s beginning to add the dull pang of
unreasoning jealousy to his other hurtings, Adams beckoned him. He
went, not unwillingly, or altogether willingly.

"I should think you might come and say 'Good morning' to me, Mr.
Winton. I'm not Uncle Somerville," said Miss Carteret.

Winton said "Good morning," not too graciously, and Adams mocked him.

"Besides being a bear with a sore head, Miss Carteret thinks you're
not much of a hustler, Jack," he said coolly. "She knows the
situation; knows that you were stupid enough to promise not to lay
hands on the car when we could have pushed it out of the way without
annoying anybody. None the less, she thinks that you might find a way
to go on building your railroad without breaking your word to Mr.
Darrah."

Winton put his sore-heartedness far enough behind him to smile and
say: "Perhaps Miss Virginia will be good enough to tell me how."

"I don't know how," she rejoined quickly. "And you'd only laugh at me
if I should tell you what I thought of."

"You might try it and see," he ventured. "I'm desperate enough to take
suggestions from anyone."

"Tell me something first: is your railroad obliged to run straight
along in the middle of this nice little ridge you've been making for
it?"

"Why--no; temporarily, it can run anywhere. But the problem is to get
the track laid beyond this crossing before your uncle gets back with a
trainload of armed guards."

"Any kind of track would do, wouldn't it?--just to secure the
crossing?"

"Certainly; anything that would hold the weight of the octopod. We
shall have to rebuild most of the line, anyway, as soon as the frost
comes out of the ground in the spring."

The brown eyes became far-seeing.

"I was thinking," she said musingly. "There is no time to make another
nice little ridge. But you have piles and piles of logs over
there,"--she meant the cross-ties,--"couldn't you build a sort of
cobhouse ridge with those between your track and Uncle's, and cross
behind the car? Don't laugh, please."

But Winton was far enough from laughing at her. Why so simple an
expedient had not suggested itself instantly he did not stop to
inquire. It was enough that the Heaven-born idea had been given.

"Down out of that, Morty!" he cried. "It's one chance in a thousand.
Pass the word to the men; I'll be with you in a second." And when
Adams was rousing the track force with the bawling shout of
"_Ev-erybody_!" Winton looked up into the brown eyes.