Jean and her father came up to the veranda with a friendly “good morning” to those who were gathered there. A few of the loiterers talked respectfully to Mr. Cameron, whose fame as a mining expert was a wide one, and Jean quickly became the center of a large group of men, eager to point out to her the different mountains, the Grahams in the distance or the long sharp ridges of the neighboring range. They called her attention to the mist hanging low in the valley, curling softly in the farthest recesses. The mine foreman, usually the most shiftlessly dressed man in camp, twitched his polka-dotted tie into place when he thought that Miss Cameron’s attention was absorbed by the landscape. Stephen came across from his quarters among the last. He waited a moment before joining the group about Miss Cameron; and his eyes employed that moment in fixing a picture indelibly on his mind. As Jean leaned lightly against the wall, in her dress of white linen crash, she made a picture which no one who saw could forget. Her gray eyes were clear with the reflection of the morning light, and the sun searched for and illuminated the subtle tints of her hair. She had a pretty way of speaking as though everything she said were a simple answer to a clever question. Men liked that. They thought her appreciative. She looked up to notice Loring’s glance upon her, and answered his “good morning” lightly. “You need not speak as though you were surprised, Mr. Loring,” she said, “I may have been late to breakfast five out of my six days, but that is no sign that it is a habit with me. Besides, you know that to-day I am to visit the mine.” “So you are still determined?” he asked. “Really, Miss Cameron, it is not very safe. There might be an accident of some sort, and,” he went on, looking at her gown, “you will ruin your dress.” “Do you fancy that I travel with only one?” Jean queried smiling. “It may be so, but not even my vanity shall deter me; I really must go.” Just then Wah appeared on the veranda, and began to pound with his railroad spike on the iron triangle which, as at Quentin, served for a dinner gong. “La, la, boom, boom! Breakfast!” he shouted, amidst the din which he was creating. “Me bludder, Steve, he almost late. La, la, boom, boom! Hot cakes, hot cakes; oh, lubbly hot cakes, oh, lubbly, lubbly—!” In the midst of his song he caught sight of Jean, and stopping his pounding he beamed upon her. “Goodee morning, missee, goodee morning! Missee on time this morning; how it happen?” McKay angrily told him to shut up, but Miss Cameron stopped the rebuke, assuring Wah that his reproaches had been well deserved.