“Well,” chuckled Peter—­it was not news; MacFarlane had told him all about it the week before at the Century—­“if you can keep the shanty tight and the cook sober you may weather it.  It must be great fun living in a shanty.  I never tried it, but I would like to.”

“Yes, perhaps it is,—­but it has its drawbacks.  I can’t come to see you for one thing, and then the home will be broken up.  Miss Ruth will go back to her grandmother’s for a while, she says, and later on she will visit the Fosters at Newport and perhaps spend a month with Aunt Felicia.”  He called her so now.

Jack paused for some further expression of opinion from his always ready adviser, but Peter’s eyes were still fixed on the slow, dying fire.

“It will be rather a rough job from what I saw of it,” Jack went on.  “We are to run a horizontal shaft into some ore deposits.  Mr. MacFarlane and I have been studying the plans for some time; we went over the ground together last month.  That’s why I didn’t come to you last week.”

Peter twisted his head:  “What’s the name of the nearest town?” MacFarlane had told him but he had forgotten.

“Morfordsburg.  I was there once with my father when I was a boy.  He had some ore lands near where these are;—­those he left me.  The Cumberland property we always called it.  I told you about it once.  It will never amount to anything,—­except by expensive boring.  That is also what hurts the value of this new property the Maryland Mining Company owns.  That’s what they want Mr. MacFarlane for.  Now, what would you do if you were me?”

“What sort of a town is Morfordsburg?” inquired Peter, ignoring Jack’s question, his head still buried between his shoulders.

“Oh, like all other country villages, away from railroad connection.”

“Any good houses,—­any to rent?”

“Yes,—­I saw two.”

“And you want my advice, do you, Jack?” he burst out, rising erect in his seat.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’d stick to MacFarlane and take Ruth with me.”

Jack broke out into a forced laugh.  Peter had arrived by a short cut!  Now he knew, he was a mind reader.

“She won’t go,” he answered in a voice that showed he was open to conviction.  Peter, perhaps, had something up his sleeve.

“Have you asked her?” The old fellow’s eyes were upon him now.

“No,—­not in so many words.”

“Well, try it.  She has always gone with her father; she loves the outdoor life and it loves her.  I never saw her look as pretty as she is now, and she has her horse too.  Try asking her yourself, beg her to come along and keep house and make a home for the three of you.”

Jack leaned back in his seat, his face a tangle of hopes and fears.  What was Uncle Peter driving at, anyhow?

“I have tried other things, and she would not listen,” he said in a more positive tone.  Again the two interviews he had had with Ruth came into his mind; the last one as if it had been yesterday.