At lunch-time they grudgingly admitted him, and, although they protested that they were not half through, he was naively astonished at the change they had brought to pass.  For the first time in many days the place was thoroughly warm and dry; it likewise displayed an orderliness and comfort to which it had been a stranger.  From some obscure source the girls had gathered pictures for the bare walls; they had hung figured curtains at the windows; there were fresh white covers for bed, bureau, and washstand.  His clothes had been rearranged, and posted in conspicuous places were written directions telling him of their whereabouts.  One of the cards bore these words:  “Your soup!  Take one in cup of hot brandy and water before retiring.”  Beneath were a bottle and a box of bouillon tablets.  A shining tea-kettle was humming on the stove.

“This is splendid,” he agreed, when they had completed a tour of inspection.  “But where are my blue-prints?”

“In the drafting-room, where they belong.  This room is for rest and sleep.  We want to see it in this condition when we come back.”

“Where did you find the fur rug?” He indicated a thick bearskin beside the bed.

“We stole it from Mr. Parker,” they confessed, shamelessly.  “He had two.”

Eliza continued complacently:  “We nearly came to blows with the chef when we kidnapped his best boy.  We’ve ordered him to keep this place warm and look after your clothes and clean up every morning.  He’s to be your valet and take care of you.”

“But—­we’re dreadfully short-handed in the mess-house,” O’Neil protested.

“We’ve given the chef your bill of fare, and your man Ben will see that you eat it.”

“I won’t stand for soup.  It—­”

“Hush!  Do you want us to come again?” Natalie demanded.

“Yes!  Again and again!” He nodded vigorously.  “I dare say I was getting careless.  I pay more attention to the men’s quarters than to my own.  Do you know—­this is the first hint of home I’ve had since I was a boy?  And—­it’s mighty agreeable.”  He stared wistfully at the feminine touches on all sides.

The bride settled herself with needle and thread, saying: 

“Now take Eliza to the bridge while the light is good; she wants to snap-shoot it.  I’m going to sew on buttons and enjoy myself.”

O’Neil read agreement in Eliza’s eyes, and obeyed.  As they neared the river-bank the girl exclaimed in surprise; for up out of the frozen Salmon two giant towers of concrete thrust themselves, on each bank were massive abutments, and connecting them were the beginnings of a complicated “false-work” structure by means of which the steel was to be laid in place.  It consisted of rows upon rows of piling, laced together with an intricate pattern of squared timbers.  Tracks were being laid upon it, and along the rails ran a towering movable crane, or “traveler,” somewhat like a tremendous cradle.  This too was