the portico,
"you've agreed to go--to-night--at eleven."

"I wish you'd let me meet him--without the money."

"No--no. I've made up my mind----," gasped McGuire with a touch of his
old alarm, "there can't be any change in the plan--no change at all."

"Oh, very well," said Peter, "it's not my money I'm giving away."

"It won't matter, Nichols. I--I've got a lot more----"

"But the principle----" protested Peter.

"To H---- with the principle," growled the old man.

Peter turned and went back to the Cabin, somewhat disgusted with his
whole undertaking. Already he had been here for five days and, except
for two walks through the woods for purposes of investigation, nothing
that he had come to do had been accomplished. He had not yet even
visited the sawmills which were down on the corduroy road five miles
away. So far as he could see, for the present he was merely McGuire's
handy man, a kind of upper servant and messenger, whose duties could
have been performed as capably by Stryker or Shad Wells, or even Jesse
Brown. The forest called him. It needed him. From what he had heard he
knew that down by the sawmills they were daily cutting the wrong trees.
He had already sent some instructions to the foreman there, but he could
not be sure that his orders had been obeyed. He knew that he ought to
spend the day there, making friends with the men and explaining the
reasons for the change in orders, but as long as McGuire wanted him
within telephone range, there was nothing to do but to obey.

He reached the Cabin, threw off his coat, and had hardly settled down at
the table to finish his drawing, a plan of the observation towers, when
Beth appeared. He rose and greeted her. Her face was flushed, for she
had been running.

"Has Shad been here?" she asked breathlessly.

"No."

"Oh!" she gasped. "I was afraid he'd get here before me. I took the
short cut through the woods."

"What's the matter?"

"He said he--he was going to break you to bits----"

"To bits! Me? Why?"

"Because he--he says I oughtn't to come here----"

"Oh, I see," he muttered, and then, with a grin, "and what do _you_
think about it, Beth?"

"I'll do what I please," she said. "So long as I think it's all right.
What business has he got to stop me!"

Peter laughed. "Don't let's bother then. Did you bring your books?"

She hadn't brought them. She had come in such a hurry.

"But aren't you afraid--when he comes?" she asked.

"I don't know,