“No!” exclaimed Jack. “It's only a step to the town; I can walk it in half an hour. No, it won't be lonely. I will fix up a room for Uncle Peter somewhere, so he can be comfortable,--he would love to come here on his holidays; and Ruth can come out for the day,--she will be crazy about it when I tell her. No, I will get along. If the lightning had struck my ore beds I would probably have painted and papered some musty back room in the village and lived a respectable life. Now I am going to turn savage.” The next day the contracts were signed: work to commence in three months. Henry MacFarlane, Engineer-in-Chief, John Breen in charge of construction. It was on that same sofa in the far corner of the sitting-room that Jack told Ruth,--gently, one word at a time,--making the best of it, but telling her the exact truth. “And then we are not going to have any of the things we dreamed about, Jack,” she said with a sigh. “I am afraid not, my darling,--not now, unless the lightning strikes us, which it won't.” She looked out of the window for a moment, and her eyes filled with tears. Then she thought of her father, and how hard he had worked, and what disappointments he had suffered, and yet how, with all his troubles, he had always put his best foot foremost--always encouraging her. She would not let Jack see her chagrin. This was part of Jack's life, just as similar disappointments had been part of her father's. “Never mind, blessed. Well, we had lots of fun 'supposing,' didn't we, Jack. This one didn't come true, but some of the others will and what difference does it make, anyway, as long as I have you,” and she nestled her face in his neck. “And now tell me what sort of a place it is and where daddy and I are going to live, and all about it.” And then, to soften the disappointment the more and to keep a new bubble afloat, Jack launched out into a description of the country and how beautiful the view was from the edge of the hill overlooking the valley, with the big oaks crowning the top and the lichen-covered rocks and fallen timber blanketed with green moss, and the spring of water that gushed out of the ground and ran laughing down the hillside, and the sweep of mountains losing themselves in the blue haze of the distance, and then finally to the log-cabin he was going to build for his own especial use. “And only two miles away,” she cried in a joyous tone,--“and I can ride out every day! Oh, Jack!--just think of it!” And so, with the breath of this new enthusiasm filling their souls, a new bubble of hope and gladness was floated, and again the two fell to planning, and “supposing,” the rose-glow once more lightening up the peaks.