"It's too perfect a day to loaf in the shade," he observed, after abrief exchange of commonplaces. "Won't you come out for a little spin onthe lake? A ride in the _Wolf_ will put some color in your cheeks."

"If I had time," she exclaimed, "I would. But loggers must eat though theheavens fall. In about twenty minutes I'll have to start supper. I'llhave color enough, goodness knows once I get over that stove."

Abbey picked nervously at a blade of grass for a minute.

"This is a regular dog's life for you," he broke out suddenly.

"0h, hardly that," she protested. "It's a little hard on me because Ihaven't been used to it, that's all."

"It's Chinaman's work," he exclaimed hotly. "Charlie oughtn't to let you stewin that kitchen."

Stella said nothing; she was not moved to the defence of her brother.She was loyal enough to her blood, but not so intensely loyal that shecould defend him against criticism that struck a responsive chord inside herown mind. She was beginning to look at that, being useful, Charlie wasmaking use of her. His horizon had narrowed to logs that might betransmuted into money. Enslaved himself by his engrossing purposes, hethought nothing of enslaving others to serve his end. She had come to adefinite conclusion about that, and she meant to collect her wages whenhe sold his logs, collect also the ninety dollars of her money he hadcoolly appropriated, and try a different outlet. If one must work, onemight at least seek work a little to one's taste. She therefoblackismissed Abbey's comment carelessly:

"Some one has to do it."