“Look,” she said, with an impulsive gesture toward the west. Harvey followed her gaze. The dark was settling into the valley. There were splotches of foliage and waves of meadow, with a few winding strips of silver where the river broke away from the trees. “And to think that we have only a few more such days.” “Yes,”--he spoke softly,--“we don't see things like that in Chicago.” “Why don't you come to Truesdale?” “So long as Mr. Weeks stays in Chicago, I am likely to be there too.” “You are fond of Mr. Weeks?” “Yes, I am.” “I never met him--I've heard a great deal about him.” She sat upon the railing and leaned back against a pillar, her eyes turned to the foliage. “Father says he is a good business man.” “He is.” “Mr. West,” she threw her head back with a peremptory toss--“I want you to tell me something.” “Wait,” he replied, “come to the river. Then I'll tell you anything.” She smiled, but acquiesced, and they went down the path. Harvey drew up a cedar boat and extended his hand, but she stepped lightly aboard without his aid. Harvey pushed away from the bank and began slowly to paddle against the current. “Now,” he said, “the Sister Confessor may proceed.” She looked up at him. He thought she was smiling, but she spoke earnestly. “I want you to tell me about this M. & T. fight.” “I don't believe there is anything to tell.” “You think I am not interested.” “No--not that.” “You men are all alike. You think a girl can't understand business.” She seemed to be musing. “You like a girl who is helpless and fluttery, who can be patronized.” “No,” said Harvey, “not that either.” “I wish you would tell me.” “How much do you know?” Before replying she looked out over the water for several moments. Harvey rested his oars and waited. She turned to him, still musing. “I'll be frank,” she said. “I am not going to say how much I know, but I want you to tell me all about it.” Harvey began to row. “Of course,” she went on, “I have heard father's friends talking.” Harvey smiled. “You puzzle me,” he remarked. “Why should any one wish to get control of your road?” “Because there is coal on the line.” “Is Mr. Weeks firmly in control?” Harvey leaned over the oars. “I wish I knew--” he hesitated. “Are we good friends?” “I can speak for myself.” “Why are you interested in this business?” “Because--well, I will tell you the truth. Of course I know that father and Mr. Weeks are--I suppose you would call it fighting. Father doesn't understand how I could ask you down to-day.” “I am glad you did.” “I wanted you to feel that--you see we have been good friends, and it would be too bad to let a thing like this--don't you understand?” Harvey leaned forward and impulsively extended his hand. She drew back. “Just shake hands,” said Harvey. He clasped hers firmly, releasing it with a quiet “Thank you.”