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70 "You didn't have to take him into your house." "There was only one bunk left and there had to be a place to let Lucius sober up."

"He could have slept in mine," surlily.

"I didn't know when he came that you would be away. And—Why, Milt, he wouldn't fit in the men's shanty! He was so out of place in his leather coat and his soft hands. He's big and strong, but after all he's only a little boy, and not the sort to be thrown with a rough crew like we have now. He's a rich man's son who has never grown up and you feel out of patience and sorry for him at the same time. Aren't you ashamed to let your jealousy make you silly?"

Evidently Milt Goddard was. He grumbled and complained, but in a few moments he went his way after talking about work to be done, though it was clear that his mind was yet on his frustrated love-making. Above, John Taylor had heard through the grating in the floor. At first he had been amused, but when Helen Foraker spoke of him as an inconsequential youth who needed protection a furious flush swept into his cheeks. It was still there when he descended to find the girl at her desk.

"Good morning," she said with a nod. "I took a liberty with your affairs and sent Lucius back to Pancake. I've been planning to drive into the hardwood for the last week; I can make it today and from there I have to go into town, so you may ride with me."

"That wasn't necessary," he said coolly. "I had intended to spend the day there."

"I'm sorry—I didn't want the children to see Lucius. He is their uncle, the only living relative. Aunty May who is responsible for them, doesn't like to have him