Grierson hesitated and looked disturbed.

“The fact is, I’d be very sorry to leave; but I’m afraid I’ll have to by and by.  You see, I’ve got to find a place I can take my wife to.”

“Can she cook?”

“Yes,” said Grierson, indicating the remnants on the table with contempt.  “She would do better than this with her eyes shut!  Then,” he continued eagerly, “she can wash and mend clothes.  I’ve noticed that you and Mr. West throw half your things away long before you need to.”

“That’s true,” Edgar admitted.  “It’s the custom of the country; time’s too valuable to spend in mending anything, though I’ve noticed that one or two of the people who tell you about the value of time get through a good deal of it lounging round the Sachem.  Anyway, amateur laundering’s an abomination, and I’m most successful in washing the buttons and wrist-bands off.”  He turned to his companion.  “George, you’ll have to send for Mrs. Grierson.”

The matter was promptly arranged, and when Grierson went out with a look of keen satisfaction, Edgar laughed.

“I feel like pointing out how far an idea can go.  Helen only thought of making me a little more comfortable, and you see the result of it—­Grierson and his wife united, things put into shape here, four people content!  Of course, one could cite a more striking example; I mean when Sylvia Marston thought you had better go out and look after her farm.  There’s no need to mention the far-reaching consequences that opinion had.”

“I volunteered to go out,” George corrected him.

“Well,” said Edgar, “I quite believe you did so.  But you’re no doubt pining to get at the fence.”

They went off to work, but Edgar, driving the gang-plow through the stubble under a scorching sun, thought that Sylvia’s idea might bear more fruit than she had calculated on, and that it would be bitter to her.  His mind, however, was chiefly occupied with a more attractive person, and once when he turned the heavy horses at the end of the furrows he said softly, “May I deserve her!” and looked up with a tense expression in his hot face, as if making some firm resolve, which was a procedure that would have astonished even those who knew him well.

A week passed, each day growing brighter and hotter, until the glare flung back by sandy soil and whitening grass became painful, and George and his assistants discarded most of their clothing when they went about their tasks.  The oats began to show a silvery gleam as they swayed in the strong light; the wheat was changing color, and there were warm coppery gleams among the heavy ears; horses and cattle sought the poplars’ shade.  Then one evening when the Grants had driven over, Flett arrived at the homestead, and, sitting on the stoop as the air grew cooler, related his adventures.

“I guess my chiefs wouldn’t be pleased to hear me; we’re not encouraged to talk, but there’s a reason for it, as you’ll see when I’m through,” he said, and plunged abruptly into his narrative.