abroad, an odour elusive yet pungent, an aroma of the open. The young
man sniffed it eagerly, this essence of fresh sawdust, of new-cut pine,
of sawlogs dripping from the water, of faint old reminiscence of cured
lumber standing in the piles of the year before, and more fancifully of
the balsam and spruce, the hemlock and pine of the distant forest.

"Great!" he cried aloud, "I never knew anything like it! What a country
to train in!"

"All this lumber here is going to be sold within the next two months,"
said Fox with the first approach to enthusiasm Bob had ever observed in
him. "All of it. It's got to be carried down to the docks, and tallied
there, and loaded in those vessels. The mill isn't much--too
old-fashioned. We saw with 'circulars' instead of band-saws. Not like
our Minnesota mills. We bought the plant as it stands. Still we turn
out a pretty good cut every day, and it has to be run out and piled."

They stepped abruptly, without transition, into the town. A double row
of unpainted board shanties led straight to the water's edge. This row
was punctuated by four buildings different from the rest--a huge
rambling structure with a wide porch over which was suspended a large
bell; a neatly painted smaller building labelled "Office"; a trim house
surrounded by what would later be a garden; and a square-fronted store.
The street between was soft and springy with sawdust and finely broken
shingles. Various side streets started out bravely enough, but soon
petered out into stump land. Along one of them were extensive stables.

Bob followed his conductor in silence. After an interval they mounted
short steps and entered the office.