nd was the daughter of McGuire like her
father, unlovely, soiled and terror-stricken? His desultory mental
queries suddenly stopped as he raised his eyes to the far corner of the
room, for there, covered with an old shawl, he made out the lines of a
piano. He opened the keyboard and struck a chord. It wasn't so bad--a
little tuning--he could do it himself....

So this was his new home! He had not yet had the time or the opportunity
to learn what new difficulties were to face him on the morrow, but the
personal affairs of his employer had piqued his interest and for the
present he had done everything possible to insure his safety for the
night. To-morrow perhaps he would learn something more about the causes
of this situation. He would have an opportunity too to look over the
property and make a report as to its possibilities. To a man inured as
Peter was to disappointments, what he had found was good. He had made up
his mind to fit himself soldierlike into his new situation and he had to
admit now that he liked the prospect. As though to compensate for past
mischief, Fate had provided him with the one employment in the new land
for which he was best suited by training and inclination. It was the one
"job" in which, if he were permitted a fair amount of freedom of action
and initiative, he was sure that he could "make good." The trees he
could see were not the stately pines of Zukovo, but they were pines, and
the breeze which floated in to him through the cabin door was laden with
familiar odors.

The bed looked inviting, but he resolutely turned his back to it and
unpacked his suitcase, taking off his tailor-made clothing and putting
on the flannel shirt, corduroy trousers and heavy laced boots, all of
which he had bought before leaving New York. Then he went to the doorway
and stood looking out into the night.

The moonbeams had laid a patine of silver upon the floor of the small
clearing before the door, and played softly among the shadows. So silent
was the night that minute distant sounds were clearly audible--the
stream seemed to be tinkling just at his elbow, while much farther away
there was a low murmur of falling water at the tumbling dam, mingling
with the sighs of vagrant airs among the crowns of the trees, the rustle
and creak of dry branches, the whispering of leaf to leaf. Wakeful birds
deceived by the moon piped softly and were silent. An owl called. And
then for the briefest moment, except for the stre