It was strange to Denzil that the lumber-king, short, thin, careless in
his clothes but singularly clean in his person, should have a son so
little like himself, and also so little like his mother. He, Denzil, was
a Catholic, and he could not understand a man like John Grier who, being
a member of the Episcopal Church, so seldom went to service and so defied
rules of conduct suitable to his place in the world.

As for the girl, to him she was the seventh wonder of the earth.
Wantonly alive, dexterously alert to all that came her way, sportive,
indifferent, joyous, she had all the boy's sprightliness, but none of his
weaknesses. She was a born tease; she loved bright and beautiful things;
she was a keen judge of human nature, and she had buoyant spirits, which,
however, were counterbalanced by moments of extreme timidity, or, rather,
reserve and shyness. On a day like this, when everything in life was
singing, she must sing too. Not a mile away was a hut by the river where
her father had brought his family for the summer's fishing; not a half-
mile away was a tent which Carnac Grier's father had set up as he passed
northward on his tour of inspection. This particular river, and this
particular part of the river, were trying to the river-man and his clans.
It needed a dam, and the great lumber-king was planning to make one not
three hundred yards from where they were.

The boy and the girl resting idly upon a great warm rock had their own
business to consider. The boy kept looking at his boots with the brass-
tipped toes. He hated them. The girl was quick to understand. "Why
don't you like your boots?" she asked.

A whimsical, exasperated look came into his face. "I don't know why they
brass a boy's toes like that, but when I marry I won't wear them--that's