 
 
 "I had rather a tiring time before the nurse came," 
 said Mrs. Silway. 
 
 "Does she .stay with father all the time now, then?" 
 
 "Oh, of course. Since the operation he is not left a 
 minute. And no one is allowed to see him. I don't im- 
 agine," thoughtfully, "that they would allow even you to 
 see him to-night." 
 
 "Oh, I can see him to-morrow, perhaps," said Gret 
 calmly. 
 
 Mrs. Silway winced ever so slightly at the calm words, 
 although she appreciated the utter lack of hypocrisy that 
 prompted them. 
 
 "He has inquired for you several times," she said 
 rather gently. 
 
 "Has he?" Gret looked surprised. "What for?" 
 
 The question was not put with any harsh intent. In 
 health her father's inquiries for her had generally meant 
 some protest or complaint, and it did not occur to her that 
 sickness would alter matters very materially. 
 
 Mrs. Silway smiled gravely. "If you faced the near 
 possibility of death, Gret, would n't you want all your 
 own people near you ?" 
 
 Gret reflected the matter impartially for a moment. "I 
 don't know," she said then; "can't quite imagine how it 
 would feel. Still, it seems to me I would n't want them 
 much more than at any other time." 
 
 Mrs. Silway started to answer, and then paused. There 
 was nothing in fairness to be said. But it seemed as if 
 there faded out of her heart as utterly superfluous and 
 inopportune the last remnant of that cold resentment 
 stored for years against the man lying up-stairs. Before 
 herj in this stern and uncompromising young intelligence, 
 she saw an ample avenging spirit for all the years of 
 neglect and selfishness endured ; and, not being naturally 
 cruel or vindictive, it saddened her a little. 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 303 
 
 "I suppose Evie 's up-stairs, is n't she, mother?" que- 
 ried Gret, concluding by her mother's silence that the pre- 
 vious topic was closed. 
 
 "I expect so. She is a very nervous child, and has been 
 looking quite worried out these last few days," said Mrs. 
 Silway. 
 
 "I think I '11 go and look for her, then," observed Gret ; 
 and her mother nodded assent absently. 
 
 Gret went quietly up-stairs in search of her sister, and 
 opened very softly the door of her little bedroom. Eva 
 was sitting looking out of the open window, and she lan- 
 guidly turned her head as she heard the door-latch move. 
 When she saw Gret she gave a little cry of surprise, and 
 jumping up ran across to the girl and gave her an affec- 
 tionate hug. Gret returned the hug with interest, and then 
 held her sister away from her and surveyed her criti- 
 cally. The heavy-lidded eyes drooped in a listless way, 
 and an expression of discouragement or discontent, or 
 both, replaced the well-remembered look of dreamy 
 serenity. 
 
 "What 's the matter, Evie ?" she demanded. "Are you 
 so scared about father?" 
 
 "No," quickly ; and then somewhat contritely : "No— 
 I 'm afraid I have n't thought about that as much as I 
 ought. I could n't somehow. I— I—" Her voice trailed 
 off and her eyes wandered over Gret's figure, at first ab- 
 sently and then becoming critical. "Spoilt everything 
 for you, too, has n't it ? Just when you were having such 
 a good time. But then, he always did spoil things." The 
 curve of disgust and discontent deepened on her lips. 
 
 "Oh, no !" said Gret quietly, but a trifle surprised, "I 
 was coming home soon anyway." 
 
 "Shall you— I suppose you won't go back now until you 
 're married?" Gret shook her head. 
 
 "How soon will that be?' demanded Eva. 
 
304 GRET 
 
 Gret shook her head again. "Can't tell, of course. If 
 father gets well it might be quite soon. If not—" She 
 lifted her eyebrows slightly in token of her inability to 
 judge. 
 
 Eva sat down in her seat by the window again, and 
 looked out into the night for a moment. Then, with an 
 effort, she seemed to banish whatever discontent was as- 
 sailing her. She turned back to Gret and stretched out 
 her hand affectionately. 
 
 "Come and sit down, Grettie dear, and tell me all about 
 the lovely time you 've had, and how you came to get en- 
 gaged." 
 
 "Oh, there is n't much to tell about that," said Gret, 
 with a slight laugh. She knew that to no one in the world 
 could she ever voice one word of the tenderness that was 
 in her. "But I want you to tell me how it is you did n't 
 write when I told you about it." 
 
 Eva colored unmistakably. "I— I meant to, Gret. I 
 wanted to. I would have — pretty soon." She glanced 
 deprecatingly at her sister for a moment as that young 
 woman sat on the edge of the bed and gazed at her in an 
 open perplexity that was almost comical, and then looked 
 moodily out of the window again. 
 
 Presently she turned her head back, her eyes wandering 
 once more appraisingly over Gret's attire. "You '11 be a 
 great lady, won't you?" she said musingly. "I think 
 you '11 look it, too. I did think you never could dress up 
 and be styHsh, but I see you can. Well !" She smiled 
 up into Gret's face. "If you love him it 's all right- 
 though I 'd hate to be a society woman. I just want a 
 quiet home with— with the man I want." 
 
 Gret nodded, a faint smile on her lips. She quite be- 
 lieved the sincerity of Eva's sentiments ; but she could not 
 help giving just a stray thought to the quiet home that 
 Eva would keep, unless she had servants to keep it. 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 305 
 
 "Come along; sit down, Gret," commanded Eva again, 
 giving an inviting pat to the little old rocker that had 
 been her childhood's delight. "Or are you going down- 
 stairs again?" 
 
 "No— yes," replied Gret. "I did n't say good-night to 
 mother or anything. But I 'm not going to stay down 
 long." 
 
 "All right, then. Go on and say good-night, and then 
 we '11 go to bed, shall we? We can talk real comfy in 
 bed." 
 
 Gret took off the long- forgotten hat and threw it on 
 the bed; then she went out of the room. As she walked 
 down the staircase she was in a brown study. Something 
 was evidently on Eva's mind and something quite con- 
 siderable, too. Then impatiently she shook off her dis- 
 quieting thought. If she was going to know she was go- 
 ing to know, and puzzling beforehand was waste of trou- 
 ble. Gret was a born conserver of forces; she never 
 climbed stiles until she came to them. 
 
 Her face was quite composed again as she entered the 
 room where her mother still sat. "I think I shall go to 
 bed, mother," she said quietly. 
 
 "Yes ; I expect you are tired," agreed Mrs. Silway. "I 
 am going to lie down myself for a while." 
 
 "Lie down !" repeated Gret. "Sha'n't you go to bed ?" 
 
 "No; I might be called." 
 
 "Oh! Might father be taken suddenly worse, then?" 
 inquired Gret. 
 
 "If he does n't take a turn for the better very soon, he 
 will certainly get worse." 
 
 "Where 's the doctor?" inquired Gret, suddenly recol- 
 lecting. 
 
 "The operating doctor— the surgeon — went back to 
 Portland this afternoon," explained Mrs. Silway. "He 
 had too many critical cases on hand for it to be possible 
 
 20 
 
3o6 GRET 
 
 to stay here. Dr. Gray can do all that it is possible, or 
 that there is left, to do now, I imagine— and the nurse." 
 
 "Oh, I see," nodded Gret. 'Well, mother, go and try 
 to have a good rest now. You look so tired.' 
 
 "I am going to try," replied her mother, pleased some- 
 what at the unwonted exhibition of solicitude. Old as 
 Gret was, her mother had not yet recognized one of her 
 main characteristics: she could not bear to see pain or 
 suffering ; it was the weak spot in her armor. 
 
 Then Gret went back up-stairs to Eva, who was busy 
 setting out such things as her sister would need for the 
 night. 
 
 "The nurse has got your room," she explained ; "but I 
 took all your things out before she went in — most of 
 them, anyway." 
 
 The two girls climbed into bed ; and then after a while 
 Eva became more of her old, dreamy self. She tried to 
 penetrate into the heart of the older girl, that she might 
 taste some of the delight it must surely contain. 
 
 "Gret, are you very happy ?" she queried, nestling up to 
 the slim figure that lay in utter repose beside her. 
 
 "Yes," responded Gret quietly. 
 
 "Did you— I never guessed you— you liked him," went 
 on Eva. "Did you like him all the time really?" 
 
 "Yes," said Gret again. 
 
 "From the very first time?" insisted Eva. 
 
 Gret thought, with a smile on her lips in the darkness, 
 of that first time in the early summer morning in the 
 woods by the river, when a man with cold, quiet eyes had 
 looked her over and passed on, "Yes," she responded 
 softly. 
 
 "You know I never can imagine you loving— really 
 loving," observed Eva with sweet candor. "Do you think 
 you do really love?" 
 
 "Yes, I think so," replied Gret, amused. 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 307 
 
 "Do you sit down and think that after a little while you 
 will be with him all the time— all the time ?'' 
 
 "Yes, I have thought of that," guardedly. 
 
 "Oh, Gret, if you really love you 're happy !" went on 
 Eva earnestly. "In all your life you '11 never be so happy 
 as you are just now. Think of it, and think of it, and 
 think of it, so that you '11 have it in your memory for al- 
 ways. When you go to sleep at night think of it, soft and 
 warm next your heart, and sleep will be a great dusk-val- 
 ley full of sweet whispers ; when you wake in the morning, 
 think of it, and consciousness will come like a flood of 
 gold, like the dawn's light over the waiting mountains. 
 Oh, Gret, don't let any of the delight slip by, for it will 
 never come again— never just the same again." Her 
 voice, which had been beautiful with lingering cadences, 
 died softly into a whisper. The invocation of one heart 
 to another was ended. 
 
 Gret lay still ; but her heart approved in silence the pas- 
 sion-laden words of the younger girl. And Eva herself 
 lapsed into silence, staring into the darkness with the wide, 
 soft eyes of youth and mystery. Carried away by her 
 own earnestness, she forgot Gret and her still unfathomed 
 love-story, and following after the wild, sweet fancies of 
 her own heart, she presently wandered asleep. 
 
 But Gret lay awake— a thing unusual with her. The 
 movement of travel was still before her eyes, and her 
 brain thronged with thoughts. She thought of her fa- 
 ther's illness and its probable outcome, of the life she had 
 just left and the life in store for her. She thought of 
 Eva and her love dreams. She wondered if love could 
 ever be the same thing to them both— they who were so 
 different; or if Eva would ever find any one to love as 
 she loved Errol. No ; there was never another like Errol. 
 
 Sometimes the thought would creep in, just for a mo- 
 ment, that there would always be the faint possibility of 
 
3o8 GRET 
 
 Errol's discovering that fool child's prank of long ago. 
 It was a prank, pure and simple; and yet, if she had let 
 it, it would have been sufficient to spoil her life. But she 
 would always put the thought away. It was no use 
 dwelling on it. If the risk had been twenty times bigger 
 than it was, she would have taken it. Even if she were 
 found out and repudiated and her heart broken, she 
 would still have known what it was to be Errol Ludlowe's 
 wife. Better that than never to have known. 
 
 And so she thought, lying staring into the darkness. 
 Through the open window came the sleepy, incessant 
 murmur of the river, and the sound of a fitful wind that, 
 passing through the pines like the rush of myriad wings, 
 died away in soft flutterings, leaving more silent than be- 
 fore the silence of the night in the great forests. 
 
 Very early in the morning, perhaps about five o'clock, 
 while the darkness was as yet unpierced by a single ray of 
 dawn, Gret rose stealthily up from a sleepless couch. She 
 lighted the lamp and turned it down to a mere flicker, 
 glancing cautiously at the peacefully sleeping Eva. Eva 
 was always the heavy sleeper, and it would be an easy 
 matter to dress without waking her. 
 
 Gret noticed her little old trunk standing in one corner 
 of the room, and, looking in, found, as she expected, most 
 of her old clothes. She routed out the short blue skirt, 
 the loose tan coat, and the little round cap, and when they 
 were on smiled almost amusedly and gave a queer little 
 wriggle, testing the utter freedom of her attire. Then 
 she turned out the light, and went noiselessly out of the 
 window and down the lean-to roof. She stood on the 
 bluff for a minute or so, accustoming her eyes to the 
 darkness and sniffing in the fresh dawn breeze that was 
 sifting a hundred sweet odors through the forest. Then 
 she went down to the landing, felt about for the boat and 
 stepped quietly in. She floated her oar for a moment 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 309 
 
 to judge of the state of the tide, whether it would bear 
 her down to or away from the camp-landing. It was 
 about at a standstill, and so she rowed softly down- 
 stream. She made the landing with the ease of long fa- 
 miliarity, tied up the boat, and felt her way up the steps 
 that the high-tide made almost horizontal. She felt her 
 way with care along the board-walk, too ; for, on the one 
 side, a drop off onto the marsh at this season of the year 
 would be a damp and unpleasant affair, and on the other 
 side a drop into the slough had to be considered. 
 
 At the end of the walk she groped about for the don- 
 key that stood at the head of the slough, and found it, re- 
 flecting that it must be very early, for Chester was not 
 yet down to get up steam. From the donkey she made 
 her way up by the side of the skid-road. It was muddy, 
 and Gret regretted the darkness that made the skid im- 
 possible. Soon, out of the darkness shone two twink- 
 ling lights, and Gret smiled with satisfaction. One 
 would be Joe, the Dago flunky, lighting the big stove, 
 arranging the tables and sweeping out, and the other 
 would proclaim the presence of Jake and Charlie in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 As she came close to the buildings she found her con- 
 jectures mainly right. Joe was noisily depositing an arm- 
 ful of wood behind the big heater, and Jake was bustling 
 about the kitchen. In the corner Charlie was beating hot 
 cake batter. The bunk-house was as yet silent and invisi- 
 ble in the darkness. Gret silently entered the kitchen. 
 Jake, who was evidently preparing the comfortable break- 
 fast of which he and his assistants always partook before 
 settling down to work, was just cracking with extreme 
 gentleness an egg on the edge of a saucer. Hearing a 
 sound behind him he turned his head, the egg still in his 
 fingers, and catching sight of Gret— her naturally pale 
 face showing white against the darkness behind her— he 
 
3IO GRET 
 
 gave a yell that might easily have wakened the Seven 
 Sleepers, and the egg flew half-way across the kitchen. 
 
 Gret looked from the egg, spattering the floor, to the 
 still staring Jake. "Well, what did you do that for?" she 
 inquired gravely. 
 
 ''Gracious Peter!" ejaculated Jake, indignant. "Why 
 do you come scaring a fellow like that ?" 
 
 "How did I know that I should scare you ?" demanded 
 Gret. "Supposed you 'd seen me times enough." And 
 then, looking at the still startled and indignant cook, 
 Gret's assumed gravity forsook her, and she laughed in 
 gleeful satisfaction at the success of her dramatic en- 
 trance. Then taking up the shovel and a brush she re- 
 moved the egg— all but a yellow stain— and threw it 
 into the stove. In so doing she noticed the appetizing 
 slices of ham frizzling on the top. 
 
 "Put in another big slice for me, Jakey," she said ami- 
 ably ; "and I want two eggs, I 'm awfully hungry." 
 
 "When did you come ?" inquired Jake. 
 
 "Last night." 
 
 Jake turned to the ham still on the table and sliced off 
 a generous slice. Then he critically investigated the cof- 
 fee-pot. That done, he turned his attention to a bowl 
 of eggs standing near and selected therefrom half a dozen 
 of the finest. Charlie came and placed upon the table a 
 bunch of knives and forks and some cups and saucers. 
 Meanwhile Gret sat on the corner of the table after the 
 fashion of time immemorial, and watched proceedings. 
 
 "They sent for you in a hurry, did n't they?" inquired 
 Jake. 
 
 "Nope." 
 
 "They did n't! How 's the boss this morning?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Gret truthfully. 
 
 "How was he last night, then?" amended Jake, recol- 
 lecting that the present day was as yet in embryo. 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 311 
 
 "I don't know that either/' said Gret. '*I did n't see 
 him." 
 
 "Well, I '11 be switched," observed Jake with a grin. 
 
 Gret was about to explain further, when Joe entered 
 the kitchen. Catching sight of Gret, he jumped about 
 two feet sideways, and then grinned amiably. Jake ob- 
 served the movement with a side-glance. 
 
 "Never saw such a fellow," he commented with gusto ; 
 "I believe he 'd jump at the sight of his own mother." 
 
 "Very likely," agreed Gret promptly ; "she 's been dead 
 about ten years." 
 
 Jake dished up the ham and eggs, poured coffee, and 
 the three sat down to the white-scrubbed deal table. 
 Jake and Gret and Charlie sat at one end of the table, 
 and Joe and the boy at the other. 
 
 "Well, what do you know?" inquired Jake between 
 mouth fuls. 
 
 "Very little," replied Gret with becoming modesty. 
 
 "Keep your eyes open and you '11 catch on to some- 
 thing pretty soon," said Jake with a prophetic air. 
 
 Gret looked sharply at him. "Well, is it something I 
 shall like to catch on to ? Because, if it is n't, it had better 
 be!" 
 
 "Why ?" demanded Jake in surprise, and somewhat in- 
 articulate on account of the ham and eggs. 
 
 "Why, because, if it 's something I did n't like, I 'd 
 want to know in time, so I could stop it," explained Gret. 
 
 "Think you can stop anything, don't you?" chuckled 
 Jake. "Wonder you don't want to stop the sun some- 
 times." 
 
 "Well, if it has anything to do with me," said Gret. 
 "If not, it does n't matter whether I notice it or not." 
 
 Jake reflected a little as he proceeded with his break- 
 fast. "Oh, I don't think you 'd object any," he observed 
 judicially. 
 
312 GRET 
 
 "Well, perhaps it 's none of my business," hazarded 
 Gret. 
 
 "Not such a great lot, I suppose," replied Jake. 
 
 "Then I sha'n't object," said Gret, calmly concluding 
 the subject. 
 
 Jake, however, continued to gaze reflectively at her the 
 while he sipped his final cup of coffee. Apparently he 
 was not quite so confident of her indifference on the mat- 
 ter. But then, his eyes happening to catch the clock, which 
 indicated that it only wanted five minutes to six, he sprang 
 up, followed by the others; and in the bustle of mush- 
 making, and the preparations for breakfast in general, 
 the subject was forgotten. 
 
 After Joe had clanged the "quarter-to" bell, and lighted 
 the lamps in the dining-hall, Gret took up her seat well 
 behind the cook-house door. She did not want the men 
 to see her yet, and sat quietly while they turned out with 
 much shouting and much commotion. And not until they 
 were all seated at breakfast, and Joe had taken the mush- 
 kettle round, did she choose to reveal herself. Then she 
 went and stood quietly in the doorway. Oly was the first 
 to catch sight of her, and he gave a little gasp, letting his 
 spoon drop back into his mush-bowl ; and Dick Swinton, 
 following Oly's gaze, turned from his position at the head 
 of the table and drew a sharp breath of surprise. There 
 was a moment's silence, and then a chorus of shouts. 
 
 "Why, it 's Gret ! Hallo, Gret ! When did you come ?" 
 
 "Well, I '11 be sque-jeed if I did n't think you was a 
 ghost for a minute!" said Oly, beaming on Gret with 
 much affection. "I 'm real glad to see you back any- 
 how." 
 
 "Dick was scared, too, were n't you, Dick?" said Gret 
 triumphantly, slipping into a seat by Cassidy's side. 
 "Moved up a little, have n't you?" with a smile up into 
 that good-humored gentleman's countenance. 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 313 
 
 The faintly perturbed look had hardly faded out of 
 Dick's eyes. "Well, I 'm like Oly," he confessed. "Just 
 for a minute, before I had time to think, I really did take 
 you for a ghost. You looked so queer with the light on 
 your face and the dark behind you." 
 
 "What time did you get into camp last night?" in- 
 quired Oly. 
 
 "About five o'clock— something like that." 
 
 "Did you come in on the Tatoosh last night?" inquired 
 Chester, who now, by the way, occupied the exalted posi- 
 tion of engineer on the slough donkey. Gret nodded. 
 
 "Humph ! Bet it was you took my boat." 
 
 "Oh, well, there were several boats from the camp 
 down there," said Gret pacifically. "You could easily 
 squeeze into one of the other boats." 
 
 "They were all gone before I got there," said Chester. 
 
 Gret looked severe. "Should n't be the last of the gang 
 in town always." 
 
 Chester looked unimpressed. "Had to go all- the way 
 to Shearer's and hire a boat." 
 
 "Well, you 'd ought to have come along with me when 
 I wanted you to," observed Oly, " 'stead of thinking you 
 could bust that slot-machine. He had about two dollars' 
 worth of nickels," went on Oly, for the benefit of the as- 
 semblage, "and he swore he 'd beat the stuffing out of Do- 
 lan's slot-machine. What time was it," addressing the 
 somewhat sulky Chester, "before you got the last of the 
 nickels in?" 
 
 "None of your business," promptly. 
 
 "No, you bet it ain't," chuckled Oly tantalizingly. "The 
 business is all Dolan's." 
 
 Gret smiled, her head on her hand as she sat looking 
 down the long tables. In comparison with those men of 
 another class so lately left, these men pleased her afresh. 
 It was just dawn, but here was none of the unhealthy 
 
314 GRET 
 
 ennui, the boredom, the listless lack of aim, that charac- 
 terized the early waking hours of society men, but a good- 
 humored zest in life, a healthy power behind all they did, 
 even behind the opinions they held. And Gret scanned 
 contemplatively the bronzed faces, the keen eyes whose 
 glances shot straight out from between level lids, the 
 broad chests and swinging, easily poised bodies, with a 
 smile of renewed affection. Daredevils; improvident; 
 quick to anger, and mostly quick to forgive ; generous and 
 good-hearted generally; afraid of nothing, least of all of 
 work and danger; hard to lead, often, and impossible to 
 drive, always — but always and at all times men. 
 
 Gret went up to the grounds after breakfast with the 
 men, and after an hour or so came down on a haul of 
 logs. Preserving her swaying foothold on the rough, 
 quivering side of a log once more, Gret decided once for 
 all that automobiling was flat, tame and unprofitable. 
 She watched the long timbers splash one by one into the 
 slough with all her old delight. 
 
 "Fine, are n't they ? " to Chester, as the donkey stopped 
 at the conclusion of the operation, and as the watermen 
 jumped, peavies in hand, on the logs and began to roll 
 them away from the head of the slough. 
 
 *'You bet!" agreed Chester, with critical appreciation. 
 "These is all piling for the Granite Harbor — eighty-five 
 foot, every one of 'em. Just as straight as a die, are n't 
 they? Like to have all those fellows is worth in my 
 pocket." 
 
 "About ten dollars apiece, I expect, eh ?" surmised Gret, 
 sizing up the length of the log with a businesslike nar- ^ 
 rowing of the eye. "You see, they 're not so very thick ; 
 only long." 
 
 "That 's right. Not so many feet in them," nodded 
 Chester, "but they 're worth more a foot because they 
 have to be all picked just so. There 's six hundred and 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 315 
 
 fifty of them going down. There was n't another camp 
 in the county could supply that many of just this size, I 
 heard," concluded Chester, with becoming pride. 
 
 "They got some out of the boom, I suppose?" said 
 Gret. 
 
 Chester nodded. "Oh, yes; there 's quite a few gone 
 down already. They did n't have to be delivered all at 
 once." 
 
 Gret nodded. Then she sat down quietly by the don- 
 key for a minute or two before starting on her way home. 
 There were many things she would have liked to do ; but, 
 little attention as she generally paid to outward appear- 
 ances, she felt that, seeing her late arrival the night be- 
 fore and the few words accorded to any one save Eva, it 
 would seem more than usually discourteous to absent her- 
 self during the first morning at home. 
 
 So by and by she went down to the landing and untied 
 her boat. She stepped in and pushed off, and then 
 paused. The tide was running in swiftly and would 
 carry her up in any case, and moreover she thought she 
 caught the sound of a boat coming round the curve. She 
 listened, and then was quite sure that the boat was com- 
 ing toward her. She would stay and see who it was— in 
 all probability, Robin. She waited until the boat came in 
 sight and she saw she was right ; then she turned sharply 
 upward her own boat, which was drifting out into mid- 
 stream. 
 
 She was borne silently and swiftly up to meet the on- 
 coming boat, and Robin, looking up, suddenly caught 
 sight of her. To Gret's surprise and amusement, even at 
 that little distance she saw that he colored a fiery red. He 
 drew in his oars, and the impetus of the boat died away, 
 as Gret's swung close. 
 
 "Hallo, Gret !" He still looked uncomfortable. "You 
 startled me." 
 
3i6 , GRET 
 
 "I should think so," drily, her old love of teasing her 
 one-time companion returning to her. "Getting quite a 
 bashful young man, are n't you ?" 
 
 ''Oh, no," with a short laugh. "When did you come, 
 Gret?" 
 
 "Last night." 
 
 "Where have you been now— to the camp ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Robin looked the girl over swiftly and keenly. Then 
 he looked past her and down the stream. "How long are 
 you going to stay, Gret?" 
 
 "How can I tell?" 
 
 "Well, I mean — you 're not going away again until you 
 get married, are you ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "How long will that be?" 
 
 Gret broke into a rippling laugh. "My, what a hurry 
 you all seem to be in to get me away again." 
 
 Robin looked startled. "Why?" he demanded quickly. 
 
 "Eva asked me the very same thing." 
 
 "Oh!" He looked searchingly at her. "Oh, well, I 
 suppose we 're all just curious." 
 
 "Suppose so." 
 
 "How is your father this morning ?" asked Robin then. 
 
 "I don't know. Have n't seen any one this morning yet. 
 He was about the same last night," said Gret. "Come on 
 down and see." 
 
 "Oh, I guess I won't now I 've seen you," said Robin 
 hesitatingly. "I don't suppose there 's any change yet. 
 I '11 come down to-morrow if I don't see you or — or Eva." 
 
 "All right," acquiesced Gret, unconcerned. "I must go ; 
 I expect it 's getting late." 
 
 "Just about half -past nine," said Robin, swinging his 
 boat round up-stream again. 
 
 The nurse was just finishing her breakfast as Gret en- 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 317 
 
 tered the little dining-room. She was rather handsome, 
 and had all the starched immaculateness of a graduate 
 nurse, but Gret found nothing displeasing about her. 
 When she had left the room Mrs. Silway turned to Gret. 
 
 "You have been out, have n't you, Gret ?" 
 
 "Yes, mother ; to the camp." 
 
 "Eva and I have been allowed to see your father, and 
 you could have done so, too, if you had been here. He 
 did n't seem to know us, and so I suppose—" 
 
 "Did n't he ?" said Gret in surprise. 
 
 "No. I thought you did n't realize how grave his ill- 
 ness really is," went on Mrs. Silway, with grave candor. 
 "He took a turn for the worse in the night, or rather, 
 as he does n't rally, time makes matters worse. Dr. Gray 
 won't leave him for a moment. Doctors and nurses are 
 very ambiguous things, but I can see they are very anx- 
 ious." 
 
 Gret nodded, looking at her mother intently. And Mrs. 
 Silway returned the look, in her eyes a certain faint curi- 
 osity and almost amusement. She had always admitted 
 to herself that Gret was a stubborn little conundrum. 
 Here she was back with apparent content in her old ways 
 and her old clothes, with no seeming change in the small, 
 unyielding face and the lithe, extraordinarily sinuous 
 body. Mrs. Silway had something to say to the girl, but 
 she knew her better than to make any unjust claims or to 
 appeal to any mock sentiment. 
 
 "Gret you are quite old enough and quite sensible 
 enough to understand what I am about to say to you," she 
 began gravely and sweetly. "It seems a terribly unnatural 
 state of affairs that we should be able to preserve such un- 
 broken calm in face of the fact that the life of your fa- 
 ther and my husband is suspended by such a slender 
 thread that any hour may snap it. But there is very little 
 sham or observance of convention in this life that we 
 
3i8 GRET 
 
 lead and have been leading for years, and we know that 
 this seeming unnatural state of affairs is but the natural 
 outcome of these same past years. I don't expect or 
 want you, Gret, to act the hypocrite and pretend an affec- 
 tion that you could not feel. But I do want you, for the 
 sake of the respect that should attach to the name of 
 father, to stay at home and be within call until we know 
 definitely whether he is to live or die." 
 
 "I will, mother," agreed Gret instantly, admiring afresh 
 her mother's easy and unfailing grace of diction. 
 
 "Very well, then," smiled Mrs. Silway. 'Tor better or 
 worse, we shall certainly know to-day. So you won't be 
 caged long, you little wild animal. And now sit down for 
 a few minutes. I want to talk to you about your marriage, 
 or rather, engagement. I have n't even had a chance to 
 congratulate you, let alone ask any questions !" 
 
 Gret obeyed, with the faintest possible shade of uneasi- 
 ness. Somehow she did not care to discuss her coming 
 marriage any more than could be helped with any one. It 
 was a subject too near her heart. And so, though she ac- 
 cepted her mother's congratulations with apparent pleas- 
 ure, her answers to most of the questions put to her were 
 smiling evasions ; and Mrs. Silway presently desisted 
 from her efforts to probe the depth and quality of her 
 daughter's happiness. She reaHzed with a sort of wist- 
 fulness that it was too late now to expect the girls to turn 
 to her as confidante. She had held aloof too long; been 
 self-sufficient too long. Something— perhaps her hus- 
 band's loneliness and abject terror in the face of death, or 
 the sight of the absolute need of human nature, in hours 
 of extremity, of love and sympathy— had awakened the 
 latent womanliness and tenderness that still slept in her 
 breast. 
 
 Gret sat on for a minute or so, and then, seeing that 
 her mother did not appear to have anything more to say, 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 319 
 
 rose and went into the kitchen to forage. Lizzie was out- 
 side, gathering in the fruits. of that morning's washing, 
 and Gret began to gather a meal together for herself. 
 She drew the kettle forward and put the coffee-pot on to 
 warm. Then she went into the pantry, where Lizzie, en- 
 tering with a basket of clothes, discovered her. 
 
 ''What are you doing?" she inquired, though perfectly 
 able to guess. 
 
 "Finding something to eat," explained Gret. "I ate 
 breakfast so early up in camp that I 'm hungry again." 
 
 "I '11 fix you up something," said Lizzie amiably. 
 She deposited her load of clothes on the table and looked 
 at Gret critically. 
 
 "What did you do with all your nice clothes?" 
 
 "Left them up-stairs." 
 
 "You '11 have to wear that kind all the time when you 
 're married," observed Lizzie. "When are you going to 
 be married?" 
 
 "Don't know. Depends," said Gret shortly. And out 
 of deference to the tone Lizzie desisted from that topic. 
 
 Consciousness returned to Walter Silway that night 
 and remained with him till death, or until the coma that 
 preceded death. It can hardly be said that he returned 
 to a merciful consciousness, for it merely ushered back 
 the helpless, unreasoning terror that had seized him when 
 first he realized that death was a near possibility. He 
 was too weak to move, and sinking too fast to try to talk, 
 but his brain was wonderfully clear. He was utterly 
 lonely, horribly afraid, and longing for sympathy, yet 
 knowing that he could justly call on none. It was strange 
 how he longed for that which all his life he had held in 
 cheapest esteem — affection. If loving and anxious ones 
 stood with him and held his hands as he entered that un- 
 known from which he shrank, it would be less awful and 
 he would have more courage. But for once he saw 
 
320 GRET 
 
 straight, and knew that not only had he no right to expect 
 love, but also that it would be impossible for them to show 
 any. It could only be pretended, and they were not that 
 kind. How eagerly he had watched his wife when first 
 his real danger had become apparent, and most apparent 
 of all to his own inner consciousness. Somewhere, per- 
 haps, buried down deep, a little of her early tenderness 
 for him might yet remain and awake at the thoughts of 
 losing him. But she was gentle and grave as befitted the 
 occasion, and not even the most hopeful could trace any- 
 thing more. And he thought of another woman in Port- 
 land. She would lose no time in installing another in 
 that place which he had occupied, and the thought 
 brought no regret. 
 
 He saw the selfishness of an ordinary human life, and 
 his own surpassing the ordinary. That Pleasure he had 
 chased so long turned of a sudden a hideous face, and 
 Duty, discrowned by science and discounted of man, but 
 sweet and holy in the memory of the dying, stood not at 
 his bedside. He had lied to himself all his life, and even 
 succeeded in pretty well believing his own lies ; but not 
 now. Now he stood face to face with that Nature of 
 which he himself was a disobedient part. 
 
 Several times, when conscious, he had thought of Gret, 
 that odd, uncompromising outcome of this strange tangle. 
 She was hard to deal with, but she had a heart. And she 
 had been tasting pleasure at his expense lately. Perhaps 
 she would care, just a little. If he could only see just one 
 look of anxiety, one glance of affection! 
 
 When the Quellish doctor hurried back from a visit to 
 another patient, and after he had administered oxygen 
 and done all possible for the failing patient, he looked 
 down into the fading eyes, so full of dumb appeal and 
 misery, and then spoke aside to the nurse. 
 
 "I don't think anything will make much difference 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 321 
 
 now. We might as well let the family remain with him 
 to the end. I doubt whether he will be conscious again." 
 
 The nurse went down to the little sitting-room where 
 the three sat in decorous silence. "Mr. Silway is con- 
 scious," she said gently. ''But we 're afraid it will be for 
 the last time. If you would like to come and sit with 
 him-" 
 
 The three rose immediately and filed out with soft 
 step, up into the plain bedroom overlooking the Wishkah. 
 The dying man saw them enter, and his eyes searched 
 their faces eagerly. Mrs. Silway approached the bed- 
 side and touched his hand gently; she seated herself be- 
 side him, and he looked at her searchingly again. Once 
 she had told him : "There is punishment coming to both 
 of us for duty undone. But I am content to take my 
 share, knowing that you will get yours." Well, he was 
 getting it ; but she was not exulting. In her eyes pity was 
 plainly to be seen— no anxiety, no love, but pity. He 
 looked at Gret, and she, too, came and stood by the bed- 
 side. She remembered all the lights and beauty and lux- 
 ury of the big hotel where she had last seen him, and now, 
 in this little, dim room, she looked down on him, in curi- 
 osity at first ; but, as her father had remembered, she had 
 a heart always quick to pity, and, seeing that hunted look 
 in his eyes, she grew suddenly sorry for him. It must be 
 hard to die when one has lived so pleasant a life. 
 
 Eva sat a little aside. She was silent and awed, and a 
 look of pronounced dejection marred the usually dreamy 
 sweetness of her pale, flower-like face. 
 
 Presently the sick man made an effort and said some- 
 thing in a whispering, broken voice. The nurse, accus- 
 tomed to catching broken utterances, hurried and bent 
 over him. 
 
 "He wants to see Dick some one," she said, looking 
 round inquiringly. 
 
 21 
 
322 GRET 
 
 "Dick Swinton, the foreman!" said Gret quickly. 
 "Yes ! I '11 go and get him," with a reassuring nod. 
 
 "It 's so dark; take a lantern, Gret," murmured her 
 mother. 
 
 Gret nodded and darted from the room. She lighted 
 a lantern in the kitchen, taking it more for the extra 
 speed it would insure than as a safeguard. With it she 
 hastened across the river, and raced up the long board- 
 walk. Wild things scurried and rustled away in the 
 undergrowth of the marsh, and the slough gave out long 
 gleams where the rays of the lantern caught it. Gret 
 was not too busy to notice these things, though she hur- 
 ried along as fast as fleet feet could carry her. 
 
 She stood in the doorway of the men's hall, that being 
 the first door she reached, and as the men caught sight 
 of her a sudden silence prevailed. Card games and 
 checkers halted for a moment, and Oly's concertina 
 paused with a long wail. 
 
 "Where 's Dick ?" she demanded. 
 
 "In his cabin," chorused a dozen voices. "What do 
 you want him for, Gret?" 
 
 But Gret had gone on. A light twinkled from the win- 
 dow of the foreman's cabin, and Gret opened the door 
 and stood inside. Dick was taking a correspondence 
 course in forestry, and was busily writing as Gret en- 
 tered. She looked sharply and curiously over the paper- 
 bestrewn table, and then into Dick's inquiring eyes. 
 
 "Father wants you, Dick; he 's dying." 
 
 Dick sprang up, seized his cap, and followed Gret out 
 without a word. Outside the door he took the lantern 
 and held out his hand to the girl, who promptly placed 
 hers within it. 
 
 Dick loosed Gret's fingers and wound his arm through 
 hers. In that way they traveled quickly down to the boat. 
 In the boat Gret stood up and held the lantern aloft, while 
 
THE FIRST SHADOW 323 
 
 Dick sent the craft across the stream in great sweeps. In 
 the house she led him up to the sick-room. 
 
 He entered, treading gently, hat in hand, and his big, 
 magnificent manhood filled the room. Gret took his hand 
 in her quaint, self-unconscious way and led him to her 
 father. Walter Silway looked slowly up at him, the man 
 of much work and few words, who in his dogged, quiet 
 way followed right as he saw it and claimed as much for 
 his fellow man as for himself. Who can guess at the 
 thoughts of the dying man in those few seconds, or gage 
 in those few seconds' keen self -depreciation the lesson 
 given for use along the devious paths that shrunken soul 
 had yet to tread. 
 
 Then "the timber boss" began to speak, and Gret 
 touched the arm of the waiting foreman. "You '11 have 
 to bend down, Dick." 
 
 Dick bent obediently over and listened to the slowly 
 uttered but fairly distinct words. 
 
 "Dick, you '11 run the camp for Mrs. Silway?" 
 "Yes, sir ; just the same as I ran it for you." 
 "There 's not much else, and you must manage it well 
 for them." 
 
 "I will, sir— as long as ever Mrs. Silway wants me." 
 "You '11 have to move camp soon ?" 
 "About a year ; soon as that S. E. section is cut." 
 Silway seemed to nod his head slightly. There seemed 
 to be nothing else to say, and he closed his eyes, weary 
 with even that little exertion. 
 
 Dick stood waiting for a moment or so, then as the boss 
 opened his eyes again, he placed a great, strong hand over 
 his. "Good-by, sir." 
 
 His voice was faintly husky. There was much about 
 the boss that Dick had never admired, but he was touched 
 by the sight of so much weakness. And Silway, hunger- 
 ing for sympathy, saw the emotion and strove to speak 
 
324 GRET 
 
 again. His lips moved, and then he closed his eyes again. 
 Dick quietly left the room. 
 
 Gret, who had been standing most keenly watching 
 both her father and Dick, stood a moment by the bedside 
 deep in thought. Probably in after life she never forgot 
 the contrast between those two. Then she moved quietly 
 away and seated herself by her mother. 
 
 Before dawn, with rain falling softly and the dawn- 
 wind stirring through the forest in long whispers, like 
 waves breaking on far-off shores, Walter Silway ceased 
 to breathe. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 GRET HEARS NEWS 
 
 CHRISTMAS came and went unnoticed. On account 
 of the boss's recent death no celebrations of any 
 kind were held at the camp, except such individual cele- 
 brations as the different camp-members went down to the 
 Harbor to secure, and in the little house on the bluff the 
 time was spent in decorous quiet. Even the energetic 
 Gret, observing her mother's wishes, remained in entire 
 seclusion for the first month following her father's death. 
 It was rather hard work, for there was nothing to be 
 done but remain indoors. The state of the weather did 
 not permit of even sitting about outside. Fortunately 
 for her, however, Gret was probably more restfully in- 
 clined now than she had ever been in her life : for once 
 she could sit down and let the all-engrossing To-day pale 
 before the beauty of that To-morrow which was drawing 
 near. If nothing had ever come of it— as in the begin- 
 ning she had never dreamed there could— Gret would 
 have sternly repressed her love and scorned herself for 
 loving, would never have allowed herself to dwell on it 
 for even a moment's dreaming ; but now that its existence 
 was sanctioned and justified it rose and flooded all her 
 life. Every fiber of the girl's being, every characteristic, 
 was subservient to it. With her nothing like it had ever 
 been before; it was too entire for anything like it ever 
 to be again ; for it was one of the attributes of Errol Lud- 
 lowe's powerful individuality that the love he inspired 
 
326 GRET 
 
 was never anything but complete and all-mastering. 
 More than one woman had loved him so. 
 
 During her seclusion Gret received several letters from 
 her fiance. He told her of summoning home from the 
 Mediterranean the yacht Immortalite, and of improve- 
 ments and overhauling to be made. Though he said 
 nothing, Gret gathered that he shared her mother's 
 ideas as to the propriety of a period of seclusion for the 
 family. 
 
 Representing through her attorney that the unbroken 
 continuance of work in the camp was necessary to the 
 welfare of the estate, Margaret Silway obtained from the 
 court an order to that effect, pending probate formalities 
 and while arranging to have herself declared administra- 
 trix. 
 
 She sent for Dick and had quite a long talk with him. 
 
 "The work of the camp will go on as it always has," 
 she told him. '*Of course, I don't need to tell you that I 
 know nothing of the logging business; but — " and she 
 smiled— "I don't know that that will make much differ- 
 ence. Mr. Silway always left everything to you, and so 
 shall I. I want you to take entire management of every- 
 thing. You will do that, won't you ?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." Dick sat facing her, cap in hand, 
 very respectful, but not at all embarrassed. "Just as long 
 as you want me." 
 
 "Thank you. I think I 'm so fortunate in having a 
 manager like you," went on Mrs. Silway, really thinking 
 and meaning what she said. "I know how Mr. Silway 
 trusted you, and I know he was not mistaken." 
 
 Dick said, "Thank you," and waited for whatever else 
 she might have to say. 
 
 "But I imagine there will be a great deal more work 
 now for you to do," continued Mrs. Silway. "I suppose 
 Mr. Silway did most of the selling in Portland. What do 
 
GRET HEARS NEWS 327 
 
 you propose ? Shall we open a sort of office affair down 
 at the Harbor?" 
 
 "I don't think that will be necessary." Dick smiled 
 gravely. "I 'd just have a box number down at Quellish 
 for the company letters to come to. There is n't much 
 selling to be done as far as the camp's concerned. The 
 mills take about all we can log," 
 
 "Did they always do that?" Mrs. Silway looked puz- 
 zled. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am. In Portland and such places Mr. Silway 
 was engaged mostly in timber deals, not so much with the 
 actual logging." 
 
 Mrs. Silway still looked unenlightened, and Dick went 
 on : "He 'd buy up timber claims, and so on. They 'd lo- 
 cate a good timber tract, and then hire men to go out and 
 file on it." . ' 
 
 "But— is that legal ?" inquired Mrs. Silway. 
 
 "Well, no— not exactly. There 's lots of money in it, 
 though, and almost all the big lumber people manage 
 things that way." 
 
 "Oh, well, we won't dabble in that branch of the lum- 
 ber business, Mr. Swinton," said Mrs. Silway, smiling. 
 "The camp will keep us all very comfortably, I think. 
 There is a lot of timber yet uncut belonging to us, I see." 
 
 "Oh, yes ; two years' work yet. And by that time we 
 shall have bought more." Dick rose, considering the in- 
 terview at an end. He stood facing his future mistress 
 for a moment. "I was thinking it would be a good thing, 
 perhaps, to send out at once a letter to all our regular 
 customers, saying the camp was still doing business in 
 the same old way. They might think that after — " 
 
 "Yes, that is a good idea, Mr. Swinton," agreed Mrs. 
 Silway readily. "I will speak to the attorney at once 
 about drafting the letter and having it sent round. I 
 want all the customers to know that the camp still has the 
 
328 GRET 
 
 same manager, too. I 've no doubt they were well satis- 
 fied with the treatment they received in the past. And 
 then, Mr. Swinton," she went on, half hesitating, "I 
 don't know what Mr. Silway paid you, but it must be 
 more now because there will be more work and more 
 responsibility. We will alter it to whatever you think 
 fair." 
 
 "He paid me a hundred and fifty a month," replied 
 Dick; "and that 's fair. There won't be any more work 
 that I can see. I don't want to talk about raising salary 
 now, anyhow, ma'am. Thank you just the same." 
 
 And so, with mutual confidence, employer and employe 
 parted, Mrs. Silway feeling, as she had said, fortunate in 
 having such a man as Dick Swinton to manage for her. 
 She knew well enough that, were it not for him, she 
 would have to sell the camp from sheer inability to run it. 
 
 February came in, a beautiful month. There were 
 days of warm sunshine and soft, sweet airs, and Gret be- 
 gan slowly to emerge from total obscurity. She went up 
 to the camp, and now and again up or down the river ; and 
 every day while the nice weather lasted she and Eva sat 
 out on the bluff, just as of old; and often Robin came 
 and sat with them. 
 
 Gret felt not a little curious about Robin. She had 
 been surprised, to begin with, to find him still at the Or- 
 chards. She questioned him freely, and according to him 
 he had quite got out of the idea of going to Portland and 
 starting up in business; he was going to stay at the Or- 
 chards and farm it for all it was worth. And yet it did 
 not seem as if he had any more interest in farming now 
 than ever; what work was done at the Orchards Henry, 
 the hired man, did. Gret could not understand it at all, 
 and one day, up at the camp, she mentioned the matter 
 to Jake. He might have enlightening ideas on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
GRET HEARS NEWS 329 
 
 "It 's so funny," she observed. "He says he 's going to 
 stay on the Orchards and farm. But still he is n't farm- 
 ing. Henry does all that 's done. Robin need n't tell me 
 he 's ever going to like farming, because I know better. 
 He has n't hated it all these years for nothing." 
 
 Jake was busily untying the mouth of a flour-sack, and 
 he did not look round as he replied to Gret's observations. 
 
 "Oh, well, I expect he 's going to marry and settle 
 down." 
 
 Gret laughed long and scornfully. "Pooh! Fancy 
 Robin settling down to anything !" 
 
 "Oh, but he '11 have to if he gets married!" declared 
 Jake. 
 
 "He might for a month or so— just while it was new," 
 said Gret, not to be convinced. "And besides, who could 
 he marry?" 
 
 Jake gave a little chuckle. "Well, land's sake ! Don't 
 you think there 's anybody left for him to marry?" 
 
 "No ; not here." 
 
 "Nobody?" persisted Jake. 
 
 "Oh, well, not about here," explained Gret. "Of 
 course, there are girls— down at the Harbor; but I don't 
 think he 's after any one. If so, he 'd be down there 
 every minute of the time— until he got her. And then 
 I 'd be sorry for her." 
 
 Jake looked hard at Gret over his shoulder for a sec- 
 ond. "Oh, I don't know. That Orchards is a pretty nice 
 place. I '11 tell you, many a girl starts married life with 
 less." 
 
 "Oh, yes; that 's all right. But how long would he 
 have it ?" said Gret. "You know Robin as well as I do ; 
 so why do you talk rubbish? You know just as well as I 
 do that as soon as ever the newness of marriage has worn 
 off he '11 begin to think how much nicer it would be to 
 live in a town and have a business. He thinks there 's no 
 
330 GRET 
 
 work about business, and then one can go to a theater 
 every night. So he 'd sell the ranch. Then you know 
 how long a business will last when you have some one 
 else to do the work for you and attend to it for you. It 
 would be only a matter of time until he lost it. Then 
 it would be a real case of working, and how do you think 
 the wife would come off?" Out of her intimate knowl- 
 edge of Robin's character Gret ran off her prophecies 
 with great ease. 
 
 "It does n't sound to me," observed Jake, reaching out 
 for a spoon, "as if you 'd altogether want anybody be- 
 longing to you to marry Robin." 
 
 "I would n't ; I would n't have it !" 
 
 Jake turned to the sack of flour and dug a spoon in with 
 almost unnecessary vigor. He was preparing the noon 
 meal, and carried a heaping spoon of flour to the range 
 and deposited it in the sizzling pan waiting for it. That 
 done, he poured in a lot of water, and stood ruminating 
 a while amid clouds of savory steam. Then he pushed 
 the pan to one side of the stove, and turned to Gret with 
 stolid countenance. 
 
 "Well, Gret, we 've always been good tillicums, and 
 that 's why I 'm in such a corner now. But I 'm no spoil- 
 sport, and— land! I 'm surprised you have n't taken a 
 tumble before this." He turned back to the stove with 
 smothered grumblings. 
 
 Gret stared at him. 
 
 "Have n't you never seen Robin talking to a girl ?" de- 
 manded Jake from the stove then. 
 
 "No," said Gret, surprised, but decided. 
 
 "Think again !" commanded Jake. 
 
 Gret stared harder at him, her eyes opening wide. 
 Could he— "Well, he 's talked to me, of course," she said 
 tartly. 
 
 "Oh, of course !" Jake shrugged his shoulders impa- 
 
GRET HEARS NEWS 331 
 
 tiently. "But I mean some girl he M be at all likely to 
 get stuck on." 
 
 Even in the midst of her wondering Gret's lips curved 
 in slight amusement, so complimentary was this reply to 
 herself; but she thought earnestly. "Nope; never saw 
 him talk to anybody but me and Eva. You can't mean 
 Eva!" she added suddenly. 
 
 But Jake gave an almost ferocious wave of both hands. 
 "Now, I 'm not saying anything is or is n't. You 're 
 generally pretty smart at putting two and two together 
 and making five. You 've just got to do your own guess- 
 ing." 
 
 It did not take Gret two seconds to recall the many 
 times she had seen Eva and Robin in close converse to- 
 gether and thought nothing of it, and now that she came 
 to look for incidents pointing this way it did not take her 
 long to recall many other things, too— things at the time 
 totally insignificant. She got suddenly up and walked 
 straight out of the cook-house. 
 
 Jake watched her straight and rapid progress down the 
 skid-road with a slight smile. In this case he surmised 
 that her putting of two and two together would resolve 
 itself into marching home as straight as an arrow and de- 
 manding the truth from either Eva or Robin. 
 
 And he was right. With hardly a glance to right or 
 left, Gret went swiftly home— across the river, into the 
 house, and straight up into Eva's room. Eva was sitting 
 writing, her pad on a book that lay on her crossed knees, 
 and she looked hastily up as Gret unceremoniously en- 
 tered. 
 
 "Eva," began Gret, dispensing with preliminaries, as 
 she always did, "what 's this I hear about you and 
 Robin?" 
 
 A wave of color rushed over Eva's delicate face. She 
 threw down book and pad and jumped up. 
 
332 GRET 
 
 "Did some one tell you ? I 'm so glad ! I wanted you 
 to know all the time, really; though I was n't going to 
 tell, just because we wanted it to be a surprise!" she 
 added quickly, in response to the strange look that set- 
 tled on Gret's face. ''Don't look like that, Gret. Indeed, 
 that was the only reason I did n't tell you !" She put her 
 hands on her sister's shoulders in her eagerness to be be- 
 lieved. "And that 's why I did n't write. We were going 
 to be married, and then walk in on you while you were in 
 San Francisco and give you a great surprise. But just 
 then father became ill. . . . Gret, are you so angry ?" 
 taking down her hands and stepping back. 
 
 "No," said Gret quietly, but with a long sigh. "Did 
 mother know of this ?" 
 
 "No, neither mother nor father. Robin said father 
 'would be sure to oppose it beforehand, and afterward 
 opposition would be no good." 
 
 Gret nodded. Then she turned away and went to the 
 window. She stood silently looking out, and in a minute 
 or so Eva came up behind her and twined her arm about 
 her waist. 
 
 "Oh, Gret, I see you 're feeling hurt. It 's just because 
 you don't see things in the way we meant them," she said 
 pleadingly. "I wanted to tell you when you came home 
 this time, but Robin said no, the surprise was just as good 
 as ever. Just as soon as you got married, we were going 
 to get married, too, and follow you up. Grettie, you 
 can't think it 's because I did n't want you to know ! I 
 did think I 'd almost rather tell you, but Robin thought 
 it would be such fun !" 
 
 Gret turned from the window with a hard little laugh. 
 She recognized Robin's old, familiar touch. Time did not 
 alter him at all. 
 
 "No, I 'm not angry with you," she said in her quiet 
 way. "You had the right to do as you liked. I 'm not 
 
GRET HEARS NEWS 333 
 
 your master." Unconsciously she emphasized the "you." 
 "I Ve got something on my mind just now, Eva. Don't 
 let 's talk about it all just now. We will to-night." 
 
 And without another look at her sister she went out of 
 the room, and back to the boat. Her first idea was to go 
 straight up to Robin; but then she changed her mind. 
 She recognized the need of an hour's quiet thought. Just 
 now she was stupid, chilled by something sinister. She 
 could not seem to see with her usual clearness. She could 
 not quite see yet where she stood, what it all meant. So 
 she rowed up the river a little way, and then tied up her 
 boat and went a short distance into the brush. She flung 
 herself down, laying her cheek hard on the moss as she 
 had been used to do at night-time when she wanted to 
 hear the rustling and whispers come through the brush. 
 
 One thing had been instantly clear to Gret. Every- 
 thing between Robin and Eva must be cut short at once. 
 In common with most natures of her class, Gret knew 
 little and cared less for the laws of men or communities ; 
 she would cheerfully have disobeyed every one if her 
 sense of expediency advised it. But here she was con- 
 fronted by the great "Thou shalt not !" planted in every 
 human nature, to disobey which is death of the worst 
 form. She was amazed at the strength of this command 
 born of herself. This thing could not be allowed to go 
 on. She knew it. That was all. 
 
 But for quite the first time in her life Gret was fright- 
 ened, sick at heart. She did not care for the risk of ex- 
 posure, or the censure of her fellows; she did not even 
 think of it. But she felt that the ax was laid at the root 
 of her happiness. Manage things as best she might, a 
 curtain was drawing slowly between her and her happi- 
 ness. At best it was now afar off where before it had 
 been so near. 
 
 How Gret hated Robin as she lay on the grass and 
 
334 GRET 
 
 thought and thought! If only he could have got Eva 
 safely married, how helpless she would have been. Her 
 long disgust at his fickle nature, his folly and innate de- 
 ceit condensed into hatred that would hardly be contained. 
 If through him she lost Errol, then there would be noth- 
 ing left to live for, and— Gret's eyes glowed in the 
 shade. Most assuredly Robin would pay for his sins un- 
 til the last faint stain wa£ wiped out. 
 
 And yet, consumed with rage against him as she was, 
 Gret strove to be fair: she had been raised among men 
 who loved fair play. She recognized that she did not 
 seem to be willing to allow Robin the same latitude that 
 she took herself. She realized that she must argue with 
 him fairly, showing him that what stood between him and 
 Eva must be removed before he could try to claim her ; 
 and this not from any love of dictating on her part, but 
 simply because it must be. Of course, he must know all 
 this as well as she did, but she must talk fairly and get him 
 to admit it. They would think things over, and she would 
 do the best she could for both of them— and for herself, 
 too. But she knew Robin and his red-hot temper, and 
 her heart sank; and at the thought of losing Errol she 
 grew strangely weak. 
 
 Calmer and clearer in mind, but yet leaving much to the 
 chance fall of words, Gret got back into the boat and 
 rowed down to the Orchards. Her oars lagged ; she was 
 taking the first step into trouble that stretched farther 
 than she could see. Now and again, just for a moment, 
 the temptation was strong upon her to row on by and let 
 things take their course. How could she risk letting 
 Errol know? How could she risk being put away by 
 him? It would be so easy to let things go— so safe ! For 
 then Robin's lips would be safely sealed forever. Yet 
 she rowed on ; she dared not stop. Gret had never before 
 known what it was not to dare ; now she knew. She had 
 
GRET HEARS NEWS 335 
 
 never before realized what sin was; now she knew she 
 was tempted by it. 
 
 Robin was. sitting on the veranTia-steps as Gret moored 
 at the landing-, and he watched her, at first curiously and 
 then with apprehension, as she approached him up the 
 path edged with currant and gooseberry bushes. The 
 brilliant winter sunshine was behind and cast a great 
 shadow before her, and it seemed to Robin that the girl 
 loomed supematurally large. Her eyes, that rested on 
 his face, glowed with contained passion, and as she drew 
 the deep, silent breaths that made her thin nostrils quiver, 
 Robin felt oddly that he would not be surprised to see her 
 break out in flame at every point of the lithe body. So 
 great was the power of her repressed rage that it seemed 
 as if all create surroundings faded away, leaving her 
 dominating the entire horizon— a stern figure, in an un- 
 natural light, and full of a living fire. 
 
 "Robin," she began very quietly, "I 've heard about 
 you and Eva." 
 
 Robin's lips parted to speak, but no word came. In- 
 stead, his eyes were glued to her face and he waited 
 breathlessly for her next words. 
 
 "You know very well," went on Gret, "that it won't do." 
 
 Expectation faded instantly out of Robin's face. The 
 familiar dull red of his temper crept over it, and his 
 eyes flashed. "Why not?" he demanded. 
 
 "You know why not." 
 
 "I don't ! You bet I don't ! You 're going to get mar- 
 ried, are n't you?" His voice rose, as usual with him 
 when crossed or excited. To Gret it was all so hatefully 
 familiar. 
 
 "I was, yes ; but not to any one belonging to you." 
 
 "Would n't have cared if it had been !" contemptuously. 
 
 "Perhaps not. It would have been a man, for one thing, 
 and it would n't hurt a man so much," said Gret. 
 
336 GRET 
 
 "And so you think you can get married, and do just as 
 you like," went on Robin excitedly ; "but if I try to do the 
 same thing, it 's all wrong, eh ?" 
 
 "Don't talk so like a kid," said Gret, forcing herself to 
 retain her temper that she might reason with him. "If it 
 had been any other girl than Eva I would n't have taken 
 any notice. It would have been wrong just the same, but 
 I should n't have bothered; I should n't have thought it 
 was any of my business. We had decided to let that— 
 that foolishness go as nothing. But I can't let you— pre- 
 tend to marry Eva. What would she be afterwards ?" 
 
 "What you '11 be when you marry that swell of yours," 
 retorted Robin coarsely. 
 
 Gret's lips hardened into a thin line. But she still kept 
 a hold on her temper. "Yes, just the same; but I know 
 —I choose to pay that price. She can't choose, because 
 she does n't know. And," she added in a quiet, measured 
 way, "I would n't let her choose as / did if she wanted 
 to." She spoke in a hushed sort of voice, for the truth of 
 what she said came to her even as she spoke. 
 
 "Indeed !" sneered Robin. "Nice to be able to say what 
 people shall do, is n't it ?" He was in too great a temper 
 to think for himself or make an initiative remark. 
 
 A look of weary disgust passed over Gret's face, but 
 she was still wonderfully contained and patient. She 
 kept ever in her mind her own share of blame in the mat- 
 ter. 
 
 "I don't see why we should n't gradually work round 
 to the right way of doing things," she said, ignoring his 
 remark. "There must be a way of undoing what we did; 
 though I suppose it would take time. I don't understand 
 much about that sort of thing. But we '11 all three get 
 together and talk—" 
 
 But Robin interrupted her with a shout. "You won't 
 tell Eva !" He sprang up and stood before Gret, a big, 
 
GRET HEARS NEWS 337 
 
 broad-shouldered man, but senseless in his passion as a 
 spoiled child. "Think I '11 have her know what I was go- 
 ing to let her do? No! I 'd never marry her if she 
 knew that. She 'd have it in for me always. Don't you 
 dare tell her. If you do — " He actually shook his fist in 
 the girl's face, so great was his rage. 
 
 Gret looked at him in measureless disgust. For a mo- 
 ment she was silent, at a loss for the. most advisable ar- 
 gument to pursue with a man in a state of mind like this. 
 Then suddenly an idea occurred to her. Very likely she 
 had been foolish to come to him at all in the first place. 
 She should have gone to Eva. Eva would have been 
 much more easily pacified, would certainly be more 
 gentle and reasonable, and then she could have helped 
 pacify Robin. Gret had little fear but that Eva could be 
 talked into a reasonable frame of mind, though she had 
 her doubts as to whether she would want afterward to 
 have much more to do with Robin. Still, she would ex- 
 plain everything to her, and then Eva, who liked him, 
 could talk to this man so much better than Gret herself, 
 who hated him. 
 
 Having decided this without troubling to explain to 
 Robin, she turned quietly round and began to walk down 
 the path. 
 
 "Are you going to tell Eva ?" called Robin sharply after 
 her. 
 
 "Oh, yes ; I '11 have to tell her anyway !" called Gret in 
 reply, but without pausing or turning her head. "If I 
 did n't you 'd manage to do something underhanded 
 that I could n't undo." 
 
 Robin shouted something else after her, but his voice 
 was choked with rage, and Gret did not catch what it was. 
 But it did not matter. It was not the least use trying to 
 talk to him until he had had time to get over his first fit 
 of rage. And so Gret went quietly on down the path and 
 
 22 
 
338 GRET 
 
 got into the boat. As she sat down and began to row ofF 
 she saw Robin tear into the house. She reflected that per- 
 haps he was going to follow her down home, but the re- 
 flection did not worry her. He would have to be more 
 circumspect in his bearing there. 
 
 He did not attempt to follow her, however. And Gret 
 went quietly home and sat down to a dinner that for once 
 she could only pretend to eat. From time to time she 
 glanced at Eva. Her heart was tender toward the girl 
 who also was soon to be robbed of her brief happiness. 
 But in the midst of all her trouble she did not look back 
 and repine or reproach herself. She had done what she 
 thought best at the time, and she had always done that; 
 no more, no less. 
 
 During the meal both Eva and her mother glanced 
 time and again at Gret. Her face was composed, but 
 there was a weightiness about her expression, a frozen 
 look about her eyes that had never been there before. 
 Eva glanced apprehensively and penitently, and her 
 mother curiously. But Mrs. Silway never invited her 
 daughters' confidences ; she had neglected to do so as chil- 
 dren, now that they were grown-up and initiative beings, 
 she would not. 
 
 After dinner, instead of going out to the bluflP, Gret 
 went up to her room. She knew that Eva the penitent 
 would follow her, as she did. 
 
 "Gret, I do think you 're unkind to be so cross. I can't 
 see that I 've done anything—" 
 
 Gret turned suddenly round from the window, and held 
 up her hand. To be dramatic was the last effect she 
 aimed at ; but at this moment she was. 
 
 "Eva, wait a minute ! When you promised to marry 
 Robin, were n't you ever afraid he might already be mar- 
 ried to some one else ?" 
 
 Eva started and stared at her sister, then she laughed ; 
 
GRET HEARS NEWS 339 
 
 puzzled as she was, she could not but be amused at such 
 an odd, uncalled-for question. "Why, of course not! 
 Who could he have married?" 
 
 Gret smiled, a faint, grim smile. **He could have mar- 
 ried me !" And then, cutting short the answer already on 
 Eva's lips, she added, "And he did." 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 TOO late! 
 
 IT seemed to Gret that, after all, most human beings 
 are undiscovered mines. Well as she thought she 
 knew her sister, yet, after her lover's intended treachery 
 was made known to her, Eva acted in a way Gret would 
 never have expected or imagined. At first, of course, 
 in view of Gret's own proposed marriage and all other 
 attendant circumstances, she refused to believe Gret's 
 few and quiet words. But when convinced, the first 
 feelings that seemed to be inspired by the amazing truth 
 was jealousy and a distinct feeling of spite against Gret. 
 It seemed to the astounded elder girl that the knowledge 
 of the wrong Robin had intended doing her was insig- 
 nificant to Eva beside the fact that Gret had superseded 
 her in her choice of a lover. She wept stormily and un- 
 abatedly. 
 
 'T don't care !" she sobbed out, lying on the bed in her 
 abandon. "You may have got him, but he does n't love 
 you. I 'm the one he loves !" 
 
 "Of course," said Gret contemptuously; "he hates me 
 as badly as I do him." 
 
 After a while this assurance, repeated in various and 
 more emphatic forms, proved so comforting that Eva's 
 sobs abated somewhat, and she presently sat up on the 
 bed and began to question. She made Gret give her every 
 detail, every circumstance preceding and following that 
 ill-advised day of long ago, which, for that matter, Gret 
 
TOO LATE 341 
 
 was quite willing to do. And again Eva was comforted. 
 It never had been anything but a matter of words, and 
 Robin had never really cared for Gret. And Gret made 
 a point of contributing to the relief of her sister's jeal- 
 ousy by declaring often and scornfully that never had the 
 faintest tinge of affection existed between herself and 
 Robin, and never in the future could anything but dislike 
 be felt between them. 
 
 And then, hurrying to take advantage of the period of 
 calm following on this comforting assurance, Gret be- 
 gan to discuss remedial measures. She did not know 
 much, if anything, of divorce laws, but she had great 
 faith in the power of money. To-morrow, she told Eva, 
 she would go down to Granite and consult the best of the 
 three lawyers there. She did not deem it advisable to 
 consult the one attorney in Quellish, who was also her 
 mother's attorney. 
 
 "It takes six months to get a divorce, though ; I know it 
 does," said Eva disconsolately. 
 
 "Well ! It 's better to wait six months than to wait for- 
 ever, is n't it?" observed Gret almost curtly. She could 
 not but remember that her own fate was very much more 
 uncertain, very much more threatening, than Eva's. But 
 Eva did not think of any of these things. She only saw 
 a long, dreary wait before her, and wept afresh. 
 
 Gret sat and quietly waited for her to grow calm again, 
 which after a while she did. The very fact that some one 
 was sitting waiting for her to become quiet had a quelling 
 effect, and so she sat up, dried her eyes, and once more 
 evinced a readiness to discuss the situation. 
 
 The two girls talked far into the night— with intermis- 
 sions caused by fresh outbursts of Eva's grief and disap- 
 pointment—of the 5teps to be taken on the difficult path 
 before them. It was agreed that strictest secrecy be pre- 
 served between the three; the truth must be kept from 
 
342 GRET 
 
 every one, even their mother. And Eva pledged herself 
 as to Robin's compliance with everything she should 
 deem advisable. It pleased her afresh to think that she 
 alone could influence him, a distinction that Gret was 
 perfectly willing to concede. And when, half-way into 
 the night, all was arranged that could possibly be ar- 
 ranged beforehand, the two girls retired to their respect- 
 ive beds — Eva for another fit of crying, and Gret to 
 think and wonder, and alternately hope and despair. 
 
 Before she went to sleep Gret thought with fresh 
 amazement of the new side of her character presented by 
 Eva that night. The wrong that to the girl of harsher 
 mold had seemed so heinous she would risk her life's 
 happiness rather than permit it, to the girl of soft and 
 gentle mood was nothing compared to the possible loss of 
 her lover. And even in the midst of her anxiety and trou- 
 ble Gret wondered. Love was everything. The world 
 was not lost when that yet remained. 
 
 The next morning Eva was not able to leave her room 
 for swollen eyes and headache ; but she called Gret to her 
 bedside and whispered to her to go and find Robin and tell 
 him that she still loved and would wait for him. And Gret 
 promised, and also promised to come right back and tell 
 Eva what he said. She further proposed to go down to 
 Granite that day and consult the lawyer, but Eva wished 
 to wait until Robin's opinion could be gained on that and 
 other details. And so it was finally agreed that Gret 
 should invite Robin to a conference of three that after- 
 noon or evening. It v/as certainly not Gret's way to con- 
 sult with any one before acting, but in this case she de- 
 ferred to Eva, who seemed to be carefully guarding 
 against any possible slight to Robin. 
 
 And so, in obedience to Eva's wishes, and also in ac- 
 cordance with ideas of her own, Gret went up to the Or- 
 chards in search of Robin. But she could not find either 
 
TOO LATE 343 
 
 him or Henry. The place seemed deserted. She rowed 
 a little way up and down the river, and went up to the 
 camp, but no Robin. So, deciding that he must have 
 gone down to the Harbor, Gret went back home and so 
 explained to the waiting Eva. Eva was worried at once. 
 
 "He would n't go away, would he ?" she inquired anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "Why, of course not V replied Gret scornfully . "Where 
 would he go to ?" 
 
 That afternoon, while Eva, relieved from her head- 
 ache, was sleeping a troubled, restless sleep, Gret rowed 
 up the river again. There were no signs of life about the 
 Orchards yet, and so Gret rowed on, more or less aim- 
 lessly. She was so harassed and anxious that she could 
 not be still, and she rowed for the mere relief of action. 
 And in this way, not exactly looking for him, but glad 
 nevertheless to find him, Gret met Robin. 
 
 Apart from other troubles, just now Robin was much 
 ruffled in spirit over domestic matters. So altogether un- 
 civil and explosive had he been the day before that 
 Henry, the long-suffering, who had been gradually tiring 
 of doing two men's work when he was only hired and 
 paid for one, had decided to settle matters once for all by 
 leaving. And so last night, taking advantage of an eve- 
 ning trip made by his master to the Harbor, Henry had 
 made a sudden exit. Robin had hunted all day, but could 
 find no trace of his missing servitor; and now, with stock 
 at home waiting to be fed and watered and endless work 
 to be done, he was returning, in a most unenviable frame 
 of mind, from a hasty visit of inquiry to the Gradel ranch. 
 
 They met in the Jam. The tide had begun to run in, 
 but as yet there was not sufficient water to allow of the 
 width and play of two pairs of oars. The slope of the 
 banks was steep, and what water there was was deep ; but 
 there was not yet room for two boats to pass between the 
 
344 GRET 
 
 edge of the boom and shallow water, and Robin and Gret, 
 both standing up and paddling gondolier fashion, sheared 
 noses and came to a halt. 
 
 In a strictly impersonal voice Gret delivered Eva's mes- 
 sage word for word, and ended by requesting his presence 
 on the bluff that evening for the purpose of joint consul- 
 tation. 
 
 Robin was palpably taken aback. Like Gret herself, he 
 had never dreamed but that Eva would look very seri- 
 ously on the wrong he had been about to do her — so seri- 
 ously, indeed, that her love for him could never again be 
 the same. And in view of this certainty he had done 
 what, even so soon, he would gladly undo. Yet he would 
 not appear to falter now. He looked at Gret with nar- 
 rowed eyes. 
 
 "You 're so busy fixing my affairs. How are you going 
 to fix your own?" 
 
 "I '11 see when the time comes," replied Gret shortly. 
 
 "It '11 come very soon," said Robin, with an air of bra- 
 vado, more assumed than felt. He was victor for the 
 moment, but victory is sometimes dearly bought. "Last 
 night I wrote and told Ludlowe about— who you were." 
 
 All the bronze faded out of Gret's eyes, leaving the still, 
 deep sea-water shade. "I don't believe it !" she said with 
 the intake of her breath. "You don't know his address." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do— the St. Francis Hotel," said Robin 
 quickly. 
 
 Gret lifted her head for a moment. "Have you posted 
 the letter?" 
 
 "Yes; I went down last night and posted it." And 
 then, feeling that a proper show of righteous rage was 
 necessary to the situation, he went on : "You always did 
 think you were too clever for any use— arranging other 
 people's affairs ; but there 's such a thing as getting too 
 smart. Try and show a little smartness in arranging youi 
 
TOO LATE 345 
 
 own affairs now. I called after you last night that I 'd 
 do it if you told Eva." 
 
 Gret did not answer ; she did not look at him, and it is 
 doubtful whether she even heard what he said. 
 Robin was prepared to see her get furiously angry— in 
 her quiet way— but he was not prepared for the effect his 
 words had on her. The color ebbed away from her 
 face, even from her lips; and she stood quiet, with bent 
 head. She folded her hands in a quaint way across her 
 breast, and drew one deep, long sigh. Her wide eyes 
 rested on the deep water, and the moving of the boat 
 swayed her body slightly; but her face was set like that 
 of a dead woman. 
 
 The river swished and rippled round the boom, and the 
 great trees stood tall and watchful about them. But still 
 Gret stood, with bent head and that strange look on her 
 face. She reminded Robin of a picture he had once seen 
 of a nun taking the vows that consecrated her life. He 
 grew uneasy, and a sense of chill passed over him; his 
 old fear of the girl crept back, for the moment super- 
 seding and annulling his ill temper. He was a fool not 
 to have waited a little longer. She could not have taken 
 his trump card away from him, nor even robbed it of any 
 of its power. It would have done just as good work late 
 as early. 
 
 Presently Gret looked up, a faint smile creeping over 
 lips that had a hard, twisted look. And again she sighed, 
 that deep, long sigh of finality. 
 
 Time is effect. But for its effect upon animate things 
 it would be as nothing. And by this same law our lives 
 are shaped more by moments here and there than by all 
 the years that lie between. In the few moments that 
 had just passed there had opened a wide gulf between 
 Gret and the happy girl treasuring thoughts of her fu- 
 ture. So far away was she already from that other girl 
 
346 GRET 
 
 with the glad heart that it almost seemed as if she could 
 never have been. And in those few moments Gret forgot 
 her love for Eva, all sense of fairness, all goodness, all 
 hope. She gave herself over to a hate that would be deep 
 enough and bitter enough to fill her days. 
 
 "Well !" Her tones were hard and incisive, though 
 quiet. 'Then that 's all ended. Now I am free. Oh, no, 
 though. Now I," and she laid her hand on her chest with 
 a mocking movement, "am your wife." She looked at 
 Robin smilingly, but his eyelids faltered beneath the wide 
 stare of her eyes. "You shall have no other." She 
 paused, and then repeated her words slowly, "You shall 
 have no other." 
 
 "Do you mean you won't— won't try to get a divorce?" 
 demanded Robin. He had never dreamed of such a con- 
 tingency. 
 
 "Never, never !" She laughed. "Why, I have nothing 
 left to live for now but you. You would n't rob me of 
 that, would you ? I shall live with you— and you will live 
 with me. And you '11 wish you had never been born." 
 
 "I won't !" declared Robin loudly, but dismay mingling 
 with the rage in his eyes, nevertheless. "Would n't live 
 with you a day!" 
 
 "What will you do, then ?" inquired Gret, almost gently. 
 "You can't sell the Orchards. It 's half mine as your 
 wife, and I '11 never sign. If you go, it will have to be 
 penniless, and then you '11 have to work. Work ! Think 
 of it ! I don't think you '11 find that that great friend of 
 yours, Cecil, will take half so much interest in you when 
 he finds you have nothing behind you. When probate is 
 settled I shall have some money of my own, but none of it 
 will ever go into your house. If your home yields you a 
 living, it will be of your own making, even to the help 
 you hire to do the work you shirk." 
 
 Robin thought a moment, or tried to. "Waugh!" he 
 
TOO LATE 347 
 
 cried, trying with a gesture of contempt to throw off the 
 fears that were assaiUng him. "You 're just talking to 
 hear yourself. A man can't be made to live with a woman 
 unless he wants to— need n't tell me !" 
 
 "Oh, no," admitted Gret quietly. "You can go away, 
 as I said before. I shall be quite happy in our home with- 
 out you. Don't you think so ?" 
 
 Robin did not answer, but he drew his breath in- 
 through shut teeth as he stood gazing at the girl before 
 him. His eyes glistened with rage. In her he recognized 
 henceforth the one plague spot of his existence. He knew 
 she spoke in no idle spirit of braggadocio ; she never did. 
 She would do all and more than she said. And as it 
 never had occurred to Robin that any trouble which had 
 come to him might be of his own making, so it did not 
 now. He only saw in Gret the presentment of a hateful 
 and boundless spite. And very certain it is that if fervent 
 wishing could slay any one, Gret would have died in her 
 shoes where she stood. Alive, she would always prove 
 his Nemesis ; dead — but Robin's mouth turned down with 
 hopeless disgust; there was no such luck as her dying! 
 She was not that kind. She would be there, triumphant, 
 to the end. The only person who might be able to turn 
 her from her avowed purpose would be Eva. Again 
 Robin tried to think to some purpose, and dropped his 
 eyes reflectively to the water. 
 
 Gret stood watching him keenly, her boat, forced up- 
 ward by the incoming tide, nosing gently between Robin's 
 boat and the boom. She noted the varying but equally 
 sinister expressions that chased across his countenance, 
 and smiled. It was her turn now. 
 
 "You need not study how to get around things," she 
 observed calmly; "because you can't. Nothing that you 
 can do — now — can prevent me doing what I have said. 
 Don't think you can get at me through Eva, because you 
 
348 GRET 
 
 can't. She 'II think I 'm very unkind and all that, I know. 
 But I shall be doing her a better turn than she '11 ever 
 know of in saving her from you. You may succeed in 
 giving me a little trouble ; but, dear me, I shall be pining 
 for something to do. And you '11 never get very far 
 ahead of me, because I shall watch every move you make. 
 If I get tired of watching myself, I '11 hire some one to 
 do it. That 's easy— when you have money." 
 
 Robin lifted his eyes, though not his head, and looked 
 at her in a strange, quiet way. And then suddenly he gave 
 way to one of those unaccountable impulses by which 
 man is sometimes seized to the making or undoing of his 
 destiny. Most mysterious of all the many mysteries of 
 that unimagined deep, the mind, are these sudden well- 
 springs of action. Possibly with murderous intent, or 
 possibly only in a sudden access of rage, Robin leaned 
 forward and dealt Gret a ringing slap on the face. She 
 must inevitably have been knocked out of the boat but 
 for an unconscious habit, born of her constant practice in 
 balancing, on fallen timber, in boats, and on the skid-road. 
 Even when standing relaxed and in repose, one foot al- 
 ways seemed to be a little behind the other, unconsciously 
 ever ready; and now, though she staggered back the 
 length of the boat, the slim foot had darted out in time, 
 with incredible quickness she had shot back into the bow 
 of the boat and returned the blow with vicious interest. 
 And he, who should have been warned where she was 
 not, did precisely what he had, perhaps, counted on her 
 doing : he staggered and stepped on the side of the boat. 
 It tipped and slid from under him, emptying him gently 
 out. He struck the boom-post a few feet behind him, slid 
 obliquely along it, and vanished into the smooth, dark 
 water. 
 
 Gret drew a long, quiet breath and stood triumphant, 
 her nostrils dilated and eyes wide. She watched for him 
 
TOO LATE 349 
 
 to rise, a half smile on I'ier lips at the ridiculous figure he 
 would doubtless make when he should appear, spluttering 
 with rage, and dripping with water. He did not appear 
 by the boat, however, and she turned her head. He was 
 evidently too mad to come up near her again, but would 
 land on the boom sills somewhere a little lower down. 
 But a moment went by and she could see no sign of him, 
 and the rage died out of her eyes and amazement took its 
 place. He was a good swimmer and could come up any- 
 where, but not without her seeing. She gazed up and 
 down and from side to side. No sign. The tide flowed 
 on in uninterrupted smoothness. And then, with a certain 
 quietening of the pulse within her, Gret recognized what 
 had happened. He had struck the boom-post on entering 
 the water and, not recovering himself instantly, had been 
 borne under the boom by the inturned tide. She snatched 
 up an oar and, moving the boat forward, fished under the 
 sills of the boom. 
 
 "Robin!" she called. "Robin!" 
 
 No answer ; no sign. She tried with an oar to move the 
 big logs with which the boom was packed, but could only 
 just faintly stir them. She looked round. None lived 
 within calling distance ; and anyway it was too late. The 
 tide would keep him under the boom, and the boom 
 stretched for a mile or more above them. 
 
 Gret stood for a moment, the oar still in her hands, 
 taking brief counsel with herself. She had a sense of 
 not being alone. Every tree in that great community 
 towering on each side of her watched and waited with 
 her, breathless and motionless ; the river ceased swishing 
 round the boom and stood calm for a moment. 
 
 Then she wakened to the situation. She looked up and 
 down the stream once more. Nothing was to be seen save 
 the idly-floating boat and oar and Robin's soft felt hat. 
 Gret lowered her oar into the water and paddled swiftly 
 
350 GRET 
 
 out from among them on up the stream past the Jam. 
 Much higher up, long past Gradel's, in a place that she 
 knew, Gret tied the boat up to a willow, climbed out, and 
 vanished into the brush. 
 
 Later on, on the shores of the Lake of the Hidden 
 Canoe, Gret sat down and rested. One half the lake 
 was in shadow, and the other half, lighted from a rift in 
 pearl-gray clouds, rippled in glancing beauty. And Gret 
 sat and gazed at it with wide eyes. Though perfectly 
 calm, perfectly mistress of herself, she was yet full of 
 an inward excitement which, when it died down, would 
 probabjy leave a sense of shock. Perhaps she only had 
 one definite thought as yet — Too late ! Too late ! 
 
 Of Robin and his end Gret thought very little yet. If 
 she had seen him die, seen one death struggle, one agon- 
 ized look, she would never have forgotten it as long as 
 she lived. But she had seen nothing. He had just calmly 
 and gracefully slid off the earth, which, in her eyes at all 
 events, he burdened. And at present Gret could only 
 think of the terrible tangle so suddenly dissolved, and 
 the dissolution that came too late. 
 
 Of course to many women — indeed, perhaps, to all 
 women not brought up as Gret had been— such a calm ac- 
 ceptance of conditions would have been impossible. To a 
 city woman with the usual highly strung nervous system, 
 and the usual mind stored with literature and drama 
 which place the emotions on a scale never intended by 
 nature, a position like Gret's would be fraught with ter- 
 ror. But Gret had grown up with men who dealt with 
 nature and understood and spoke nothing else. The 
 books and dramas unfolded to her were only those of 
 life; her mind had grown and widened on things seen, 
 not on things imagined, and realities have a most matter- 
 of-fact way of educating. She had seen pitiful animal 
 tragedies, as pitiful as anything human, that went un- 
 
TOO LATE 351 
 
 mourned ; and she saw nature indulge in titanic passions 
 that passed and left no shadow on the blue of heaven. 
 
 The more natural the man, the fewer the emotions. 
 Primitive man had few, love and hate being probably the 
 whole gamut. And on the way back to nature all the 
 thousand and one shades of sentiment and emotion, 
 groundless fears and delusive hopes, born of ultra-civil- 
 ization, are cast aside as hampering baggage for which 
 there is no possible use or place in real life. Gret was not 
 exactly a primitive woman; but she was too splendidly 
 healthy, her nerves were too sound and unassertive, and 
 her mind too matter-of-fact and steady to be troubled 
 with any nightmares born of her own imaginings, or 
 with regrets born of a false conception of things. If 
 she had seen suffering, she would have been haunted by 
 the sight and memory of it. But she had not. 
 
 That night, in the men's hall in the camp, some of the 
 men were playing cards and some endeavoring to read. 
 But eight or ten of the younger, lighter spirits, with much 
 thumping and noise, and greatly to the disgust of the 
 card-players and readers, were stepping a barn dance to 
 the gusty, wheezy strains of the "Washington Post" 
 squeezed out of Oly's concertina. Jake, leaning idly 
 against the door-post, his apron on in token that his word 
 was not yet quite finished, felt a light touch on his shoul- 
 der. He turned his head, caught sight of Gret, and gave 
 a start. 
 
 "Lord, you 're always scaring me!" And then he 
 looked closer at her as if in curiosity. Gret caught the 
 look, and hastened to cut it short. She burst out laugh- 
 ing, and nodded toward the clattering dancers. 
 
 "Jake, we can do better than that. Come along !" 
 
 Jake accepted the invitation immediately, picked up the 
 corner of his apron, and, taking Gret's hand with a minc- 
 ing air, stepped into the room to the time of the dance. 
 
352 GRET 
 
 As they proceeded, in an artistic combination of cake- 
 walk and barn-dance, they were greeted by a yell from 
 Oly, which for a moment caused the dancers to break 
 time as they paused to stare at the addition to their num- 
 ber. Then with shouts of laughter they fell into the 
 spirit of the thing, and trailed along behind Jake and 
 Gret, who continued on their way with much style and 
 seriousness. 
 
 Others hastened to join the dance, and the laughter and 
 fun grew louder; and presently Dick, unassertive, but 
 always watchful, appeared in the doorway. He laughed, 
 too, though it cannot be said that the expression in his 
 eyes was altogether approving as he watched Gret. He 
 placed his hand gently on her shoulder as she paused at 
 last before him, and the girl looked up to meet the puz- 
 zled, half wistful glance of the man above her. 
 
 "Gret, what are you doing out at this time ?'' 
 
 "Why, it 's only about seven o'clock, is n't it ?" 
 
 "Yes, but it 's dark." 
 
 "Oh, yes, of course it 's dark. I 've been up in the 
 woods and only just got back." 
 
 "Yes. Some day you '11 have been up in the woods and 
 only just not get back at all," prophesied Dick gravely. 
 
 "Either that or fall off. a raft and get drowned," 
 laughed Gret. Then, with a Httle conciliatory nod, "I 'm 
 going home now, Dickie." 
 
 "Yes, I know you are," replied the foreman quietly, 
 reaching for one of the collection of lanterns that stood 
 in the corner of the room; "because I 'm going to take 
 you." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 GOOD-BY 
 
 ROBIN START'S body was not recovered, though 
 hard and persistent search was made for it. There 
 was no conjecture as to the manner of his death, for the 
 boat and floating hat in the Jam told its own seeming 
 tale. He had lost his balance poling down the Jam, and 
 had been carried under the boom. 
 
 Eva alone did not accept this theory. When first the 
 news of his death became known to her— through Lizzie, 
 the morning following— she rushed wild-eyed to Gret,. 
 who was still in her room. 
 
 "Robin 's dead ! Oh, he 's dead !" she wailed, clasping 
 her hands in a perfect frenzy of despair. "They can only 
 find the boat and his hat. They think he fell out of the 
 boat but I know he did n't. You said terrible things to 
 him and broke my poor boy's heart. I know you did ! I 
 saw it by your face. And so you 've killed him ! You 
 know you have. I shall always hate you, for I know you 
 killed him !" 
 
 Gret looked at the frenzied girl with a startled stare 
 for a moment. It was well she would never know the 
 whole truth. Then pity grew in her eyes. She felt no 
 resentment at the reproach or the threat. Poor Eva! 
 Though her own heart was frozen, it seemed, and would 
 hardly respond any more to pity or fear, yet she knew 
 the terrible, heartrending sense of loss that was upon the 
 younger girl and sympathized with her. At the same 
 
 23 353 
 
354 GRET 
 
 time, Gret was sufficient judge of human nature to divine 
 that Eva's emotions, so intense while they lasted, would 
 for that same reason be of shorter duration. Though she 
 would never realize what kind of a man she had been de- 
 livered from, and would mourn as for the gallant lover 
 her heart pictured. 
 
 Eva rushed off to join in the fruitless search of the 
 river, and, her state of grief being so pronounced, Gret 
 felt it was necessary to make at once some explanation of 
 it to her mother. Accordingly, when after a few hours 
 Eva returned to the house and rushed like a whirlwind to 
 her room, she sought very briefly to discuss the matter 
 with her as she lay sobbing on the bed. 
 
 "Oh, I don't care what you do," she cried bitterly. "I 
 don't care what you tell her." 
 
 "Very well, then. I shall just tell her that you were en- 
 gaged, but that father's sickness prevented you telling 
 her. Afterward you can tell her as much more as you 
 like," said Gret gently. 
 
 And with that she left the room, making no effort to 
 comfort or conciliate the grief -ridden girl. It would only 
 worry her and would do no good ; for just now Eva was 
 fostering a feeling of bitterness against her sister, a 
 feeling that Gret made no attempt to dispel. She felt 
 that it was unjust, and born to a certain extent of igno- 
 rance of the truths underlying the situation, but trying to 
 reason now was worse than useless. By and by, when her 
 grief had calmed down somewhat, she would see things 
 in a clearer light, perhaps. If not — Well ! It was like 
 all the rest of the things that could not be helped. 
 
 Gret's communication to her mother was brief and mat- 
 ter-of-fact, and Mrs. Silway accepted the information 
 quietly. She was not so greatly surprised, having doubt- 
 less noticed Robin and Eva together very frequently, but 
 she was greatly shocked. She asked Gret very few ques- 
 
GOOD-BY 355 
 
 tions, having made up her mind to wait for her daughters' 
 confidences, should they ever now be disposed to give them. 
 During her husband's death-hours several home-truths 
 had come to Mrs. Silway, one being the simple and un- 
 assailable axiom that two wrongs never yet made one 
 right. In her province as mother she had neglected the 
 moral and inward part of her daughters' lives as much as 
 their father had the outward and material. She would 
 not now attempt to force their confidence, nor intrude un- 
 invited into the privacy that seemed to hedge their lives 
 about; but she was gentle and wistful in her manner 
 toward them where before she had been austere. 
 
 She went to try and comfort Eva, but found her as yet 
 totally unable to accept comfort or even reason. And, 
 like Gret, Mrs. Silway felt that Eva's grief, though fren- 
 zied, almost hysterical at present, was yet of a safe kind. 
 It was spending itself in oceans of tears. 
 
 As soon as it was possible to receive a letter from Cali- 
 fornia—indeed, even before— Gret went down to the Har- 
 bor every afternoon for letters. None came, and at heart 
 she had hardly expected one ; she felt almost sure that 
 Errol would come up himself in answer to such a com- 
 munication as he had received. And each day she watched 
 the boat into the Harbor. One afternoon he would step 
 ashore from it; and then, in an hour — long before they 
 could get home — this torturing suspense would be over. 
 And yet not suspense in the sense of uncertainty. Gret 
 had no hopes whatever of the outcome of the interview 
 between herself and Errol ; she knew beforehand that all 
 was irrevocably lost. Indeed, her own pride could toler- 
 ate no compromise such as now remained possible. There 
 could be no confidence, and perhaps but little respect, and 
 when these were gone nothing remained. 
 
 She dreaded seeing him, dreaded so much that her 
 heart beat to suffocation at the thought of it ; and yet she 
 
356 GRET 
 
 was glad she was going to see him once more. It seemed 
 to her that when she had said good-by that last time she 
 had not looked at him long enough or hard enough. This 
 time, before he went away from her, she would follow 
 every line of the proud, serene face, every line of the figure 
 whose careless grace of movement she had watched so 
 often. 
 
 Gret had pictured herself as meeting Errol as he 
 stepped from the boat, and had gone over the long row 
 home, with its harsh words spoken courteously and its long 
 silences full of pain. And yet, when at last he arrived, 
 she did not meet him in this manner at all. 
 
 Coming home early one sweet, moist evening, when 
 the warm, gray twilight was just beginning to fall, Gret 
 saw as she reached the top of the bluff a familiar figure 
 on the veranda with her mother. Errol sat facing the 
 bluff, and must have seen her immediately, and so Gret 
 could not hesitate even a moment. She drew a long, hard 
 breath, and walked unwaveringly up to the house. 
 
 Errol rose to meet her, and held out his hand with a 
 smile. But he did not kiss her, and Gret's greeting was 
 so quiet that Mrs. Silway looked at both in covert wonder. 
 
 "I saw the boat come in at the Harbor," said Gret. 
 "How could I have missed you?" 
 
 "I came up from Granite on the /. T. West" explained 
 Ludlowe. "It was just about to start, and the regular 
 boat had not finished loading. So I preferred the lesser 
 accommodation together with the lesser delay. The West 
 docked at one of the mills, and I got a man to bring me 
 up in a sort of tow-boat affair." 
 
 Gret nodded ; then she sat down on the top step of the 
 veranda and clasped her hands about her knees— clasped 
 them very hard and tight. 
 
 "Did you leave all quite well in San Francisco?" she 
 asked. 
 
GOOD-BY 357 
 
 "Quite, thank you, with the exception of Arthur. He 
 is getting- back into as bad a shape as ever," repHed Lud- 
 lowe. 
 
 "He is too good ; that is the trouble with Arthur," said 
 Gret. 
 
 "Yes," acquiesced Ludlowe, smiling. "It certainly 
 would seem as if nothing sweet or good could flourish on 
 this terrible old earth. I Ve seen that fact demonstrated 
 before. On the other hand — " 
 
 "Rank weeds grow strong," concluded Gret drily. 
 
 "Well, something like that," agreed Ludlowe with a 
 slight laugh. 
 
 "Gret is always so forcible in her modes of expression," 
 observed Mrs. Silway smiling, and rising as she spoke. 
 "If you '11 excuse me, major, I '11 just see about your 
 room." 
 
 "No, don't trouble, please, Mrs. Silway," said Ludlowe 
 quickly. "I '11 just turn in with one of the boys down at 
 the mill. I return to Portland to-morrow, I expect; and 
 I have so many messages to deliver to them. So, later on, 
 if you '11 excuse me, I '11 go down there." 
 
 "Why, I 'm sorry you can only pay us such a short 
 visit," said Mrs. Silway in surprise, pausing and looking 
 questioningly at him. 
 
 "Oh, don't call it a visit, Mrs. Silway," replied Lud- 
 lowe. "Just a call." 
 
 "Well, I would like to have you extend the call a little 
 further, then," persisted Mrs. Silway, evidently greatly 
 puzzled. "So far I have seen nothing of you. However, 
 I '11 leave Gret to reason with you. When she has con- 
 cluded her arguments I hope you will tell me you have 
 decided to stay— a few days, at all events." And with a 
 bend of the head and a smile Mrs. Silway went indoors to 
 see about added preparations for dinner. 
 
 Gret sat still on the step, her eyes on the river, taking 
 
358 GRET 
 
 no apparent notice of her mother's words. And even 
 when Errol drew his chair a Httle nearer to her, and 
 threw himself back into it, she did not turn her head until 
 he had been seated fully a minute in waiting silence. 
 Then she glanced quietly at him, in mute expectancy of 
 his opening the conversation, which he, seeing she evi- 
 dently had no intention, finally did. 
 
 "Gret, do you know why I have made this hurried trip 
 to see you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Oh, then you knew when that letter was sent, did you ?" 
 
 Gret smiled grimly. "No, I did n't know at the time. 
 I knew afterward." 
 
 Ludlowe took the letter from one of his pockets, un- 
 folded it, and handed it quietly to her. She took it, 
 merely because he seemed to wish it, and not that she 
 'wanted to see so evil a communication. It was short, al- 
 most to insolence. 
 
 "Sir : Gret Silway is my wife. If you don't believe me, 
 you can see the records in the Montyville court-house. 
 
 "Robin Start." 
 
 Gret handed back the letter in silence. And again Lud- 
 lowe waited for her to speak. But Gret was storing her 
 courage to answer questions. Herself she had nothing to 
 say. 
 
 "Is it true, Gret ?" he asked then. 
 
 "Yes, it 's true." 
 
 There was another silence, and Gret could feel his eyes 
 rest on her face. To the west long, yellow bars were rent 
 in the gray, and the amber light of the sunset was full 
 upon her. And Gret was glad of it. The kindly coloring 
 hid the waves of hot red that chased across her face. 
 
 When at last Errol spoke it was with a certain finality, 
 
GOOD-BY 359 
 
 like one who has turned a matter over in his mind and 
 reached and accepted a conclusion. 
 
 "Well, Gret, if you yourself had n't told me I would 
 never have believed it. In my eyes your sturdy upright- 
 ness was one of your main charms. How could I have 
 been so deceived ?" 
 
 Gret made no reply. It seemed to her there was noth- 
 ing to be said. But she unclasped her fingers from round 
 her knees, and resting her elbows on her lap as she bent 
 forward, buried her chin in her hands. 
 
 "Were you just going through the experience of being 
 engaged to mc, merely for the fun of it?" queried Lud- 
 lowe then. "Would you really have gone through the 
 ceremony of marrying me ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Gret truthfully. 
 
 "And had you considered what it would mean when 
 the truth came out, as it inevitably would sooner or later, 
 for this fellow is not one to keep quiet ?" asked Ludlowe 
 in cold, even tones. "Had you thought of the disgrace 
 you would bring on the name I had given you ? Had you 
 no thought of the illegitimacy of your children?" 
 
 "No," answered Gret with the simple earnestness of 
 truth. "I never did think of all that. I just thought that 
 if I were willing to take the risk, and the punishment if 
 it came, that that was all there was about it. I did n't 
 think that kind of thing ever hurt a man. I did n't see it 
 in the way you put it." 
 
 "And you did n't mind deceiving me?" queried Lud- 
 lowe. 
 
 "I did n't think of it like that," said Gret quickly. "It 
 was just my secret— done with long ago." 
 
 "Long ago? When was it — when were you married, 
 then?" 
 
 "Oh, long ago — when we were both kids," her eyes 
 growing somber in the twilight. "It was one of Robin's 
 
360 GRET 
 
 fool ideas. He wanted to get married— to some one, any 
 one— just because Jack Gradel had got married." 
 
 "And you?" inquired Ludlowe. 
 
 "Oh, father was trying to keep me in the house about 
 that time, and I thought I might suddenly need a home 
 where I could do as I liked," explained Gret. Her tone 
 implied that she was not trying to excuse herself, but 
 since he asked he had a right to know. 
 
 "And did you ever live with him, this Robin ?" 
 
 "Of course not!" with contempt. "We decided that 
 very afternoon that it was all foolishness, and that we 'd 
 forget all about it. And so we did. It was only a few 
 words spoken to us— nothing more. A very little thing" 
 — wistfully — "to spoil three lives." 
 
 "A big enough thing to turn right into wrong," ob- 
 served Ludlowe. 
 
 "So I see." 
 
 "Why, when you decided that nothing could come of 
 such a marriage, did n't you get a divorce and ando the 
 thing properly?" asked Ludlowe. 
 
 Gret smiled faintly. "I did n't know anything about 
 divorces, or how to get them. Besides— I never thought 
 anything about it one way or another. Robin did n't 
 bother me. Most of the time I forgot all about him. 
 And then, when you spoke, I was afraid to stir things up 
 for fear—" She paused, and then her lips closed to- 
 gether. What her fears were was sufficiently obvious to 
 both. 
 
 "But you took such odds," went on Ludlowe after a 
 moment, crumpling the letter in his fingers. "H you had 
 even shared your secret with a man. But this fellow—" 
 
 "Oh, he would never have bothered me if I had n't in- 
 terfered with him," said Gret with quiet confidence. 
 
 "And why did you interfere with him?" 
 
 "He was going to marry Eva." 
 
GOOD-BY 361 
 
 "Oh!" There was a volume of comprehension in the 
 syllable. Then Ludlowe was silent a moment, considering 
 this new aspect of the case. "And so," he said then, "you 
 could n't allow that?" 
 
 "No, of course not." 
 
 "You could see the terrible wrong it would be to her," 
 continued Ludlowe. "But you could n't see any wrong 
 to me." 
 
 She gave him one glance. Her eyes were so wide and 
 bright with pain that it was like a bronze gleam of light. 
 "I have told you that I did n't see it that way. Until this 
 came up about Eva I never did see things as— as they are. 
 I thought it was just my risk. I never wanted to hurt 
 you; you must know that. And, anyway, after I had 
 married you, I should have understood better. And I 
 would have killed Robin with my own hands before you 
 should have known." 
 
 There was no bravado in the quiet laden tones, and 
 Ludlowe knew that. He looked in a puzzled way at the 
 girl sitting near him. He could not altogether feel that 
 she was an adventuress unmasked. There was a certain 
 sad dignity about her that would not be dispelled. She 
 was a strange creature. 
 
 "Why were you so determined to take the risk, Gret?" 
 he asked then. "I did n't think you cared for money or 
 position." 
 
 "I don't— for either," shortly. 
 
 "And yet you were prepared to risk a great deal for 
 them," ironically. 
 
 Gret fidgeted on the step. How dense men were. As 
 if she would risk anything for money! A wave of bit- 
 terness and exasperation passed over her, and she forgot 
 herself for a second. "Oh, you make me tired !" she said 
 sharply. 
 
 There was a cry in her voice that she did not know of, 
 
362 GRET 
 
 the cry of a woman hurt past all enduring. Ludlowe 
 caught the sound of it, and when he spoke again it was 
 more gently. 
 
 "Shall you ever try to live with this man ?" 
 
 Gret laughed. "I think not. He 's dead." 
 
 Ludlowe started violently. He sat upright in the chair, 
 all the veiled indifference characteristic of his manner 
 gone. 
 
 "Gret!" he exclaimed in a low voice. "What do you 
 mean ? You don't mean that you—" 
 
 Gret thought for a moment. She had a great mind 
 to tell him the truth, just to see if she could be hurt any 
 more. But the impulse passed. It would do no good, 
 and her love was disgraced enough as it was. 
 
 "He fell out of the boat, and was carried in under the 
 Jam," she explained then with an air of finality. 
 
 Ludlowe's lips parted to speak, but he paused. It 
 needed quite an effort to master the impulse to question, to 
 know the truth. But he reflected that it was better not 
 to seek to know. If she had any secret it was better hers. 
 It was better none should share it. 
 
 He sat and looked at the girl in a half -troubled way. 
 The small, pale face and wide eyes were full of a sort of 
 proud, subdued tragedy. He was terribly shocked at 
 what she would have done— at what she had done; his 
 confidence in her was destroyed ; but there was still some- 
 thing about her that defied his scorn and kept alive that 
 strong feeling of comradeship and affection that he had 
 for her. 
 
 "If he had managed to fall out of his boat earlier, it 
 would have been better for all concerned," he said at last, 
 with an air of extreme discontent. "As it is, I feel that, 
 though removed, he has come between us irrevocably. I 
 could never forget what you would have done. I should 
 be afraid—" 
 
GOOD-BY 363 
 
 But Gret would not listen. She sat upright and held 
 up her hand commandingly. 
 
 "No, no ! That is all ended. No need to talk about it. 
 It was ended before you came. We have said all we 
 need say now. I suppose you never will know — " 
 
 She clasped her hands together in her lap. She was 
 trying hard to dispel the apathy that was descending on 
 her— the apathy born of completion and despair. Soon, 
 in an hour or two now, he would be gone, and all would 
 be over, and she would face the long To-morrow. 
 
 But if, before he went, she could only make one great 
 effort to vindicate her love and what she had been will- 
 ing to risk for it, then, though her loss would still be as 
 great, her humiliation would be less. Never before had 
 Gret been conscious of the laconic habit that was part of 
 her nature. If she could be given, for only just a few 
 minutes, the power of fluent speech, the silvery tongue, 
 that belonged to some, then she could show him —what 
 in her heart she knew so well — how much the viewpoint 
 in a case counts, and how, though no man can sin against 
 himself and not know it, yet in dealing with his fellow 
 no one law levels the workings of divers minds. 
 
 She looked up at him suddenly, and drew a long breath. 
 She knew she could never say half she meant, but for the 
 sake of that long, reproachful To-morrow she would try. 
 
 "If I could only make you see, before you go, how I 
 look at things !" she said wistfully. "Not that it matters 
 now, only— just so that you '11 know, and so that I '11 
 know that you know. But, you see, I think more than I 
 can say; I mean, I can't express my thoughts or the 
 things I understand way down in myself." 
 
 Ludlowe watched her attentively, and Gret turned her 
 head back to the river so that the sight of his face should 
 not come between her and her thoughts. 
 
 "I know you think I ought to feel like a woman that 
 
364 GRET 
 
 has tried to do a very wicked thing and been found out ; 
 but I don't. I 'm not sorry for anything I 've done. If I 
 had to live my life over again, and knew no more each 
 day than I did, I should do the same things over again. 
 It seems to me it 's the right thing to succeed, to keep 
 going on somewhere, if one can; and there 's generally 
 only one way at a time to do that. Now, I 've done lots 
 of things that are not right— not called right. Things 
 that I see people on the stage and in books breaking 
 themselves all up over. But those things don't bother 
 me. They were the best things I could see to do at the 
 time, and I did them. I always have done that. I always 
 saw ahead of me what I wanted, and I went after it,' a 
 day at a time. I never gave up because I was afraid. It 
 is a poor Indian that does that. And that is why, when 
 you asked me to be your wife," — her voice lowered to 
 tones so soft, so rich, that they fell on the still air like 
 lingering music— "if I had had to die a hundred deaths to 
 pay for just one year, I would have come !" 
 
 Her head was thrown back, and her eyes shone in 
 beauty; and Ludlowe was held still; for a power eman- 
 ated from this slim, erring girl that he could not refute : 
 the power of those who live, without hesitation and with- 
 out fear, up to their ruling convictions, even though they 
 be mistaken. 
 
 After a moment he moved as if to cast off her spell. 
 His intellect rebelled against being carried so resistlessly 
 past every known buoy. 
 
 "You are not consistent, Gret," he said. "If you fol- 
 low so ruthlessly after your desires, how do you come, 
 of your own doing, to lose so much that you had gained?" 
 
 "There are some things that we don't do," she replied 
 gently. "And we always know what they are when we 
 come to them." 
 
 Lights began to appear in the house behind them, and 
 
GOOD-BY 365 
 
 Gret jumped up. Ludlowe rose, too, and she stood a 
 moment before him, her eyes wandering slowly over his 
 face. 
 
 "I will explain to mother before you come in— enough, 
 so that she will understand," she said. But still she 
 stood, looking at him with yearning, searching eyes. 
 Then she turned to go ; yet stayed one moment. Her 
 head was thrown back, and her eyes full of a sad, scorn- 
 ful light ; and she spoke as if comforting herself. 
 
 "There used to be an old Indian — Jim— who trapped for 
 Murray. He taught me many things. 'Always try for 
 big game,' he said." And she held her hand above her 
 head in quaint illustration. " 'Often get him. Good ! 
 Got something then. Sometimes,' " and she shrugged 
 her shoulders, true Indian style, " 'not get him. Pay big 
 price then.' " She laughed— a laugh of real amusement, 
 and yet so ironic and so bitter that it was sadder than a 
 week of tears. "Well, I 've tried, and I 've failed; but 
 I 'm not sorry. One must have a rule to live up to, and 
 all rules fail sometimes." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE LONG TO-MORROW 
 
 WHEN first Gret turned toward that future whose 
 somber face she dreaded to scan, she was afraid 
 most of all of herself. A period of apathy, of inactivity, 
 lay before her ; for something had gone out of her— some 
 energy, poise, buoyancy — it could not be said what, that 
 before had made life one long delight. At first she la- 
 bored valiantly to forget. She went often down to the 
 Harbor, just for the mere movement of rowing; she went 
 down to the mill, and up to the camp. And she instituted 
 herself chief guide to Bobbie and his two San Francisco 
 friends in their hunting expeditions. 
 
 This last proved, for a time, a successful diversion. 
 Finding that one of the young San Franciscans was a 
 hunter of almost world-wide experience, and still wider 
 conceit in his own proficiency, Gret expended much time 
 and thought laying traps, into which the experienced 
 hunter fell with distressing regularity. Not for nothing 
 had Gret been instructed in woodcraft and animal-craft 
 by such men as old Murray and Indian Jim— a fact which 
 Bobbie was at pains to point out one night to the still un- 
 suspecting victim of her humor. It took the victim a little 
 time fully to realize that Gret was one too many for him, 
 even on his own grounds of hunting; but when realiza- 
 tion came he grew cautious, whereupon the pleasures of 
 the chase— after the hunter— palled on Gret and she was 
 forced to seek other diversions. 
 
 Striving to keep away from her own thoughts, Gret 
 
 366 
 
THE LONG TO-MORROW 367 
 
 lived more than ever in the lives of others. And for this 
 reason, perhaps sooner than she otherwise might, Gret 
 discovered that a spirit of discontent— or it might be 
 only exaggerated restlessness— was creeping abroad in 
 the camp. There were some days when Gret could not 
 face the camp and the chatter and jocularity of the boys; 
 but when she did go among them she took care to be noth- 
 ing but her old self, alive as she always had been to their 
 interests and aspirations. And in this way, earlier than 
 any one else, she became aware of the inception of that 
 insidious foe to camp-bosses and successful work — dis- 
 content. It was very vague as yet, merely a chafing 
 against the deadly monotony of winter life in a camp; 
 but it was the beginning of worse things, and the dawn of 
 her discovery came to Gret one morning as she stopped 
 to talk to Chester at the head of the slough. 
 
 Chester was sitting by the quiet, but gently simmering 
 donkey, and he was looking decidedly dull. His face 
 brightened when he saw Gret, and for that reason she sat 
 down a while on the truck of the engine, and gossiped 
 with him. 
 
 Presently she went on her way up to the camp. But 
 she was thinking as she went. She would go in and con- 
 sult the old reliable Jake as to the impression that was 
 taking shape in her mind. In him she found instant and 
 alarming confirmation. 
 
 "Why, 'course they 're getting discontented. Did n't 
 you know that before?" 
 
 "No, of course not," replied Gret earnestly. "What 
 makes you think so, Jake ?" 
 
 "Oh, can easy tell. I expect it 's because they got 
 kinder done out of their Christmas doings," said Jake 
 thoughtfully. "They 're beginning to kick on everything. 
 Said yesterday that the yellow of my cakes was n't all 
 eggs." 
 
368 GRET 
 
 Gret laughed outright. "I told you it was too yellow 
 to look natural." 
 
 "Well, heavens and earth !" said Jake, exasperated. "It 
 would take two dozen eggs to make a cake look that yel- 
 low, and how do you suppose I 'm going to get eggs like 
 that?" 
 
 "I know you could n't. And so do they," responded 
 Gret promptly; "but you put some eggs in, did n't 
 you ?" 
 
 "Course ; quite enough to make the cake good." 
 
 "Well, then, why did n't you let it go at that ? Or, if 
 you wanted to, put the least Httle bit of coloring in?" 
 
 "Oh, well, now, I 've been cooking for these logger 
 fellows for years, and I guess I know them from A to Z," 
 said Jake with cold dignity. "If it was the best cake on 
 earth, and was n't a blazing yellow, they 'd imagine it 
 did n't taste good. They just wanted something to kick 
 at, and the cake was as good as anything else to row 
 over. They 're getting discontented, pining for a racket 
 of some kind. And they '11 have all they want," con- 
 cluded Jake ominously, "if they get trying any of their 
 monkey-shines on me." 
 
 "It 's foolish to talk like that, Jakey," said Gret, the 
 manager of men. "It would n't do any good anywhere. 
 It 's just as you say, the boys are getting dull and twisty. 
 You see, the dance and doings they generally have at 
 Christmas turns the year for them, and makes them feel 
 like starting a new one. As it is, they 've had a long, dull 
 stretch. I 'm not at all surprised they get cranky once in 
 a while." 
 
 "Well, what about me?" demanded Jake. "Ain't it 
 just as dull for me ?" 
 
 "Of course. And you 're getting as cranky as the rest 
 of them." 
 
 Jake looked cross for a moment, and then smiled. 
 
THE LONG TO-MORROW 369 
 
 "Well, what are you going to do about it?" he inquired 
 jestingly. 
 
 But Gret sat considering. She was not going to pass 
 the matter as a jest. In the first place, it was valuable as 
 a subject to keep her from considering her own case ; and, 
 in the second place, it was an important matter on its own 
 merits. It did not do to let a spirit of discontent get a 
 start in a camp. The most restless would begin to leave, 
 and nothing was more infectious than the quitting mania. 
 That meant a camp-load of new men, the thoughts of 
 which Gret greatly disliked. She rather wondered that 
 Dick had not noticed the change in the mood of the men. 
 But he was always so busy. Among other things, Gret 
 made up her mind to call his attention to existing shad- 
 ows, lest they be cast before more genuine difficulties. 
 And in the meantime she cast about in her mind for a 
 means to help matters herself, conscious that the whole 
 question centered about the providing of some excite- 
 ment to break the monotony of life. 
 
 "Any kind of doings, almost, would give the boys 
 something to talk about and help them on toward the 
 summer, would n't it?" said Gret thoughtfully after a 
 while. 
 
 "Most Hkely. But there 's no holidays— nothing that I 
 can think of between now and Decoration Day," repHed 
 Jake. "And that 's not much to them. Still, it 's a holiday." 
 
 "Oh, goodness!" Gret laughed. "Might as well not 
 think of that at all. No— but could n't we get up some- 
 thing ourselves? Has n't anybody got a birthday? We 
 could get up a surprise or something. That would be 
 better than nothing." ' 
 
 "Hum," nodded Jake, beginning to take a business view 
 of matters. "Yes, s'pose we might do something like 
 that. And have a keg of beer and some red. They 
 would n't care for it without." 
 
 24 
 
370 GRET 
 
 "Oh, of course." Gret looked with wise, meditative 
 eyes down the great canon. "I 'd only stay for supper 
 and maybe a little while after, so that the boys could get 
 in and have a real good time and get themselves under 
 the table. Then if they have an awful headache the next 
 morning they 'l\ think they never had such a glorious 
 time in all their lives." 
 
 "That 's right," corroborated Jake promptly. 
 
 "Well, can you think of a birthday?" inquired Gret. 
 
 "Nope ; not among our old hands." 
 
 "How would it be for one half of the camp to surprise 
 the other?" 
 
 "Could n't be done," said Jake. "Could n't keep it 
 from 'em." 
 
 "Well, let 's surprise Dick, then!" decided Gret. 
 "Never mind about any birthday. He 'd be very easy to 
 surprise, because he always goes into his cabin quite early. 
 Yes, let 's do that !" Her mind quickly began to arrange 
 details. "We '11 have a fine supper, Jake." 
 
 "You bet !" responded Jake, closing his eyes in profes- 
 sional fervor, apparently forgetting that he was pre- 
 paring a big dose of extra work for himself. "The boys 
 would give fifty cents or a dollar apiece, I know." 
 
 "Well, I '11 tell you, Jake," said Gret, thoughtfully. 
 "If it can be helped, I 'd rather the boys would n't have 
 to do anything like that. I 'm going down to the mill. 
 The camp 's been pretty good to the mill now and again, 
 and I 'm sure they 'd like to help this scheme out. If 
 they '11 give the wine and beer, I '11 do the rest myself." 
 
 "I '11 give five dollars," said Jake. 
 
 "All right, Jakey." Gret got up with her usual energy. 
 "I '11 go straight down to the mill now. And, Jakey, you 
 think of all the things you '11 want while I 'm gone, will 
 you? Let 's have boiled ham, and cake— real eggs." This 
 last over her shoulder with a little chuckle of laughter. 
 
THE LONG TO-MORROW 371 
 
 Jake took this sally good-temperedly ; and as Gret went 
 leaping and swaying off down the skid-road he began, 
 still peeling apples, to prepare a mental supper menu and 
 list of what would be required therefor. 
 
 As Gret had predicted, the idea was received at the 
 mill with great acclaim. 
 
 "It '11 be a great thing for you fellows to see," observed 
 Bobbie to his friends, as the three young men stood in a 
 semi-circle round Gret. 
 
 "Must n't let them think, though, that you 've come to 
 look them over," said Gret quickly. "Or else you '11 very 
 likely see more than you bargained for." 
 
 "Of course not !" responded Bobbie promptly, replying 
 for the three. "Most of those fellows up there are all 
 right. They 've all been first-rate to me. Who 's going 
 to stand the whack ?" he inquired then. 
 
 "Well— I don't know altogether— yet," answered Gret 
 deliberately. "I 'm going to stand good for the supper 
 myself." 
 
 "Well, we '11 stand for the liquor part of the business," 
 said Bobbie, chuckling. "When 's it coming off?" 
 
 Gret paused, having forgotten to discuss that point 
 with Jake. "It must be on Saturday, because of the head- 
 aches all Sunday. Next Saturday !" with a decisive nod 
 of the head. 
 
 "All right ! We '11 get the elixir up here Friday after- 
 noon by the Transfer/' said Bobbie with satisfaction. 
 "How are we going to get it up to the camp without Dick 
 seeing it ?" 
 
 "You get it here, and I '11 talk to Chester and Oly," said 
 Gret. "They '11 find some way of getting it up to the 
 camp after dark Saturday. And, say, it 's Wednesday 
 now. Jake 's just got to cook like fun between now and 
 Saturday, and so he '11 have to have his supplies this 
 afternoon. I 'm going to get a list of what he needs, and 
 
372 GRET 
 
 don't you boys feel like getting out the launch and taking 
 me down to Quellish ?" 
 
 "You bet !" said Bobbie. "Boys !"— with a wave of the 
 hand— "Untie the shoo-shoo boat." 
 
 Gret laughed and looked Bobbie over with amused, 
 kindly eyes as he stood in characteristic pose before her, 
 which was hands in pocket and feet about a yard apart on 
 the mossy slope. There was as much easy understanding 
 and familiarity between Gret and Bobbie as if they had 
 been brother and sister. Indeed, quite as much under- 
 standing as Gret was ever likely to have accorded a real 
 brother, had she possessed one. 
 
 "I won't be more than half an hour," she said. "We '11 
 bring all the stuff up here to the mill, and then to-night 
 the mill boys can help carry it up to the kitchen. You go 
 and get ready. I '11 hurry." .And she sped away. 
 
 Jake was rather horrified at the slight margin of time 
 allowed in view of the cooking to be done. Still, he was 
 decidedly infected with the general enthusiasm, and so 
 he compounded a long list of requirements, all of which 
 Gret promised should be in his kitchen that evening. 
 
 And so they were. Most impetuous and .enthusiastic 
 was the shopping done by the four young folk. Quel- 
 lish was turned upside down and ransacked over. And 
 when the victorious shoppers turned the surprisingly 
 docile gasolene launch back up the Wishkah, they had suc- 
 ceeded in collecting all Jake's requirements, and various 
 additions of their own. In the stern of the boat lay three 
 of the finest hams to be unearthed in the Harbor, a tongue, 
 bananas, nuts, raisins, essences, chocolate, and many 
 other things. Among the additions to the original list 
 were half a dozen bottles of pickles and a sack of 
 oranges. All these things, as suggested by Gret, were 
 deposited for the time being in the mill. And that night 
 a giggling, heavily laden line of shadowy figures might 
 
THE LONG TO-MORROW 373 
 
 have been seen straggling up the board walk and cau- 
 tiously approaching the camp. Bessemer, all unaccus- 
 tomed to prowling in the brush by night, caught his foot 
 in a tangled growth around the path by the skid-road and 
 went sprawling full length, preceded by an avalanche of 
 oranges. Gret was overcome with mirth and leaned 
 against the skid, grasping tightly a bag of bananas, while 
 Bobbie and Van Cuyn applied anything but endearing 
 epithets to the fallen one. By the aid of matches the 
 greater part of the oranges were gathered up, however, 
 and the cavalcade started again, arriving, after much 
 scouting and due precautions, safely in Jake's kitchen. 
 
 The next days were very busy ones for Gret, her in- 
 dustry proceeding along altogether unprecedented lines. 
 She cracked and chopped nuts, sliced bananas, beat eggs, 
 and generally constituted herself Jake's right hand. She 
 also found time to acquaint quite a few of the men with 
 the scheme in hand, bidding them spread the news 
 abroad. But to Chester and Oly alone she deputed the 
 task of getting the beer and wine into the camp after 
 dinner on Saturday night. 
 
 As might be supposed, when the fateful evening ar- 
 rived Dick was unusually late retiring to the books and 
 studies he had adopted of late years. He sat in the men's 
 hall and smoked and chatted, and generally lingered 
 about so unconscionably that the nerves of the waiting 
 men were" all on edge. He might, if he had been on the 
 lookout for anything of the kind, have noticed a certain 
 lack of spontaneity and cordiality; but, not suspecting 
 anything of the sort, he did not. Finally, however, he 
 did retire to the cabin that was one of 'the few tokens of 
 his superior office, and then subdued excitement filled the 
 air. Chester and Oly rushed two wheelbarrows into the 
 kitchen, laden with precious liquid, and Bobbie, aided by 
 his chums, proceeded to tap the keg and fill jugs of beer. 
 
374 GRET 
 
 while Chester and Oly filled corresponding jugs of wine. 
 Charlie and Joe and Gret rushed into the dining-room 
 and whisked off the syrup, sugar bowls, pickles and vari- 
 ous condiments usually standing in broken lines up the 
 middle of the long tables, and spread over them table- 
 cloths and sheets borrowed from Lizzie for the occasion. 
 Gret had big jars of wild grape and fern ready, which 
 were placed at intervals up the center of the tables ; then 
 came cakes— banana, cream, chocolate, lemon, nut, and 
 raisin— really fine examples of the baker's art, for Jake 
 could certainly cook when he chose ; heaped-up dishes of 
 cut ham and tongue, rye and white bread, pickles, fruit, 
 and last, but by no means least, big jugs of alternate beer 
 and wine. 
 
 When all was complete the tables really looked very 
 nice, and Gret regarded them with much more admiration 
 that ever she had accorded the banquet tables of San 
 Francisco. As a last touch, every lamp in the camp was 
 ranged about the walls of the dining-room, which pre- 
 sented a most brilliant interior. 
 
 Then the word went round like a thrill of electricity 
 that all was ready; and groups that had gathered noise- 
 lessly round lighted doorways, only to melt into darkness 
 at the least unusual sound, quickly conglomerated into 
 one big crowd round Dick's cabin. 
 
 Suddenly, at a given signal, pandemonium broke loose ; 
 tin pans were beaten and the air was filled with yells. The 
 cabin door flew open, and the amazed figure of the fore- 
 man stood on the lighted threshold. At first it almost 
 seemed to him that a riot was on; but then out of the 
 darkness came Gret's bubble of glee and Bobbie's drawl, 
 singing "we won't go home till morning," and he knew 
 that, whatever it was, it was all right. Then Bobbie 
 darted forward and seized one arm and Gret clutched the 
 other, and, with the whole camp bustling gleefully along 
 
THE LONG TO-MORROW 375 
 
 behind, he was escorted to his chair at the head of the 
 long table. 
 
 Dick's amazement at the sight of the dining-room was 
 immense and unfeigned, and added the last item to the 
 general sum of satisfaction. Gret sat on his right hand 
 and Bobbie on the left, and on either side these two sat 
 the greatly edified Bessemer and Van Cuyn. From them 
 on either side ranged long rows of broadly smiling faces, 
 many of them familiar to Dick for years, though some, of 
 course, comparatively strange and new. 
 
 Whatever the lumberman does he does with all his 
 might, and when it comes to enjoying himself he certainly 
 makes no exception to the rule. Supper began with an 
 abandon and gusto that came as a revelation to the young 
 society men, who had probably hitherto prided themselves 
 on knowing about all there was to know of the art of 
 having a good time. Cakes melted into thin air, dishes 
 became suddenly empty, and beer and wine were emptied 
 down capacious throats. Then the gift of tongues de- 
 scended on the jolly woodsmen, and they spoke with 
 many voices. 
 
 Gret sat enjoying it all and taking everything in. As 
 the fun and noise increased she reluctantly made up her 
 mind to go, but still sat on a few minutes longer. Then, 
 she noticed that Dick cast an apprehensive glance at her. 
 In all her familiarity with the camp hands Dick had 
 never tolerated for her, and Gret had never had to put up 
 with, any loose talk. Many of the men here Dick knew ; 
 some he did not. Each would have his tongue loosened 
 now to whatever extent his nature prompted, and Gret 
 was the only woman present. Gret smiled reassuringly 
 at him and rose. 
 
 "Well, I must go," she observed to those near her. 
 
 Bobbie caught the words and shot onto his feet. He 
 brandished a glass of wine. "Boys, Gret has to go. Be- 
 
376 GRET 
 
 fore she does so, let us toast the man in whose honor the 
 feed is given. Here 's to Dick Swinton, our boss, the 
 finest boss and the best fellow you boys will ever meet !" 
 
 Chorus of "You bet your life!" "That 's right, too!" 
 "Hurrah !" and much enthusiastic drinking. 
 
 "And now, boys," went on Bobbie, with an elaborate 
 bow to the girl standing opposite him. "Let us fill up and 
 toast Miss Gret Silway, who instituted this most pleasant 
 proceeding." 
 
 The men yelled themselves hoarse once more, and in 
 the height of the excitement Chester arose in would-be 
 stately manner. He held a glass aloft. "Here 's to Gret, 
 the Angel of Silway's camp !" 
 
 "Aw — w, go on ! Angel !" Oly stood up in disgust. 
 "What kind of dime novel talk are you giving us?" He 
 held up his glass, a tumbler full of red wine. "Here 's 
 to Gret, not much of an angel, but all right just the 
 same !" 
 
 The Calif ornians screeched with mirth, and even Dick 
 laughed uproariously. Gret, too, nearly cried with laugh- 
 ter. Oly's serious manner and deep and real disgust at 
 what he considered a most abjectly inappropriate epithet 
 appealed to her especially. Many voices now were clam- 
 oring for speeches. Dick got up and replied briefly in the 
 genial, easy way that came of long handling of the ma- 
 terial about him. He was loudly applauded, and then 
 Gret was called upon. She looked amused at the idea; 
 but for the time being she was completely carried out of 
 herself, and she rose and faced the men with eyes darting 
 gleams of laughter and lips that would hardly keep 
 straight. 
 
 "Why, I could n't make a speech to save my life !" she 
 declared. "But you boys know me and what 's in my 
 mind. I 'm not much of an angel, as Oly says. If I were 
 I would n't be one of Silway 's camp. But I am one of 
 
THE LONG TO-MORROW 377 
 
 the camp, and shall be as long as I can remember it wher- 
 ever I may be. I suppose things won't go on as they are 
 forever. Changes are sure to come. But I hope they 
 will go on long enough for us to have a few more times 
 like this, with just the same old faces round and me here 
 to every last time." 
 
 "Well done !" commended Bobbie, amidst ear-splitting 
 shouts and terrific thumping of floor and tables. And 
 then Gret bethought herself of something, and her clear, 
 incisive tones were heard again. 
 
 "Now, boys, toast our good old Jakey, who has cooked 
 himself to a cinder making all these fine things." 
 
 More deafening shouts, and much perilous waving of 
 glasses, in the midst of which the abashed Jake mur- 
 mured, all unheard, "Oh, pshaw!" And then, very 
 quickly, before any one could move to accompany her, 
 Gret slipped out and away into the whispering darkness. 
 
 She went easily along the board-walk, shining wet and 
 clear in the starlight, and got into one of the boats rock- 
 ing softly about the landing. And then she gave a long 
 sigh, and sat for many minutes gazing into the darkly- 
 bright waters. The exhilaration, the pleasure of seeing 
 others pleased, died down. But she had forgotten for 
 three days ; and that was something. 
 
 The next day Gret took Dick aside and explained to 
 him the real object of the surprise. And Dick com- 
 prehended immediately. He was quick to admit, both to 
 himself and her, that he had taken his men too much as a 
 matter of course. Wrapped up in his plans for the 
 future, he had been over-confident of the present, and, as 
 he observed to Gret, it was a pretty bad mistake for a man 
 to make who had been handling men for years. 
 
 However, it was a hint that would not soon be for- 
 gotten. Thereafter Dick took his foremen and straw 
 bosses more into his confidence, and through them his 
 
378 GRET 
 
 men. And soon there began to float about the camp 
 rumors of a second camp to be installed that summer; 
 yes, and even rumors of a railroad. All of which inter- 
 ested the men greatly, of course, and gave them some- 
 thing to talk over and look forward to. 
 
 Early spring passed, and late spring blossomed into 
 summer. But before that Gret had given up fleeing from 
 herself. Sooner or later she had to accept things as they 
 were, and better sooner than later. And so she set her 
 back to the wall, and grimly allowed herself to realize 
 that quiet acceptance of daily detail, that odd following 
 of one day upon another with no golden thread to bind, 
 which means about as near heartbreak as mortals come. 
 And she yielded to her inclination to creep off somewhere 
 and be alone much of her time. But she did not bewail 
 nor repine. She wasted no maudlin sighs over that drear 
 heart-sickness whose existence time alone could quench. 
 She had great faith in the power of time— when she 
 should have lived through enough of it. 
 
 And when the summer came, and the land bloomed in 
 beauty, Gret went back to the hills and the woods. She 
 would lie high up in the sunshine, and by those lakes 
 with the shining faces, and lie there hour after hour and 
 day after day, until everything was forgotten and her 
 heart grew warm once more, and she was back again to 
 that girl she was before— oh, before many things. 
 
 That summer Gret received several long letters from 
 Arthur. He was in Mediterranean waters, on board 
 Errol Ludlowe's yacht, Immortalite. Perceiving that 
 argument was useless, Ludlowe had descended forcibly 
 on his gentle but obstinate friend and carried him off for 
 a long sea trip. 
 
 Errol had told Arthur— and no one else in the world— 
 almost word for word what had happened between him- 
 self and Gret; and Arthur was from the first the strong- 
 
THE LONG TO-MORROW 379 
 
 est ally Gret had. He knew better than any one else the 
 sacrifice she had made ; and as the two men sat together 
 on deck and talked of the matter, Arthur would unwaver- 
 ingly refuse to be turned aside— even for the sake of 
 argument— from his faith in the girl. 
 
 "I don't see how you can apply such a word as un- 
 principled," he said over and over again. "She is the 
 strongest adherent to principle that I ever knew of. 
 Principles are ideas, and vary with varying people. When 
 she came to her principle she gave up everything rather 
 than transgress it. I am not disappointed in her. She is 
 thoroughbred." 
 
 But Errol's pride of family was so innate that he could 
 not easily forget Gret's contemplated sin against it; 
 though neither could he easily forget that last sight of her 
 — those wide, shining eyes, the young, lithe body instinct 
 with life, the music of that voice grown low with pas- 
 sion, the pride that would not plead. 
 
 Gret of course knew nothing of all this. But she saw 
 at once that Arthur knew everything, and that his sym- 
 pathies were all with her. She gathered, too, that Arthur 
 was failing very fast. He spoke now and again of a 
 longing to return home to his beloved work, but of posi- 
 tive refusals on Errol's part to allow it on account of his 
 weakness. Gret loved to get the letters. She gathered 
 foolish comfort from the fact that Errol must have been 
 somewhere near when they were written; and yet each 
 one started afresh the hungry longing that she could not 
 kill, for each time Arthur sent kindly remembrances from 
 Errol. 
 
 The fact that Gret was not, after all, going to marry 
 Errol Ludlowe was accepted in the community with pos- 
 sibly much private, but very little outward, comment. 
 Many questioned her ; but Gret turned all curiosity aside 
 with jests and the smiling assurance that she was not so 
 
38o GRET 
 
 easi^3 to be got rid of. Bobbie, of course, heard all that 
 his mother knew of the matter, which was not much, and 
 in turn communicated it to Bertie. But, as Gret volun- 
 teered absolutely nothing on the subject herself, both 
 were too gentlemanly to ask questions. 
 
 Mrs. Silway herself wondered a great deal over the 
 sudden termination of what had seemed to her an excep- 
 tional chance for Gret; but Eva, probably— in the begin- 
 ning, at all events— more on account of her love for 
 Robin than out of any consideration for Gret, had never 
 taken her mother further into her confidence; and Gret 
 had merely informed her that she and Errol had looked 
 very differently on certain matters and had therefore de- 
 cided permanently to disagree. And though she would 
 not question much on a subject that she instinctively felt 
 was unwelcome, yet Mrs. Silway pondered the matter 
 often. And once, when Gret read portions of Arthur's 
 letters to her, she said tentatively : 
 
 "I shall always be sorry that you and the major de- 
 cided to disagree, Gret. It seems to me that, unless it 
 was some very vital matter, it would have been well to 
 have conceded a point. To my way of thinking he was 
 a man any woman would learn to love very intensely— 
 if she had a heart at all." 
 
 Gret smiled, a faint, amused smile. She was thinking 
 how much difference a knowledge of a subject makes. 
 
 "But sometimes I think you have n't a heart," went on 
 her mother, half jestingly. 
 
 "I hope not," replied Gret gravely. "They 're very 
 troublesome things, are n't they, mother ?" 
 
 "Yes, they are," said Mrs. Silway quietly ; "but it takes 
 a very great intellect to equal the pleasures of a very 
 simple heart." 
 
' CHAPTER XXV 
 
 SAVED ! 
 
 OWING to the death of the most costly member of 
 the Silway family, and the fact, therefore, that two 
 thirds at least of the profits of the camp returned to it to 
 be spent in developments, it came about that that summer 
 was able to see great changes. A second camp was in- 
 stalled on the new N. E. section ; and still further north, 
 through Dick's watchfulness and energy, another exten- 
 sive and very valuable tract of timber-land was acquired. 
 In the acquisition of this, Dick forestalled by only a very 
 few days the agents of that great lumber trust whose 
 insidious and carefully concealed greed has honey- 
 combed the West. 
 
 Up to and through this new tract Dick hoped to con- 
 struct a small logging railroad. And in respect to this he 
 came one afternoon and held a long consultation with 
 Mrs. Silway ; and that lady in turn detailed particulars of 
 the consultation to her daughters. Some, though not all, 
 of Dick's plans and proposals were already known to 
 Gret, as may be supposed. 
 
 "He wants to be allowed to put about seven thousand 
 dollars into the business, and, of course, share profits 
 proportionately," observed Mrs. Silway serenely. 
 
 "Oh, good for Dick !" said Gret, a trifle surprised. This 
 was an idea that Dick had not communicated. "I did n't 
 know he had that much, though I knew he was always 
 saving." 
 
 38X 
 
382 GRET 
 
 "Oh, well ! He must have been getting a hundred and 
 fifty a month for a good many years, and I don't suppose 
 his expenses were ever the odd fifty," said Mrs. Silway. 
 'The seven thousand is not all he has, in effect. He has 
 some valuable timber holdings on the sound which he is 
 waiting a favorable opportunity to dispose of. But for 
 the present he wants to be allowed to put that much actual 
 cash into our concern." 
 
 "Well, let 's let him," advised Gret. 
 
 "Yes; I am in favor of the proposal myself," agreed 
 Mrs. Silway ; "it binds a valuable man to us." 
 
 "Oh, I can't imagine Dick leaving us," smiled Gret. 
 "But he takes so much interest in everything, and is so 
 good, that it seems only fair that he should be allowed 
 to share things." 
 
 "Yes, I think so, too. I think it will be a benefit all 
 the way round," said Mrs. Silway contentedly. "The 
 logging railroad will be a very expensive affair, and Mr. 
 Swinton's money will go a long way toward paying for 
 the engine— a turtleback, he called it." 
 
 "If we keep on getting bigger," observed Eva mu- 
 singly, and speaking for the first time, "we shall all be 
 quite rich some day. And then we can take a trip to 
 Europe, eh, mother?" 
 
 "Oh, is that what you want to do ?" inquired Gret, look- 
 ing at her sister amusedly. 
 
 The two girls had become the best of friends again, 
 though Gret had never made any overtures to Eva. The 
 sense of her loss was so keen upon her that she could not 
 feel that she owed any. But Eva, naturally sweet-na- 
 tured and affectionate, when the poignancy of her grief 
 wore off, realized something of her sister's sacrifice and 
 was ashamed of her early unreasonableness. Her eyes, 
 keener through her own loss, could trace something that 
 had gone out of Gret's face and never would return. The 
 
SAVED! 383 
 
 hope, the alertness, the all-embracing curiosity were 
 gone ; and the stilled look in her eyes was that of a woman 
 who had looked beyond the veil of youth, and knew. 
 Her nature was so different, so much less intense, that 
 Eva could not measure the depth of Gret's loss; but her 
 intuition was sufficient to measure a part of it. And Gret, 
 when she was ready to return, received her sister back 
 to the same old footing without comment. 
 
 "Oh, yes!" replied Eva now. "I think it would be 
 lovely, don't you, Gret? Fancy seeing all those glorious 
 old places that we read about. And Rome and Venice. 
 Oh, my!" Eva clasped her hands together in ecstasy. 
 And again Gret laughed. "Why, Gret, would n't you 
 like to see them?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 "Well, you don't enthuse much," grumbled Eva. 
 
 "We 're not starting yet," said Gret with a sm.ile. "No 
 use wasting enthusiasm this far ahead." 
 
 And then the conversation returned to Dick and his 
 plans, in all of which the entire Silway family appeared 
 to have unbounded and united confidence. The further 
 she became acquainted with him the more Mrs. Silway 
 liked her foreman ; and if anything was wanting to her 
 complete and correct estimate of his manly character and 
 sterling qualities, Gret promptly supplied it. 
 
 And so it came about that the Silway Logging Com- 
 pany filed new articles of incorporation, and became Sil- 
 way & Swinton. Dick deprecated the adoption of his 
 name, but the Silways wished it, and it was done. The 
 camp rejoiced greatly, but watched carefully, nevertheless, 
 for .signs of demoralization to appear in their favorite 
 boss. None became discernible, though, even to the most 
 watchful eye. Dick took his men into all his plans, and 
 made them part and parcel of them. And everything 
 went along in unbroken harmony. 
 
384 GRET 
 
 Gret especially was pleased at this substantial recog- 
 nition of her friend's worth as a man. She patted him 
 on the back one day, at the close of the proceedings which 
 made him a member of the firm. 
 
 "There ! Now you 're one of the family, Dick." 
 
 Dick turned and looked at her; the keen, straight 
 glance of his eyes was faintly quizzical. "Not yet," he 
 said quietly. 
 
 Gret looked rather surprised. She was up in the new 
 camp with him, and together they were considering the 
 site of the new railroad. 
 
 "Well," she said after a moment, "you 're beginning 
 to be. Mother gets to know you better and to feel more 
 at home with you every day." 
 
 Dick laughed. And again Gret did not see the entire 
 applicability of the laugh. But he said nothing, and she 
 sat down by him on the tree, and gazed over the pine- 
 clad, sunlit stretch of beauty before her. 
 
 "You see," went on Dick, with a wave of the arm, and 
 reverting to their previous conversation, "we '11 log all 
 down the sides of this canon, and then have three sections 
 at the head of it. That engine will haul the whole busi- 
 ness." 
 
 "It 's an awfully big stretch," observed Gret reflec- 
 tively. 
 
 Dick nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I shall put another 
 camp at the head of the cafion, to log those eastern sec- 
 tions. Too far for them to come to us." 
 
 "But the boom will be too high up then, won't it?" 
 queried Gret, her eye following the proposed line of 
 road. 
 
 "The logs are easily taken up," replied Dick ; "and then 
 we shall have to lengthen the boom a good bit anyway. 
 Oh, we Ve got our work cut out for the next two years, 
 all right," contentedly. 
 
SAVED! 385 
 
 "Oh, my ! I do wish I were a man," sighed Gret en- 
 viously, "so that I could help." 
 
 "You can help more as a woman," said Dick quietly. 
 "Maybe you have helped more than you know." And 
 then, going on in the same quiet voice, "I heard some- 
 thing the other day that is a great secret. Want to hear 
 it, Gret?" 
 
 "Yes," promptly. 
 
 "I heard— mind, you must be just as surprised as ever 
 when they tell you— that we 're going to lose our Jake 
 and you your Lizzie." 
 
 "What!" Gret's eyes were as big as saucers. She 
 would not have been more amazed if Dick had told her 
 that the camp had fallen through the bottom of the canon. 
 "Jake going— and Lizzie ! Why, the camp would n't be 
 the camp without Jake !" 
 
 "Yes, they are going to be married, and buy out Mrs. 
 Olesen at the Pacific," went on Dick. "But remember, 
 it 's a dead secret yet. I 'm awfully sorry ; but then— I 
 suppose we could n't hope to keep Jake forever." 
 
 "Well! Jake 's pretty sly about it!" said Gret indig- 
 nantly. "I never saw him talking to Lizzie overmuch." 
 
 "Oh, no !" Dick laughed. "Jake has n't lived with us 
 all these years for nothing." 
 
 "Humph!" Gret looked sincerely disgusted. "I sup- 
 pose you '11 tell me you 're going to get married and go 
 off next !" 
 
 Dick smiled queerly. "I wish I could— tell you I was 
 going to get married, I mean. What would you do then, 
 Gret?" 
 
 "I don't know," petulantly. "Oh, well, we would n't 
 try to have a camp at all then, that 's all." 
 
 And then, abruptly and still intensely disgusted, Gret 
 went home, to stare hard at Lizzie and see if she looked 
 as natural as ever. 
 
 25 
 
386 GRET 
 
 In the August of that year Mrs. Baring paid a brief 
 visit to the mill. She did not see much of Gret; and 
 when she did see her, question as she might, she could 
 not gain any satisfaction concerning the cause of the 
 broken engagement. She informed Gret, however, that 
 Maude Vibart still occupied her old place in the house- 
 hold, and from certain points in Errol's manner before 
 sailing Mrs. Baring was able to safely predict that the 
 serene heiress would undoubtedly, on his return from 
 the yachting tour, be the next woman of his choice. And 
 Gret, agreeing in her own heart with this prediction, 
 went off to rage with herself and the jealousy that con- 
 sumed her. 
 
 Before this visit of Mrs. Baring's — this turning over 
 again of the ashes of the might-have-been— Gret had ob- 
 tained a certain amount of peace with herself. But such 
 as it had been, it fled, and its place was filled by a jeal- 
 ousy, a constant fear, that would not sleep nor be dis- 
 pelled. As long as Errol remained alone Gret felt that 
 she could stand the separation; but on the day that he 
 married another woman she did not feel that she could 
 live and remain sane. 
 
 So ill at ease was she, and so totally unable to stay 
 any length of time in any one place, that she grew 
 very wild, and roamed the trackless forests in reckless 
 fashion. 
 
 Dick Swinton was very uneasy, being as usual afraid 
 for the girl's Hfe; and even Jake, generally so com- 
 placent in matters pertaining to Gret's safety, when that 
 young lady coolly emerged from the woods hours after 
 dark, took her to task seriously. Gret took all the scold- 
 ings with meekness and gravity on her face and grim 
 mirth in her heart. She was inclined to think that what 
 would be would be ; and in the meantime she must be 
 amused. 
 
SAVED! 387 
 
 Dick was more puzzled and worried over Gret, it is 
 safe to say, than over all the business details of the camps 
 and his stewardship thereof combined. 
 
 He was about to retire one night, but noticed with his 
 usual watchfulness a resumption of sounds in the kitchen, 
 which had long ago grown quiet. Glancing out of 
 the cabin, and seeing the kitchen lighted up again, and 
 Jake moving hurriedly about within, he walked across to 
 discover the reason for these unusual proceedings. His 
 astonished eyes beheld Gret seated in a chair. That in 
 itself was sufficiently surprising at the hour, but her ap- 
 pearance was what amazed him. Never once in her life 
 could he remember to have seen Gret even tired ; now she 
 was physically all but collapsed. But her eyes, half 
 laughing, half defiant, glared at Dick as he stood in the 
 shadowy doorway. 
 
 'Too bad to come bothering Jakey at this time, is n^t 
 it, Dick ?" she said, and there was exhaustion even in the 
 tones of her voice ; "but I had to fix up a little before I 
 went home." 
 
 "I should think so !" Dick came and stood before her. 
 Every line in the lithe, strong body was limp, her hair 
 streamed down over her shoulders, her right sleeve was 
 torn open from elbow to shoulder and the flesh was 
 plainly ragged and bleeding within, and there was blood 
 on her temple. But all this might have resulted from a 
 bad fall, and it was the exhaustion that claimed Dick's 
 particular attention. 
 
 "What chased you— bear or a man ?" 
 
 "Not going to tell," obstinately. "I 'm afc\l right. 
 That 's all that 's necessary. Don't look so cross, Dick. 
 And Jake, too. Just look how mad Jake looks! It 's 
 your fault, Jake. I told you not to go to any trouble. 
 And I won't drink any coffee if you do make it." 
 
 "Yes, you will, too !" said Jake in an indignant screech. 
 
388 ' GRET 
 
 He was literally dancing about the kitchen, tickling up 
 the half-dead fire in the range, and trying to prepare cof- 
 fee and gather together some soft white rags and a bowl 
 of water all at once. "I 'm not mad at the trouble, and 
 you know that all the while you 're saying it. I 'm just 
 mad to think you *11 go on taking such fool chances spite 
 of all I can say to you. What can anybody do with a 
 girl like this ?"— to Dick. 
 
 Dick shook his head, and held out his hand for the 
 bowl of water with which the indignant cook was ap- 
 proaching. "Yes," thrusting it into his hands. "You 
 wash the blood off her face while I make the coffee. 
 Wonder where that fool Joe 's got to." 
 
 Dick bathed the blood off the scratched temple with 
 ridiculous gentleness, Gret holding up her face like an 
 obedient child. Then he pulled aside the ragged edges of 
 the torn sleeve, and as he saw the somewhat badly torn 
 flesh, shivered slightly. Gret laughed. "You big silly! 
 Never mind that. I '11 wash that all off when I get home. 
 Only thing is," frowning slightly, "how am I to get 
 home? I can't get quietly into my room. Have I got 
 anything at all left down here— an old jacket or any- 
 thing, Jake?" Jake shook his head over the coffee 
 strainer. "Oh, well, I must trust to luck. No, don't try 
 to wash it off, Dick; it will only begin to bleed again. 
 I '11 wash it when I get home." 
 
 Jake now brought up a steaming cup of coffee and a 
 tempting piece of pie on a plate. Gret took the coffee 
 and drank it eagerly, but shook her head at the pie. 
 
 "Can't eat pie!" exclaimed Jake, his eyes round with 
 amazement. 
 
 "She 's too used up to eat," observed Dick, watching 
 the girl drink the coffee with a curious expression in his 
 eyes. "Tell us what happened to you, Gret." 
 
 But Gret shook her head, and Dick forbore to press the 
 
SAVED! 389 
 
 question. After she had rested a while Dick and Jake 
 took her home, Jake carrying a lantern and Dick keeping 
 a firm hold on Gret's arm, for so tired was she that her 
 usually sure feet stumbled painfully. On the way back 
 to the camp the two men discussed the problem of her 
 appearance. 
 
 "It 's some man," asserted Jake decidedly ; "and that 's 
 why she won't tell. Thinks it would make trouble." 
 
 "And so it would," said Dick between his teeth. 
 "Some Indian, I suppose, or trapper—" 
 
 "No, no Indian," objected Jake promptly. "She 's 
 known most of them round about here all her life. An 
 Indian don't turn on a friend. No. You see, if some 
 fellow tried to do her harm and she broke away, he 'd 
 naturally chase her for all he was worth. Because he 'd 
 figure on her coming straight down here and telling 
 about it, which would likely make the country round 
 about too hot for him." 
 
 "Rather!" muttered Dick, enraged at the mere sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 "And he 'd just about have done for her if he 'd got 
 her," went on Jake thoughtfully. "But it 's no kind of 
 use trying to stop Gret roaming about. It might be a 
 good idea, though, to try and get her to carry a gun about 
 with her and to teach her to shoot. Suppose we could do 
 that?" 
 
 But Dick Swinton shook his head. He had long ago 
 ceased to prophesy concerning Gret. As he turned in 
 that night he made up his mind to say nothing further to 
 her concerning this night's occurrence. It was useless to 
 remonstrate. 
 
 However, the next day he partially departed from his 
 resolution. He did not remonstrate, but he inquired. 
 Gret was up on the grounds, and had just watched with 
 her usual delight the sighing sweep of a pine-top through 
 
 26 
 
390 GRET 
 
 the air. Now she was seated on the fallen monster as the 
 trimmers attacked it. Dick came and sat by her. 
 
 "Gret, what kind of life is this you 're leading?" 
 
 Gret turned round and faced him. As it happened, she 
 was in an amiably reflective mood herself. "I don't 
 know. What kind is it?" 
 
 "It 's no life for a young woman," said Dick decidedly. 
 
 "Well, what would you advise me to do about it ?" 
 
 "What do other young women do ?" 
 
 "Well," began Gret with a serenely reflective air, 
 "some of them— about half of them, I suppose— have to 
 get their own living. I don't. I would n't know how to 
 if I had to. What could I do ?" 
 
 "I don't know. You 'd manage something. But there 's 
 no need. So pass that and go on," smiling. 
 
 "Well. Some, I suppose, do housework," resumed 
 Gret. "If I tried to meddle with the work, Lizzie would 
 quit. And who 'd thank me then? I can't sew, and it 
 would n't do anybody much good if I did. What else is 
 there that women do ?" 
 
 Dick looked at her smiling. "Do you remember how 
 mad you got at me one day, long ago, when I said what 
 I supposed you 'd do when you grew up ?" 
 
 Gret remembered, and looked in his eyes and laughed. 
 "Yes, I remember." 
 
 "Well? What do you think about it now?" 
 
 "Well, I suppose it 's about all there is for some women 
 to do," admitted Gret. "But, like all the rest, it 's no 
 good to me. Those I 'd want would n't want me, and 
 those that would want me I would n't want. So what 's 
 to be done ?" 
 
 Dick did not reply. He sat with his chin resting on his 
 hand, looking straight before him. And then presently 
 he got up and went over to investigate the stopping of 
 the donkey, whose intermittent hum had ceased for the 
 
SAVED! 391 
 
 last few minutes. And Gret remained, as usual, mistress 
 of the situation. 
 
 Very early in the following spring Gret received a let- 
 ter, at sight of which her heart leaped into her throat. 
 It was from Errol, himself, and announced Arthur's death 
 and burial in Tangier. The writer told of many things, 
 gathered together for her by the dead man, and promised 
 their safe transmission when the yacht arrived once more 
 in Calif ornian waters. Just then Errol was about to take 
 a trip up into the Moroccan interior which promised to 
 be of more than usual interest. He was going to accom- 
 pany an envoy of the French government, who made the 
 trip, under promise of safe convoy from the Sultan, in 
 the interest of the proposed policing of the country by 
 France. At the close of this trip, Errol observed, he 
 intended returning home and endeavoring once more to 
 settle down. 
 
 Gret laid the letter against her cheek, and caressed it 
 almost as foolishly as a school-girl receiving her first 
 love-letter, and then scorned herself heartily for doing it. 
 
 But as week followed week, and the time for the prob- 
 able return of the Immartalite drew near, her feverish 
 restlessness became pitiable, none the less so for being 
 carefully hidden and expended mostly in the brush and 
 among the hills. None, not even those nearest to her, 
 guessed the state of mind she was in ; but many noticed, 
 in spite of the tan of her skin, how ill she looked. Her 
 eyes, almost harsh in their brilliancy, were deeply shad- 
 owed round, and her lips had drawn lines of suffering 
 that the smiles she wore among men could not hide. 
 
 Seeing that the most likely— indeed, the only— avenue 
 of information concerning Errol was the mill-house, Gret 
 went down there often. She was miserably afraid to hear 
 of his return, but could not stay away from the probable 
 news of it. Some days she pictured Bobbie reading to 
 
392 GRET 
 
 her a portion of his mother's letter, telling of Errol's en- 
 gagement at last to Maude Vibart. Or would Bobbie tell 
 her? He might think— But Gret hardly thought he 
 would suppose she would care much one way or another 
 now. 
 
 But Bobbie never read to her or any other the news of 
 Errol Ludlowe's engagement. Instead, one day, he came 
 running toward her across the little lawn between the 
 bluff and the Silway house. His boyish face was drawn 
 with grief, and in his hand he waved an open newspaper. 
 
 "Gret!" he cried. "Look at that! You must have 
 loved the dear old fellow once." 
 
 Gret looked at the sheet held up before her, and in big 
 type she saw : "Brigand's victim noted San Francisco 
 man." She read on, and saw how Major Errol Ludlowe, 
 with the French Count Montispeau and retinue, had been 
 treacherously murdered by order of the brigand chief 
 while on the way by appointment to his stronghold. The 
 article told in detail of the finding of the bodies of the 
 two men and their guides and servants, laid in orderly 
 fashion on the mountain side where the Sultan's troops 
 would find them, and of immediate steps to be taken by 
 the French government looking to retribution. 
 
 Gret read the article down and understood it. She 
 even saw the bodies on the mountain-side in that dim, 
 azure distance, and that one face, with the keen but tired 
 eyes closed. And then she dashed the paper down to the 
 ground, and threw up her arms with a sound that was not 
 altogether a laugh and not altogether a cry, but something 
 of both. And before Bobbie could stir she rushed across 
 the sward and into the forest. Into the heart of the wood, 
 past all possible following, she rushed ; and on a hillside, 
 above a plain of swamp alder, whose level tops of delicate 
 green were like a soft sea, she fell on her knees with a 
 strange little, dry, sobbing cry. 
 
SAVED! 393 
 
 Saved— she was saved ! He was hers now— hers, hers ! 
 No other woman could ever be his wife now, nor even his 
 love for a few days. Oh, Errol— dead, dead! But she 
 was the only woman he had ever asked to be his wife, or 
 ever would. 
 
 There was none by to see this half -crazed woman who 
 had been hurt almost past enduring and had borne it in 
 terrible, unbroken silence. And Gret's frenzy was 
 the more terrible in that it was the breakdown of a strong 
 spirit. She rocked herself on her knees, and wrung her 
 hands and moaned and crooned in a joy that was sadder 
 than most grief. 
 
 And then, by and by, she lay face down in the harsh 
 moss still wet with the late rains of spring, and tears 
 came — not a rain of them in woman fashion, but great, 
 hot tears that welled up and blinded her, the first in many 
 years. She thought of the dear, dead man, on the hillside 
 in that far-off country. How long had he, perhaps, lain 
 there dying with none to soothe or caress; how many 
 nights had he lain there dead with none to know or care ! 
 She shivered to think of the awful knife-thrust from 
 merciless hands. The hurt of it, and she not there to 
 soothe. 
 
 But she could wait now, because he was hers and none 
 could take him away. Dead as he was, she had never felt 
 him nearer since he left her those many months ago. She 
 could see the serene, high-bred face, and feel on her face 
 again the slow, quiet glance she loved. i\nd no other 
 woman could come between her and that glance, none ! 
 
 After a few hours quiet came back to Gret. And then 
 she fell asleep — a sleep of exhaustion to which many 
 months had contributed — and slept long after the coming 
 of dark. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE ULTIMATE NICHE 
 
 TOWARD the middle of summer, delayed much be- 
 yond the time of their original intention by the 
 tardiness of Mrs. Olesen in retiring from the Pacific 
 Hotel, Jake and Lizzie were married, even according to 
 the early prophecy of Dick. And never in all the history 
 of Sil way's camp had there been such doings as there 
 were at that wedding. And such presents ! 
 
 Gret, during the festivities, was the busiest person pos- 
 sible. And even for a short time afterward, while Lizzie 
 got satisfactorily settled in her new abode, there was 
 much to amuse and some few things to do. But soon the 
 shouting and the tumult died, and home and camp settled 
 down again to a peaceful routine of work that now was 
 so rarely broken. The Widow Bennett took Lizzie's 
 place in the Silway household, aided by a young girl, and 
 Jake's place at the camp range was filled by a cook of 
 long experience and assertive air. His place in camp 
 councils and in the affections of the camp remained va- 
 cant, as he was assured, much to his edification, over and 
 over again by many and various, including Gret. Gret 
 gave particular assurance that henceforth, when in need 
 of pie or counsel, she would repair to the kitchen of the 
 Pacific. 
 
 Work on the railroad was begun early that summer, 
 and camp and canon hummed with the sounds of men and 
 horses and machinery. Gret took great interest in the 
 
 394 
 
THE ULTIMATE NICHE 395 
 
 work, and watched and admired afresh Dick's just and 
 tactful handling of the large body of men, and his grave, 
 unflagging purpose and energy. She envied him his set- 
 tled aim in life, though she could not quite see what it 
 was, for him. Still, his whole heart was in his work, and 
 that was something to be thankful for. Gret often wished 
 that she had some work to do that she liked to do, or that 
 was any good to any one. She felt like a stray dog, whom 
 none would very greatly miss, though to whose presence 
 none objected. 
 
 She bestowed quite a little half amused, half scornful 
 and wholly disgusted thought upon her future. She en- 
 joyed an aimless peace now, the peace of one who has 
 nothing particular to fear or lose. And she was content 
 enough with her life, if she could go on indefinitely with 
 it; but she knew she could not. She was quite sensible 
 enough to know that the life she was leading, as Dick had 
 once remarked, was no life for a woman. She was quite 
 keen enough to know that the sight of a matured woman 
 roaming idly and endlessly about a camp and associating 
 with the men would be no pleasing sight even to the men 
 themselves. Youth was with her now; but how about 
 when it was gone ? And every year lessened it. 
 
 Even as it was, she felt the spaces about her life lessen- 
 ing. She no longer felt unrestricted in her actions; for 
 there were so many new men about, men who had not 
 known her from childhood as soine of the old hands had. 
 She walked about the camps almost as freely as of old; 
 but she did not travel down the skid-road on a chain of 
 logs, nor go down the river on a raft, any more. The 
 sense of the fitting that comes to a mature woman re- 
 strained her ; and moreover, that unbounded joy in living 
 that had once been hers was gone. The saving sense of 
 humor was still strong within her, her love of nature as 
 great as ever, and her mood amiable and contented. But 
 
396 GRET 
 
 her heart had grown grave in a few months, and never 
 again as of old would sing upon its way like a brook in 
 spring-time. 
 
 And Gret often pondered these things as she sat by her 
 own lake, the Hidden One, that bright companion of so 
 many hours of delight, of so many hours of anguished 
 struggle. She pondered, and wondered idly where the 
 worth-while comes, as so many wonder in the short 
 breathing spaces between the acts of life's drama. 
 
 So much had already gone out of her life, so many 
 changes taken place in the personnel of it, that Gret 
 grudged the thought of any further changes with a fer- 
 vor that did not pause to note any possible advantage; 
 and when she heard in confidence from her mother re- 
 specting another possible one, she was greatly injured. 
 She felt that if many more changes took place there 
 would be nothing of the old life left. Of course, the dif- 
 ferent personages effecting the changes remained mostly 
 within sight and sound ; but they occupied totally differ- 
 ent places on the board of life and things were not the 
 same. 
 
 Gret voiced the spirit of her discontent to Dick early 
 one evening, having come across him on her way from 
 the Hidden One. She was coming down the hillside be- 
 tween the two camps, and noticed him a little above her 
 on a knoll that overlooked the scene of the day's work. 
 He was strolling about, apparently sizing up the fine firs 
 that clothed the sides of the tiny hill, and Gret glanced 
 up at the tall and powerful figure with the folded arms. 
 Then she promptly turned aside from her downward 
 path, climbed up to where he was, and, sitting down at 
 the foot of a tree, leaned her head against the bark. 
 Dick stood looking down on her, his arms still folded; 
 there was a strange, intent look in his eyes, and Gret 
 wondered if he were going to scold her for roaming. 
 
THE ULTIMATE NICHE 397 
 
 "Where have you been, Gret ?" 
 
 "Only up to my lake," calmly. "You know it 's quite a 
 way. What were you doing ? Looking at all the lots and 
 lots and lots of work that you did to-day ?" 
 
 "No," coolly. "I was just thinking that this would be 
 a lovely spot for a little house." 
 
 "Yes, it would," agreed Gret, with a critical glance 
 down the canon and to the river beyond, winding like a 
 silver thread out of sight. "But who 'd want it?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "You!" Gret lifted her eyes quickly to the man above 
 her. "Why, what would you do with it, Dick ?" 
 
 "Live in it. What do you suppose ? Don't you think," 
 with a peculiar smile, "I 'm ever going to have a home ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes — of course." And then, recollecting her for- 
 mer grievance, "Oh, yes, of course you will. You '11 get 
 married and change, too, like all the rest." 
 
 "I don't know that / shall change," replied Dick, with 
 emphasis on the pronoun. "But why do you say 'too' ? Is 
 any one else going to change ?" 
 
 "Well, this is in return confidence for the news you 
 gave me in advance about Jake," glancing up with a 
 smile. "Mother told me a few days ago that Bertie Fon- 
 seker had asked her permission to come to the house to 
 see Eva. He has been hanging about Eva for quite a 
 while anyway. But that 's his polite way — to ask mother. 
 He 's an awfully nice fellow, a gentleman in every way ; 
 but-" 
 
 "Yes, he is," corroborated Dick. "There 's no 'but' 
 about it." 
 
 "I know. I 'm awfully fond of Bertie, just as much as 
 I am of Bobbie. I was only thinking — " Her voice 
 trailed off. She was really wondering at the diversity of 
 Eva's tastes. Robin so tall and broad-shouldered, built 
 like a man even if he were not one: and Bertie so slim 
 
398 GRET 
 
 and gentle of manner. But she had come to the conclu- 
 sion that Eva was a woman who had to love some one, 
 heart being a very big portion of her make-up. 
 
 "Well, what were you thinking ?" demanded Dick, who 
 had been watching her curiously. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know— many things. That Bertie would 
 be too easily bossed for one thing." 
 
 "Oh, well, Eva won't try to boss him. She 's not that 
 sort," said Dick. 
 
 "No," absently ; and then : "Well, will you live in the 
 house if you build it, Dick?" 
 
 "I will if I build it. I won't build it unless I can have 
 the woman I want to live in it," answered Dick. 
 
 Gret lifted her eyes in a reproachful way. "Oh, Dick !" 
 she said downheartedly. And then her eyes dropped 
 gloomily to the canon that the sweet September evening 
 was filling with shadows. "There ! I knew it would n't 
 be long before you changed, too. I felt it. Changes 
 never come alone." 
 
 A loneliness crept into her voice. If she lost Dick, she 
 would lose a great deal; they had been companions so 
 long and so truly. But then it was only right and to be 
 expected. He was bound to find his place in life like all 
 the rest of them. There were few like herself, with no 
 ultimate niche provided. 
 
 "I don't know exactly what you mean by 'change,' " 
 said Dick. "I shall still be the same man." 
 
 "Oh, yes," moodily. "But when you get married I 
 can't come and talk to you as long as I like and as often 
 as I like. And besides, you '11 have others to talk to, and 
 won't want to. You need n't tell me," frowning, "that it 
 won't make any change in you, because I know it will. 
 Of course, we shall still be friends, but— oh, it '11 be 
 different." 
 
 "Well, I 'm not married yet," observed Dick with an 
 
THE ULTIMATE NICHE 399 
 
 odd smile. "You see, I don't know that the woman I 
 want wants me." 
 
 "Oh, you have n't asked her?" quickly. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You can't like her such an awful lot, then, if you take 
 so much time to think about it," said Gret judicially. 
 
 "No ?" A strange look came into Dick Swinton's eyes 
 as he looked down on the girl before him. "I 've wanted 
 her ever since she was big enough for a man to look at. 
 To me she 's always been the sweetest thing in the way of 
 a woman that ever happened." 
 
 Gret looked quickly up, attracted by the ring in the 
 deep but quiet voice. "Who is it ?" she demanded sharply. 
 
 "You !" 
 
 Gret sat and looked up at him in a sort of magnetized 
 silence, and Dick's eyes rested steadily on her face. Then 
 she rose, still gazing amazedly at him; and as she came 
 to her feet he took both her hands in a grip of steel. 
 
 "Me !" she breathed. "You want to marry mef* 
 
 Dick nodded ; he could find no words just then. 
 
 "Oh, Dick! Why, I never even dreamed—" She 
 laughed, a little, pained laugh. Then she sighed. "Well, 
 you won't when—" She looked at him almost timidly. 
 She had never before seen in his eyes such an expression 
 as they held then. She tried to withdraw her hands, but 
 they were not released. Could this be— Dick, that she 
 had known all these years, loved her? Well, she would 
 tell him all. She remembered Errol's scornful inquiry, 
 "And you did n't mind deceiving me?" No other man 
 should ever be deceived by her. And besides, then Dick 
 would need no answer. She looked up at him again. 
 
 "Dick, are you in a hurry to get back to camp ?" 
 
 "No," grimly ; "I have plenty of time to hear you say 
 yes or no. And that 's what you 've got to say, Gret, and 
 before you leave me. I meant to wait a few months 
 
400 GRET 
 
 longer, to give you more time to forget. But you brought 
 it on yourself by coming up to me here this evening. I 
 v^as thinking about you anyway. And then you talked 
 as you did. And now you must speak." 
 
 "I will," hurriedly. "But I want to tell you something, 
 Dick. After that— " 
 
 "Well-and after that?" 
 
 "You shall decide," gently. 
 
 The clasp on her hands tightened, and Dick came so 
 close to her that she backed away from him agai-nst the 
 tree. "Do you mean that it will rest with me whether I 
 have you or not?" he demanded. 
 
 "Yes," slowly. "If you want me after that—" 
 
 But Dick laughed exultantly. "Then don't bother to 
 tell me anything. I don't want to know anything ; I don't 
 care. I-" 
 
 Gret's eyes flashed wide. "Yes, you shall ! You shall 
 hear what I want to say — everything!" she said fiercely. 
 "One man accused me of deceiving him when I only 
 thought of keeping a secret. You shall not be deceived. 
 Loose my hands, then I '11 hurry and tell you every- 
 thing." 
 
 He complied, watching her in a puzzled way, but still 
 with the passion of possession in his eyes. And Gret 
 leaned against the great fir, and nerved herself for one 
 more ordeal. 
 
 "Don't look at me, please," she pleaded. But Dick 
 smiled slightly. 
 
 "No use asking me not to look at you now." 
 
 And so, feeling the color creep over her face, and with 
 eyes firmly fixed on the caiion, Gret put into brief but 
 perfectly truthful condensation the story of her early 
 marriage, her undoing, and Robin's death. She told the 
 exact truth, all of it and nothing else. She did not try to 
 shield herself in any way; but brief as her recital was, the 
 
THE G^TWATE NICHE 401 
 
 sorrow and tragedy of it was apparent. She ended with 
 a sigh. 
 
 "And now he 's dead— and— it 's all right—" 
 
 And then she looked up with a smile. She did not ex- 
 pect much outspoken condemnation from Dick ; but — she 
 did not think that house would be built on the hillside. 
 
 Dick's face as he listened to some part of the girl's 
 story had been a study in overwhelming amazement, espe- 
 cially as, in opening, she told of her girlish marriage ; but 
 long before she ended pity had taken the place of amaze. 
 She spoke of things as they had appeared to her, and, 
 knowing her so well, he had understood. 
 
 And when she ended and looked up, the quality of the 
 man's love, that trusted everything, and thought nothing 
 of self or of anything but her, was shown. He stooped 
 suddenly and gathered the girl into his arms with a force 
 that almost frightened her. She had never felt anything 
 like the clasp of his arms about her, and the lips that 
 caressed every inch of her face were instinct with a man's 
 undivided passion. Errol had been fond of her, but Gret 
 well knew that he had never loved her like that. 
 
 "You poor little girl," he muttered softly. "You poor 
 little kid facing all your troubles alone. Why did n't you 
 come to me? I would have helped you. Did n't you 
 know I loved you ? Have you been blind all these years ? 
 Could n't you see that that sweet life that you were al- 
 ways trying to throw to the winds was more to me than 
 mine? Don't you know that when you were going to 
 marry Errol Ludlowe my life was n't worth two cents to 
 me? It was done for. But I kept plodding on, because 
 there was nothing else to do. And now!"— he pressed 
 her face against his. "I 've got you !" 
 
 Gret turned her face against the rough serge of his 
 breast. It was nice, after all, to know that some one 
 wanted her; to know that there was one at all events to 
 
402 GRET 
 
 whom her life was of great value. And she lay still and 
 listened as he talked softly to her. 
 
 "How could I ever have kept still all these years?" he 
 wondered, with his lips against her temple. *'But I knew 
 you did n't care particularly for me, and that if I showed 
 you too early it would frighten you away from me. 
 Would it, Gret?" 
 
 Gret thought, with her face still hidden. "Yes, I be- 
 lieve it would— even one day earlier." 
 
 Dick smiled. "I know you don't love me as I do you," 
 he went on gently. "Or as you did him. He was the 
 kind of man to make a woman love him, and you did, by 
 the way you spoke just now. But I 'm not afraid. I be- 
 lieve that when a woman has lived with a man and been 
 his wife for a few months, if he 's good and kind to her, 
 she '11 come to love him. And you shall love me." 
 
 After a moment he released her, stroked the hair away 
 from her forehead, and kissed her again. "And now I 
 must take you home, sweetheart. It '11 be getting dark." 
 
 They walked home slowly, his arm about her shoulders 
 much of the way. They talked of many things — of their 
 future together and Dick's plans for it; of Eva and Ber- 
 tie; of Mrs. Silway, left alone in her little home, but 
 never of the past. And Gret knew very well that she 
 would never again hear from Dick of that past whose sad 
 page she had turned back for his judgment to rest upon. 
 
 Dick left her on the landing of her home, and rowed 
 back to the camp. But Gret did not go up into the house 
 at once. She sat down on the landing-step, and looked 
 absently into the soft, lapping waters. She smiled, a 
 slightly cynical, but not unhappy, smile. 
 
 She would be very good to Dick, and, if it lay in her 
 power, would surely make him happy. He was so good. 
 And she was so glad that some one wanted her. And she 
 was sure she would come to love him, even as he said. 
 
THE ULTIMATE NICHE 403 
 
 because he would be everything to her — friend, husband, 
 companion. 
 
 But now and then, at twiHght, just between her and 
 the Hidden One, in whose face her memories were mir- 
 rored, she might look and see a face whose strange, cyni- 
 cal power time could not lessen, and meet again the slow, 
 quiet glance of loved eyes. 
 
 Just a memory, because she could not forget. All that 
 remained between her and the Hidden One alone. Just a 
 memory ! And how could the dead harm the living ? 
 
 THE END 
 
YB 33356