and till he almost viciously thrust aside the bushes
staying his progress, and broke into the space by the pear-tree where
Carnac sat with palette and brush, gazing at the distant roofs on which
the sun was leaving its last kiss.

Carnac got to his feet with a smile, and with a courage in his eye equal
to that which had ever been in his father's face--in the face of John
Grier. It was strange that the other's presence troubled him, that even
as a small child, to be in the same room for any length of time vexed
him. Much of that had passed away. The independence of the life he
lived, the freedom from resting upon the financial will of the lumber
king had given him light, air and confidence. He loved his mother. What
he felt for John Grier was respect and admiration. He knew he was not
spoken to now with any indolent purpose.

They had seen little of each other of late years. His mother had given
him the money to go to New York and Paris, which helped out his own
limited income. He wondered what should bring his father to him
now. There was interested reflection in his eye. With his habit of
visualization, he saw behind John Grier, as he came on now, the long
procession of logs and timbers which had made his fortune, stretch back
on the broad St. Lawrence, from the Mattawan to the Madawaska, from the
Richelieu to the Marmora. Yet, what was it John Grier had done? In a
narrow field he had organized his life perfectly, had developed his
opportunities, had safeguarded his every move. The smiling inquiry in
his face was answered by the old man saying abruptly:

"Fabian's gone. He's deserted the ship."

The young man had the wish to say in reply, "At last, eh!" but he
avoided it.

"Where has he gone?"

"I bought him out to-day, and I hear he's going to join Belloc."

"Belloc! Belloc! Who told you that?" asked the young man.

"Junia Shale--she told me."

Carnac laughed. "She knows a lot, but how did she know that?"

"Sheer instinct, and I believe she's right."

"Right--right--to fight you, his own father!" was the inflammable reply.

"Why, that would be a lowdown business!"

"Would it be lower down than your not helping your father, when you
can?"

Somehow he yearned over his wayward, fantastic son. The wilful, splendid
character of the youth overcame the insistence in the other's nature.

"You seem to be getting on all right," remarked Carnac with the faint
brown moustache, the fine, showy teeth, the clean-sh