. Like the forest-jack who drowns under the
logs on the river, or who gets up against the other feller's knife in a
drunken scrap. That way lies happiness. The rest is a sort of passing
dream with the years of old age for regret."

The girl spread out her hands.

"I can't believe you feel that way," she cried, with something very like
distress. "Oh, if I had your power, your ability. Why, I'd say there's
no end to the things you could achieve, not only now, but right through,
right through that time when you're old in body, but still strong in
brain. A limited goal for achievement isn't the notion in my foolish
head. Why, if I'd only the strength to knit socks for the folks who need
them, there'd still be happiness and to spare. But let's keep to our own
ground. The forest-jack. I guess you're one big man who employs
thousands. What of those boys when they're struck off the--pay roll. Is
there nothing to be achieved that way--nothing to last you to your last
living moment? Think of their needs. Think of the happiness you could
hand yourself in handing them comfort and happiness when
they're--through. It's a thing I've promised myself, if luck ever hands
me the chance. You've got the pity of their lives. Your words tell that.
Well?"

The man had forgotten the storm. He had forgotten everything but the
charm of the girl's hot enthusiasm. And the picture of superlative
beauty she made in her animation.

He shook his head.

"It's a bully notion," he demurred, "but it's not for me. No. You see,
I'm just a tough sort of man who's big for a scrap. I haven't patience
or sympathy for the feller who don't feel the same. You've seen the
forest boys?"

"I've been through the Shagaunty."

"Ah!"

Bull Sternford's ejaculation was sharp. The problem of Father Adam's
letter was partially solved.

"Well, I guess you're a woman," he went on. "And I'd like to say right
here a woman's sympathy is just about the best thing on this old earth.
That's why I'd like to cry like a kid when I see it going out to the
things that haven't any sort of excuse for getting it. It's good to hear
you talk for those boys. It isn't they deserve it, but--as I said,
you're a woman. Talk it all you fancy, but leave it at talk. Don't let
it get a holt. Don't waste one moment of your hard earned happiness on
'em. I was a forest-jack. I know 'em. I know it--the life. And if you
knew the thing I know you wouldn't harden all up as you listen to the
thing