, imposed by the wealthy and
prosperous on the poor and the sick and the unfortunate, and while the
State clamours for population it does not raise a finger to protect
those who are bringing the native-born."

During this philippic Dave had turned toward the woman; her thin face
still wore marks of refinement and even his uncultured ear recognized a
use of English that indicated a fair degree of education. But she was
broken; crushed with the joint cares of motherhood and poverty, and
desperate at the injustices of a system that capitalized her
sacrifices. He had heard much talk of slaves, but here, he felt, he
saw one, not in the healthy, well fed men with their deep mutterings
against employers, but in this haggard woman from whose life the lamp
of joy had gone out in the bitterness of suffering and physical
exhaustion.

He spent the rest of the day alone, thinking. He was not yet sure of
any road, but he knew that his mind had been made to think, and that
his life was bigger that night than it had been in the morning. He
might not find the right road at once, but he could at least leave the
old one. He felt a strange hunger to understand all that had been
said. He felt, also, a tremendous sense of his own ignorance;
tremendous, but not crushing; a realization that the world was full of
things to be learned; problems to be faced; conclusions to be studied
out, and underneath was a sense almost of exaltation that he should
take some part in the studies and perhaps aid in the solutions. It was
his first glimpse into the world of reason, and it charmed and invited
him. He would follow.

He went early to bed, thinking over all he had heard. His mind was
full, but it was happy, and, in some strange way, fixed. Even the
morning service came back with a sense of worthwhileness as he recalled
it in the semi-consciousness of approaching sleep. . . The music had
been good. It had made him think of spring and the deep woods . . .
and water . . . and wood smoke. . .

It was about a far away land . . . and Reenie Hardy. She was very like
Reenie Hardy. . .

CHAPTER SEVEN

Fortunate Fate, or whatever good angel it is that sometimes drops
unexpected favours, designed that young Elden should the following day
deliver coal at the home of Mr. Melvin Duncan. Mr. Duncan, tall,
quiet, and forty-five, was at work in his garden as Dave turned the
team in the lane and backed them up the long, narrow drive connectin