“I want to thank you, Mr. Laval, for the trouble you’ve taken, and the time you’ve given up to me.”  The hazel eyes were smiling up into the man’s hard face.  “I don’t agree with some of the things you’ve just been telling me; I should hate to, anyway.  I don’t even believe you feel the way you say about your men.  Still, that’s no account in the matters I came about.  The things I’ve got to say when I get back are all to your credit.  I’m going over now to talk to—­Father Adam.  And you needn’t come along with me.  You see, you’ve fired my curiosity.  Yes, I want to hear the stuff I fancy about the—­boys.  So I’ll go and talk to your—­shepherd of souls.  Good-bye.”

Nancy’s eyes were bright and smiling as she gazed up into the lean, ascetic face of the man in the black, semi-clerical coat.  His garments were worn and almost threadbare.  At close quarters she realised an even deeper interest in the man whose presence had wrought such a magical change in the harsh tones of the camp-boss.  He was in the heyday of middle life, surely.  His hair was long and black.  His beard was of a similar hue, and it covered his mouth and chin in a long, but patchy mass.  His eyes were keen but gentle.  They, too, were very dark, and the whole cast of his pale face was curiously reminiscent.

“I just had to come along over, sir,” she said.  “I was with Mr. Laval, and he told me of the work—­the great work you do in these camps.  Maybe you’ll forgive me intruding.  But you see, I’ve come from our headquarters on business, and the folk of these camps interest me.  I kind of feel the life the boys live around these forests is a pretty mean life.  There’s nothing much to it but work.  And it seems to me that those employing them ought to be made to realise they’ve a greater responsibility than just handing them out a wage for work done.  So when I saw you come out of the forest and stand here, and Mr. Laval told me about you, I made up my mind right away to come along and—­speak to you.  My name’s McDonald—­Nancy McDonald.”

It was all a little hasty, a little timidly spoken.  The dark eyes thoughtfully regarding the wonder of red hair under the close fitting hat were disconcerting, for all there was cordiality in their depths.

At Nancy’s mention of her name, Father Adam instantly averted his gaze, and dropped the hand which he had taken possession of in greeting.  It was almost as if the pronouncement had caused him to start.  But the change, the movement, were unobserved by the girl.

“And you are—­Father Adam?” she asked.

The man’s gaze came quickly back.

“That’s how I’m known.  It—­was kind of you to come along over.”

In a moment all the girl’s timidity was gone.  If the man had been startled when she had announced her name, he displayed perfect ease now.

“Do you know,” Nancy went on, with a happy laugh, “I almost got mad with Laval for his cynicism at the expense of the poor boys who work under his orders.  But I think I understand him.  He’s a product of a life that moulds in pretty harsh form.  He doesn’t mean half he says.”