n of humanity.

By this time Mrs. Mavor had finished with the manager, and was in the
centre of a group of miners. Her grand air was all gone, and she was
their comrade, their friend, one of themselves. Nor did she assume the
role of entertainer, but rather did she, with half-shy air, cast herself
upon their chivalry, and they were too truly gentlemen to fail her. It
is hard to make Western men, and especially old-timers, talk. But
this gift was hers, and it stirred my admiration to see her draw on a
grizzled veteran to tell how, twenty years ago, he had crossed the Great
Divide, and had seen and done what no longer fell to men to see or do
in these new days. And so she won the old-timer. But it was beautiful to
see the innocent guile with which she caught Billy Breen, and drew him
to her corner near the organ. What she was saying I knew not, but poor
Billy was protesting, waving his big hands.

The meeting came to order, with Shaw in the chair, and the handsome
young Oxford man secretary. Shaw stated the object of the meeting in a
few halting words; but when he came to speak of the pleasure he and all
felt in being together in that room, his words flowed in a stream, warm
and full. Then there was a pause, and Mr. Craig was called. But he knew
better than to speak at that point. Finally Nixon rose hesitatingly;
but, as he caught a bright smile from Mrs. Mavor, he straightened
himself as if for a fight.

'I ain't no good at makin' speeches,' he began; 'but it ain't speeches
we want. We've got somethin' to do, and what we want to know is how to
do it. And to be right plain, we want to know how to drive this cursed
whisky out of Black Rock. You all know what it's doing for us--at least
for some of us. And it's time to stop it now, or for some of us it'll
mighty soon be too late. And the only way to stop its work is to quit
drinkin' it and help others to quit. I hear some talk of a League, and
what I say is, if it's a League out and out against whisky, a Total
Abstinence right to the ground, then I'm with it--that's my talk--I move
we make that kind of League.'

Nixon sat down amid cheers and a chorus of remarks, 'Good man!' 'That's
the talk!' 'Stay with it!' but he waited for the smile and the glance
that came to him from the beautiful face in the corner, and with that he
seemed content.

Again there was silence. Then the secretary rose with a slight flush
upon his handsome, delicate face, and seconded the motion. If