likenesses are not unusual," said Winston, and once more
Maud Barrington looked at him steadily.

"No," she said, "of course not. Well, we will conclude that my fancies
ran away with me, and be practical. What is wheat doing just now?"

"Rising still," said Winston, and regretted the alacrity with which he
had seized the opportunity of changing the topic when he saw that it
had not escaped the notice of his companion. "You and I and a few
others will be rich this year."

"Yes, but I am afraid some of the rest will find it has only further
anxieties for them."

"I fancy," said Winston, "you are thinking of one."

Maud Barrington nodded. "Yes. I am sorry for him."

"Then it would please you if I tried to straighten out things for him?
It would be difficult, but I believe it could be accomplished."

Maud Barrington's eyes were grateful, but there was something that
Winston could not fathom behind her smile.

"If you undertook it. One could almost believe you had the wonderful
lamp," she said.

Winston smiled somewhat dryly. "Then all its virtues will be tested
to-night, and I had better make a commencement while I have the
courage. Colonel Barrington is in?"

Maud Barrington went with him to the door, and then laid her hand a
moment on his arm. "Lance," she said, with a little tremor in her
voice, "if there was a time when our distrust hurt you, it has recoiled
upon our heads. You have returned it with a splendid generosity."

Winston could not trust himself to answer, but walked straight to
Barrington's room, and finding the door open, went quietly in. The
head of the Silverdale settlement was sitting at a littered table in
front of a shaded lamp, and the light that fell upon it showed the care
in his face. It grew a trifle grimmer when he saw the younger man.

"Will you sit down?" he said. "I have been looking for a visit from
you for some little time. It would have been more fitting had you made
it earlier."

Winston nodded as he took a chair. "I fancy I understand you, but I
have nothing that you expect to hear to tell you, sir."

"That," said Barrington, "is unfortunate. Now, it is not my business
to pose as a censor of the conduct of any man here, except when it
affects the community, but their friends have sent out a good many
young English lads, some of whom have not been too discreet in the old
country, to me. They did not do so solely that I might teach them
farming. A charge of