"There's my old friend Nan, grown to womanhood," Donald soliloquized,
and waved his arm at her. Through the glasses, he saw her wave back at
him.

VI

The morning after the barbecue, Donald McKaye reported at eight
o'clock to his father's faithful old general manager, Andrew Daney.
Daney had grown gray in his father's service, and it was no part of
Donald's plans to assign him to a back seat.

"Well, Mr. Daney," he inquired affably, "what are your plans for the
new hired man?"

Old Daney looked up quizzically.

"You do the planning here, Don," he replied.

"You heard me say yesterday that there would be no changes, Mr. Daney.
Of course, I haven't grown up in Port Agnew without learning something
of my heritage, but, in view of the fact that I still have
considerable to learn, suppose you indicate just where I ought to
start."

Daney was pleased at a deference he had not anticipated.

"Start in the woods," he replied. "That's where your daddy started.
Felling timber and handling it is rather a fine art, Don. I'd wrestle
logs for a month and follow them down the Skookum to the log boom.
Then I'd put in six months in the mill and six more in the factory,
following it with three months on the dock, tallying, and three months
of a hand-shaking tour out among the trade. After that, you may sit in
at your father's desk, and I'll gradually break you in to his job."

"That's a grand idea, and I'll act on it," Donald declared.

"Well, it's too late to act on it to-day, Don. The up-river launch to
the logging-camp left at seven o'clock. However, I have a job for you.
We really need the Sawdust Pile for an extension of our drying-yard.
Our present yard lies right under the lee of that ridge of which Tyee
Head is an extension, and it's practically noon before the sun gets a
fair chance at it. The Sawdust Pile gets the sun all day long, and the
winds have an uninterrupted sweep across it. We can dry our cedar
decking there in half the time it requires now."

"But the Sawdust Pile is--"

"A rat's nest, Don. There are a number of other shacks there now--some
Greek fishermen, a negro, and a couple of women from the overflow of
Tyee. It ought to be cleaned out."

"I noticed those shacks last night, Mr. Daney, and I agree with you
that they should go. But I haven't the heart to run old Caleb Brent
off the Sawdust Pile. I gave it to him, you know."

"Well, let Brent stay there. He's too old and crippled with r