, and I--knew--it would go up."

"Then why shouldn't other folks sell forward, for instance, when they
know it will go down? That's not what I suggested doing, but the point's
the same."

"They haven't got the wheat."

"Of course; they wouldn't operate for a fall if they had. On the other
hand, if their anticipations proved correct, they could buy it for less
than they sold at before they had to deliver."

"That," asserted Mrs. Hastings severely, "is pure gambling. It's sure to
land one in the hands of the mortgage jobber."

Hastings smiled at the others. "As a matter of fact, it not infrequently
does, but I want you to note the subtle distinction. The thing's quite
legitimate if you've only got the wheat in a bag. In such a case you
must naturally operate for a rise."

"There's a good deal to be said for that point of view," observed
Sproatly. "You can keep the wheat if you're not satisfied, but when you
try the other plan the margin that may vanish at any moment is the
danger. I suppose Gregory has still been selling the Range wheat,
Winifred?"

"I believe we have sent on every bushel."

Sproatly exchanged a significant glance with Hastings, whose face once
more grew thoughtful.

"Then," remarked Hastings, "if he's wise he'll stop at that."

Mrs. Hastings changed the subject, and drew her chair closer in to the
stove, which snapped and crackled cheerfully.

"It must be a lot colder where Harry is," she said with a shiver.

She flashed a swift glance at Agatha, and saw the girl's expression
change, but Sproatly broke in again.

"It was bad enough driving in from the railroad this afternoon," he
said. "Winifred was almost frozen. That is why I didn't go round for the
pattern mat--I think that's what Creighton said it was--Mrs. Creighton
borrowed from you. I met him at the settlement a day or two ago."

Mrs. Hastings said that he could bring it another time, and while the
rest talked of something else Winifred turned to Agatha.

"It really was horribly cold, and I almost fancied one of my hands was
frost-nipped," she said. "As it happens, I can't buy mittens like your
new ones."

"My new ones?" questioned Agatha.

"The ones Gregory bought you."

Agatha laughed. "My dear, he never gave me any."

Winifred looked puzzled. "Well," she persisted, "he certainly bought
them, and a fur cap, too. I was in the store when he did it, though I
don't think he noticed me. They were lovely mittens--such a pretty