Vane made friends with the wheelwright, who regarded him dubiously at
first, and obtained a piece of larch board from him. The grizzled North
Countryman watched him closely as he set a plane, which is a delicate
operation, and he raised no objections when Vane made use of his
work-bench. When the board had been sawed up, Vane borrowed a few tools
and copper nails, and he and Mabel went back to the canoe. On the way she
glanced at him curiously.

"I wasn't sure old Beavan would let you have the things," she remarked.
"It isn't often he'll even lend a hammer, but he seemed to take to you; I
think it was the way you handled his plane."

"It's strange what little things win some people's good opinion,
isn't it?"

"Oh, don't!" exclaimed Mabel. "That's the way the Archdeacon talks. I
thought you were different!"

The man acquiesced in the rebuke; and after an hour's labor at the canoe,
he scraped the red lead he had used off his hands and sat down beside the
craft. The sun was warm now, the dew was drying, and a lark sang
riotously overhead. Vane became conscious that his companion was
regarding him with what seemed to be approval.

"I really think you'll do, and we'll get on," she informed him. "If
you had been the wrong kind, you would have worried about your red
hands. Still, you could have rubbed them on the heather, instead of on
your socks."

"I might have thought of that," Vane laughed. "But, you see, I've been