it would have been selfish to have kept her
here. She must live her own life and have her own experiences, and I can't
expect her to be satisfied with what satisfies me."

The hot coffee had made them comfortable; the bricks in the grate were
hot, and the time had come to start. Solicitous of their welfare, Mrs.
Stoner brought extra wraps, warming them at the open fire, then securely
pinning them about the girls. She came to see them off and Elizabeth, with
a sudden impulse, kissed her warmly.

When they were safely in the sleigh again and speeding over the frozen
roads, she turned to Mary with the explanation: "Do you know, she's really
homesick to see Landis? I couldn't help kissing her; she's so gentle and
sweet that I could easily love her."

She turned her head to catch a last glimpse and to wave farewell to the
little woman standing in the doorway of the humble home which Landis had
called "The Beeches."

CHAPTER X.

CLOUDS AND GATHERING STORMS.

Dennis O'Day, as he stood at the door of his saloon this autumn afternoon,
was an excellent advertisement for the line of goods he carried. He was
big and flabby. The skin about his eyes had grown into loose sacks; his
eyes were a steel-gray, cruel, keen, crafty, without a particle of humor
or affection. He owned the largest breweries in the state, and controlled
numerous retail houses where his products were sold.

His dealings were largely with the foreign element. He spoke ready German
with its various dialects. His name indicated his nationality. Though an
Irishman he lacked the great-heartedness of his countrymen. The humor
which made their shanties brimming with life and fun was not for him. He
drove the Poles and Slavs who lived about Bitumen like a herd of cattle.
The few who voted, voted as Dennis O'Day told them. The labor problem was
discussed over his bar. He fixed for them the length of day, and the rate
per ton. He was the bell-sheep for all the foreign herd. In return for
their allegiance, he bailed them out of jail when necessary. When Gerani
in a drunken quarrel, had stabbed the fighting, ugly-tempered little
Italian, Marino De Angelo, it was Dennis who established an alibi, and
swore all manner of oaths to prove that Gerani, a law-abiding citizen, a
credit to the commonwealth, could not possibly have done it. As to the
guilty party, O'Day had shaken his head in doubt. He was not quick to
remember the faces of these foreigners. There were m