"We belong to the Service," she stated with a little movement of pride. "Those tasks in life which give a high moneyed wage, generally give only that. Part of our compensation is that we belong to the Service; we are doing something for the whole people, not just for ourselves." She caught Bob's half-smile, more at her earnestness than at her sentiment, and took fire. "You needn't laugh!" she cried. "It's small now, but that's because it's the beginning, because we have the privilege of being the forerunners, the pioneers! The time will come when in this country there will be three great Services--the Army, the Navy, the Forest; and an officer in the one will be as much respected and looked up to as the others! Perhaps more! In the long times of peace, while they are occupied with their eternal Preparation, we shall be labouring at Accomplishment." She broke off abruptly. "If you don't want to get me started, don't be superior," she ended, half apologetic, half resentful. "But I do want to get you started," said Bob. "It's amusing, I don't doubt." "Not quite that: it's interesting, and I am no longer bewildered at the eighteen hundred a year--that is," he quoted a popular song, "'if there are any more at home like you.'" She looked at him humorously despairing. "That's just like an outsider. There are plenty who feel as I do, but they don't say so. Look at old California John, at Ross Fletcher, at a half-dozen others under your very nose. Have you ever stopped to think why they have so long been loyal? I don't suppose you have, for I doubt if they have. But you mark my words!" "All right, Field Marshal--or is it 'General'?" said Bob. She laughed. "Just camp cook," she replied good-humouredly. The sun was slanting low through the tall, straight trunks of the trees. Amy Thorne arose, gathered a handful of kindling, and began to rattle the stove. "I am contemplating a real pudding," she said over her shoulder. Bob arose reluctantly. "I must be getting on," said he. They said farewell. At the hitching rail Thorne joined him. "I'm afraid I'm not very hospitable," said the Supervisor, "but that mustn't discourage you from coming often. We'll be better organized in time." "It's mighty pleasant over here; I've enjoyed myself," said Bob, mounting. Thorne laid his hand on the young man's knee. "I wish we could induce you old-timers to come to our way of thinking," said he pleasantly. "How's that?" asked Bob. "Your slash is in horrible shape." "Our slash!" repeated Bob in a surprised tone. "How?" "It's a regular fire-trap, the way you leave it tangled up. It wouldn't cost you much to pile the tops and leave the ground in good shape." "Why, it's just like any other slash!" protested Bob. "We're logging just as everybody always logs!"