o trestles where they were swung and fastened
in position. There were no misfits. This had been provided against by
keen-eyed, eager-faced youths with blue prints and transits, who
directed the squares and saws and plumbed the groaning trestles.

There were exclamations of surprise, of admiration, of approval from the
visitors. Helen was profoundly moved. Winston's name was on every
tongue, while Elijah was hardly mentioned. Back of the blue prints where
the cut of every timber had been clearly drawn, where the position of
every spike and bolt had been accurately defined, back of every
spider-line in transits that unerringly fixed every placed timber, back
of every motion of busy hands that moved out and in with no collision,
Helen saw the engineer who had traced the drawings and had organized the
work. Back of the engineer, she saw the man who had made this possible.

Helen was standing apart from the visitors. She was dumbly conscious
that among these, like was gathering to like, even as she, though alone,
was gathered to herself and apart from them all. One cluster, linked
together by the common hope that this great work would even yet redeem
their fallen fortunes; a second group, building other castles of cards
from their former ruin; still another, unthinking, uncaring, unseeing,
dancing, chattering, alive to the sunlight, alive to the bustle, alive
to the enveloping spirit like particles of iron in the presence of a
magnet, and as little conscious of the influences that were playing upon
them. Every clink of hammer, every rasp of saw, every voice, exuberant
or subdued, was speaking of the triumph of one man, the possible
disgrace of another.

The clusters broke and, led by Uncle Sid, regathered about Helen.

"Look here, Miss Lonsdale," said one, "if you will allow a suggestion,
just fold your arms and hump your shoulders and the picture will be
complete--Napoleon before the pyramids of Egypt."

"I didn't suppose that basking in reflected glory made one a subject for
cartooning; if it does, we'll all pose together."

"Don't be too modest, young woman," Uncle Sid broke in reprovingly, "a
fog bank may hide the sun but it gets its back blistered doin' it."

"Shall we start on?" suggested Helen; "it's a long way yet to the dam."

The road followed along the line of the canal, affording a complete
inspection of the work. Only the canal was level, cutting through rolls,
bridging arroyos, and boring through rocky h