“Oh, do you think that Mr. Sinclair would do anything like that?” Betty asked in surprise.

“I trust not,” was the reply.  “Nevertheless, it is just as well to be on guard in case something does happen.  You might speak to your mother about it when you see her.”

The next day David and Betty paid a visit to the falls.  They had not been there for over a week, which was a most unusual thing.  It was a beautiful afternoon, and a complete harmony seemed to reign everywhere.  David was in excellent spirits and he talked much about the wonderful improvements which were to come to the country.  He pointed out a number of the stakes the engineers had driven into the ground, and explained where the power house would be built.

“A year from now,” he told her, “there will be wires running to the city and all through the country.  The city people will have light for their houses and power for their machinery at cheap rates.  The farmers will have electric lights right in their homes and barns; they will have power to saw their wood, churn their butter, thresh and grind their grain, besides doing so many other things.  It will make a wonderful change in the lives of all.  Young people will not want to leave the farms and go to the city.  It will be a joy for them to remain, and so much of the drudgery will be taken away.”

“Won’t that be splendid!” Betty replied.  “How did you ever think of all those things?  Why, the people didn’t know you were thinking so much about their welfare when you were living all alone, and when they said you were crazy.”

“No, girl, they did not know,” and the old man gazed thoughtfully off into space.  “They believed that I was a fool, and perhaps they had reason for so thinking.  You see, I was very poor and had no means of carrying out my plans.  It has always been the way, and why should I have expected anything different from thousands of others who have tried to help their fellow men?  But now things have changed, and they will soon learn that old David was not so crazy after all.”

They were seated upon the bank of the stream as they thus talked.  On a bough of a near-by tree a squirrel was scolding, and off in the distance several crows were lifting up their raucous voices.  Betty picked up a stone and tossed it into the water below, and then watched with interest as it fell with a splash.

“I can throw farther than you, Mr. David,” she bantered.  “I can throw a stone to that big rock over there.”

“I haven’t thrown a stone in a long time, my child,” was the reply.

“Well, try it then,” was the command.  “Here is a nice smooth one.”

Rising to his feet, David took the stone and with a wide sweep of his long arm hurled it far down the stream almost to the base of the rock.

“You didn’t do it,” Betty shouted with delight.  “I can beat that, see if I can’t.”

She half turned to pick up another stone when she suddenly paused as her eyes rested upon a man coming toward them.  It was Peter Sinclair, and as he drew near and spoke to them, it seemed to Betty that the atmosphere had changed, and the day was not as fine as it had been but a few seconds before.  She wanted to get away, for this man’s presence seemed to weigh upon her in an ominous manner.  The reason why she could not explain.