ry of the keyboard, "but
it's one of the few things one doesn't need eyes for."

She had proved that to Hollister long ago. When she could see she must
have had an extraordinary faculty for memorizing music. Her memory
seemed to have indelibly engraved upon it all the music she had ever
played.

Hollister smiled indulgently and ordered the instrument cased for
shipping. It went up on the same steamer that gave passage to
themselves and six woodsmen and their camp cook. There were some bits
of new furniture also.

This necessitated the addition of another room. But that was a simple
matter for able hands accustomed to rough woodwork. So in a little
while their house extended visibly, took on a homier aspect. The
sweet-peas and flaming poppies had wilted under the early frosts. Now
a rug or two and a few pictures gave to the floors and walls a
cheerful note of color that the flowers had given to their dooryard
during the season of their bloom.

About the time this was done, and the cedar camp working at an
accelerated pace, Archie Lawanne came back to the Toba. He walked into
Hollister's quite unexpectedly one afternoon. Myra was there.

It seemed to Hollister that Lawanne's greeting was a little eager, a
trifle expectant, that he held Myra's outstretched hand just a little
longer than mere acquaintance justified. Hollister glanced at Mills,
sitting by. Mills had come down to help Hollister on the boom, and
Doris had called them both in for a cup of tea. Mills was staring at
Lawanne with narrowed eyes. His face wore the expression of a man who
sees impending calamity, sees it without fear or surprise, faces it
only with a little dismay. He set down his cup and lighted a
cigarette. His fingers, the brown, muscular, heavy fingers of a
strong-handed man, shook slightly.

"You know, it's good to be back in this old valley," Lawanne said. "I
have half a notion to become a settler. A fellow could build up quite
an estate on one of these big flats. He could grow almost anything
here that will grow in this latitude. And when he wanted to experience
the doubtful pleasures of civilization, they would always be waiting
for him outside."

"If he had the price," Mills put in shortly.

"Precisely," Lawanne returned, "and cared to pay it--for all he got."

"That's what it is to be a man and free," Myra observed. "You can go
where you will and when--live as you wish."

"It all depends on what you mean by freedom," Lawanne re