"I want you to know Radway.He's the man who gave me my start.""All right, Harry," laughed Helen."I'll meet anybody or anything from bears to Indians.""I know an Indian too--Geezigut, an Ojibwa--we called him Injin Charley.He was my first friend in the north woods.He helped me get my timber.This spring he killed a man--a good job, too--and is hiding now.I wish I knew where he is.But we'll see him some day.He'll come back when the thing blows over.See! See!""What?" they all asked, breathless.

"It's gone.Over beyond the hills there I caught a glimpse of Superior.""You are ridiculous, Harry," protested Helen Thorpe laughingly."Inever saw you so.You are a regular boy!""Do you like boys?" he asked gravely of Hilda.

"Adore them!" she cried.

"All right, I don't care," he answered his sister in triumph.

The air brakes began to make themselves felt, and shortly the train came to a grinding stop.

"What station is this?" Thorpe asked the colored porter.

"Shingleville, sah," the latter replied.

"I thought so.Wallace, when did their mill burn, anyway? I haven't heard about it.""Last spring, about the time you went down.""Is THAT so? How did it happen?"

"They claim incendiarism," parried Wallace cautiously.

Thorpe pondered a moment, then laughed."I am in the mixed attitude of the small boy," he observed, "who isn't mean enough to wish anybody's property destroyed, but who wishes that if there is a fire, to be where he can see it.I am sorry those fellows had to lose their mill, but it was a good thing for us.The man who set that fire did us a good turn.If it hadn't been for the burning of their mill, they would have made a stronger fight against us in the stock market."Wallace and Hilda exchanged glances.The girl was long since aware of the inside history of those days.

"You'll have to tell them that," she whispered over the back of her seat."It will please them.""Our station is next!" cried Thorpe, "and it's only a little ways.

Come, get ready!"

They all crowded into the narrow passage-way near the door, for the train barely paused.

"All right, sah," said the porter, swinging down his little step.

Thorpe ran down to help the ladies.He was nearly taken from his feet by a wild-cat yell, and a moment later that result was actually accomplished by a rush of men that tossed him bodily onto its shoulders.At the same moment, the mill and tug whistles began to screech, miscellaneous fire-arms exploded.Even the locomotive engineer, in the spirit of the occasion, leaned down heartily on his whistle rope.The saw-dust street was filled with screaming, jostling men.The homes of the town were brilliantly draped with cheesecloth, flags and bunting.