Aidee went back by the schoolhouse. He thought he would like to hear the bluebird again, on the spot where his bitterness and the wound within him had been suddenly-healed by some medicine as irrational as the disease, but the twilight had fallen now, and there was no song about the place. Mrs. Finney and her “man” were quarrelling noisily at their open window. CHAPTER VIII--MECHANICS |HENNION came back from seeing Wood laid away (where other men were lying, who had been spoken of in their day, whom Port Argent had forgotten or was in process of forgetting) and saw the last bricks laid and rammed on Lower Bank Street. There was satisfaction in the pavement of Lower Bank Street, in knowing what was in it and why. The qualities of sand, crushed stone, and paving brick were the same yesterday and to-day. Each brick was three inches and three-eighths thick, and not one would be ambitious of four inches to-morrow. If it were broken, and thrown away, there would be no altruistic compunctions. One built effectively with such things. Charlie Carroll whispered to Hennion as they came out of the cemetery: “It's all right. The boys are satisfied.” “Why are they?” “They'd be scared not to do what Wood said now. It wouldn't go down.” “Go down where?” “Well, they seem to like the idea too. They will have it.” But why should he be congratulated over a prospective invitation from “the boys” to labour in their interests? He was not sure why he had not already refused, by what subconscious motive or scruple. Properly there should be scruples about accepting. The leadership of the organisation was an unsalaried position, with vague perquisites. Wood had taken honorariums and contributions, spent what he chose on the organisation, and kept what he chose. Apparently he had not kept much, if any. He had seemed to care only for influence. He had liked the game. He had left only a small estate. But whether he had kept or passed it on, the money was called unclean.