“It will be finished before dinner,” Charnock replied.  “As a matter of fact, I brought in most of the posts to-day.”

Sadie’s look softened, but she did not mean to be gracious yet.

“I reckoned you’d be loafing round the house and finding fault,” she said and left him.

When she had gone Charnock smiled.  Sadie would, no doubt, come round to-morrow, and it was lucky she knew nothing about the cheque he had given Wilkinson; but he wondered where she had been.  Now he came to think of it, Wilkinson had said nothing abut the cheque when they met at the railroad settlement; but after all there was perhaps no reason he should do so.

About seven o’clock one evening a fortnight later, Festing threw down the cant-pole he had been using to move a big birch log, and lighting his pipe, stopped and looked about.  A shallow creek flowed through a ravine at the edge of the tall wheat, and below the spot where he stood its channel was spanned by the stringers of an unfinished bridge.  The creek had shrunk to a thread of water, but Festing, who had been wading about its bed, was wet and splashed with mire.  Moreover he had torn his threadbare overalls and his hot face was smeared where he had rubbed off the mosquitoes with dirty hands.

The evening was hot, he felt tired and moody, and his depression was not relieved when he glanced at the wheat.  There was no wind now, but the breeze had been fresh, and the ears of grain that were beginning to emerge from their sheaths dropped in a sickly manner.  The stalks had a ragged look and fine sand lay among the roots.  The crop was damaged, particularly along its exposed edge, although it might recover if there was rain.  Festing, studying the sky, saw no hope of this.  The soft blue to the east and the luminous green it melted into, with the harsh red glare of the sinking sun, threatened dry and boisterous weather.  Unless a change came soon, the wheat would be spoiled.

It was obvious that he had sown too large a crop, and the work this implied had overtaxed his strength.  He had felt the strain for some time, and now things were going against him it got worse.  Hope might have braced him, but the thought of failure was depressing.  For all that, there were economies he must practise at the cost of extra labor, and bridging the creek would lessen the cost of transport and enable him to sell one of his teams.  He was late for supper, but wanted to finish part of the work before he went home.

By and by he saw Helen stop at the edge of the ravine.  Her face was hot, as if she had been walking fast, and she looked vexed.

“You have kept us waiting half an hour and don’t seem ready yet,” she said.

“I’m not ready,” Festing replied, and stopped abruptly.  “Very sorry; I forgot all about it,” he resumed.

Helen made a gesture of annoyance.  She had invited some of their neighbors to supper and had spent the day preparing the feast.  Things, however, had gone wrong; the stove had got too hot and spoiled her choicest dishes.