here. I've got a man on it working it."

"Does it pay?"

"Of course. Do you suppose I'd keep a farm that didn't pay?"

"Who runs it?"

"A man that broke his leg on the river. One of Belloc's men. He knows
all about farming. He brought his wife and three children up, and there
he is--making money, and making the land good. I've made him a partner
at last. When it's good enough by and by, I'll probably go and live
there myself. Anybody ought to make farming a success, if there's water
and proper wood and such things," he added.

There was silence for a few moments. Then John Grier looked Tarboe up
and down sharply again, noting the splendid physique, the quizzical,
mirth-provoking eye, and said: "I can give you a better job if you'll
come to Montreal."

Tarboe shook his head. "Haven't had a sick day for eight years; I'm as
hard as nails; I'm as strong as steel. I love this wild world of the
woods and fields and--"

"And the shebangs and grog-shops and the dirty, drunken villages?"
interrupted the old man.

"No, they don't count. I take them in, but they don't count."

"Didn't you have hard times when you first came?" asked John Grier.