“May I bring Andy in to dine with us, Mr. McLean?” she asked as she came back to the table.
Donald nodded assent. She ran gleefully to the kitchen, and a moment later the loggers grinned broadly as she came through the door leading the protesting cook by the arm.
“Now,” she said as Andy sat down, “we’re all here.” She looked about her and clasped her hands rapturously. “It seems as though I had been gone for years. And oh, it is so nice to be home again!” She sank to a chair between Andy and the trapper. “Do you remember, Andy, when you were dressed as a butler and danced with John at your party?” She threw back her golden head and her silvery laughter filled the room.
Janet was unhappy from the moment of Connie’s arrival. She had caught the look of adoration in Donald’s eyes as Connie stepped to the station platform. Standing there then she had quite definitely abandoned any hope of winning him. And Janet had been so sure that once she had held a place in his heart. A great depression, a great weariness of spirit, settled upon her.
That evening, as Donald walked with his parents by the lake-shore, he turned to his father. “Dad,” he said anxiously, “do you think I have made good? Will you forgive me for—for——”
John McLean’s eyes grew suddenly misty. “Donnie,” he began gently, “Mr. Rennie has told us all about you. And no man could speak more highly of another.” He drew a newspaper from his pocket. “Haven’t you seen this?”
It was Vancouver’s morning paper, with a full-page devoted to the visit of the Eastern lumbermen. There were several photographs of the Summit Mill and one of Donald. The paper spoke of him as “the able young engineer whose modern ideas and energy had given to British Columbia a logging plant and mill that were a credit to the Province.”
Donald saw the proud light in his father’s eyes, and his heart was filled with a great peace.
The next day carpenters and material arrived for the construction of Wainwright’s new home. That afternoon Connie, clad in fashionable riding habit, came to the mill office with her foreman to place an order for lumber. Pegasus in silver-mounted bridle and English saddle was proudly restive. With neck arched he curvetted and rocked while Connie sat on his back with that complete lack of self-consciousness that is the heritage of a born horsewoman. Before leaving she rode up the hill among the toiling workers, her irresistible smile bringing an answering grin from the “redshirts,” who doffed their big hats and shouted a joyous greeting.
All day pack-horses and men struggled up the hill, staggering under the weight of building material. But although Donald strained his eyes for a glimpse of the golden-haired rider, he saw her no more that day.