to make anything out of lumber for which his salesmen found a demand;
but his firm grip on the flourishing business had recently relaxed, and
people wondered anxiously what would happen if he did not recover from
the blow that had struck him down. Fred Hulton, his only son, and
assistant treasurer to the Company, had been found in the factory one
morning with a bullet-hole in his head, and it was believed that he had
shot himself. His father gave his evidence at the inquiry with stern
self-control, but took to his bed afterwards and had not left it yet.
So far as the townsfolk knew, this was the first time he had shown any
weakness of body or mind.

The train was late, but Foster enjoyed the pipe he lighted. It was ten
years since he landed at Montreal, a raw lad without friends or money,
and learned what hard work was in a lumber camp. Since then he had
prospered, and the strenuous life he led for the first few years had
not left much mark on him. Now he thought he had earned a holiday, and
all arrangements for his visit to England were made. Featherstone, his
partner, was going with him. Their sawmill, which was run by
water-power, had closed for the winter, when building material was not
wanted, and the development of a mineral claim they owned would be
stopped by the frost. They had planned to put in a steam engine at the
mill, but the Hulton Company had delayed a contract that would have
kept the saws running until the river thawed.

Foster, however, did not regret this. Except on Sundays, he had seldom
had an hour's leisure for the last few years. Gardner's Crossing,
which was raw and new, had few amusements to offer its inhabitants; he
was young, and now he could relax his efforts, felt that he was getting
stale with monotonous toil. But he was a little anxious about
Featherstone, who had gone to see a doctor in Toronto.