th it," answered
Geoffrey, dryly. "Would you care to hold a rock drill, or swing a
sledge instead?"

"I hardly think so," he returned dubiously. "You see, I haven't been
trained to manual labor, and I'm not so strong as you might think by
looking at me." Geoffrey lost his temper.

"The drill might blister your fingers, I dare say," he admitted. "I'm
afraid you are too good for this rude country, and I have no use for
you. I could afford to be decent? Perhaps so, but I earn my money
with considerably more effort than you seem willing to make. The cook
will give you dinner with the other men to-day; then you can resume
your search for an easy billet. We have no room in this camp for
idlers."

Savine chuckled, but Helen, who had a weakness for philanthropy, and
small practical experience of its economic aspect, flushed with
indignation, pitying the stranger and resenting what she considered
Thurston's brutality. Her father rose, when the contractor came in, to
say that he wanted to look around the workings. He suggested that
Helen should remain somewhere in the shade. When Thurston had placed a
canvas lounge for her, outside the tent, the girl turned towards him a
look of severe disapproval. "Why did you speak to that poor man so
cruelly?" she asked. "Perhaps I am transgressing, but it seems to me
that one living here in comfort, even comparative luxury, might be a
little more considerate towards those less fortunate."

"Please remember that I was once what you term 'less fortunate'
myself," Geoffrey reminded Helen, who answered quickly, "One would
almost fancy it was you who had forgotten."

"On the contrary, I am not likely to forget how hard it was for me to
earn my first fee here in this new country," he declared, looking
straight at her. "I was glad to work up to my waist in ice-water to
make, at first, scarcely a dollar and a half a day. One must exercise
discretion, Miss Savine, and that man, so far as I could see, had no
desire to work."

It was a pity that Geoffrey did not explain that he meant Bransome's
payment by the words "my first fee," for Helen had never forgotten how
she had failed in the attempt to double the amount for which he had
bargained. She had considered him destitute of all the gentler graces,
but now she was surprised that he should apparently attempt to wound
her.

"Is it right to judge so hastily?" she inquired, mastering her
indignation with difficulty. "The poor ma