They were crossing the clearing, and old John glanced at his daughter with approval. "Aye, I love it. An' proud I am that you love it, too. Ye've taken to the North like a duck takes to water. Ye've trailed like a real sourdough, an' never a word of the hard work an' the discomfort. 'Tis born in ye, lass--the love of the bush--an' I'm glad. I've come to know ye better the last four days than I have in twenty-one years of school, an' dancing an' all the flibberty-jibbitin' nonsense ye carry on." They had reached the door of the trading room, and the man interrupted her laughing reply. "Wait ye here a minute while I see if Dugald is inside." Oskar Hedin paused in the act of putting the finishing touches on the edge of his belt ax, and as John McNabb entered the room, he rose hastily to meet him. "Where's Murchison?" asked the newcomer, and Hedin noted that no slightest hint of recognition flickered in his employer's eyes. Repressing the desire to laugh, he answered in the slow, dull-witted manner of Sven Larsen. "He is in there," pointing to the door of the factor's room. "Tell him to come out here," commanded McNabb brusquely. "Do you want to see him?" "What in the devil d'ye think I'm waitin' here for? Hurry, now, an' don't be standin' there gawpin'." Hedin grinned broadly as he entered Murchison's door, and a moment later McNabb's hands were gripped by the two hands of the factor. "It's glad I am to see ye, John. An' how does it feel to get home once more?" "Ye'll be knowin' yourself how it feels to a man that's been thirty years out of the bush. But where's Hedin?" "He'll be here directly," answered Murchison. "John, I want ye to meet my clerk, Sven Larsen. He's the best clerk I ever had." McNabb glanced into the bearded face that blinked stupidly at him. "Ye haven't be'n over favored with clerks, I'd say, Dugald. But how are ye fixed for quarters?" Murchison laughed. "I guess we can rig up a bunk for ye, John." "It ain't myself I was thinkin' about. It's the lass. She's had four pretty hard days on the trail, an' she'd be the better for a comfortable bunk." "The lass!" exclaimed Murchison. "Jean! Here!" Strong fingers gripped McNabb's arm, and he stared in astonishment into the face of Sven Larsen. The loose-lipped, vapid expression was gone, and the blue-gray eyes stared into his own with burning intensity. "You don't mean----? Why, Oskar lad!" "Sh--sh. But she mustn't know! Promise me--both of you! She will be going to bed early, and after supper I'll see you at the landing." McNabb studied the face quizzically. "Ye fooled me, all right, but I'm doubtin' ye can fool Jean." "At least, I can try," answered the clerk. "I'll see you at supper," and without waiting for a reply, he ascended the ladder that led to the fur loft.