After the exercises, which closed early, several small parties visited Twin Mountain, which was near by. One of the parties included Reverend Ralph Cutter and another included the Baldwins. For a moment, and only for a moment, the parties met. The minister and the heiress saluted each other cordially and lingered after their parties had separated. She expressed regret that he had left Papyrus. He expressed regret that it had seemed best for him to leave, and then, something in her eyes seeming to warrant it, he added: “I had hoped to become better acquainted with you, had I remained.” “Did I place any obstacles in the way of our further acquaintance? I certainly did not intend to do so,” she replied, and there was no mistaking the frank, honest meaning in the black eyes. “No, you did not. May I correspond with you?” “Certainly.” She was laughing now; a laugh of relief and pleasure. “But do not forget, when circumstances permit, that a face to face meeting is a long way ahead of a letter.” But the parties to which they belonged were getting farther and farther apart. “You might return home with us,” she suggested. “You could take an evening train for Springdale.” And he very gladly assented. CHAPTER XI. It would be unjust in this narrative to class David Baldwin, the Congressman, with his brother, Zechariah. David meant to be just. Whatever of justice there was in the relations of the Baldwins to their workmen was usually credited by the workmen to Congressman Baldwin, and probably they were right. Such reforms as had been granted in the mills had usually been secured by appealing from Zechariah, the resident manager, to David, whose public duties kept him much of the time in Washington. David Baldwin was generous. If there was anything of the “milk of human kindness” in the treatment of the Baldwin workmen it was due largely to David. Zechariah Baldwin was generous when he thought his generosity would make a big display, and be heralded in the public press. In the church and in the press, especially the religious press, the name of Zechariah Baldwin was acclaimed loudly as a philanthropist. In private circles, particularly among his own workmen, in those small circles where the laborer dared to speak his honest feelings, he was oftener spoken of as a “skinflint,” or simply a “skin,” a term in common use which is full of meaning, and that not of the best kind. Zechariah Baldwin was the last to raise the wages of his help and the first to cut them down.