“I’m not talking about Ned Whalen,” snapped Audry. “Maybe he was drafted and _had_ to go. I’m talking about that Sparrow boy. He has no respect for his word or his signature or his employer. And he’ll _never_ succeed no matter _where_ he goes because he’s _weak_. Ugh!” Whatever else poor Tom showed in his face, he certainly showed a becoming flush at this impetuous diagnosis of his character. He was greatly edified. More than that, he was resolved that he would be worthy of this unseen maiden’s flattering pronouncement. His veneration of Audry’s character and intelligence deepened. He thought her a very extraordinary girl, the sort of girl whom one could go to for advice. And all that sort of thing. CHAPTER XVIII ON THE JOB “Who’s Sparrow?” Tom inquired of Ferris as they made their way across the clearing and into the woods. A couple of young fellows were clearing out the basin of the tiny reservoir as they passed, throwing stones and timber out onto the ground. Another seemed to be hoeing out a space for a garden. Still another was restoring a stretch of private roadway, evening its edges and discarding weedy growth. There was no view from the clearing, for the woods completely enclosed the spot. Tom glanced about with curious and lively interest. “Sparrow? Oh, he’s a kid came up here after adventure. Nice boy. He’s got malaria or pip or something or other. He’s going home to-day. I had him picking stones. They come and go,” he added good-humoredly. “If a fellow can’t stick at something else I suppose we ought not to expect him to stick up here. If he could stick at a thing he wouldn’t be here. They’re a funny bunch. “Ned and the legitt are about the best of the lot. I’ve wished them onto you for to-day; I want to get that little bridge up over the brook. Guess they’ll be waiting for us now. You can take care of a little job like that, can’t you? I thought we’d just chop down trees and make it of rough logs. Summer boarders like that sort of thing, don’t they?” “Guess so,” laughed Tom. “I guess they’re a kind of a happy-go-lucky lot, hey?” he added. “That’s it. Sis hasn’t much use for ’em. But I wouldn’t just call them failures. I’d like to know the history of some of them. Most of ’em are on the square, I’ll say that. The kid says they’re sediment. She imagines all sorts of things about them. She likes you though,” he added with hearty frankness. “She thinks you’re about the best since Daniel Boone.” “She’s one smart girl,” said Tom. “You can tell that by the way she talks.” “She reads books on—what d’yer call it—oh, she’s got one—_Character Building_, it’s called. Yes, she’s some little high brow.” “She’s wonderful, I’ll say,” repeated poor Tom. “I don’t suppose I should have brought her up here at all,” Ferris said. “But you see we’re all alone and she had the flu bad last winter and I thought the mountain air would do her good. Well, here we are.”