Mary McAdam had both women trembling before her.

"I'll go up to Lonely Farm myself," screamed she, "and if Glenn and his
poor little slave-wife are doing the low trick by their girl, as God
hears me, I'll take her for my own, and turn you both back to the trade
you dishonour!"

Anton Farwell, passing near the window, heard this and went his way.

Later old Jerry McAlpin came to him on the wharf where the men were
gathered to meet the incoming steamer.

"Lordy! Master Farwell," quavered Jerry; "while I was out on the bay this
early morning, my lad, what all the town is humming about, goes to my
home and takes everything--everything of any vally and leaves this----"

McAlpin passed a dirty piece of paper to Farwell.

"I'm going to get out on the steamer. Going to the States, and had to
have the stuff to get away with. _I--ain't--alone!_ I'm going down the
Channel to board the steamer where it stops for gasoline. _Don't_
follow me for God's sake. I'll pay you back and more."

Farwell read the words twice, then said:

"Well?"

"Shall I--stop him, Master Farwell?"

"Can you spare what he has taken?"

"'Tain't that, sir."

"Then let him go! Let him have his fling."

"They do say--Long Jean, she do say--it's Glenn's girl. My lad's been
crazy for her. I'm afraid of Glenn."

"Let things alone, McAlpin. This is your time to lie low and hold your
tongue."

Farwell tore the paper in shreds and cast them to the wind.

The steamer came in at eight. At nine-thirty it left the wharf, and, a
mile down the Channel, stopped at the little safety station to take on
oil and gasoline. Tom Bluff, a half-breed, had the place in charge, and
later that evening he put the finishing touch to the day's gossip.

"'Twas Jerry-Jo, as you live, who jumped aboard, taking the last can I
was hauling up with him. So in a hurry was he that he nigh pushed some
one down who was in front of him.

"'Where going?' calls I. 'To the States,' he says back, and picks up the
young person he nigh knocked down."

Long Jean, to whom Tom was confiding this, drew near.

"Who was the young person?" whispered she, with the fear of Mary McAdam
still upon her.

"Her face? I did not see her face."

"'Twas Glenn's girl," panted Long Jean; "Priscilla!"

"Ugh!" grunted Tom as his ancestors had often grunted in the past. "Ugh!"

That was all for the day, and behind closed doors and windows Kenmore
slept. The storm of the previous night had bee