“What, the men of Camp Number Three?”

“Yes.”

“But that timber is mine,” Sinclair replied.  “I sent a surveyor there last summer and he found that the old line was wrong.  A new one was run which gives me fifty rods off the rear of your shore lots.”

“There must be some mistake, Mr. Sinclair,” the countryman calmly returned.  “Our forefathers received their lands as grants from the Crown after the Revolutionary War.  A line was then run which separated the shore lots from that portion of land known as the ‘Dinsmore Manor,’ and there has been no dispute over it until now.”

“Look here!” and Sinclair sprang to his feet.  “I know my business and attend to it.  You attend to yours.  The new line is right and, by heavens, I’ll stick to it!”

“We are attending to our business,” the countryman replied, “and we’ll show you, wealthy though you are, that you can’t work any bluff game on us.  But,” and here he lowered his voice, “Mr. Sinclair, we don’t want to quarrel.  We came chiefly to tell you that your men in Camp Number Three are cutting the logs on the farm of a poor widow with several children.  If you are a man of any heart you will see that the work is stopped at once.”

“What, cease for a widow and her brood?  Never!  There is the Poor House—­let her go there; and the Orphanage is the place for the kids if they are not old enough to work.  Such people only injure a settlement, and you should be glad to be rid of them.  So, gentlemen, as I have much business on hand, I wish to be alone.”

“And you will do nothing to help that poor woman?” the three men asked as one.

“No, nothing.  Do your best.  If you wish to lose your farms, go ahead.  Good day.”

Christmas came on Thursday, and on Tuesday morning Mr. Sinclair informed Lois that he was going away and would not be back until the end of the week.  It was during breakfast that he told her this, and Lois paused in the act of pouring his coffee.

“And you’ll not be here for Christmas?” she asked in surprise.

“No.  Christmas means nothing to me.  I intend to visit my camps.  I should have gone before, as no doubt the men are loafing.  I am going to surprise them.  They’ll never expect to see me at this season of the year.  The men’ll want to take three days off, and I can’t allow it.  They always come back unfitted for work after their celebrations.  They’ll do nothing of the kind this year if they expect to work for me.”

Lois knew only too well how useless it was to try to reason with her father when he had once made up his mind.  She had learned from bitter experience in the past that the less she said the better it would be.  Nevertheless, her heart was very sad at the change that had come over her father.  Never before had he gone away fit Christmas time, and it was the one day in the year when he was more pleasant than usual.  What would be the outcome of it all? she wondered.