influence of
the wilds. Although he had chosen the latter when the cities palled,
he had studied at McGill, with a view of embarking on a professional
career. Want of money was the main obstacle, but love of adventure had
counted for much. His adventures had been numerous since he left the
university, and he now and then tried to remind himself that he was
civilized.

Outside the shack, the stiff dark pines rolled back to the frozen North
where a new city fed the mining camps. Jim had been up there and had
found some gold, besides a copper vein, but when he got his patent for
the latter his funds ran out and he returned to the South and followed
a number of occupations. Some were monotonous and some exciting. None
paid him well. Now his clothes were old and mended with patches cut
from cotton flour-bags; his skin was browned by wind and frost. He was
thin and muscular, and his eyes had something of the inscrutable calm
that marks the Indian's, but the old French romance and one or two
other books hinted at cultivated taste. As a matter of fact, Jim was
afraid of getting like an Indian. Life in the wilds was good, but one
ran some risks.

The shack was built of logs, notched where they crossed at the corners
and caulked with moss. There was a stone chimney, and a big wood fire
snapped on the hearth. Jim sat close to the blaze in a deerhide chair,
with his old skin coat hung over the back to keep off the stinging
draughts. He could see the telegraph instrument. His and his
comrade's duty was to watch it day and night, because theirs was a bad
section and accidents happened. Jake had gone hunting and since the
gale outside was freshening Jim wondered why he stopped so long.

After a time Jim put down his book and mused. By comparison with the
ragged tents in which he had lived in the northern barrens, the shack
was comfortable. Axes and tools for mending the line stood in a
corner; old clothes, slickers, and long boots that must be mended
occupied another. A good supply of provisions was stowed on some
shelves; a rifle and a shotgun hung on the wall. He had all a man
needed in the woods and admitted that he was lucky to have so much, but
the rudeness of his surroundings sometimes jarred. This was strange,
because he had never known luxury. He wondered whether he had
inherited his dislike for ugliness, and the instincts of which he was
now and then vaguely conscious. It was possible, for his father