Thompson laid off his coat and set to work silently, withholding speech

for a double reason. He could not trust his tongue, and he was not given

to inconsequential chatter. If she did not recognize him--well, there

was no good reason why she should remember, if she chose not to

remember. He could lend a hand and go his way, just as he would have

been moved to lend a hand to any one in like difficulty.

He twisted out the bolt-heads, turned the lugs, pulled the rim clear of

the wheel. He stood up to get the spare tire from its place behind. And

he caught Sophie staring at him, astonishment, surprise, inquiry all

blended in one frank stare. But still she did not speak.

He trundled the blow-out casing to the rear, took off the one ready

inflated, and speedily had it fast in its appointed position on the

wheel.

And still Sophie Carr did not speak. She leaned against the car body. He

felt her eyes upon him, questioning, appraising, critical, while he

released the jack, gathered up the tools, and tied them up in the roll

on the running board.

"There you are," he found himself facing her, his tongue giving off

commonplace statements, while his heart thumped heavily in his breast.

"Ready for the road again."

"Do you remember what Donald Lachlan used to say?" Sophie answered

irrelevantly. "Long time I see you no. Eh, Mr. Thompson?"

She held out one gloved hand with just the faintest suggestion of a

smile hovering about her mouth. Thompson's work-roughened fingers closed

over her small soft hand. He towered over her, looking down wistfully.

"I didn't think you knew me," he muttered.

Sophie laughed. The smile expanded roguishly. The old, quizzical twinkle

flickered in her eyes.

"You must think my memory poor," she replied. "You're not one of the

peas in a pod, you know. I knew you, and still I wasn't sure. It seemed

scarcely possible. It's a long, long way from the Santa Clara Valley to

Lone Moose."

"Yes," he answered calmly. "A long way--the way I came."

"In a purely geographical sense?"

Her voice was tinged with gentle raillery.

"Perhaps," he answered noncommittally.

It dawned upon him that for all his gladness to see her--and he was

glad--he nursed a tiny flame of resentment. He had come a long way

measured on the map, and a far greater distance measured in human

experience, in spiritual reckoning. If the old narrow faith had failed

him he felt that slowly and surely he was acquiring a faith that would

not fail him, because it was based on a common need of mankind. But he

was still sure there must be a wide divergence in their outlook. He was

getting his worldly experience, his knowledge of material factors, of

men's souls and faiths and follies and ideals and weaknesses in a rude

school at first hand--and Sophie had got hers out of books and logical

deductions from critically assembled fact. There was a difference in the

two processes. He knew, because he had tried both. And where the world

at large faced him, and must continue to face him, like an enemy

position, something to be stormed, very likely with fierce fighting, for

Sophie Carr it had all been made easy.




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