sis. Again there were evenings when Clark did
not want to talk, but slipped off to the piano. Then the engineer saw
another man within the man, one who, plunged in profound meditation,
sat for hours, while his strong yet delicate fingers explored the keys,
interpreting the color of his mood and drawing, as it were, from some
mystical source that on which the subtle brain was nourished. And
these were periods which the other soon learned were not to be
interrupted.

They were constantly asked out and entertained with old time
hospitality, Clark being the object of supreme curiosity in St. Marys,
and more often than not he slipped away early, leaving Belding on duty.
It was on these occasions that the contrast between his chief and
others stood out most prominently, there being nothing, it seemed, that
any one could do for him. His principal desire was to be let alone.

It was one night at the Wordens' that Belding caught what he took to be
evidence of a heart that was fastidiously concealed. Clark, in front
of the fireplace, was listening to the judge dilate on the ancient
history of St. Marys, and that of lost and silent tribes who once
paddled along the shore and lifted their delicate bark canoes around
the tumbling rapids. Worden was a wise, old man with a certain gentle
dignity, and his wife, a dainty, middle-aged lady with slowly graying
hair and kindly eyes.

"There was a good deal of bloodshed about," ruminated the judge. "Of
course the Jesuit got here first and performed the mysteries of the
Host in front of the natives. There were Indian wars and a good deal
of torturing went on up on your property, Mr. Clark. Then the French
and English traders shot each other from behind trees, where I
understand you are going to build your pulp mill, and the survivors
took the furs and struck off for Montreal in canoes, a matter of some
six hundred miles. After that the Red River Company and the Hudson Bay
got at loggerheads."

"In short," put in Clark, "I've picked out a veritable battle ground.
By the way, who is this, if I may ask?" He lifted a photograph from
the mantel.

Mrs. Worden smiled proudly. "Our daughter, Elsie. She's seventeen now
and we won't see her for two years. She's in the West with her aunt."

"Oh!" said Clark. His brows pulled down and he scanned the print with
close attention. "She has imagination I take it."

"Too much for her own comfort," remarked the judge.

Clark did not a