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Updated: June 22, 2025


"But, honestly, dear, I can enjoy it so much better at four o'clock this afternoon." Smiling, Blackton lifted her into the buckboard. "That's why I wish Paul had been a preacher or something like that," she confided to Joanne as they drove homeward. "I'm growing old just thinking of him working over that horrid dynamite and powder all the time. Every little while some one is blown into nothing."

"You haven't said so, but I've guessed you didn't send it!" "No, we didn't send a note." "And you had a reason you and MacDonald for not wanting the girls to know the truth?" "A mighty good reason," said Aldous. "I've got to thank MacDonald for closing my mouth at the right moment. I was about to give it away. And now, Blackton, I've got to confide in you.

"We know just how you feel," Blackton tried to explain. "We felt just like you do, only we had to face twenty people instead of two. And you're not hungry. I'll wager that. I'll bet you don't feel like swallowing a mouthful. It had that peculiar effect on us, didn't it, Peggy?" "And I I almost choked myself," gurgled Peggy as they took their places at the table.

Blackton was filled with enthusiasm over the accomplishment of his latest work, and Aldous tried hard not to betray the fact that the minutes were passing with gruelling slowness while he waited for Joanne. He wanted to see her. His heart was beating like an excited boy's. He could hear her footsteps over his head, and he distinguished her soft laughter, and her sweet voice when she spoke.

"And after all, it's funny," said Peggy Blackton. "There!" she cried suddenly. "Isn't that funny?" The glare and noisy life were on both sides of them now. Half a dozen phonographs were going. From up the street came the softer strains of a piano, and from in between the shrieking notes of bagpipe. Peggy Blackton was pointing to a brilliantly lighted, black-tarpaulined shop.

And as Blackton pointed out the mountain she unknotted the veil under her chin and let it drop back over her shoulders, so that the last light of the day fell richly in the trembling curls and thick coils of her hair. "And that is my reward," said John Aldous, but he whispered it to himself.

Blackton was pointing out lighted places, and explaining things as they passed, but he knew that in spite of her apparent attention Joanne heard only a part of what she was saying. In that crowd she hoped or feared to find a certain face. And again Aldous told himself that it was not Quade's face.

"Indeed they are," emphasized Peggy Blackton, whom her husband had given a quick look and a quicker nudge, "They're dreadful!" Looking straight into Joanne's eyes, Aldous guessed that she did not believe, and scarcely heard, the Blacktons. "I had a presentiment something was going to happen," she said, smiling at him. "I'm glad it was no worse than that."

The cheery good-nights of the Blacktons followed him. And Joanne's good-night was in her eyes following him until he was gone, filled with their entreaty and their fear. A hundred yards distant, where the trail split to lead to the camp of the engineers, there was a lantern on a pole. Here Aldous paused, out of sight of the Blackton bungalow, and in the dim light read again MacDonald's note.

Blackton was no careless manager, and he had a good foreman in Tim Turner. The big boss had ridden down to the bend in a mud-splashed buggy, and was even prepared to take a personal hand in the work, if need be. The foreman was coming down the river bank on the Pine Camp side of the stream, watching the leading logs of the drive, and directing the foreguard. Among the latter Nan spied Rafe.

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