"What new creatures have you picked up now? You haven't run out of homeless cats and dogs, have you?"

The colour mounted to Lois' temples at these words, for it was not the first time she had been sneered at for her tenderness of heart for all suffering creatures. With difficulty she restrained an angry reply, and went on calmly with her dinner.

"Come, Lois," Sammie urged, "never mind d.i.c.k. He must have his little joke, don't you know. He was only in fun."

"A joke with a sharp thorn in it isn't much fun," and Lois looked Sammie full in the eyes. "One might do far worse than take an interest in such people as I met this afternoon out upon the river. They appealed to me very much and I am not ashamed to confess it. The man is a perfect gentleman, while the girl is so pretty, and full of life and fun."

"What's her name?" d.i.c.k asked. "I'm getting quite excited over her."

"She's Betty Bean, so she told me, and the old man is David Findley."

"What, Crazy David, that miserable pauper?" Mr. Sinclair asked. "And you call such a creature a gentleman?"

"Certainly, and why not? His face is so beautiful, and his whole manner shows that he has moved much in refined society."

"Ho, ho, that's a good one," and d.i.c.k leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud. "Crazy David a gentleman, with a beautiful face, and refined manners! Think of that, dad."

"Lois evidently doesn't know that Crazy David is a pauper, the Devil's Poor, and was sold to Jim Goban to board and lodge for a year. He went pretty low, so I understand."

At these words an expression of surprise came into Lois' eyes, mingled with indignation. She looked keenly into her father's face, thinking that he must be merely joking.

"I can hardly believe that what you say is true," she at length remarked. "I did not know that such things were carried on in a Christian community. Is it possible that an old man such as that was sold like a cow or a horse to the lowest bidder!"

"Well, what else could have been done with him, then?"

"Wasn't there any one in the whole parish, willing to take care of him?"

"H'm, I guess people have all they can do to look after themselves without being burdened with a half-cracked creature such as that. It was the best thing they could do. It would not be fair for one person to have the entire expense of keeping him, so by this method all have a share in his support."

"But I call it degrading," Lois insisted, "not only to the old man himself, but to the people living here. He seems such a gentleman, that I was drawn to him this afternoon."

"Going to take him under your wing, eh?" d.i.c.k bantered. "He'll be as interesting as your other protege, I a.s.sure you. By the way, I saw him this afternoon, and he looked his part all right, ho, ho," and d.i.c.k laughed as he gulped down his tea.

"Who's that, d.i.c.k?" Mr. Sinclair inquired.

"Oh, Lois knows," was the reply. "She can tell you all about 'Spuds'

as well as I can, and maybe better."

"Why should I know?" his sister asked, somewhat sharply. "I only met him once, and that was years ago."

"But you always take his part, though, so he seems to be somewhat under your care."

"And why shouldn't I? He deserves great credit for what he has done, and it is very unbecoming of you to make fun of him."

"I wish you could have seen him this afternoon, though," and d.i.c.k glanced across the table at Sammie. "We were speeding along in the car when we saw him hoeing potatoes in a field by the road. His clothes were all soiled, his sleeves rolled up, and he looked like a regular bushman. I called out to him as we sped past, and you should have seen the expression on his face when he saw us. It was like a thunder cloud. I guess he felt pretty well cut up at being caught at such work, ha, ha."

"Whom are you talking about, anyway?" Mr. Sinclair demanded. "What's all this about 'Spuds,' I'd like to know?"

"Oh, it's only that country chap we met several years ago, don't you remember?" d.i.c.k explained. "His real name, I believe, is Jasper Randall, though we have always called him Spuds, because he was digging potatoes when we first met him."

"You don't mean that big overgrown boy who helped us to carry Lois home the day she sprained her ankle at Daltan Creek?"

"The very same, dad. And you remember what fun we had at the way he sat and drank his tea out of the saucer?"

"But I didn't." Lois spoke sharply, while a flush mantled her cheeks.

"Oh, no, you didn't make fun," d.i.c.k laughed. "You were mad through and through, and gave us a good solid lecture afterwards."

Lois made no reply, so while the men talked, she let her mind dwell upon that scene of years ago. She saw again the lank awkward lad who was so concerned about her accident. While helping to carry her home, he had been much at his ease, and his eyes glowed with a sympathetic light. But when once in the house, his natural shyness had come upon him, and he did not know what to do with himself in the presence of strangers. One thing stood out above everything else, and that was his look of indignant defiance when d.i.c.k laughed because he drank his tea out of the saucer. She liked the way he had straightened himself suddenly up, while his eyes flashed with a peculiar light. The next that she heard of him was several years later when he entered college in d.i.c.k's year. Then every time her brother had come home he had such stories to tell her about Spuds. And so he was now living near working on a farm. Why did he not go home? she asked herself. She wondered also what he looked like now. Was he lank and awkward as when she saw him? She longed to ask d.i.c.k several questions, but desisted, knowing that it would be to little purpose. Her brother would only make fun of him, and she would be sure to get angry.

When supper was over, the men sauntered out upon the verandah for a smoke. Lois went, too, but sat somewhat apart with a piece of needlework in her hands. She preferred to be alone that she might think. She thought first of old David, and his pitiable condition.

What could she do to help him? she asked herself. It was not right that he should be kept as a pauper while there were several people in the parish who could provide for him without the least trouble. Her father was one of them, and she was determined to speak to him just as soon as she could.

From old David it was only natural that her mind should turn to Jasper Randall. She recalled his animated face the day her ankle had been sprained. He was but a big overgrown boy then, and she had just graduated from school. She had never forgotten him, and had followed his career while at college as well as she could from what her brother told her. And so he was now working on a farm nearby. A longing came upon her to see him, and to learn if he had changed much since that day years ago. As she glanced toward her brother and Sammie, so effeminate in their manner, and dressed with such scrupulous care, a feeling of contempt smote her. They disdained honest toil, and would scorn to soil their soft white hands with manual labor. But over there was a young man toil-worn, and no doubt sunburnt, clad in rough clothes earning his living by the sweat of his brow. Such a person appealed to her. He would form an interesting study, if nothing else. There must be some connection between that potato patch and the college, she told herself, and she was determined to find out what it was.

As she thus sat and worked, her thoughts keeping time to her fingers, Sammie came and took a seat by her side. She glanced quickly up, with a shade of annoyance on her face. They were alone on the verandah, for her father and d.i.c.k were nowhere to be seen.

"You are very quiet this evening, Lois," the young man began. "I have been watching you for the last half hour, and you never looked our way once, nor took any interest in what we were saying. You are not offended, are you?"

"Offended! At what?" Lois asked as she let her needlework fall upon her lap.

"At me. Have I done anything to annoy you?"

"I wasn't thinking about you at all, Sammie," and Lois looked him full in the eyes. "My mind was upon more important things."

"And you don't consider me important?" the young man demanded, visibly embarra.s.sed.

"Why should I? What have you done that you should be considered important?"

"But my father is rich, and we belong to a good old family. I am a gentleman, and that should count for much."

"So you seem to think," was the somewhat sarcastic reply. "I do not for a moment deny that such things are valuable, but they count for very little in my estimation of a true man. He must prove his worth in the battle of life, and show to the world that he is something apart from how much money his father may have or his family history. Now what have you done that I should consider you important?"

"Nothing at present, Lois, for I am not through college yet. But I am going to do great things some day, and then you will change your opinion of me."

"I hope so," and Lois gave a sigh as she picked up her work.

"You don't believe what I say?" and Sammie reddened.

"Not until I see you settle down to something definite. You do not know how to work, and how, then, can you expect to succeed?"

"But you would not want to see me working like Spuds, for instance, would you?"

"And why not? He is not afraid to soil his hands at honest labor. Why he is doing so I do not know, but there must be some good reason."

"Oh, I know. He wants money to help him to finish his college course.

He left very suddenly, so I understand. Of course, he was not in our set, and so I know very little about him. He studied hard, and kept much to himself, so he has always been somewhat of a mystery. But say, Lois, never mind talking about him. I want to ask you something, for I am going away to-morrow."