But when her own work was well under way the feeling wore off; there was, indeed, an added zest in the delay. It gave her long hours for thinking--for thinking of her father, and of how satisfied he would be with them both, for remembering that day of their first meeting with Luke Manders in his mountains. So long as her mind and memory functioned, she would have that picture ... the dim interior of Granny Manders’ cabin with the setting sun in a shaft of concentrated radiance for the boy’s entrance, the bold, beautiful boy, gypsy-dark, richly weathered, fearless and free, his gun in his hands, wild as a hawk as his grandam had fitly said, scorning them! And scorning them still, he had come down from his heights to their drab levels, she considered, taking what was best of the lowlands--learning, gentler living, but had kept all that was finest from his forbears and his high hills. How he stood out, Glen exulted, from the men about him--kindly, futile old Mr. ’Gene Carey, slow old Ben Birdsall, the sallow, spiritless mill workers, even the young blades from The Hill! He was a tall pine among garden shrubs. Going quietly about her tasks at the Altonia, she pulsated with pride at the thought of him, planning the clear and purposeful path before them. They would read together and study together and work together, animated always by the ideal of service to the mill people and the mountaineers. They would preach Dr. Darrow’s sermons of air and clean houses and wholesome food; above all, they would fight for better conditions of labor. There were model mills all through the South--even in the same city, mills where children of working age spent half the day in school and made a fine development, body and brain, and it was Glen’s dream to bring the Altonia up to standard, but Manders confided to her that it was in a very bad way, financially. Between the superintendent who died, Miss Minnie, and blundering old Ben, the concern had very nearly gone on the rocks; it would take every effort to set her soundly afloat again. “And old Carey wants money! You see, it cost him a lot to send his girl to Europe, and now she’s home, and he says she wants to do the house over from cellar to attic,” Luke Manders told Glen. “That’s why he’s putting on the screws.” “It’s abominable!” she flared. “Grinding down the hands, keeping his mill twenty years behind the times, so that Nancy can have all the things she doesn’t need! Luke, I can’t stand it! I’m not going to stand it! I’ll find a way----” “Careful!” he steadied her. “I know how you feel, Glen, but we’ve got to be patient.” “Patient!” She blazed with chivalrous indignation, “I don’t want to be patient. I want to do something _now_!” The mountaineer shook his head. “Wait. Trust me.”