"Oh, I understand! The Father wants to make sure of his people, and he is quite right. You natives haven't observed the law very carefully." "He say Indian woman stop with white man, she never see Jesus' House no more. She go to hell sure, and baby go too. You s'pose that's true?" "I dare say it is, in a way." "By God! That's tough on little baby!" exclaimed Constantine, fervently. All that night Boyd stayed at his post, while the cavernous building shuddered and hissed to the straining toil of the machines and the gasping breath of the furnaces. As the darkness gathered, he had gone out upon the dock to look regretfully toward the twinkling lights on _The Grande Dame_, then turned doggedly back to his labors. Another load had just arrived from the trap; already the plant, untried by the stress of a steady run, was clogged and working far below capacity. He would have sent Mildred word, but he had not a single man to spare. At ten o'clock the next morning he staggered into his quarters, more dead than alive. In his heart was a great thankfulness that Big George had not found him wanting. The last defective machine was mended, the last weakness strengthened, and the plant had reached its fullest stride. The fish might come now in any quantity; the rest was but a matter of coal and iron and human endurance. Meanwhile he would sleep. He met "Fingerless" Fraser emerging, decked royally in all the splendor of new clothes and spotless linen. "Where are you going?" Boyd asked him. "I'm going out into society." "Clyde is taking you to the yacht, eh?" "No! He's afraid of my work, so I'm going out on my own. He told me all about the swell quilts at Marsh's place, so I thought I'd lam up there and look them over. I may cop an heiress." He winked wisely. "If I see one that looks gentle, I'm liable to grab me some bride. He says there ain't one that's got less than a couple of millions in her kick." Boyd was too weary to do more than wish him success, but it seemed that fortune favored Fraser, for before he had gone far he saw a young woman seated in a patch of wild flowers, plucking the blooms with careless hand while she drank in the beauty of the bright Arctic morning. She was simply dressed, yet looked so prosperous that Fraser instantly decided: "That's her! I'll spread my checks with this one." "Good-morning!" he began. The girl gave him an indifferent glance from two fearless eyes, and nodded slightly. But "Fingerless" Fraser upon occasion could summon a smile that was peculiarly engaging. He did so now, seating himself hat in hand, with the words: "If you don't mind, I'll rest a minute. I'm out for my morning walk. It's a nice day, isn't it?" As she did not answer, he ran on, glibly: "My name is De Benville--I'm one of the New Orleans branch. That's my cannery down yonder." He pointed in the direction from which he had just come. "Indeed!" said the young lady. "Yes. It's mine."