"How did you make out about those logs, Dale?" questioned a fellow worker in the yard, as the young lumberman resumed his labors. "Didn't get them," was the laconic answer. "Didn't think you would," went on Philip Sommers. "Hickley is in with the pulp mill. If he can't get logs, what is the old man going to do?" "He'll have to shut down." "Phew! That's bad!" "Yes, and the worst of it is there is no telling when we'll start up again." "In that case I'm going to pack up and go up to the West Branch. A friend of mine is going to open up on a claim there about the first of October." "That is a good while yet. I can't afford to be idle that long." "What will you do?" "I don't know yet--perhaps try the other mills." "Better try the pulp mill--they've got the business just now. Folks must have paper even if they don't get boards," and Philip Sommers gave a short laugh. "I don't think I'd care to work in a pulp mill," answered Dale. "I like a sawmill or else being out in a lumber camp. But I'd rather work in a pulp mill than be idle." "The pulp mill over----Hullo, there goes the noon whistle!" Philip Sommers dropped the board he was carrying. "Aint got time to talk any more," he cried. "Going home for something to eat." And picking up his jacket from a lumber pile, he walked away, leaving Dale alone. CHAPTER II WHAT HAPPENED AT THE BROOK The hoarse whistle of the mill, proclaiming the noon hour, sounded out fully half a minute, and when it ceased the machinery in the mill also came to a stop, and men and boys poured forth to get their dinner. Some went to their homes, or to their boarding-places, while others, who lived at a distance and had brought their dinner with them, sought shady and cool spots along the bank of the stream. Dale did not quit work instantly, as Philip Sommers had done. He, too, was carrying a board, and this he placed on a pile a hundred feet away, as originally intended. Then he straightened out the whole pile of boards, work that took another five minutes of his time. "Hullo, Bradford, working overtime?" cried one of the mill hands, who had quit at the first sound of the whistle. "Sure," answered Dale pleasantly. "Of course the old man is going to pay you double wages for it." "Guess he will--if I ask him." "You won't get a cent. Better stop and make the job last." "I'll stop, now I have finished," answered Dale, and walked away with a quiet smile. Although neither Dale nor the other workman knew it, John Larson overheard the conversation. "Young Bradford is a good one," he murmured. "Just as good as his father was before him. Hang such men as Felton, who are always looking at their watches or waiting for the whistle to blow."