a bit of a martinet, you know. He wants everything figured up into
shape for immediate reference. He says he proposes to follow the cost
of this job, excavation, fill, everything, within thirty-six hours of
the time when the actual work is done. He doesn't realize that that
means hours of expert book-keeping, and that we haven't a book-keeper
in the camp. So Burford and I have had to tackle it, in addition to
our regular work. And it's no trifle." Roderick rolled up a formidable
mass of notes. There was a worried tone in his steady voice.

"Why doesn't the company send you a book-keeper?"

"Burford and I are planning to ask for one when the president and
Breckenridge come to camp on their tour of inspection."

"Could I do some of the work for you, Rod?"

"Thank you, Sis, but I'm afraid you'd find it a Chinese puzzle. I get
tangled up in it myself half the time. We must set down every solitary
item of cost, no matter how trifling; not only wages and supplies, but
breakdowns, time losses, even those of a few minutes; then calculate
our average, day by day; then plot a curve for each week's work,
showing the cost of the contract for that week, and set it against our
yardage record for that week. Then verify it, item by item, and send
it in."

"All tied up in beautiful red-tape bow-knots, I suppose," added
Marian, with a sniff. She poked gingerly into the mass of papers. "The
idea of adding book-keeping to your twelve-hour shift as
superintendent! And in this stuffy, noisy little box!" She looked
impatiently around the close narrow state-room. The ceiling was not
two feet above her head; the hot morning sunlight beat on the flat tin
roof of the house-boat and dazzled through the windows. "How can you
work here?--or sleep, either?"

Rod rubbed his hand uncertainly across his eyes.

"I don't sleep much, for a fact. Too hot. Sometimes I drop off early,
but the men always wake me at midnight when the last shift goes off
duty."

"But the laborers are all across on their own quarter-boat. They don't
come aboard your house-boat?"

"No, but the quarter-boat is only fifty feet away. The cook has their
hot supper ready at twelve, and they lark over it, and laugh and shout
and cut up high-jinks, like a pack of school-boys. I wouldn't mind,
only I can't get to sleep again. I lie there and mull over the
contract, you see. I can't help it."

"Why don't you come up to the Gates farm-house and sleep there?"

"I couldn't think of that. It's too far away. I must stay right here
and keep my eye on the work, every minute. You have no idea what a
dangerously narrow margin of time we have left; 'specially for those
north laterals, you know, Sis." His voice grew sharp and anxious.
Marian looked at him keenly. For the first time she saw the dull
circles under his eyes, the drawn, tired lines around his steady
mouth.

Then she glanced up the ditch. High on its green stilts, Sally Lou's
perky little martin-box caught her eye.

"I have it, Rod! Tell some of your laborers to build a cabin for you,
like the Burfords'! Then I'll come down and keep house for you."

Roderick shrugged his shoulders.

"I can't spare a solitary laborer from the contract, Marian; not for a
day. We're short-handed as it is. No, I'll stay where I am. I'm doing
well enough. Steam up, Mulcahy? Good-by, Sis. Back to-morrow!"

Marian watched the launch till it disappeared in the green mist of the
willows. Then she sat down to her brother's desk and began to sort the
clutter of papers. But sorting them was not an easy matter. To her
eyes they were only a bewildering tangle. Marian knew that she
possessed an inborn knack at figures, and it piqued her to find that
she could not master Roderick's accounts at the first glance. She
worked on and on doggedly. The little state-room grew hot and close;
the dull throb of the dredge machinery and the noisy voices from
without disturbed her more and more.

At last she sprang up and swept the whole mass into her hand-bag. Then
she ran up the hill to the martin-box.

Sally Lou, very fresh and cool in pink dimity, sat in her screened
nest, with the babies playing on the scrubbed floor. She nodded in
amused sympathy at Marian's portentous armful.

"Aren't those records a dismal task! Yes, I've found a way to sift
them, though it took me a long time to learn. Start by adding up the
time-book accounts; verify each laborer's hours, and see whether his
pay checks correspond to his actual working time. Roderick has fifty
men on his shift, so that is no small task. Then add up his memoranda
of time made by the big dredge; and also the daily record of the two
little dredges up at the laterals. Then run over the steward's
accounts and see whether they check with his bills----"

Marian stared at Sally Lou, astonished.

"Well, but Sally Lou! Think how much time that will mean! Why, I would
have to spend all afternoon on the time-books alone."

Sally Lou raised her yellow head and looked at Marian very steadily.
A tiny spark glinted in her brown eyes.

"Well, what if it does take all afternoon? Have you anything better to
do?"

There was a minute of silence. Then Marian's cheeks turned rather
pink.

"I suppose not. But it is horridly tedious work, Sally Lou. On such a
warm day, too."

"It certainly is." Sally Lou's voice was quite dry. She caught up
Thomas Tucker, who was trying laboriously to feed Mr. Finnegan with a
large ball of darning cotton. "You'd find it even more tedious if you
were obliged to work at it evenings, as your brother does. Can't you
stay to lunch, Marian? We'll love to have you; won't we, babies?"

"Thank you, no. Mrs. Gates will expect me at home."

Marian walked back through the woods, her head held high. The glint in
Sally Lou's eyes had been a bit of a challenge. Again she felt her
cheeks flush hot, with a queer puzzled vexation.

"I'll show her that I can straighten Rod's papers, no matter how
muddled they are!" she said to herself, tartly. And all that warm
spring afternoon she toiled with might and main.

Roderick, meanwhile, was spending a hard, discouraging day. Arriving
at Saint Louis, he found the secretary of the coal-mining company at
his office. Eager and insistent, he poured out his urgent need of the
promised barge-load of coal. The consignment was now a week overdue.
The dredges had only a few hundred bushels at hand; in less than
forty-eight hours the engines must shut down, unless he could get the
fuel to camp.

"You can't be any more disturbed by this crisis than I am, Mr.
Hallowell," the secretary assured him. "Owing to a strike at the mines
we have been forced to cancel all deliveries. I can't let you have a
single ton."

Roderick gasped.

"But our dredges! We don't dare shut down. Our contract has a
chilled-steel time-lock, sir, with a heavy forfeit. We must not run
over our date limits. We've got to have that coal!"

"You may be able to pick up a few tons from small dealers," said the
secretary, turning back to his desk. "You'll be buying black diamonds
in good earnest, for the retail price has gone up thirty per cent
since the news came of the mines strike. Wish you good luck, Mr.
Hallowell. Sorry that is all that I can do for you."

Roderick lost no time. He bought a business directory and hailed a
taxicab. For six hours he drove from one coal-dealer's office to
another. At eight o'clock that night he reached his hotel, tired in
every bone, but in royal high spirits. Driblet by driblet, and paying
a price that fairly staggered him, he had managed to buy over four
hundred tons.

"That will keep us going till the strike is settled," he told Burford
over the long-distance.

"Bully for you!" returned Burford, jubilant. "But how will you bring
it up to camp?"

"Oh, the railroad people have promised empties on to-morrow morning's
early freight to Grafton. Then we can carry it to camp on our own
barges. I shall come up on that freight myself. I shall not risk
losing sight of that coal. Mind that."

At five the next morning Roderick went down to the freight yards. His
coal wagons were already arriving. But not one of the promised
"empties" could he find.

"There is a mistake somewhere," said the yard-master. "Can't promise
you a solitary car for three days, anyway. Traffic is all behindhand.
You'd better make a try at head-quarters."

"I have no time to waste at head-quarters," retorted Rod. He was white
with anger and chagrin. This ill luck was a bolt from a clear sky.
"I'll go down to the river front and hire a barge and a tow-boat. I'll
get that coal up to camp to-morrow if I have to carry it in my
suit-case."

His hunt for a barge proved a stern chase, but finally he secured a
large flat-boat at a reasonable rental. But after searching the river
front for miles, he found only one tow-boat that could be chartered.
The tow's captain, noting Roderick's anxiety, and learning that he
represented the great Breckenridge Company, promptly declared that he
would not think of doing the two-days' towing for less than five
hundred dollars.

"Five hundred dollars for two days' towing! And I have already paid
three times the mine price for my coal!" Roderick groaned inwardly.

Suddenly his eye caught two trim red stacks and a broad familiar bow
not fifty yards away. It was the little packet, the _Lucy Lee_. She
was just lowering her gang-plank, making ready to take on freight for
her trip up-stream.

"I'll hail the _Lucy_. Maybe the captain can tell me where to find
another tow-boat. Ahoy, the _Lucy_! Is your captain aboard? Ask him to
come on deck and talk to Hallowell, of the Breckenridge Company, will
you?"

"The captain has not come down yet, sir. But our pilot, Commodore
McCloskey, is here. Will you talk with him?"

"Will I talk to the commodore? I should hope so!" Rod's strained face
broke into a joyful grin. He could have shouted with satisfaction when
Commodore McCloskey, trim as a gimlet in starchy white duck, strolled
down the gang-plank and gave him a friendly hand.

"Sure, I don't wonder ye're red-hot mad," he said, with twinkling
sympathy. "Five hundred dollars for two days' tow! 'Tis no better than
a pirate that tow-boat captain is, sure. But come with me. I have a
friend at court that can give ye a hand, maybe. Hi, boy! Is Captain
Lathrop, of the _Queen_, round about?"

"The _Queen_? Why, her captain is the very man who demanded the five
hundred dollars!" blurted Rod.

At that moment the captain's head popped from the cabin door. He
stared at Roderick. He stared at Commodore McCloskey. Then he had the
grace to duck wildly back, with a face sheepish beyond words to
describe.

"Well, Captain Lathrop!" Commodore McCloskey's voice rang merciless
and clear. "Tell me the truth. Is it yourself that's turned highway
robber? Five hundred dollars for twenty hours' tow! Sure, ye must be
one of thim high fin-an-ciers we read about in the papers. Why not
make it five hundred dollars per ton? Then ye could sell the _Queen_
and buy yourself a Cunarder for a tow-boat instead."

Captain Lathrop squirmed.

"How should I know he was a friend of yours, commodore? I'll take his
coal all the way to camp, and gladly, for three hundred, seein' as
it's a favor to you."

"For three hundred, is it?" The commodore began a further flow of
eloquence. But Rod caught his arm.

"Three hundred will be all right. And I'm more obliged to you,
commodore, than I can say. Now I'm off. If ever I can do you a good
turn, mind you give me the chance!"

It was late the next night when Roderick reached the camp landing with
his precious black diamonds. He was desperately tired, muddy, and
begrimed with smoke and coal-dust, hungry as a wolf, and hilarious
with relief at his hard-earned success. Marian, Sally Lou, and Burford
were all waiting for him at the little pier. Sally Lou dragged him up
to the martin-box for a late supper. Afterward Marian, who was to
spend the night with Sally Lou, walked back with him to his
house-boat.

  [Illustration: "WELL, CAPTAIN LATHROP!" COMMODORE McCLOSKEY'S VOICE
   RANG MERCILESS AND CLEAR.]

"Yes, yes, I'm all right, Sis. Don't fidget over me so." Roderick
stepped into his state-room and dropped down into his desk chair.
"Whew! I'm thankful to get back. I could go to sleep standing up, if
it wasn't for making up the records for President Sturdevant. Run away
now, that's a good girl, and let me straighten my accounts. Then I
can go to bed."

Even as he spoke Rod's glance swept his desk. Instead of the heaped
disorder of the day before, he saw now rows of neatly docketed papers.
He gave a whistle of surprise.

"Who has been overhauling my desk? Burford? Why--why, did _you_ do
this for me, sister? Well, on my word, you are just the very best
ever." His big fingers gripped Marian's arm and gave her a grateful
little shake. "You've squared up every single account, haven't you!
And your figuring is always accurate. This means two hours' extra
sleep for me. Maybe you think I won't enjoy 'em!"

"I might have been keeping your accounts for you all these weeks,"
returned Marian. She was a little mortified by Roderick's astonished
gratitude. "It is not hard work for me. I really enjoyed doing it."

"Maybe you think I don't enjoy having you do it!" Rod chuckled
contentedly. "I've dreaded those accounts all day. Now I shall sleep
the sleep of the loafer who has let his sister do his work for him.
Good-night, old lady!"

Marian tucked herself comfortably into her corner of the martin-box,
but not to sleep. Try her best, she could not banish Rod's tired face
from her mind. Neither could she forget the look of his little
state-room. True, she had made it daintily fresh and neat. But the
tiny box was hot and stuffy at best. What could she do to make Rod's
quarters more comfortable?

At last she sat up with a whispered exclamation.

"Good! I'll try that plan. Perhaps it won't do after all. But it
cannot hurt to try. And if my scheme can make Rod the least bit more
comfortable, then the trying will be well worth while!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE BURGOO

Very early the next morning, Marian set to work upon her brilliant
plan for Roderick's comfort. The coast was clear for action. Both
Roderick and Ned Burford had gone up the canal to oversee the
excavation at the north laterals. Sally Lou had packed Mammy and the
babies into the buckboard and had driven away to the nearest
farm-house for eggs and butter. So Marian had a clear field. And she
made eager use of every moment.

Perhaps two hundred yards from the canal bank, set well up on a little
knoll where it could catch every passing breeze, stood a broad wooden
platform. High posts, built to hold lanterns, were set at the four
corners and half-way down each side.

"The young folks of the district built that platform for their picnic
dances," Burford had told Marian. "But this year our dredges have
torn up this whole section and have made the creek banks so miry and
disagreeable that no picnic parties will come this way till the
contract is finished and the turf has had time to grow again."

Marian measured the platform with a calculating eye.

"It is built of matched boards, as tight and sound as if they had put
it up yesterday. It will make a splendid floor for Rod's house. But
when it comes to building the house itself--that's the question."

The contract supplies, she knew, were kept in a store-room built
astern of Roderick's house-boat. For a hot, tiresome hour she poked
and pried through high-piled hogsheads and tiers of boxes, hoping that
she might find a tent. But there was no such good fortune for her. She
dragged out bale after bale of heavy new canvas. But every one of the
scores of tents provided by the company was already pitched, to form
the summer village occupied by the levee laborers. At last, quite
vexed and impatient, she gave up her search.

"Although, if I had any knack at all, I could sew up a tent from
these yards on yards of canvas," she reflected.

She carried one bolt of cloth on deck and unrolled it.

"This is splendid heavy canvas. It is just the solid, water-proof sort
that the fishermen at the lake last summer used for walls and roof of
their 'open-faced camp,' as they called it. Now, I wonder. Why can't I
lash long strips of canvas to the four posts of the platform for
walls; then fasten heavy wires from one post to another and lash a
slanting canvas roof to that! I can canopy it with mosquito-bar--a
double layer--for there are dozens of yards of netting here. It would
be a ridiculously funny little coop, I know that. But it would be far
cooler and quieter than the boat. I believe Rod would like it. Anyway,
we'll see!"

Jacobs, the commissary man, came aboard a few minutes later with a
basket of clean linen. He looked at Marian, already punching
eyelet-holes in the heavy duck, with friendly concern.

"Best let me give you a lift at that job, miss," he urged, when Marian
had told him her plans. "I have an hour off, and I shall be pleased to
help, if you will permit me. I'm an old sailor and I have my needle
and palm in my kit. That kind of fancy work is just pastime to me.
Indeed, I'd enjoy doing anything, if it's for Mr. Hallowell. We've
never had a better boss, that's certain. You lace those strips of
duck, then I'll hang them for you. We'll curtain off just a half of
the platform. That will leave the other half for a fine open porch.
We'll have this house built in two jiffies. Then I'll put Mr.
Hallowell's canvas cot and his desk and his chair into place, all
ready; so when he comes home to-night he will find himself moved and
settled."

It took longer than two jiffies to lash up the canvas shack, to hang
mosquito bar, and to move Roderick's simple furniture. Returning from
their drive, Sally Lou and Mammy Easter hurried to help; and, thanks
to many willing hands, the tiny new abode was finished by afternoon;
even to the brackets for Rod's lamp, which Jacobs screwed into a
corner post, and the rack for his towels.

At six o'clock, Roderick, fagged out and spattered with mud, came down
the canal. He would have gone directly aboard his house-boat if
Marian had not called him ashore.

"March up here and see my out-door sitting-room," she commanded, with
laughing eyes.

"Oh, you and Sally Lou have made a play-house of that platform? That's
all very nice. But wait till I can scrub up and swallow a mouthful of
supper, Sis. My skiff tipped over with me up the canal, and I'm
soaking wet, and dead tired besides."

"Oh, no, Rod. Please come up right away. I can't wait, Slow-Coach. You
really must see!"

Roderick was well used to Marian's imperious whims. Reluctantly he
climbed the slippery bank. Obediently he poked his head past the flap
which Marian held back for him.

There he saw his own cot spread white and fresh under its cool screen;
his tidy desk; and even a "shower-bath," which clever Jacobs had
contrived from a tiny force-pump and a small galvanized tank, borrowed
from the company's store-room.

For a long minute he stared about him without one word. Then his tired
face brightened to a glow of incredulous delight.

"Marian Hallowell! Did you rig up this whole contrivance, all for me?
Well!" He sank down on the cot with a sigh of infinite satisfaction.
"You certainly are the best sister I ever had, old lady. First you
take my book-keeping off my hands. Next you build me a brand-new
house, where I can sleep----whew! Won't I sleep like a log to-night, in
all this quiet and coolness! On my word, I don't believe I could stand
up to my work, Sis, if you didn't help me out as you do."

Marian grew radiant at his pleasure.

"Building it was no end of fun, Rod. I never enjoyed anything more."

"Only I hope you haven't tired yourself out," said her brother,
suddenly anxious. "You haven't the strength to work like this."

"Nonsense! You don't realize how much stronger I am, Rod."

"You surely do look a hundred per cent better than you did a month
ago." Roderick looked at her with keen satisfaction. "But you must not
overtire yourself."

"Don't be so fussy, brother. It was just a trifle, anyway."

"It won't mean a trifle to me. Quiet and sleep will give me a chance
to get my head above water and breathe. Hello, neighbors!" For Sally
Lou and Ned were poking their unabashed heads through the fly. "Come
in and see my new mansion. Guess I'll have to give a house-warming to
celebrate. What do you say?"

"There's a celebration already on the way," laughed Burford.
"Commodore McCloskey has just called me up on the long-distance. He
says that he and Mrs. McCloskey will stop at the camp bright and early
to-morrow morning to escort your sister and Sally Lou to the Barry
County burgoo. I accepted the invitation for both you girls, for a
'burgoo,' whatever it means, sounds like a jolly lark; especially
since the commodore is to be your host. But I'll admit that I'm
puzzled. What do you suppose a burgoo may be?"

The four looked at each other.

"It sounds rather like a barbecue," ventured Sally Lou.

"Hoots! It is far too early in the spring for a barbecue."

"Burgoo? _Barbecue?_" Marian spoke the mystic words over, bewildered.
"What is a barbecue, pray? Two such grim, ferocious words I never
heard."

"A barbecue is a country-side picnic, where the company unite to buy a
huge piece of beef; sometimes a whole ox. Then they roast it in a
trench floored with hot stones. The usual time for a barbecue is in
August. Then they add roasting ears and new potatoes to the beef, and
have a dinner fit for a king."

"Or for an ogre," returned Marian. "It sounds like a feast for giants.
Yet a burgoo sounds even fiercer and more barbaric. I shall ask the
commodore what it means, the minute he comes. Wasn't he a dear to
think of taking us?"

Bright and early, even as he had promised, Mr. McCloskey's trig little
launch puffed up to the camp landing. The commodore, arrayed as
Solomon in snowy linen, a red tie, and a large Panama, waved greeting.
Beside him sat Mrs. McCloskey, her sweet little old face beaming under
her crisp frilled sunbonnet.

The two girls stepped aboard, with Finnegan prancing joyfully after.
For to-day the Burford babies were to stay at home with Mammy, while
Finnegan was to attend the burgoo, a specially bidden guest.

"And now, Mr. McCloskey! Tell us quick! What may a burgoo be?"

"A burgoo?" Commodore McCloskey reflected. "Well, then, so ye don't
know a burgoo by experience. Wherever was ye brought up? A burgoo is a
burgoo, sure. 'Tis the only word in the English language that
describes it. 'Tis sack-races, an' pole-climbin', an' merry-go-rounds,
an' pink limonade, an' a brass band, an' kettles full of b'iled
chicken an' gravy, an' more mortial things to eat than the tongue of
man can name. Ye must see it to understand the real po'try of it. For
the half of it could not be told to you."

The commodore was quite right. The burgoo was all that he had claimed,
and more. At least two hundred people, gay in their Sunday best, had
already gathered at the county picnic grounds, a beautiful open
woodland several miles up the Illinois River. Vendors of candy and
popcorn, toy balloons and pink lemonade, shouted their wares. A vast
merry-go-round wheezed and sputtered; the promised brass band awoke
the river echoes. And, swung in a mighty rank above a row of
camp-fires cleverly built in a broad shallow trench, the burgoo
kettles sizzled and steamed.

"Burgoo," the girls soon learned, is the local name for a delicious
stew of chicken and bacon and vegetables, cooked slowly for hours,
then served in wooden bowls with huge dill pickles and corn pone.
Sally Lou, housekeeper born, wheedled the head cook, a courteous,
grizzled old negro, into giving her the recipe. Marian, chuckling
inwardly, heard his painstaking reply.

"Yes'um. I kin tell you jest how to go about makin' burgoo. First you
want sixteen, maybe twenty, pounds of bacon, cut tolerable fine. Then
four dozen chickens won't be too many. Start your meats a-b'ilin'.
Then peel your taters--I used three bushel for this batch. Then put in
tomatoes. I reckon two dozen cans might do, though three would be
better. Then cabbage, an' beans, an' onions, if you like. Two dozen
head of cabbage is about right. An' two bushels of beans----"

Just then Sally Lou dropped her pencil in despair.

"I'll be no more than a head of cabbage myself, if I keep on trying to
reduce this recipe to the needs of two people," she groaned in
desperation. "Come along, Marian, let's climb on the merry-go-round a
while and see if it won't clear my addled brain."

The merry-go-round proved delightfully thrilling, especially to Mr.
Finnegan, who rode round and round in a gilded sea-shell, barking
himself hoarse in dizzy ecstasy.

Just before noon the crowd, now astonishingly large, gathered at the
little running track to watch the sports. First came the sack-races;
then the pole-climbing; then the potato-race. Finnegan, by this time
delirious with excitement, had to be held down by main force to
discourage his wild ambition to take an active part in each event.
Last on the programme came the greased-pig race.

Now, the greased-pig race dates back a hundred years and more, to the
days when the Kentucky pioneers met for their rare frolics of
house-raising or corn-husking. It is a quaint old sport, very rough,
very grimy and breathless, very ridiculously funny. A lively little
pig is chosen and greased with melted tallow from head to tail. Then
he is set free on the running-track. Half a minute later, the
starting-gun booms the signal for his hunters to dash in pursuit. The
winner must capture piggy with his bare hands and carry the squirming,
slippery armful back to the judges' stand. If piggy escapes en route,
the race must be run over again from the very start.

The competitors are boys and young men. Only the fleet-footed can hope
for a chance at success. But even as the starter stood calling the
race through his big red megaphone, a tall, elderly man shouldered up
to their group and hailed Mr. McCloskey.

"Good-day, commodore! You're here to see the greased-pig race? My
faith, do you remember the race that we two ran, down in Pike County
in '63?"

The commodore beamed at his old neighbor.

"'Deed an' I do. And it was meself that captured that elegant pig, I
remember."

"You did that. But it was by accident entirely. For I had all but
laid my hand on the pig when you snatched it from under my grasp. I've
grudged ye that pig ever since."

The little commodore's eyes snapped. He bristled from the crest of his
white head to the toes of his polished boots. His voice took on an
ominously silver tone.

"By my word, I'm sorry to learn that that small pig has stood between
us all these years, Mister Jennings. If it could give you
satisfaction, I'd beg you to run that race over again with me. Or, we
might race each other in the contest that is just about to take place.
What do ye say?"

For a minute, the astounded Mr. Jennings found nothing whatever to
say.

"Now, commodore!" protested gentle Mrs. McCloskey, round-eyed with
reproach. "You'd not think of runnin' a half mile this hot noon in the
face of all your friends an' neighbors, an' all for one small pig! And
you seventy last month, an' that suit of clothes bought new from Saint
Louis not the fortnight ago!"

"You don't understand, Mary. I'd run the race if there was no pig at
all under consideration, so it would give my friend Mister Jennings
peace of mind," said the little commodore hotly. "What do ye say, sir?
Will you join me, an' prove once more which one of us is the rale
winner?"

Very red and disconcerted, Mr. Jennings stood on one foot, then the
other, in a torture of indecision. Then he threw off his coat.

"I've never taken a dare like that yet, McCloskey. And I don't begin
now. Come along."

"Commodore!" Poor Mrs. McCloskey's shocked voice pursued him. But the
commodore would not hear. Mr. Jennings was already clambering the rail
to the running-track. Lightly as a boy, the commodore vaulted after
him. Shoulder to shoulder the two joined the group before the judges'
stand.

There ran a ripple of question through the crowd, then a storm of
delighted cheers and laughter. Mr. Jennings wriggled in sheepish
torment. The commodore, sparkling and debonair, bowed to the throng
and hung his Panama on a fence-post.

Then down the running-track fled a small, shiny black object,
squealing in glad escape. Instantly a shot crashed; then came a
thundering shout:

"Ready--go!"

With whoops and yells the group of runners raced away down the track.
The commodore kept well in the lead. He ran as lightly and as easily
as did the boys that forged alongside him. Mr. Jennings puffed and
pounded farther in the rear at every turn. They made the first lap of
the race. At the second turn the commodore, only third from the lead,
waved his hand to Mrs. McCloskey and the girls with a flourish of
mischievous triumph. Marian and Sally Lou, tearful and choking with
delight, clasped hands and swayed together in helpless rapture. Thus
completely absorbed in the spectacle, they let go of Mr. Finnegan's
leash.

That was all that Finnegan wanted. With one glad yelp he hurled
himself through the fence and bounced like a ball, straight into the
midst of the fray. Far in advance fled a shiny black object. Finnegan
knew his duty. The commodore was hurrying to catch that object. It was
Finnegan's part to aid in that capture at all costs. Yelping madly,
he tore away down the track.

"Oh, it's Finnegan! Oh, the little villain! If I had only left him at
home!" Poor Marian strove to call him back. But against the uproar of
the crowd her voice could not make a sound. "Oh, the naughty little
sinner, he will catch that pig himself and spoil the race for
everybody. Look, Sally Lou! He has almost caught up with the pig this
minute!"

Even as she spoke, Finnegan, running at top speed, shot ahead of the
fleeing pig. Then, with a frenzied bark, he whirled and charged
straight at the prize.

This front attack was too much for any pig's self-control. Not content
with galloping murderously at his heels, his pursuers had set this
ferocious brute to destroy him! With a squeal of mortal panic the
little fellow turned right-about and bolted. Shrieking, he dashed
back, straight into the crowd of runners.

"Oh--oh! He's right under the commodore's hand! Oh, if he wasn't so
slippery--Look, quick, Marian!"

"Well, will you look at that now!" Mrs. McCloskey's mild voice rose in
a laugh of triumph. "Sure, I never yet knew the commodore to fail if
once he'd set his head to do a thing!"

"If only he can keep fast hold of the pig till he reaches the judges'
stand," whispered Sally Lou. All three gazed in pale suspense at the
commodore, now striding gayly up the race-track, the pig squirming and
squealing wildly in his arms.

"I'm mistrustin' that myself," said Mrs. McCloskey, nervously, "for
the little animal is not so convenient to hold, bein' he's so glassy
smooth. But trust the commodore. He'll not fail, now."

The commodore did not fail. Calm and majestic, as if he strode a
quarter-deck, he paced down the track and halted before the judges'
stand, his shrieking prize held high. As the umpire bent forward to
give him the champion's blue ribbon, the crowd broke loose. No Olympic
victor ever received his laurel in the face of a more enthusiastic
tumult.

"I give up," puffed Mr. Jennings, fanning himself with his hat. "You
caught that pig fair an' square, commodore. The honors are yours."

"Tut, tut, 'twas no great matter," declared the commodore modestly, as
the girls heaped him with praises. "'Twas just a moment's divarsion.
And it took no skill whatever, though I will own that to carry the
little felly back to the judges' stand demanded some effort on me
part. You will observe that a pig furnishes but few handholds,
particularly when he's that slippery and excited-like. Yes, Mary,
perhaps we'd best be startin' home, as it's so near sundown."

"Well, but these girls must not go home empty-handed," urged Mrs.
McCloskey. "Think of your poor boys, who could not take a day off for
the burgoo! We must carry home a taste for them. Go to yonder booth
and buy a market-basket, commodore. Then we'll pack in a few samples."

Marian and Sally Lou looked on in silent amaze while Mrs. McCloskey
packed the few samples, including a tall jar of the delicious burgoo,
a dazzling array of cookies and preserves, and a fat black-currant
pie. Meanwhile the commodore was fitting his treasured pig neatly into
a small crate, much to the dismay of the pig and the keen joy of a
large group of on-lookers.

At last basket and crate were made ready. Tired out by their long,
absurd, delightful day, the party settled themselves aboard the
commodore's launch and started home. The trip downstream to camp was
made in rapid time. It was just dusk when they reached their own
landing. Roderick and Ned Burford had heard the commodore's whistle
and were waiting to help them ashore.

"What sort of a day was it, Sis?"

"Yes, tell us, quick, if you had any fun. We have put in a gruelling
day of it here," added Burford. "Three break-downs on the little
dredge and a threatened cave-in on the first lateral! Go on and tell
us something cheerful."

Marian and Sally Lou stole a glance backward. The commodore was just
putting his boat into mid-stream. He was safely out of earshot. With
almost tearful laughter the two girls poured out the story of the day.

"You brought home the best of the day to us," said Ned, as they spread
the "samples" on a tiny deck table, picnic-fashion. "We fellows only
laid off our levee shifts a few minutes ago. We're rushing that
construction before the creeks rise any higher. So neither of us has
eaten a mouthful since noon. This luncheon will taste like manna in
the desert. S'pose Mammy Easter would make us a pot of coffee, Sally
Lou? Then we could ask no more."

"I'll go to the cabin and coax her to do it. I want a peep at the
babies, anyway."

Sally Lou sprang up and started toward the gangway. At the cabin door
she stopped short. Her voice rang out, a frightened cry.

"Ned Burford! Come quick! What is that blazing light away up the
ditch? Is it--Oh, it is one of the boats--it is the big dredge! And it
is on fire!"

Ned Burford leaped up. His startled voice echoed Sally Lou's cry.

"Hallowell! It's the big dredge, the giant Garrison! Wake up and pitch
in. Hurry!"

Days afterward Marian would try to recall just what happened during
those wild moments; but the whole scene would flicker before her
memory, a dizzy blur. She remembered Roderick's shout of alarm; the
rush of the day-shift men from their tents; the clatter of the racing
engine as Rod pushed them into the launch, then sent the little boat
flying away up the canal. Then, directly ahead, she could see that
dense black pillar of smoke rising straight up from the dredge deck,
shot through with spurts of flame.

Burford's half-strangled voice came back to them as he groped his way
across the deck.

"It's a pile of burning waste, right here by the capstan. Bring the
chemical-extinguishers ... no time to wait for the hose.... Wet your
coats, boys, and let's pound her out.... Whe-ew! I'm 'most
strangled.... Sally Lou Burford! _You clear out!_ You and Marian, too.
Go away, I tell you. This is no place for you!"

Sally Lou and Marian stood doggedly in line passing the buckets of
water which one of the laborers was dipping up from over the side.
Roderick, stolid as a rock, stood close by that choking column of
smoke and flame and dashed on the water. Burford rushed about,
everywhere at once, half mad with excitement, yet giving orders with
unswerving judgment.

"Can't you start the pumping engine, boys? Swing out that emergency
hose, quick. There you are! Now turn that stream on those oil barrels
yonder--and _keep_ it there. Start the big force-pump and train a
stream on the deck near the engines. The fire mustn't spread to the
hoisting-gear. Mind that. Mulcahy, give me that chemical-tank. Wet my
handkerchief and tie it over my mouth, Sally Lou. No, give me your
scarf. That's better. I'm going to wade right in. Aha! See that?"

The smoke column wavered, thinned. A shower of water, soot, and
chemicals drenched everybody on deck. Nobody noticed the downpour, for
the smoke column was sinking with every moment.

Burford staggered back, half smothered. The extinguisher fell from his
hand. But the force-pumps were working now at full blast. Stream after
stream of water poured on the fire, then flooded across the deck. Two
minutes more of frantic, gasping work and not a spark remained--nothing
save the heap of quenched, still smoking waste.

Dazed, Marian found herself once more on the house-boat deck. Ashore
the laborers were flocking back to their tents, laughing and
shouting. For them it had been a frolic rather than a danger. But the
four on the house-boat deck looked at each other without a word. They
were too shaky with relief to move or to speak. Sally Lou, the
steady-willed, dependable Sally Lou, clung trembling to Marian, who in
her turn leaned rather weakly against the rail. Roderick, ashen white,
confronted Burford, who stood absently mopping his wet, smarting eyes
with Sally Lou's singed and dripping crêpe scarf. Suddenly Burford
broke the tension with a strangled whoop.

"Our--our daily reports to the company!" he gurgled. "President
Sturdevant wants every day's detail. Let's put it all in. 'I have the
honor to report that while your engineers were stoking with burgoo and
black-currant pie, Garrison Dredge Number Three was observed to be on
fire. Your engineers, assisted by their partners, said engineers' wife
and sister, all of whom displayed conspicuous bravery, attacked the
fire. Thanks to their heroic efforts, the conflagration was
extinguished. I beg further to report that damages are confined to one
pile of waste, one smooched pink silk scarf, and'"--he passed his
hand over his smutty forehead--"'and one pair of eyebrows.'"

"I'm going straight home to bed," vowed Marian, as the laughter died
away in exhausted chuckles. "This day has brought so many thrilling
events that it will take me at least a week to calm myself down. Do
let us hope that nothing whatever will happen for a while. I'm longing
for monotony--days, months, ages of monotony, at that!"

And, even as she spoke, there was a shout from the pier. Mulcahy came
running toward them at top speed.

"Will you look at Mulcahy, sprinting up from the ditch! I'll wager he
has some more bad news for us. Come, Hallowell. Hurry!"

CHAPTER IX

THE MAGIC LEAD-PENCIL

"Bad news, is it?" puffed Mulcahy. "Indeed, sir, I'm sorry to be the
one to bring it to you. Lateral Four has caved in again."

"Lateral Four! The cut where we've spent more time and work, filling
in, than we've spent anywhere else on the whole ditch!"

"Yes, Lateral Four. The ungrateful piece of fill she is! And when you
have shored up the margins with brush, twice over!"

"How far up is the cave-in, Mulcahy?"

"Half a mile from the mouth. Right where Mr. Ellingworth Locke's land
begins, sir."

"Right on President Locke's land! Will you hear that, Hallowell? And
he's the biggest grumbler in the whole district! And the most powerful
grumbler, too. Of all the hard luck!"

"I do hear. And I'm going to get busy." Rod pulled himself together
with a grim little chuckle. "It's an all-night job, Burford. Or else
we can add one more calamity to our head-quarters report. 'One bad
cave-in, on lateral draining land owned by H. R. H., the acting
president of the Central Mississippi Association.' Do you see us
putting in that cheery news?"

"No, I don't. Not just yet." Burford wiped the last soot-streak from
his chin and jumped into the launch. "Here we go!"

"Wait a jiffy, Burford. You'd better stay by the dredge an hour or so.
Keep the men at work flooding her deck. We can't be certain-sure that
the fire is completely out. There's always a risk."

"That's a fact. You go up to the cave-in and set the levee crews to
work. I'll follow in an hour."

Rod started his engine, but Marian stopped him.

"Wait, Rod. Take me up to the lateral, too."

"Take you up to the cave-in, you mean? Why on earth should you go? At
this time of night----"

"Because I want to see just what you have to do. I'm getting very
much interested in the work, truly. Please, brother."

"Of all the notions!" Rod looked completely puzzled. Yet a warm little
gratified smile brightened his tired face. Again he felt the
heart-warming satisfaction that he had felt on the day he had come
home, fagged and blue, to find that Marian had sorted all his accounts
and cleared up his reports for him. It was wonderfully pleasant to
find that his sister could show such real comradeship in his work.

"Of course you shall go with me if you wish, dear. Hop in. Careful!"

"Let me steer, Rod."

"Think you can see all right?"

"With this big search-light? I should hope so. Lie down on the
cushions and rest for two minutes. I'll run very carefully."

"Good enough." Rod stretched his weary bones on the seat. At the end
of the six-mile run he sat up, with a shamed grin.

"Lazy sinner I am, I dropped off the minute I struck those cushions.
My, that snooze makes one thirsty for more! Put the launch inshore,
Sis. Hello there, boys! Is that Dredge A crew? Why, how did you swing
the dredge downstream so quickly?"

"We had steam up, so we dropped down the lateral the minute we got
word of the cave-in," answered the dredge foreman. "It was Mister Jim
Conover who happened by and saw the landslip, sir. He came a-gallopin'
over with his horse all lather, and brought us the news, not fifteen
minutes after it happened. Then he called his own hired men and a
crowd of neighbors, and they all set to to shore up the bank, above
and below the break, with sand-bags and brush. They're workin' at it
now, sir, lickety-cut." He pointed up the lateral to a dim glow of
torch-light. "Shovellin' away like beavers they are, sir. There won't
be another slump in that margin, you can depend on that. They've saved
you and the company two days' work and five hundred dollars clear in
damages alone, I'm thinkin'."

"Five hundred damages? It would have been nearer a thousand if they
hadn't stopped that slide on the double-quick." Roderick sat staring
at the hurrying figures in the dull glow of smoky light. He could
hardly grasp this amazing stroke of fortune. "But how--why--I never
heard of such a royal piece of kindness!"

"It's all Conover's doing. He said you folks had done mighty
neighborly by him, and that he wanted to show his appreciation."

"_Conover!_ Why, I never even heard the man's name till now!"

"Conover?" Marian screwed up her forehead. A vague recollection
flickered in her mind.

"Yes, sir, Conover. He has a good-sized farm back here a piece. Likely
you've forgotten. There's him and his wife and his little girl.
Crippled she is, the poor child. Mamie, they call her."

"Mamie Conover--Oh! The poor little soul who was so delighted with
your red pencils, Rod! That visitors' Sunday, don't you remember?"

"Oh, to be sure. You're better at remembering than I am, Sis. Well,
I'm going up to thank him, this minute. Then we'll ship the dredge
into trim and begin digging out the channel again. Think it will take
us all night?"

"Now that Conover's gang has stopped the slide so good and square for
us, we ought to be able to cut out and tamp down, too, by daybreak,
sir. Maybe sooner. Here comes Conover this minute."

Coated with mud, squashing heavily into the sodden crest of the bank
with every step, Conover tramped down the ditch. In that shambling
figure, Marian instantly recognized little Mamie's father. Vividly she
remembered his deep, weary look at her, the infinite tenderness with
which he had lifted the little frail body from her arms.

In the white glare of the search-light, his gaunt face was radiant
with friendly concern.

"We've done what little we could, Mr. Hallowell," he said, in reply to
Rod's eager thanks. "Little enough at that. But now if you'll put in a
few hours' dredging to get out that slide, your ditch will be all
right again. Mr. Locke there, whose land borders on this lateral, is a
little--well, a little fussy, you know. That's why we fellows kinder
butted in and set to work without waitin' to hear from you. Land, it
wasn't nothing to thank us for. Just a little troke between neighbors.
You here, Miss Hallowell? My buckboard is right up-shore. Can't I
drive you to Mr. Gates's? It's right on my way home--only a mile or
so off my road, that is."

"Run along, Sis. Please. It's late and damp, and chilly besides.
Scoot, now."

"But I don't want to go, Rod. I want to stay and see the dredge make
the cut over again. This is the most interesting performance I ever
dreamed of."

"I'd much rather have you go home, old lady. You can't see much in
this half-light. And you can't help me. Worse, you'll catch cold sure
and certain." Yet that odd little glow warmed Rod's heart once more.
It was a wonderful satisfaction to hear Marian speak with such keen
interest of his beloved work.

"Well, then--" reluctantly Marian scrambled ashore. Mr. Conover wiped
his muddy hands on the lap-robe and helped her into the buckboard,
with awkward care. They drove swiftly away, up the wide country road,
between the dark, level fields.

Neither spoke for some minutes. At last Marian began, rather clumsily,
to tell him of their exciting day.

The man made no comment. Still more clumsily, she tried to thank him
for his generous and timely aid to Roderick.

Suddenly Mr. Conover turned to her. In the faint starlight she saw
that his dull face was working painfully.

"So you want to thank me for this job, eh? Why, if I'd done ten times
as much, I wouldn't have begun to do what I want to do for you and
your brother. I've been aimin' to come over and tell you, long ago.
But seems like I never get around to it. Don't you mind about them red
pencils?"

"Those red and blue pencils of Rod's, you mean? What of them?"

"What of them? My, if you could see Mamie with them, you wouldn't
ask!" The color burned in his thin face. His eyes were shining now.
"They're the one pleasure that ain't never failed her. If I could ever
tell you what they've meant! I've sent to the city and bought her
three or four dozen assorteds, so's to be sure she never gets short of
all the colors. No matter how bad her back hurts, she'll set there in
her pillows and mark away, happy's a kitten. Seems like long's she's
workin' with those pencils, she forgets everything, even the pain. And
that's the best we can ever do for our baby." His voice broke on a
terrible and piteous note. "The only thing we can do--help her
forget."

There was a long silence.

"An' then you talk as if what I did to-night could count for
anything--alongside of _that_!"

Marian's own lips were quivering. She did not dare to reply.

Yet as she put out her bedroom candle and stood looking out on the
dark starlit woods, the narrow black ribbon of the canal, a whimsical
wonder stirred in her thought.

"I'll tell Rod to-morrow that his red pencils must have the credit of
it all. It's the story of the little Dutch hero who stuffed his thumb
into the crack in the dike and saved the city, right over again. Only
this time it's something even tinier than a thumb that has saved the
day. It's just a little red lead-pencil. And, oh, how glad I am for
Roderick's sake! The dear, stodgy old slow-coach, I'm proud of every
inch of his success. Though maybe Slow-Coach isn't just the fitting
name for Rod nowadays. Sometimes the slow coaches are the very ones
that win the race--in the long run."

CHAPTER X

HONORED GUESTS

Marian's wish for quiet and monotonous days was promptly granted. Only
too promptly and too thoroughly, she owned ruefully. The next morning
dawned bleak and gray, with a chill east wind and a driving rain. Held
prisoner in the house by the storm, Marian amused herself through the
long dreary day as best she could. At supper-time, feeling very lonely
indeed, she called Roderick up on the telephone; but their
long-distance visit gave her little satisfaction.

Roderick had spent a hard day, hurrying from one lateral to another,
crowding the levee work to the highest possible speed; for in this
wide-spread rain the creeks to the north were rising an inch an hour,
and every inch meant danger to his half-built embankments. Marian
sympathized eagerly and declared that she would come down to the canal
the next day and help him with his reports.

"Not if it rains you won't," croaked Roderick hoarsely. "Don't let me
catch you outside the house. You'll catch cold just as I have done,
wading through this swamp. Mind, now. Don't you dare leave the
farm-house unless it clears."

Marian promised. When the morning came, dark and drizzly, she found it
hard to keep her word. The hours went on leaden feet. The downpour
never slackened. It was impossible for her to go out-doors even as far
as the driveway. In that flat, low country a two-days' rain means an
inundation. Meadows and fields were like flooded marshes. Sheets of
water spread through the orchards; the yard paths were so many brooks,
the barn-yard was an infant lake.

"It won't last very long," Mrs. Gates consoled her. "A year ago we'd
have been heart-broken at the sight of such a rain. It would have
meant ruin for all the crops. The surplus water would not have drained
off in a fortnight. But since they began digging the ditches, we know
that our crops will be safe, even if it rains for a week."

"I'm glad to learn that Rod's hard work counts for something," said
Marian impatiently. She flattened her downcast face against the pane.
"In the meantime, I feel like a marooned pirate. If I can't get out of
doors for some fresh air before long, I'll develop a pirate's
disposition, too."

At dusk she tried again to call Roderick on the telephone, to demand
sympathy for her imprisonment. But to her astonishment she could get
no reply from central.

"The wires are all down, I dare say," said Mrs. Gates cheerfully.
"It'll be three or four days before the line-men can get around to
repair damages. The roads are hub deep. No telling when they can haul
their repair wagons through. You'll see."

Marian did see. The district roads had been all but impassable ever
since her coming. Now, thanks to this downpour, they would be
bottomless pits of mire.

"Well! It's worse this morning, if anything," Mrs. Gates announced
cheerfully, as Marian appeared on the third gray morning. "'Pears to
me that you won't get out-doors again before the Fourth of July."

"But I must have some air. I can't stay cooped up forever," cried
Marian. "If you'd only lend me your rubber boots, Mrs. Gates; the ones
you wear when you're gardening. Then I could put on my mackintosh and
my rubber bathing-cap and splash about beautifully. Besides, I must go
down to the canal. I must see how Rod is getting on. Think, it has
been two days since I have heard one word from him. Yet he is barely
two miles away!"

Mrs. Gates yielded at last to her coaxing. Soon Marian started out,
wearing the borrowed boots and Mr. Gates's oil-skin coat. She stumbled
and splashed away through the dripping woods, with Finnegan romping
gayly behind. Rainy weather held no melancholy for Finnegan. Shut in
the house, he had made those three days memorable for the household,
especially for poor irate Empress, who had taken refuge at last on the
top rafter of the corn-bin. On the way to camp he flushed three
rabbits, chased a fat gray squirrel into chattering fury, and dragged
Marian knee-deep into a bog, in his wild eagerness to dig out an
imaginary woodchuck.

"I wish I had a little of your vim, Finnegan." Marian sat down, soaked
and breathless, on the step of Sally Lou's martin-box. From that
eminence she surveyed the canal and its swarms of laborers. Her eyes
clouded.

In spite of her growing interest in Roderick's work, to look upon that
work always puzzled her and disheartened her. The slow black water;
the ugly mud-piled banks; the massive engines throbbing night and day
through a haze of steam; the gigantic dredge machines, swinging their
great steel arms back and forth, up and down, lifting tons of earth
from the bottom of the ditch and placing it on the waiting barge with
weird, unerring skill. Most of all, the heavy tide of hurry and
anxiety that seemed to rise higher every day. All these things vexed
her and harassed her. When Rod talked over his work with her with all
his eager enthusiasm, she could share his triumph or lament his
disappointment, as the case might be. But the work itself was so huge,
so complicated, that she could never quite grasp it. She could never
understand her brother's passionate interest.

"Although I don't despise the very sight of camp, as I did at first,"
she reflected. "It is rather queer that I don't, too. Perhaps one can
get used to anything. And I do want to learn more about Rod's work,
for he loves it so dearly, and I know he wants me to enjoy it too.
Though how anybody can enjoy such a life! To spend day after day,
month on month, toiling like a slave in a steaming marsh like this!"

A brisk finger tapped on the window-pane above her.

"Come in, Miss Northerner! Poor dear, you're all but drowned. Stand on
the oil-cloth and drip till Mammy can help you to take off those boots
and put on my slippers."

Marian entered the dry, warm little house with a sigh of pleasure.
Presently she sat at the window with Thomas Tucker bouncing on her
knee. Thomas Tucker had charms that could cheer the most pensive
spirit. Yet Marian stared soberly past his bobbing yellow head at the
swarming camp below.

"Don't look so droopy, Miss Northerner. Perk up, do!" Sally Lou gave
her ear a gentle nip. "You and I will have to manufacture
cheerfulness in car-load lots this week, to counterbalance our
partners' gloom."

"Why? Have the boys met with more ill-luck on the contract?"

"More ill-luck!" Sally Lou checked off point by point on her slim
fingers. "Day before yesterday--the morning after the fire--the
district inspector was due here to pass judgment on the two upper
laterals. As you know, the contract provides that the inspector must
look over every yard of excavation and approve it before it can be
considered as actually done. Lo and behold, no inspector appeared. The
boys were wild with anxiety to start their levee-work before the rain
should wash the soft new banks down into the canal; for the company is
responsible for every cave-in, and every slide of land means double
labor in digging all that soil out of the ditch again. By noon the
inspector had not been heard from, but two small cave-ins had
occurred, and the company was losing money at the rate of thirty
dollars an hour, because of the enforced idleness of the laborers and
the shutting down of the machinery. Finally Roderick took his launch
and started out in search of the inspector. At Grafton he managed to
get telephone connections with his office, and he was cheerfully
assured that the inspector would appear on the scene 'as soon as the
rain stops.'"

"'As soon as the rain stops?' Why, Sally Lou! Then he hasn't come at
all!"

"Precisely. Back came poor Rod, very cross and doleful indeed. Then he
and Ned gave up work on the laterals and set the men to hacking away
at the regular excavation. The laborers are sulky accordingly.
Yesterday they threatened a strike. I don't blame them. The
bank-cutting is all very well in dry weather, but in this rain it is a
miserable task."

"Well, Rod can keep the men pacified. He's a splendid manager."

"Yes; and the men like him. But the work is terribly wearing on both
the boys. And the third calamity arrived last night. The dipper-handle
broke."

"The dipper-handle? On the big dredge? Sally Lou, how dreadful!"

"Yes, it is dreadful. It means, of course, that twenty of the
laborers will stop work and enjoy a vacation at the company's expense
while the new handle is being made and put in. Luckily the boys have
one set of duplicate chains and timbers, and the company blacksmith is
wonderfully capable. But it will cost the company a lump loss of a
thousand dollars. Imagine, Marian, how those poor boys will groan when
they make out their week's reports for President Sturdevant. 'One
fire. One delay and two cave-ins, due to non-appearance of district
inspector. One strike. One smashed dipper-handle.' Think what a dismal
task the writing of that report will be!"

"Don't let me hear any more croaking, Sally Lou," came a wrathful
voice from the door. "For we're facing the worst smash yet. What do
you suppose this telegram says?"

Sally Lou shook a small fist at the yellow slip in his hand.

"Don't you dare tell me that it's some new misfortune!"

"Two of 'em. That lordly, gloomy grouch, Mr. Ellingworth Locke, acting
president of the Central Mississippi Association, is headed for this
luckless camp. He's on his way up-river this identical minute. With
him comes Crosby. Crosby, consulting engineer for the whole Valley
Association. Coming on a tour of inspection, _if_ you please. Just
think of the lovely job that they have come a thousand miles to
inspect!"

There was a stricken pause.

"President Locke! That--that potentate! Ned, you don't mean it! And
Mr. Crosby, whose word is law on every question of engineering!"

"And they're coming to-day! To 'inspect' this soaking, miry,
half-baked camp!"

"And just this minute I've had some more news, Burford." Roderick
bolted up the steps and entered the room. He tried to wrench his face
into a reassuring grin; but beneath the grin he was the picture of
angry dismay. "A big white launch is just coming up the canal, with
two passengers aboard. If I'm not mistaken, they are our honored
guests. Come along, Burford, and help me welcome them."

Burford, pop-eyed with amazement, meekly obeyed. Wordless, the two
girls watched the boys pelt away toward the landing.

"Well!"

Sally Lou and Marian looked at each other eloquently.

"Well! I could find it in my heart to wish that the boys were not
obliged to unfold quite so many tales of misery! Then the broken
machinery and the quarrelling laborers! But we mustn't let ourselves
fidget over it, Marian. It will come out all right, somehow."

Roderick and Burford pounded down to the shore. The white launch was
just putting into the landing. At the bow sat Mr. Ellingworth Locke,
wrapped in a huge storm coat. Evidently he was scolding the launch
pilot with some energy. Behind him stood Crosby, his gray, keen eyes
searching every inch of the ditch construction.

"His Jove-like Majesty looks even grumpier than usual," whispered
Burford the irreverent. "Come along, Hallowell. It is our professional
duty to welcome them with heart and soul."

"Mr. Burford?" Mr. Locke stepped upon the landing and put out a plump
gloved hand. "Ah, Mr. Hallowell? How goes it? We hope that you have
no ill news of the contract to give us." He led the way up the shore,
with ponderous dignity. "The three contracts in central Illinois,
which we have just inspected, have shown deplorable results from the
high water. I trust that you have no such misfortunes to report."

"We haven't anything but misfortunes to report," muttered Burford.
Aloud he said, "We have not been able to bring the work to the desired
point, sir. We have had several accidents and delays. If you can face
the discomforts of a boat trip in this rain, perhaps you will make a
tour of inspection and see how matters stand."

The honorable Mr. Locke hesitated. The canal looked very muddy and
uninviting. The sky was black with rain clouds.

"Perhaps it would be as well for us to confer with you. Then we could
go back to Saint Louis immediately."

"Beg pardon, Mr. Locke." Mr. Crosby spoke for the first time. His gray
face had no particular expression; but his voice held an oddly
pleasant note. "You go back right away, if you like. But I'll look
over this excavation with my own eyes. I want to discuss it with the
executive committee day after to-morrow."

"Oh, of course, if you insist!" Mr. Locke turned impatiently to
Burford. "Where is your boat, sir? Let us start at once."

That tour of inspection! Silent, humiliated, miserable, Roderick and
Burford plodded after the two Olympians, up and down the narrow
laterals, back and forth through the maze of seeping, half-cut
channels. Every question that they must answer told of some unlucky
happening. Every report was apologetic, unsatisfactory.

"This ruinous high water isn't our fault. Neither is Carlisle's
illness, nor the broken dipper-handle, nor the district inspector's
delay. Just the same I feel like a penny-in-the-slot machine for
grinding out explanations," whispered Roderick to Burford. Burford
merely scowled in reply.

Thus far, Mr. Crosby had had nothing to say. He strode on ahead, his
keen eyes judging, his shrewd mouth shut hard. President Locke made up
for his silence. He hectored the boys with fretful questions and
complaints. He criticised the laborers, the equipment, the weather.

"Your company's losses, indeed! The Breckenridge Company will be
fortunate, Mr. Burford, if, under the present management, this
contract does not bring forfeitures as well as loss. As for the
land-owners in this district, their dissatisfaction can be only too
readily imagined."

Just then the president caught Mr. Crosby's eye.

"Do you not agree with me, Mr. Crosby? Is not this a most
disheartening outlook? On my word, sir, the company has no chance to
complete those laterals before the great June freshets. That calamity
will mean ruin for the farmers and for the contract alike. To finish
this work would be difficult with a full quota of experienced men. And
with only cub engineers--" He threw out both fat hands, with a gesture
of despairing scorn.

Burford bit his lip and turned fiery red with mortification.
Roderick's stolid face did not flinch. But his heart sank leaden to
his miry boots. What an infuriating humiliation for the company! His
company, the pride of his boy heart! And Breckenridge, Breck his hero,
would have to hear it all!

"You think it's as bad as all that?" Mr. Crosby spoke with slow,
bland unconcern. Then he looked at the two boys. For one moment his
lean gray face lighted with a curious, kindly sparkle. "H'm! Strikes
me that their company is mighty lucky to have cub engineers employed
on this job."

"'Lucky?' Why, sir? Why?"

"Well, because they're the only kind that any company can depend upon
to have nerve enough and grit enough to swing such a forlorn hope of a
contract through."

He tramped on, up the landing. Burford threw back his shoulders. The
blood flamed to his ears. Roderick's heart suddenly leaped up to its
normal altitude and began to pound. His lagging feet swung into a
jaunty stride. He met Burford's red, delighted face with a shamefaced
grin. That vote of confidence had fairly set them afire.

"At what time had we best start back to Saint Louis?" asked Mr. Locke.

"By leaving camp at nine-thirty you will meet the north-bound limited
at Grafton, sir."

"Then, Crosby, we will stay here until that hour. But where shall we
dine?"

"It will be a pleasure to Mrs. Burford and myself if you and Mr.
Crosby will dine with us at our cabin," interposed Burford eagerly.

The stout potentate graciously accepted, and Burford fled to break the
news to Sally Lou.

"Mercy, Sally Lou, how can you manage it!" cried Marian, as Burford
popped his head through the window, shouted his news, then hastily
departed. "How on earth can you entertain such high mightinesses?"

"Well, I should hope that I could give them one meal at least."

"But you haven't enough dishes. That is, you haven't cups that
match----"

"Cups that match, indeed! H'm. They can be thankful to get any cups at
all in this wilderness. I've promised Mammy Easter my pink beads if
she'll make us some beaten biscuit, and I have sent Mulcahy to Mrs.
Gates's for three chickens, and I'll open two jars of my white peach
preserve. I don't care if they're the Grand Mogul and the Czar of all
the Russias, they can surely condescend to eat Mammy's fried
chicken."

"Yes, they'll be sure to like chicken," conceded Marian.

"They'd better like it. It's all they're going to get. Chicken and
potatoes and biscuit, preserves and coffee, that's all. Yes, and
lashin's and lavin's of cream gravy. It'll be fit for a king. Even his
Highness, the acting president, won't dare complain!"

If any complaints as to Sally Lou's hospitality were spoken, they were
not audible to the human ear. As Roderick said afterward, it was
fortunate that nobody kept the beaten biscuit score; while one grieves
to relate that in spite of Sally Lou's generous preparation, poor
Mammy Easter was obliged to piece out an exceedingly skimpy meal from
the fragments of the supper, instead of the feast that she had
anticipated. Even the pink beads proved a barely adequate consolation.

The hour that followed, spent before the Burfords' tiny hearth-fire,
was the best of all. For a while, the men worked over the mass of
blueprints that recorded the excavation made during the month past.
Here President Locke, the magnificent figure-head, gave way, promptly
and meekly, before Crosby's wider experience. Roderick and Burford
listened, all ears, to the elder man's shrewd illuminating comment,
his quiet suggestion, his amused friendly sympathy. Both groaned
inwardly when the launch whistled from below, a warning that their
guests must be off to meet the north-bound train.

President Locke bowed over Sally Lou's hand with majestic courtesy.

"A most delightful hour you have given us, Mrs. Burford. We shall
remember it always and with deep pleasure. But one thing is lacking in
your hospitality. You have not given us the special pleasure of
meeting your young sons."

Then Sally Lou, the poised stately young hostess, colored pink to her
curly fair hair.

"It is high time that my sons were sound asleep," said she. "But if
you really wish to see them, and can overlook their informal attire,
Mammy Easter shall bring them in."

In came two small podgy polar bears, wide-eyed at the marvel of
company, and up-at-Nine-o'clock, dimpling, crimson-cheeked. Roderick
and Burford stood gaping, to behold their august superiors now
stooping from their heights to beguile small Edward and shy Thomas
Tucker with clumsy blandishments.

"_Where_ did you learn to handle a baby like that?" gasped Sally Lou,
so astonished at Mr. Crosby's dexterous ease that she forgot all
convention.

"Six of my own," returned the eminent engineer, capably shifting
small, slippery Thomas Tucker on his gaunt shoulder. "All grown up, I
regret to say. My baby girl is a junior at Smith this year. Try him.
Isn't he a stunner for a year old?" He plumped the baby into the arms
of the lordly president, who was already jouncing Edward Junior on his
knee and showing him his watch.

"A whale," approved President Locke, with impressive emphasis. He
stood up, gaining his footing with some difficulty; for both the
babies were now clambering over him delightedly, while Finnegan yapped
and nipped his ankles with cordial zest. "I wish we might spend
another hour with these most interesting members of your household,
Mr. Burford." His stern, arrogant face was beaming; he was no longer
the exacting official, but the gracious, kindly gentleman. "Since we
must go, we will leave behind us our good wishes, as well as our
thanks for your most charming hospitality. And we will take with
us"--his eye sought Mr. Crosby's; there passed between the two men a
quick, satisfied glance--"we shall take with us our hearty certainty
that these good wishes for your husband's work, as well as for his
household, will be abundantly fulfilled."

In the flickering torchlight of the landing Roderick and Ned watched
their launch start away. Then they looked at each other.

"Well! Do you feel like tackling your job again, Burford?"

"Feel like tackling it!" Ned chuckled, softly. "When I know they're
going to give their executive committee a gilt-edged report of our
company and its work! When Crosby himself said that we were the right
men on the right job! Feel like tackling it? Give me a shovel and I'll
tackle the Panama Canal."

CHAPTER XI

A LONG PULL AND A STRONG PULL

"What is the latest bulletin, Sally Lou?"

Ned Burford, hot, muddy, breathless, ran up the martin-box steps and
put his head inside the door.

Sally Lou sat at Ned's desk, her brown eyes intent, her cheeks a
little pale. A broad map lay spread before her. One hand steadied
small Thomas Tucker, who clung against her knee. The other hand
grasped the telephone receiver.

"What's the news, I say? Doesn't central answer? Wires down again, do
you s'pose?"

"Yes, central answered, and we reached the operator at Bates Creek an
hour ago. She says that the smaller streams below Carter's Ford have
not risen since daybreak, but that Bates Creek itself has risen three
inches in the last four hours."

"Whew! Three inches since morning! That sounds serious. What about
Jackson River?"

"Below Millville the Jackson has flooded its banks. Above Millville
the men are patrolling the levees and stacking in sand bags and brush
to reinforce the earthwork."

"That means, another crest of water will reach us to-morrow, early.
Well, we are ready to face it, I'm thankful to say." Ned settled back
in his big chair with a sigh of relief. "That is, unless it should
prove to be more than a three-foot rise. And there is practically no
danger that it will go beyond that stage. Our upper laterals are
excavated to final depth. Our levee is growing like magic, and
Hallowell is putting in splendid time on the lower laterals with the
big dredge. So we needn't worry. As soon as he finishes all the
lateral excavation, he will bring the dredges down to the main ditch
and start in to deepen the channel to its final depth. When that
second excavation is done, the channel will allow for a six-foot rise.
That channel depth, of course, will put us far out of any danger of
overflow. Then when the June floods come, the creeks can rise four
inches or forty inches if they like. We won't care."

Sally Lou looked sharply at his grimy, cheerful face. Her own did not
reflect his contentment. She put down the receiver and bent frowning
over the map. Her pencil wandered over the maze of fine red lines that
marked the excavation.

"Hallowell and I had nothing but bad luck on this contract until two
weeks ago, when Locke and Crosby came on their inspection tour," Ned
went on serenely. "But since their visit, we've had two solid weeks of
the best fortune any engineer could ask. It has been almost too good;
it's positively uncanny. Not a break in the machinery; only one
cave-in, and that a trifle; not a solitary quarrel among the
laborers--the shifts have moved like clock-work. It was Crosby's
doing, I suppose. His coming heartened us all up; all of us; even to
the dredges themselves. Though, on my word, Sally Lou, I'm almost
afraid of such unchanging good luck. It's no' canny."

Sally Lou turned to him suddenly. Her fingers tapped the desk with
nervous little clicks.

"Listen, Ned. Have you finished the upper laterals? Are they safe, no
matter how high the water may rise?"

"N-no. They are excavated, but the bank is nothing but heaped mud, you
know. Still, it would stand anything short of a flood."

"What about the lower laterals?"

"Same state of affairs there. Only that the two lowest ditches aren't
cut at all. Why?"

Sally Lou swung round in the desk chair and faced her husband. Her
eyes were very dark and anxious now.

"One more question, Ned. Could the work stand a three-foot rise?"

Ned stared.

"A three-foot rise? No, it could not. A three-foot rise would stop our
levee-building. A rise of four feet or more would put us out of the
game. We'd be washed out, smashed, ruined. But why do you ask such
questions? What makes you imagine----"

"I'm not imagining, Ned. I had a telephone call not five minutes ago
from the district inspector. Yes, I know you think he's always
shouting 'Wolf!' but this time he may be right. He says that he has
just come down from Chicago on the Central, and that the whole
mid-section of the State is fairly submerged by these endless rains.
Worse, the storm warnings are up for further rains. And he believes
that there will be a rise of three feet within two days. That is,
unless the rains stop."

Ned started to his feet.

"A rise of three feet! What is the man talking about? Don't you
believe one word, Sally Lou. That inspector is a regular hoot-owl.
He'd rather gloom and forebode than breathe. But maybe I'd better go
and tell Hallowell. Perhaps we can ginger up our excavation. Yet the
men and the machines are working up to their limit."

He shuffled into his wet oilskins once more.

"Where is Roderick, Ned?"

"He just came in off his watch. He's sound asleep in the hammock over
at his shack. Marian is over there too. She made Mr. Gates bring her
down at five this morning, and she has worked like a Turk every
minute. She spent the morning with Hallowell, up the laterals. She has
learned to run his launch better that he can, so he lets her manage
the boat for him. Then she takes all his notes, and does all his
telephoning, and passes along his orders to the commissary men, and
seconds him at every turn. Did you ever in all your life see anybody
change as she has done? When I remember the listless, useless, fretful
specimen that she was, those first weeks, then look at her now, I can
hardly believe my eyes."

Sally Lou listened a little impatiently.

"Yes, I know. Ned, please go and tell Roderick about the inspector's
message. He surely ought to know."

"All right, I'm going." Ned put down his frolicking small sons
reluctantly. Sally Lou laughed at his unwilling face. Yet she looked
after him anxiously as he sauntered away. Then her eyes turned to the
brimming canal. Tree branches and bits of lumber, washed down from the
upper land by the heavy storm, rolled and tumbled past. The sky was
thick and gray, the wind blew straight from the east.

"I hate to fidget and forebode. But I--I almost wish that I could make
Ned forebode a little. I'm afraid he ought to worry. And Roderick
ought to be a little anxious, too."

Suddenly the telephone bell rang. Sally Lou sprang to answer it.

"Yes, this is the contract camp. A Chicago call? Is it--Is it
head-quarters? Oh, is this _Mr. Breckenridge_ who is speaking? Shall I
call Mr. Burford?"

Strong and clear across two hundred miles of storm the voice reached
her, a hurrying command.

"Do not call your husband. No time. Operator says the wind raging here
may break connections at any minute. Tell him that we have positive
word that a tremendous rise is on the way. A cloudburst north of
Huntsville started this new crest two hours ago. Moreover, a storm
belt extends across the State, covering a district thirty miles wide
directly north of you. Tell our engineers to spare neither money nor
effort in making ready. Tell them, whatever else they must neglect, to
save----"

Click!

The receiver dropped from Sally Lou's shaking hand. Not another sound
came over the wire. She signalled frantically.

"Oh, if he had only told me! 'To save'--to save _what_? The machinery,
the levee, the laterals--Oh, central, please, please!"

Still no sound. At last central's voice, a thin little whisper.

"Chicago connections broken ... terrible storm ... sorry can't
reach----"

The thin little whisper dropped to silence.

"Mammy, take these babies. I'm going away." Sally Lou rolled Thomas
Tucker off her lap and dashed away to Roderick's shack. Trembling, she
poured out her ill news.

"This means business." Roderick, heavy-eyed and stupid, struggled into
hip boots and slicker. "Breckenridge isn't frightening us for nothing.
We daren't lose a minute. Come along, Burford."

"Come along--where?" Burford stood stunned before this bewildering
menace. "What more can we do? Aren't we rushing the whole plant to the
danger notch of speed as it is?"

"There is one thing we must do. Decide what part of the work we can
abandon. Then put our whole force, men, machinery, and all, to work at
the one point where it will do the most good."

"What can we abandon? It's all equally important."

"That is for you and me to decide. Come along."

"If Breck had only finished his sentence! 'To save--' Surely he meant
for us to save the dredges?"

Again the boys looked at each other.

"To save the dredges, maybe. But that doesn't sound like Breckenridge.
'To save the land-owners from loss,' that's more like what he'd say."

"If we could only reach him, for even half a minute----"

"That is precisely what we can't do." Roderick's big shoulders lifted.
His heavy face settled into lines of steel. "We'll bring all three of
the machines down stream, and put up our fight on the main ditch. If
we can cut through to the river, before the rise gets here, we will
save the crops for most of the land-owners, anyway. That will check
any danger of the water backing up into the narrow laterals and
overflowing them."

Burford frowned.

"Do you realize that by making that move we shall risk wrecking the
dredges? We will have to tow them down in this rough, high water
against this heavy wind. We may smash and sink all three. And they
cost the company a cool twenty thousand apiece, remember."

Roderick's jaw set.

"I realize just that. But it is up to us to decide. If we stop our
excavation and huddle the machines back into the laterals, we will
save our equipment from any risk. But the overflow will sweep the
whole lower district and ruin every acre of corn. On the other hand,
if we bring the dredges down here and start in full tilt to deepen the
channel, we may wreck our machines--and we may not. But, whatever
happens, we will be giving the land-owners a chance."

Burford held back, but only for a moment. Then he put out his hand to
Roderick, with a slow grin.

"I'm with you, Hallowell. I'll take your lead, straight through. It's
up to us, all right. We've got to shoulder the whole responsibility,
the whole big, hideous risk. But we'll put it through. That's all."

Together the boys hurried away. Left behind, the girls set to work
upon their share of the plan with eager spirit.

"You go with the boys and run the launch for them, Marian. I'll turn
the babies over to Mammy and stay right here to watch the telephone
and keep the time-books, although time-books could wait, in such a
pinch as this. We'll all pull together. And we will pull out safely,
never fear."

Sally Lou was right. They all pulled together. Machines, laborers,
foremen and all swung splendidly into line. As Ned said, the contract
had never shown such team-work. Everybody worked overtime. Everybody
faced the rain, the mud, the merciless hurry with high good-humor. The
thrill of danger, the daring risk, the loyal zeal and spirit for the
company, all spurred them on.

Side by side with Roderick, Marian worked through the day. She had
long since forgotten her frail health. She had forgotten her hatred of
the dun western country, her dislike of Roderick's work, her
weariness, her impatience. With heart and soul she stood by her
brother. Only the one wish ruled every act: her eager desire to help
Roderick, to stand by him through to the end of this tremendous
strain.

"We'll make it!" Roderick grinned at her, tired but content, as he
came into the shack for his late supper. "Sally Lou finally reached
Springfield on the telephone. The rain has stopped; so while the rise
will come, sure as fate, yet it may not be as high as Breckenridge
feared. At any rate, we have made splendid time with the big dredge
to-day. There is barely an eighth of a mile more cutting to be done.
Then we'll reach the river, and we'll be safe, no matter what freshets
may happen along. Burford says I'm to take six hours' sleep; then I'll
go on watch again. Twelve more hours of working time will see our
land-owners secure."

"Ned Burford is running up the shore this minute." Marian peered
through the tent flap. "Mulcahy is coming with him. They're in a
hurry. I wonder what has happened."

"They'd better not bring me any bad news till I have eaten my supper,"
said Roderick grimly.

Burford and Mulcahy galloped up the knoll. Headlong they plunged into
the tent. Burford was gray-white. Mulcahy stared at Roderick without
a word.

"What has happened? Burford, what ails you?"

Burford sat down and mopped his sweating forehead.

"The worst break-down yet, Hallowell. The dipper-bail on the big
dredge has snapped clear through."

The three stared at each other in helpless despair. Marian broke the
silence.

"The dipper-bail broken _again_? Why, it's not two weeks since you put
on the new handle!"

"True for you, miss. Not two weeks since it broke," said Mulcahy
wrathfully. "And its smash means a tie-up all along the line. Not one
stroke of ditch-work can be done till it's replaced. Who ever saw a
dipper break her bail twice on the same job? 'Tis lightnin' strikin'
twice in the same place. But 'tis no use cryin' over spilt milk. One
of you gentlemen will have to go to Saint Louis and have a new bail
welded at the steam forge. It will cost twenty-four hours' time, but
it is the only way. I'll keep the boys hot at work on the levee
construction meanwhile."

"Go to Saint Louis to-night! And neither of you two have had a night's
sleep this week!" Marian looked at Burford. His sodden clothes hung on
him. His round face was pinched and sunken with fatigue. She looked at
her brother. He had slumped back in his chair, limp and haggard. He
was so utterly tired that even the shock of ill news could not rouse
him to meet its challenge.

Then she looked out at the weltering muddy canal, the dark stormy sky.

"Never mind, Rod. We'll manage. You and Ned make out the exact figures
and dimensions for the new bail. Then Mulcahy can take me to Grafton
in the launch. There I'll catch the Saint Louis train. I'll go
straight to the steam forge and urge them to make your bail at once.
Then I'll bring it back on the train to-morrow night."

Promptly both boys burst into loud, astonished exclamations.

"Go to Saint Louis alone! I guess I see myself letting you do such a
preposterous thing. I'll start, at once."

"Stop that, Hallowell. You can't possibly go. You're so sleepy that
you haven't half sense. I'll go myself."

"Oh, you will. Then what about your watch to-night? Shall I take it
and my own, too?"

Burford stopped, quenched. He reddened with perplexity.

"We can't either of us be spared, that's the fact of it. But Miss
Marian must not think of going."

"Certainly not. I would never allow it."

"Yes, Rod, you will allow it." Marian spoke quietly, but with
determination. "The trip to Saint Louis is perfectly safe. Once in the
city, I'll take a carriage to the College Club and stay there every
minute, except the time that I must spend in giving orders for the
bail. No, you two need not look so forbidding. I'm going. And I'm
going this identical minute."

Later Marian laughed to remember how swiftly she had overruled every
protest. The boys were too tired and dazed to stand against her. It
was hardly an hour before she found herself flying down the river, in
charge of the faithful Mulcahy, on her way to catch the south-bound
train.

"The steam-forge people will do everything in their power to serve
you," Roderick had said, as he scrawled the last memoranda for her
use. "They know our firm, and they will rush the bail through and have
it loaded on the eight-o'clock train. I'll see to it that Mulcahy and
two men are at the Grafton dock to meet your train. But if anything
should go wrong, Sis, just you hunt up Commodore McCloskey and ask him
to help you; for the commodore is our guardian angel, I am convinced
of that."

The trip to the city was uneventful. She awoke early, after a good
rest, and hurried down to the forge works, a huge smoky foundry near
the river. The shop foreman met her with the utmost courtesy and
promised that the bail should be made and delivered aboard the
afternoon train. Feeling very capable and assured, Marian went back to
the club and had spent two pleasant hours in its reading-room when she
was called to the telephone.

"Miss Hallowell?" It was the voice of the forge works foreman.
"I--er--most unluckily we have mislaid the slip of paper which gave
the dimensions of the bail. We cannot go on until we have those
dimensions. Do you remember the figures?"

Poor Marian racked her brain. Not one measurement could she call to
mind.

"I'll ask my brother over the long-distance," she told the foreman.
But even as she spoke, she knew that there was no hope of reaching
Roderick. All the long-distance wires were down.

"And not one human being in all Saint Louis who can tell me the size
of that bail!" she groaned. "Oh, why didn't I measure it with my own
tape-measure--and then learn the figures by heart! Yet--I do wonder!
Would Commodore McCloskey know? He has been at the camp so often, and
he knows everything about our machinery. Let's see."

Presently Commodore McCloskey's friendly voice rang over the wire.

"Well, sure 'tis good luck that ye caught me at the dock, Miss Marian.
The _Lucy_ is just startin' up-river. Two minutes more and I'd have
gone aboard. So ye've lost the bail dimensions? Well, well, don't talk
so panicky-like. I'll be with ye in two minutes, an' we'll go to the
forge together. 'Tis no grand memory I have, but I can give them a
workin' idea."

"Oh, if you only will, commodore! But the _Lucy_! How can you be
spared?"

"Hoot, toot. The _Lucy_ can wait while I go shoppin' with you. Yes,
she has a time schedule, I know well. But, in high wather, whoever
expects a Mississippi packet to be on time? Or in low wather, either,
for that matter. I'll come to ye at once."

The commodore was as good as his word. Soon he and Marian reached the
forge works. There his shrewd observation and his wise old memory
suggested dimensions which proved later to be correct in every detail.
Moreover, he insisted upon staying with Marian till the bail should be
welded. Then, under his sharp eyes, it was loaded safely on the
Grafton train. As he escorted Marian elegantly into the passenger
coach, she ventured, between her exclamations of gratitude, to reprove
him very gently.

"You have been too good to me, commodore. But when I think of the poor
deserted _Lucy_! And the captain--what will he say?"

"He'll say a-plenty." The little commodore smiled serenely. "'Tis an
unchivalrous set the steam-boat owners are, nowadays. If he were half
as obligin' as the old captains used to be in the good days before the
war, he'd be happy to wait over twenty-four hours, if need be, to
serve a lady. But nowadays 'tis only time, time that counts. Sure,
he's grieved to the heart if we make a triflin' loss, like six hours,
say, in our schedule."

"And I'm not thanking you for myself alone," Marian went on, flushing.
"It is for Rod, too. You don't know how much it means to me to be able
to help him, even in this one small way."

Then the little commodore bent close to her. His shrewd little eyes
gleamed.

"Don't I know, sure? An' by that token I'm proud of this day, and
twice proud of the chance that's led me to share it. For, sure, I've
always said it--the time would certain come when you--_when you'd wake
up_. Mind my word, Miss Marian. Don't ye forget! Don't ye let go--and
go to sleep again."

The train jarred into motion. His knotted little hand gripped hers.
Then he was off and away.

"The dear little, queer little commodore!" Marian looked after him,
her eyes a bit shadowy. "Though what could he mean! 'Now you've waked
up.' I do wonder!"

Yet her wonder was half pretended. A hot flush burned in her cheek as
she sat thinking of his words.

"Well, I'm glad, too, that I've 'waked up,' although I wish that
something had happened to stir me earlier."

The train crept on through the flooded country. It was past eight
o'clock when they reached Grafton. Marian hurried from the coach and
watched anxiously while two baggagemen hoisted the heavy bail from the
car.

"Well, my share is done," she said to herself. "That precious bail is
here, safe and sound. But where is Mulcahy? And the launch? Rod said
that he would not fail to be here by train time."

The train pulled out. From the dim-lit station the ticket agent called
to her.

"You're expecting your launch, Miss Hallowell? There has been no boat
down to-day."

"But my brother promised to send the launch," stammered Marian.
"Surely they knew I was coming to-night!"

Then, in a flash of recollection, she heard Roderick's voice:

"And Mulcahy will meet you on the eight-o'clock train."

"Rod meant the train that leaves Saint Louis at eight in the morning!
Not this afternoon train. How could I make such a blunder! He does not
look for me to reach Grafton till to-morrow."

She looked at the huge, heavy bail.

"If that bail could reach camp to-night, they could ship it up and
start to cutting immediately. It would mean seven or eight hours more
of working time. But how to take it there!"

"There's a man yonder who owns a gasolene-launch," ventured the agent.
"It's a crazy, battered tub, but maybe----"

Marian looked out at the night: the black, sullen river; the ranks of
willows swaying in the heavy wind; the thunder that told of
approaching storm.

"Call that man over, please. Yes, I shall risk the trip up-river. That
bail shall reach camp to-night."

CHAPTER XII

PARTNERS AND VICTORIES

"What time is it, miss?"

Marian put down the gallon tin with which she had bailed steadily, and
looked at her watch.

"Almost midnight."

"Only midnight!"

The steersman gave a weary yawn and turned back to his wheel. Inwardly
Marian echoed his discouraged word. It seemed to her that she had
crouched for years in the stern of the crazy little motor-boat. Rain
and spray had drenched her to the skin. She ached in every half-frozen
bone. Yet she sat, wide awake and alert, watching her pilot keenly.

He was a poor helmsman, she thought. However, an expert would have
found trouble in taking an overloaded launch up-stream against that
swollen current and in pitch darkness. Worse, the weight of the heavy
dredge-bail weighed the launch down almost to water level. Every tiny
wave splashed over the gunwale. Marian bailed on mechanically.

She had had hard work to bribe the owner to risk the trip up-stream.
The men at Grafton had warned her, moreover, that she was running a
narrow chance of swamping the launch, and thus of losing her precious
piece of machinery, to say nothing of the danger to her own life. But
all Marian's old timidity had fled, forgotten. Nothing else mattered
if just she might serve her brother in his supreme need.

Through these four dreary hours the old commodore's quaint, frank
words had echoed in her mind. And the commodore had been right, she
owned, with a quiver of shame. Always, since their mud-pie days, Rod
had done his part by her in full measure, generously, lovingly. Never,
until these last days, had she even realized what doing her own part
by Roderick might mean.

"Although I have been slower than my blessed old Slow-Coach himself in
realizing what my life ought to count for. Well, as the commodore
said, I have waked up at last. And mind this, Marian Hallowell! _You
stay awake!_ Never, never let me catch you dozing off again!"

"There's the camp light yonder," the steersman spoke at last, with a
sigh of satisfaction.

Marian peered ahead through the cold, blinding mist. Away up-stream
shone a feeble glimmer, then a second light; a third.

"Good! And--there are the dredge search-lights! Only a minute more and
we'll be there."

Only a minute it seemed till the launch wheezed up to the landing and
swung with a thud against the posts. Marian stumbled ashore.

"Mulcahy!" she called to the dark figure standing on the dredge deck.
"Send two men to unload the bail for us."

"Marian Hallowell! Where under the shining sun did you come from?"
Roderick leaped from the deck to the shore and confronted his sister.
Then, in his horrified surprise at her daring risk, he pounced upon
her and administered a scolding of such vigor that it fairly made her
gasp.

"Of all the outrageous, reckless----"

"There, there, Rod! Look!"

Still breathing threatenings and slaughter, Roderick turned. Then he
saw the huge new bail which the men were hoisting ashore.

"So that's what it all means! That's why you came up on the early
train! You brought that bail yourself, all the way. You risked your
life in that groggy little boat! All on purpose to help us out! Marian
Hallowell, I'd like to shake you hard. And for two cents I'd kiss you
right here and now. You--you _peach_!"

Burford, awakened by the launch whistle, was hurrying down the bank.
Reaching the landing his eye fell on the precious new bail.

Utterly silent, he stared at it for a long rapt minute. Then, rubbing
his sleepy eyes, he turned to Marian and Rod with a grin that fairly
lighted up the dock.

"Now," he said, with slow exultation, "now--we've got our chance to
win."

And win they did.

True, the water had already risen close to the dreaded three-foot
danger-mark. True, neither of the boys had had half a dozen hours of
sleep in three days. As for the laborers, they were fagged and
overworked to the limit of their endurance. But not one of these
things counted. Not a grumbling word was spoken. This was their
company's one chance. Not a man held back from seizing that chance and
making good. Not a man but felt himself one with the company, a living
vital element of that splendid struggling whole.

Marian and Sally Lou stood on the shore watching the dredge as the
great dipper crunched its way through the last submerged barrier. The
canal rolled bank full. Little waves swashed over the platform on
which they stood. Pools of seep-water already gathered behind the mud
embankment, which was crumbling into miry avalanches with every sweep
of rising water against it. Not by any chance could the levee stand
another hour. But even as the dredge cut that narrow passage, the
heavy overflow boiled outward into the river beyond. Minute by minute
the rough surface of the canal was sinking before their watching eyes.
Now it had fallen from six inches above to high-water mark; now to
three inches below; now to mid-stage--and safety.

As the freed stream rolled out into the river, a great cheer rose from
the laborers crowded alongshore. Roderick and Burford stayed aboard
the dredge until it was warped alongside the dock and safely moored.
Then they crossed to land and joined the girls. Neither of the boys
spoke one word. They did not seem to hear the shouts and cheers behind
them. There was no glow of success on their sober faces. Perhaps their
relief was so great that they were a little stunned before its wonder.
Victory was theirs; but victory won in the face of so great a danger
that they could not yield and feel assured of their escape.

"We cannot reach head-quarters on the telephone, of course. But, by
hook or crook, one of you boys must get a despatch through to Mr.
Breckenridge. Think of being able to tell him that you have deepened
the canal straight through to the river, so that the whole lower half
of the district is safe from overflow! And that you have moved all
these costly, treacherous machines down-stream without one serious
accident, without so much as a broken bolt! It is too good to be
true."

"I'll take a launch and sprint down to Grafton and wire our report
from there," said Burford. His tense face relaxed; he broke into a
delighted chuckle. "Think of it: this once I can actually enjoy
sending in my report to head-quarters! I'd like to write it out
instead of wiring it. I'd put red-ink curlycues and scroll-work
dewdabs all over the page. Think, Hallowell, you solemn wooden Indian!
The crest of this flood is only two hours away. By noon the highest
level will reach our canal. But it can't flood our district for us,
for--for we got there first!"

His rosy face one glow of contentment, he started toward the pier. But
as he was about to step aboard the duty-launch, Roderick hailed him
sharply.

"Wait, Burford. Somebody is coming up the big ditch. A large gray
launch, with a little dark-blue flag."

"What!"

Burford sprang back. He shaded his eyes and looked down the canal.
Then, to Rod's amazement, he sat down on a pile of two-by-fours and
rocked to and fro.

"Whatever ails you, Burford?"

"Whatever ails me, indeed!" Burford choked it out. His ears were
scarlet. His eyes were fairly popping from his head with delight. "Oh,
I reckon I won't bother to send that report to head-quarters, after
all. I'll just let the whole thing slide."

Rod gaped at him.

"Have you lost your last wit, Ned?"

"Not quite. I'm going to give my report to my superior officer by word
of mouth. That big gray power-boat is one of our own company's
launches. That small blue flag is the company ensign. And that big
gray man standing 'midships is--Breckenridge! Breck the Great, his
very self."

"Breckenridge!"

"Breckenridge. All there, too--every splendid inch of him. Talk about
luck! Our levee is saved. Our dredges are all anchored, right yonder,
trim as a gimlet. Our schedule is put through up to the minute. And
here, precisely on the psychological moment, comes our chief on his
tour of inspection. Can you beat that?"

Roderick merely stared down the canal.

Close behind the launch pilot, scanning the bank intently as they
steamed by, towered a broad-shouldered, heavily built man,
gray-headed, yet powerful and alert in every movement. He was well
splashed with mud; his broad, heavily featured face was colorless with
fatigue. Yet as he stood there, with his big tense body, his tired,
eager face, he seemed like some magnificent natural force imprisoned
in human flesh.

"Isn't he sumptuous, though?" said Burford, under his breath. "Look at
those shoulders! What a half-back he would make!"

"Half-back? Why, he could make the All-American," Rod whispered back.
His eyes were glued to that tall approaching figure. His heart was
pounding in his breast. So this was Breckenridge the Great, his hero!
And, marvel of marvels, he looked the hero of all Rod's farthest
dreams.

Breckenridge stepped from the launch and shook hands heartily with the
radiant and stammering Burford. He looked at Roderick with steady dark
eyes. He hardly spoke in reply to Burford's introduction. But the grip
of his big, muscular hand was warmly cordial.

He asked a few brief questions. Then he listened, his heavy head bent,
his heavy-lidded eyes half closed, to Burford's eager account of
their struggles and their triumphs. Almost without speaking he
clambered into the launch again and motioned the boys to follow.

For four consecutive hours the three went up and down the rough miry
channels. Roderick steered the launch. Burford answered Breckenridge's
occasional questions. Breckenridge stood, field-glass in hand,
sweeping first one bank, then another with tireless eyes. He made
almost no comment on Burford's explanations; but the slow occasional
nod of his massive head was eloquent.

Finally they retraced the last lateral and brought the launch up to
the main landing.

"No, I'll not stop to dine with you, much as I should enjoy it. I must
be getting on to the next contract. They're seeing heavy weather too."
Breckenridge stood up, stretching his big, cramped body. As he stood
there, brushing the clay from his coat, he seemed to loom.

"I have nothing much to say to you fellows," he went on in his quiet,
casual voice, "only to remark that you must have worked like Trojans.
You have made a far larger yardage record than we had dared to
expect. You've put brains into your work, too. Can't say I'm surprised
at your success, by the way. I was pretty certain from what Crosby
said that you two would swing this contract, all right. Crosby and I
had a talk in Chicago a week or so ago. We were in Tech together.
Naturally he's quite a pal of mine, though nowadays we're opponents in
a business way. But his opinion weighs heavily with me. And now that I
have gone over the ground for myself, I am inclined to think that
Crosby rather--well, that he underestimated your services to the
company." Again his big head bent with that queer slow nod. For a
moment Breck himself, the real man, alert, just, keenly understanding,
flashed a glance from behind that heavy mask of splendid, impassive
flesh. "Later you will probably receive a more detailed explanation of
my opinion on your work. Good luck to you both, and good-by."

He stepped into the launch. The powerful boat dashed away down the
rough yellow canal.

The boys stood and looked after him. Burford was wildly exultant. But
Roderick was silent. A curious, deep satisfaction lighted his stolid,
boyish face. Every word that Breckenridge had spoken was tingling in
his blood. At last he had met his hero face to face, man to man. And
his hero had proven all that heart could ask.

"I wish I knew what he meant by saying that you'd hear further as to
his opinion on your work," pondered Marian.

Just two days later her wish was gratified.

It was a rainy, dreary day. Rod had spent the morning up the laterals
and had come home dripping. Marian was trying to dry his soaked
clothes before the smoky little oil-stove, but without much success.
Just before noon she heard a welcome whistle. She ran down the bank to
meet the rural delivery-man in his little spider-launch. The roads
were long since impassable; the mail and all the camp supplies must
come by water.

"Stacks of letters, Rod. A fat official one for the Burfords and a
still fatter, more official one for you. Do read it and tell me your
news."

"All right, Sis." Rod pushed aside his blueprints and set to opening
his mail.

Marian looked over her own letters. They were all of a sort: pleasant,
affectionate notes from her friends at home. All, with one accord,
besought her to hurry back to college for commencement. All earnestly
pitied her for the tedious weeks that she was spending "in that rough,
dreadful western country."

Marian's eyes twinkled as she read. At the bottom of the pile lay a
note from her good friend Isabel, begging her for the twentieth time
to spend August with her in her beautiful home at Beverly Farms.

Marian read that letter twice. Her dark brows narrowed.

Before her eyes gleamed Isabel's home, the great beautiful house, set
on a terraced emerald-green hill. Behind it, dark, cool, mysterious,
lay the pine woods; before it flashed and gleamed the sea. She could
see its wide, stately rooms, its soft-hued, luxurious furnishings. She
could feel the atmosphere of quiet contentment, of assured ease, which
was to Isabel and her mother the very air they breathed.

Then she looked around her.

Here she sat in a tiny canvas shack with a rough board floor. She
looked at its mended chairs, its rag-tag rug, and stringy curtains;
Rod's wet clothes, dripping before the little oil-stove; Rod's
battered desk, heaped with papers and blue-prints, a mass of
accumulated work. Then she looked through the tent-flap. Neither blue
ocean nor deep, still forest met her eyes. Only a narrow, muddy ditch;
a row of wind-torn willows; a dark, swollen river, hurrying on beneath
a dark, sinister sky.

An exclamation from Rod startled her. He stooped to her, his tired
face burning. With unsteady fingers he put a letter into her hand.

"Read that, Sis. No, I'll not read it aloud to you. Look at it with
your own eyes."

     THE BRECKENRIDGE ENGINEERING COMPANY.
     OFFICE OF THE SUPERINTENDENT.
     RODERICK T. HALLOWELL, C. E.,
     _c/o Contract Camp, Grafton, Illinois._

SIR: I beg to state that certain changes in the engineering force of
the company have brought about a change in the position occupied by
yourself with our firm. Beginning upon the first day of June, 1912,
you will be transferred to the post of assistant superintendent on a
large drainage contract in northern Iowa. While your position will be
second to that of Mr. McPherson, our supervising engineer, yet you
will be given entire charge of the assembling of the plant and its
construction. Your salary will be two thousand dollars. Payment
quarterly, as is our custom.

Some objections to this promotion have been raised by members of our
company on the score of your limited experience. Mr. Breckenridge,
however, considers from his observation of your methods that you will
prove fully equal to this exacting and responsible position.

     I am, very respectfully,
     THE BRECKENRIDGE ENGINEERING COMPANY.
     _Per_ R. W. AUSTIN, _Sec'y_.

Silent, wide-eyed, Marian read this amazing document. Then, with a cry
of surprise and delight, she turned to her brother. But before she
could speak, a storm of eager feet dashed up the cabin steps. In burst
Sally Lou and Ned, headlong. Ned, breathless with excitement, waved a
long official envelope. But Sally Lou, close at his heels with Thomas
Tucker crowing on her arm, poured out the wild tale.

"Oh, Marian! Oh, Roderick! Oh, it's too good and grand and glorious to
be true! We're going home, home, straight back to Virginia!"

"Yes, we're going home, we're fired," puffed Ned, as Sally Lou paused
for breath. He sank down on the bench with a sigh of ecstasy. "Don't
look so dazed, Hallowell. There is more news coming. We're ordered off
this contract. But we're not ordered out of the Breckenridge
Engineering Company. Not quite yet. Instead, I'm directed to report on
the Dismal Swamp Canal the first of the month. My position will be
practically the same as the one that I'm now holding. But we can live
at home. _At home_, I say! Right in Norfolk, right in the midst of all
Sally Lou's own home-folks, right around the corner from my own
father's house. Won't we have a glorious year of it! And won't Edward
Junior and Thomas Tucker be good and spoiled, though!"

"We're so happy we can't even say it to each other!" Sally Lou sat
down suddenly, hiding her April face in Thomas Tucker's small
pinafore. "It took Mammy Easter to express our feelings for us. 'Land,
honey,' said she, 'I cert'n'y am thankful that we's goin' back to
civilization. I want to climb on a real street-car again. I want to
ride in an elevator. I don't care if I never sets foot in one of dem
slippery little launches again, long's I live. But most of all I want
to tote dese lambs out of this swamp and on to de dry land before dey
grows up plumb web-footed.'"

In the midst of the laugh that followed, a launch whistled from down
the canal.

"There's Mulcahy now. Hurry, Ned. Go down to Grafton and send your
telegram to head-quarters. Good-by, folks! Come over to the martin-box
to-night and we'll hold one last celebration."

Sally Lou tossed her baby to her shoulder. Away she sped beside her
husband. Marian looked after the gay, hurrying figures. Then, still
bewildered, she turned to Roderick.

"Well! What will happen next! Ned and Sally Lou ordered to Virginia;
you promoted--it takes my breath away! But, Rod!" Her voice rose with
a startled note. She looked up keenly at her brother's grave face.
"You--you dear, cold-blooded old slow-coach! How can you look so
pensive and perplexed? Of all the splendid, splendid news! How could
you keep still and not tell the Burfords? How can you keep still now?
If I wasn't so tired, I'd dance a jig right here on your desk!"

"I ought to be dancing jigs myself," Roderick answered. "I don't half
deserve this magnificent chance, I know that. But I--I don't know what
to say. I'm facing a dead wall."

"Rod, what do you mean? Of course you will accept this promotion. You
must. There can't be any question!" Marian was on her knees by his
chair now, clasping his cold hands in her own. Her voice rang sharp
with angry affection. "Don't halt and fumble so, brother! Don't you
remember, three months ago, how you fretted and hesitated about taking
the position that you are holding to-day? See how you have succeeded
in it! Yet look at you! To-day you are wavering and boggling and
hanging back, just as you did then."

"I'm hanging back, yes. But not for the same reason." Roderick looked
down at her with dark, troubled eyes. "That time, I hesitated to
accept on your account. This time, I'm hesitating on my own."

"Why, Roderick Hallowell! You are not afraid of hard work, nor of
taking chances, either. Rod, tell me this minute. Are you ill? What is
it, dear?"

"Nonsense. I'm perfectly well. But I am tired out. I don't know how to
tell you what I mean. So tired that I dread the mere thought of going
on a new contract, and taking charge of a new crew, and breaking
myself in to a new piece of work. Yes, it does sound cowardly. But I
cannot see my way clear. I don't believe I dare take it up."

Marian looked at him closely.

"Sleep on this, Rod. A night's rest will give you a different light on
the matter."

"A night's rest won't make any difference in the facts, Sis. The
position is too complicated for a greenhorn like me. I believe I could
assemble the plant, all right. And I think I could handle the
laborers. But the endless outside detail is what I'm afraid of. That,
and the responsibility, too. For instance, on a contract like this one
in Iowa, the engineers must act as paymasters, each for his division.
That means, reckon the men's time daily; make out their checks; handle
their wages for them; and so on. Then there are my tabulated
reports for the head office. Then my supplies. You have seen with your
own eyes how much time and work just the buying of coal and machinery
can demand. Then there would be a thousand smaller matters to look
after. Taking it all in all, I don't want to make a try at this offer,
then fail. So the sensible thing to do is, meekly to ask the company
for a less impressive post."

"All that you would need for the extra work that you describe would be
a competent book-keeper, Rod."

"Exactly!" Rod laughed shortly. "But a 'competent' book-keeper is the
last employé that one can find for such hard, isolated work as this.
What I need is not just a man to add columns for me. I need another
brain, an extra pair of hands. I need the sort of first-aid that you
have been giving me all these weeks, Sis. That's the sort of help that
you can't buy for love nor money. That's all."

  [Illustration: MARIAN WAS ON HER KNEES BY HIS CHAIR, CLASPING HIS
   COLD HANDS IN HER OWN.]

Marian studied her brother's face. When she spoke, her voice was very
gentle and low.

"All right, Rod. Telegraph head-quarters that you will accept."

"Why?"

"Because--I am going to take that position as book-keeper. There,
now!"

Roderick sat up with some vehemence.

"Marian Hallowell, I think I see myself letting you do any more of my
work. You're going back to college next week, for commencement. Then
you may come West again, if you're determined to stay somewhere near
me. I'm mighty glad to have you within reach, I must admit that. But
you are not to live down in the woods any longer. And not another
stroke of my work shall you do."

"Why not? Am I such a poor stenographer?"

Roderick laughed at her injured tone. Pride and affection mingled in
that laugh.

"You have been invaluable, Sis. You know that perfectly well. I'd
never have pulled through this month without you. You have been of
more real use than any three ordinary stenographers rolled together.
For you have used your own brains and will and courage. You have not
stood gracefully by and waited for orders. You have marched right on,
and you have done a man's work straight through. But our long pull is
over now. And you are well and strong again, I'm thankful to say. So
back to the East you go, old lady. No more contract jobs for you."

Marian's eyes narrowed ominously. Deliberately she seated herself on
the arm of her brother's chair. Gently but firmly she seized him by
both ears.

"Now, Roderick Hallowell, listen to me. Three months ago the company
offered you this position. I wanted you to accept it. But, of all
things, I did _not_ want to go West with you. I teased and coaxed and
whined. Much good my whining did me. For you just set that
Rock-o'-Gibraltar chin of yours, and took me firmly by the collar and
marched me along.

"Now, Roderick Hallowell, look at me!"

Chuckling and shamefaced, Roderick struggled to turn his face away;
but Marian's fingers gripped mercilessly tight.

"Look at me, I say. Answer. Didn't you bully me into giving up to your
wishes, by threatening to refuse this position unless I'd come West
with you? Didn't you drag me out here willy-nilly? Very well. You have
had your way. You have brought me here, and--_you can't send me back_.
There now."

"Marian, this is not fair." Roderick freed one ear and looked sternly
at his sister. "You must finish your education. I have no right to
keep you trailing around the country with me, wasting your time and
cutting you off from your friends and denying you any home comfort.
You shall not sacrifice yourself----"

"Sacrifice myself, indeed!" Marian took a fresh grip. "All I ask is to
stay with you until next February. Then I'll go back and take up my
college work at the exact point where I laid it down. I cannot
graduate with my class, no matter how hard I try. My illness last
winter took too much time. So I may as well join the class following,
at mid-years'. In the mean time, we will have eight splendid months
together. No, I have waked up, Rod. You can't hush me off to my
selfish doze again."

"But, Marian, I can't possibly permit----"

"Yes, you can. And you will. As to home comforts--isn't it home,
wherever we two are together? As to being cut off from my
friends--aren't you the best chum I ever had? How do you suppose I
like being cut off from you, brother?"

Rod did not answer. At last he looked up. The sober gratitude in his
eyes brought an answering radiance to Marian's own.

"I give up, Sis. You shall stay with me for the summer, anyway. Then
we'll see. Now run away, you blessed old partner!" His big hands shut
on her shoulders with an eloquent grip. "I'm going to write to
head-quarters and accept that position before I have time to turn
coward again and change my mind."

Marian gave him a vigorous hug of satisfaction, and ran away. Letter
in hand, Roderick went to his desk.

Carefully he set down his formal, courteous acceptance. He read the
finished letter with critical care. Something was lacking. Yet he had
taken all possible pains. What more could his reply need?

Suddenly his face brightened. He took up his pen. Slowly and
carefully he added a final paragraph:

"In accepting this promotion, I wish to do so with the understanding
that my sister, Miss Hallowell, who has acted as my assistant during
the past month, shall continue to hold that position under the new
contract. As her work is to be counted as a part of my own, I will
request that my quarterly checks shall be made out, not to R. T.
Hallowell, but to 'Hallowell & Hallowell,' as the salary is to be
drawn by us on a basis of equal partnership."

He put down the finished sheet. His boyish face lighted with a slow,
triumphant glow. He looked out across the gray wet country, the
fog-banked river. To his eyes the dull scene was illumined. For his
steady vision could see past that gray dreariness, far up the broad
high-road of work and success that he had now set foot upon. These
three months of heavy toil had proven him. He had seized his fighting
chance, and he had made good. And now all the royal chances of his
profession were waiting at his call.

"Though I never could have put it through without Marian," he said
under his breath. "My splendid, plucky little old Sis! No wonder I
made good, with such a partner. And from now on she shall be my real
partner, bless her heart. 'Hallowell & Hallowell,' now and forever!"