with the bullying manager. The men were beaten, but Lawrence and two
or three more from the river-gang would not give in, and started in the
rain, without blankets and with very little food, which a sympathetic
cook stole for them, on a long march to the nearest settlement. There
they took a contract for clearing land, and Foster described how they
lived in a rude bark shack while they felled the trees and piled them
up for burning. It was strenuous work, and having been unable to
collect their wages from the lumber firm, the clothes they could not
replace went to pieces and they slept, for the most part, in the wet
rags they wore by day. But they held out until the work was done and
paid for. Foster tried to do his comrade justice and thought he had
not exaggerated, for Lawrence's philosophic good humor had encouraged
the rest and smoothed over difficulties that threatened to break up the
gang.

Then he stopped and glanced at the others, wondering whether he had
said too much and had drawn a picture they shrank from contemplating.
Alice's eyes were steadily fixed on him. Mrs. Featherstone looked
grave, but there was a hint of proud satisfaction in her husband's
face. Somewhat to his surprise, Foster saw that he had not jarred or
bored them.

"You made good; I believe that's the proper phrase," said Featherstone.
"Go on, please."

Foster did so. His adventures had not appeared remarkable when they
happened, and he did not think himself much of a story-teller, but he
meant to do his best, for his partner's sake. It would be something if
he could show Lawrence's people the courage and cheerfulness with which
he had faced his troubles. Still, he thought it better to vary the