vinity.

"How do, Mrs. Cary," he would say. "Nice weather. Enjoying yourself?"

On receiving the reply he would answer heartily, "That's good!" and
lapse into silence. When Hilda was about he followed every movement of
hers with his eyes, so that his strange conduct lacked no explanation
nor interpretation, in the minds of the women at least. Thrice he
redeemed his reputation for being an interesting character by conducting
the party on little expeditions here and there about the country. Then
his woodcraft and resourcefulness spoke for him. They asked him about
the lumbering operations, but he seemed indifferent.

"Nothing to interest you," he affirmed. "We're just cutting roads now.
You ought to be here for the drive."

To him there was really nothing interesting in the cutting of roads nor
the clearing of streams. It was all in a day's work.

Once he took them over to see Camp One. They were immensely pleased, and
were correspondingly loud in exclamations. Thorpe's comments were brief
and dry. After the noon dinner he had the unfortunate idea of commending
the singing of one of the men.

"Oh, I'd like to hear him," cried Elizabeth Carpenter. "Can't you get
him to sing for us, Mr. Thorpe?"

Thorpe went to the men's camp, where he singled out the unfortunate
lumber-jack in question.

"Come on, Archie," he said. "The ladies want to hear you sing."

The man objected, refused, pleaded, and finally obeyed what amounted to
a command. Thorpe reentered the office with triumph, his victim in tow.

"This is Archie Harris," he announced heartily. "He's our best singer
just now. Take a chair, Archie."

The man perched on the edge of the chair and looked straight out before
him.

"Do sing for us, won't you, Mr. Harris?" requested Mrs. Cary in her
sweetest tones.

The man said nothing, nor moved a muscle, but turned a brick-red. An
embarrassed silence of expectation ensued.

"Hit her up, Archie," encouraged Thorpe.

"I ain't much in practice no how," objected the man in a little voice,
without moving.

"I'm sure you'll find us very appreciative," said Elizabeth Carpenter.

"Give us a song, Archie, let her go," urged Thorpe impatiently.

"All right," replied the man very meekly.

Another silence fell. It got to be a little awful. The poor woodsman,
pilloried before the regards of this polite circle, out of his element,
suffering cruelly, nevertheless made no sign nor movement one way or the
other. At last whe