The next morning Tom emerged ready and enthusiastic to be about his new labors. He was captivated by the backwoods character of the scene when he stepped out of the cottage. There is a romantic charm about a temporary camp. All permanent camps fall victims soon or late to the demon of civilization.

To be sure, the hotel and cottage were permanent structures, but the little group which Tom had joined lived a sort of makeshift life on the lonely mountain. They were planting poles down the mountainside for telephone and lighting wires, they were patching the masonry of the little reservoir which would later supply running water. But they had none of these discordant conveniences in their labor of preparation. The little community seemed like a lumber camp.

The skilled workers who had in some degree renovated the hotel were through, and Ferris’ heroic struggles with the autocrats of labor were ended. Carpenters, tinsmiths and plasterers had held sway and departed to strike and demand shorter hours in other parts.

Only a lot of odds and ends remained to be done, work that could be attended to by the strange, miscellaneous group of needy adventurers who, hearing of the work up on the mountain, had made the pilgrimage there in hope of little more than board and keep.

How Ferris had secured the members of this dubious company, Tom never knew. Most of them had come great distances. Some of them had the Jack of all trades quality, but none of them was trained in any special line of work. Perhaps that was why they were not prosperous; strikers and organizers. But they all had a certain Bohemian, happy-go-lucky quality and did not take themselves too seriously. He thought they were ideal companions for rough, camp life.

Audry Ferris seemed not to share Tom’s liking for this hapless band. Perhaps it was natural that a purposeful, intelligent girl of strong character should look askance at this handful of queer men exhibiting so much of the vagabond temperament. Perhaps she contrasted them with her brother, strong, responsible, efficient.

Their amiability and free and easy way of taking their employment, their humorous squint at the serious work of life, seemed to annoy her and she regarded them all with a sort of tolerant disdain. She had no faith even in the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, as Ferris called them, who by their fidelity had certainly earned the right to some consideration. “They stay because there’s nothing else they can do,” she said.

Tom had hoped that he might see Audry before he began work but he had to be content with hearing her voice in the kitchen where she was talking volubly with Miranda. He thought that her non-appearance at breakfast might be attributable to the fact that she had forgotten all about him. But indeed it was because Miranda had neglected to iron a certain gown. Poor Tom did not flatter himself that it was on his account this gown had been wanted.

Audry was evidently discussing the latest case in the epidemic of desertions which raged on the mountain, and as Tom sat on the edge of the tiny porch waiting for Ferris he could not help hearing.

“Not able to do the work! That’s all nonsense!” Audry was saying to the accompaniment of the clatter of dishes. “He could rest for a day or so and then go on, couldn’t he? He promised Niel he’d stay a month, didn’t he? It’s his plain duty to stay—no matter what. He just wants to give up, that’s all; he hasn’t any sense of obligation.”

“Lord a massy, chil’,” said Miranda. “He done be sick dat boy, he shu done be sick. Der ain’t no obilation when you sick, chil’.”

“Yes there is,” said Audry. “He said he’d stay and he signed a paper. Of course duties are sometimes hard and unpleasant. Do you think I don’t know that? But if I agreed to do a thing and knew that I ought to do it, I’d do it no matter what. I’d rather be sick than be weak—ugh!”

“Lor’, chil’,” said Miranda, “you think ib young Massa Spade—”

“His name is Slade,” said Audry impatiently. “And I can tell you beforehand that he wouldn’t, so there. He’s been all through the scouts and he’s head of a big camp and everybody that has read anything about the scouts knows that good citizenship is—it’s just a byword with them—I mean a slogan—it’s their motto. He went to war, didn’t he? Niel says he did, so there! Do you suppose he went because it was fun? Hmph! He went because his duty was above everything else. You can see it in his face.”

“Ned Whalen, he done go to war too,” ventured the amiable cook.

“I’m not talking about Ned Whalen,” snapped Audry. “Maybe he was drafted and had to go. I’m talking about that Sparrow boy. He has no respect for his word or his signature or his employer. And he’ll never succeed no matter where he goes because he’s weak. Ugh!”

Whatever else poor Tom showed in his face, he certainly showed a becoming flush at this impetuous diagnosis of his character. He was greatly edified. More than that, he was resolved that he would be worthy of this unseen maiden’s flattering pronouncement. His veneration of Audry’s character and intelligence deepened. He thought her a very extraordinary girl, the sort of girl whom one could go to for advice. And all that sort of thing.