The ensuing days were filled with work demanding close attention and

concentration of thought, but often in the long, cool twilight, while

Darrell rested from his day's work before entering upon the night's

study, he recalled his visit to The Pines with a degree of pleasure

hitherto unknown. He had found Kate Underwood far different from his

anticipations, though just what his anticipations had been he did not

stop to define. There was at times a womanly grace and dignity in her

bearing which he would have expected from her portrait and which he

admired, but what especially attracted him was her utter lack of

affectation or self-consciousness. She was as unconscious as a child;

her sympathy towards himself and her pleasant familiarity with him were

those of a warm-hearted, winsome child.

He liked best to recall her as she looked that evening seated by the

fireside: the childish pose, the graceful outlines of her form

silhouetted against the light; the dreamy eyes, with their long golden

lashes curling upward; the lips parted in a half smile, and the gleam of

the firelight on her hair. But it was always as a child that he recalled

her, and the thought that to himself, or to any other, she could be

aught else never occurred to him. Of young Whitcomb's love for her, of

course, he had no recollection, nor had it ever been mentioned in his

hearing since his illness.

Day by day the work at the camp increased, and there also began to be

indications of an approaching outbreak among the men. The union

boarding-house was nearing completion; it was rumored that it would be

ready for occupancy within a week or ten days; the walking delegates

from the union could be frequently seen loitering about the camp,

especially when the changes in shifts were made, waiting to get word

with the men, and it was nothing uncommon to see occasional groups of

the men engaged in argument, which suddenly broke off at the appearance

of Darrell, or of Hathaway, the superintendent.

So engrossed was Mr. Underwood with the arrangement of details for the

inauguration of the new firm of Underwood & Walcott that he was unable

to be at the camp that week. On Saturday afternoon Darrell, having

learned that Hathaway was to be gone over Sunday, and believing it best

under existing circumstances not to leave the camp, sent Mr. Underwood a

message to that effect, and also informing him of the status of affairs

there.

Early the following week Mr. Underwood made his appearance at the camp,

and if the union bosses had entertained any hope of effecting a

compromise with the owner of Camp Bird, as it was known, such hope must

have been blasted upon mere sight of that gentleman's face upon his

arrival. Darrell himself could scarcely restrain a smile of amusement as

they met. Mr. Underwood fairly bristled with defiance, and, after the

briefest kind of a greeting, started to make his usual rounds of the

camp. He stopped abruptly, fumbled in his pocket for an instant, then,

handing a dainty envelope to Darrell, hastened on without a word.

Darrell saw smiles exchanged among the men, but he preserved the utmost

gravity until, having reached his desk, he opened and read the little

note. It contained merely a few pleasant lines from Kate, expressing

disappointment at his failure to come to The Pines on the preceding

Saturday, and reminding him of his promise concerning the violin; but

the postscript, which in true feminine style comprised the real gist of

the note, made him smile audibly. It ran: "Papa has donned his paint and feathers this morning and is

evidently starting out on the war-path. I haven't an idea whose

scalps he intends taking, but hope you will at least preserve your

own intact."




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