“Then I’ll sit on the doorstep.  But what is there to talk about?  You don’t want your rabbits tortured so that somebody may make thirty cents apiece.  It has got to be stopped, and why not stop it now?  Where does the fellow live?”

Helen told him, and added:  “But you can’t go like that.”

“No; I suppose not,” said Festing doubtfully.  “It won’t make a long round if I call at Gardiner’s.  I’ll come back later and tell you how I’ve fixed things up.”

He lifted his badly crushed hat, and when he turned away Helen laughed, a half-hysterical laugh.  His fierce energy had, so to speak, left her breathless; she was shaken by confused emotions.  It was for her sake he had plunged into the quarrel, but she felt disturbed by his savageness.  For all that, something in her approved, and it was really this that troubled her.  Picking up the basket, she crossed the field with a very thoughtful look.

CHAPTER X

HELEN DECIDES

Some weeks had passed since Festing went to gather mushrooms when he sat, one evening, on the terrace in front of Gardiner’s house.  His brows were knit and he had in his had a letter from Kerr at the construction camp.  The back of the letter was covered with penciled calculations, but he presently put it down and looked moodily about.

The larches that sheltered the house had been in full leaf when he came, but now they were getting bare.  One could see the hills through a fine network of twigs, dotted with minute tassels of gold.  The beeches and oaks looked solid yet, but the former shone warm brown and red against the others’ fading green.  Withered leaves fluttered down, and the smell of a burning heap hung in the damp air.

The touches of brown and gold in the landscape hinted that time was passing.  Winter was already advancing across the wastes of Northern Canada and the geese and ducks were flying south.  Festing heard in fancy the brant’s changing cry that always filled him with unrest, but the letter in his hand was a clearer call.  Kerr had offered him a contract for hauling a quantity of telegraph posts and logs across the snow, and his calculations indicated that the work ought to be profitable.  It would keep him occupied all winter; one could buy horses cheap when harvest was over and sell them advantageously when plowing began in the spring.  Besides, the money he earned would help him to stock his farm and furnish his homestead well.

He had loitered in England long enough.  He would never forget this holiday, for he had learned what happiness life might have in store; but it was a happiness that could not be attained by romantic dreams.  He must earn it by tense effort, and was willing to pay the price; this was the reason he must get back to work.  For all that, he had doubts, and was glad when Muriel came along the terrace and sat down on the bench.

“You look unusually thoughtful,” she said.