purpose. Take this. Go right off to Sachigo and take
charge of the greatest enterprise in the world's paper industry. You're
looking to make good. It's your set purpose to make good in the
groundwood industry. Opportunities don't come twice in a lifetime. If
you've the iron courage I believe, you'll grab this chance. You'll grab
it right away. Will you? Can you do it? Have you the nerve?"

There was a taunt in the challenge. It was calculated. There was
something else. The missionary's dark eyes were almost pleading.

Bull seized the letter. He almost snatched it.

"Will I do it? Can I do it? Have I the nerve?" he cried, in a tone of
fierce exulting. "If there's a feller crazy enough to hand me ten
million dollars and trust me with a job--if it was as big as a war
between nations--I'd never squeal. Can I? Will I? Sure I will. And
time'll answer the other for you. Iron guts, eh! I tell you in this
thing they're chilled steel."

"Good!"

Father Adam was smiling. A great relief, a great happiness stirred his
pulses as he stood up and moved over to the miserable fire with its
burden of stewing food.

"Now we'll eat," he said. And he stooped down and stirred the contents
of the pot.

CHAPTER III

BULL LEARNS CONDITIONS

The _Myra_ ploughed her leisurely way up the cove. There was dignity in
the steadiness with which she glided through the still waters. The
cockleshell of the Atlantic billows had become a thing of pride in the
shelter of Farewell Cove. Her predecessor, the _Lizzie_, had never risen
above her humble station.

Her decks were wide and clean. Her smoke-stack had something purposeful
in its proportions. The bridge was set high and possessed a spacious
chart house. She had an air of importance not usual to the humble
coasting packet.

"Old man" Hardy was at his post now. One of his officers occupied the
starboard side of the bridge, while he and another looked out over the
port bow.

"It's a deep water channel," the skipper said, with all a sailor's
appreciation. "That's the merricle that makes this place. It'ud take a
ten-thousand tonner with fathoms to spare right away up to the mooring
berth. Guess Nature meant Sachigo for a real port, but got mussed fixing
the climate."

Bull Sternford was leaning over the rail. For all summer was at its
height the thick pea-jacket he was wearing was welcome enough. His keen
eyes were searching, and no detail of the prospect escaped them. He was
fill