"Why, I guess so," he answered, after a moment. "What name shall I say?"

"Miss Bumpus."

"Bumpus," he repeated. "That's the gatekeeper's name."

"I'm his daughter--but I want to see Mr. Ditmar."

"Well," said the sergeant, "I'm sure it's all right, but I'll have to
send in anyway. Orders are orders. You understand?"

She nodded as he departed. She saw him cross the bridge like a ghost
through the white mist rising from the canal. And through the mist she
could make out the fortress-like mass of the mill itself, and the blurred,
distorted lights in the paymaster's offices smeared on the white curtain
of the vapour.

"Nasty weather," the sentry remarked, in friendly fashion. He appeared
now, despite his uniform, as a good-natured, ungainly youth.

Janet nodded.

"You'd ought to have brought an umbrella," he said. "I guess it'll rain
harder, before it gets through. But it's better than ten below zero,
anyhow."

She nodded again, but he did not seem to resent her silence. He talked
about the hardship of patrolling in winter, until the sergeant came back.

"It's all right, Miss Bumpus," he said, and touched his hat as he