“Yes, but they don't want to know us, and have never called here.” The embarrassment of the questioner at this unexpected reply, which came from the faultless lips of Clementina, was somewhat mitigated by the fact that the young woman's voice and manner betrayed neither annoyance nor anger. Here, however, Harkutt appeared from the house with the information that he had secured two horses for the surveyors and their instruments, and that he would himself accompany them a part of the way on their return to Tasajara Creek, to show them the road. His usual listless deliberation had given way to a certain nervous but uneasy energy. If they started at once it would be better, before the loungers gathered at the store and confused them with lazy counsel and languid curiosity. He took it for granted that Mr. Grant wished the railroad survey to be a secret, and he had said nothing, as they would be pestered with questions. “Sidon was inquisitive--and old-fashioned.” The benefit its inhabitants would get from the railroad would not prevent them from throwing obstacles in its way at first; he remembered the way they had acted with a proposed wagon road,--in fact, an idea of his own, something like the railroad; he knew them thoroughly, and if he might advise them, it would be to say nothing here until the thing was settled. “He evidently does not intend to give us a chance,” said Grant good-humoredly to his companion, as they turned to prepare for their journey; “we are to be conducted in silence to the outskirts of the town like horse-thieves.” “But you gave him the tip for himself,” said Rice reproachfully; “you cannot blame him for wanting to keep it.” “I gave it to him in trust for his two incredible daughters,” said Grant with a grimace. “But, hang it! if I don't believe the fellow has more concern in it than I imagined.” “But isn't she perfect?” said Rice, with charming abstraction. “Who?” “Clementina, and so unlike her father.” “Discomposingly so,” said Grant quietly. “One feels in calling her 'Miss Harkutt' as if one were touching upon a manifest indiscretion. But here comes John Milton. Well, my lad, what can I do for you?” The boy, who had been regarding them from a distance with wistful and curious eyes as they replaced their instruments for the journey, had gradually approached them. After a moment's timid hesitation he said, looking at Grant: “You don't know anybody in this kind o' business,” pointing to the instruments, “who'd like a boy, about my size?” “I'm afraid not, J. M.,” said Grant, cheerfully, without suspending his operation. “The fact is, you see, it's not exactly the kind of work for a boy of your size.”