Toppy obeyed cheerfully. It was growing dark now, and as he stepped out of the shop he saw the squaw lighting the lamps in the building across the street. Toppy crossed over and found the door open. Inside there was a small hallway with two doors, one labelled “Store,” the other “Office.” Toppy was about to enter the store, when he heard Miss Pearson’s voice in the office, and her first words, which came plainly through the partition, made him pause. “Mr. Reivers,” she was saying in tones that she struggled to make firm, “you know that if I had known you were running this camp I would never have come here. You deceived me. You signed the name of Simmons to your letter. You knew that if you had signed your own name I would not be here. You tricked me. “And you promised solemnly last Summer when I told you I never could care for you that you would never trouble me again. How could you do this? You’ve got the reputation among men of never breaking your word. Why couldn’t you—why couldn’t you keep your word with me—a woman?” Toppy, playing the role of eavesdropper for the first time, scarcely breathed as he caught the full import of these words. Then Reivers began to speak, his deep voice rich with earnestness and feeling. “I will—I am keeping my word to you, Helen,” he said. “I said I would not trouble you again; and I will not. It’s true that I did not let you know that I was running this camp; and I did it because I wanted you to have this job, and I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew I was here. You wouldn’t let me give you, or even loan you, the three hundred dollars necessary for your father’s operation. “I know you, Helen, and I know that you haven’t had a happy day since you were told that your father would be a well man after an operation and you couldn’t find the money to pay for it. I knew you were going to work in hopes of earning it. I had this place to fill in the office here; I was authorised to pay as high as seventy-five dollars for a good bookkeeper. Naturally I thought of you. “I knew there was no other place where you could earn seventy-five dollars a month, and save it. I knew you wouldn’t come if I wrote you over my own name. So I signed Simmons’ name, and you came. I said I would not trouble you any more, and I keep my word. The situation is this: you will be in charge of this office—if you stay; I am in charge of the camp. You will have little or nothing to do with me; I will manage so that you will need to see me only when absolutely necessary. Your living-rooms are in the rear of the office. I live in the stockade. Tilly, the squaw, will cook and wash for you, and do the hard work in the store. In four months you will have the three hundred dollars that you want for your father.