It was, as Matthew said, hardly a village. There was a railway station and about it were grouped houses and cheap stores flanking the side of brief indefinite streets of rutted red clay. Its newness was ugly, but, looking at it, one knew its age would be worse. It had no possibility of growing to charm and dignity from such beginnings. It was a necessity--nothing more. Their comments as they looked at it were characteristic. Fliss had the first word. “So this is where your money comes from.” Matthew and Dick both laughed. “It’s quite a settlement, isn’t it?” said Dick. “I’d no idea the place was so big. You must have a thousand people in the village.” “And more squatted around the mine itself. You’ll see later.” Matthew turned to Cecily. “What do you think of my namesake?” “It seems a desolate place for people to live--a miserable place. I should think you could make it a little more attractive.” “That’s not good sociology; that’s charity.” They left their car at the railroad station and wandered about the village, Dick growing enthusiastic over things which seemed pathetic to Cecily, and Fliss amusing herself with comments and trying to dazzle the people she saw. She insisted that they should have a soda at the store and over that she was very merry and mocking. Matthew dragged them away. “It gets dark early and we must see the mine yet.” The road to the mine was rough and led through a waste of ugly fields, covered with discolored vegetation. It was growing colder and the dead bushes shook in the wind. The girls huddled themselves in rugs and began to think of dinner and the Inn. The mine was interesting, but---- Dick and Matthew, however, had grown absorbed by this time. They were deep in statistics; they looked interestedly and speculatively over the barren fields and with real admiration at a group of one story huts grouped together near the great red pit which was the mine. “Some of the people have to live close for various reasons,” explained Matthew over his shoulder. “In case of a blizzard we have to keep a force fairly close. There are about a hundred men who live here. A few have their families, but most of them are unmarried and live in bunk houses.” A number of children bore witness to the existence of the families. They were very dirty children--stolid little Scandinavians, most of them. The automobile awoke their interest. They measured its difference from the half-dozen begrimed Fords which were casually lined up on one side of the mine office. “Want to go down, Fliss? Cecily mustn’t.” “Love it,” said Fliss. “We’ll just go down to the first level,” Matthew decided, “to give Fliss an idea. You must put on overalls though. Come in the office and they’ll fix you out. I’ve had lots of women here. It’s all right.”