"Sure, they could; but them boys know too much for that. Mr. Glover stays out a week at a time in this kind; he don't care. That man Paddy McGraw is his head engineer in the bucking gang; he don't care—them fellows don't care. But I've got a wife at the Cat and two babies, that's my fix. I never cared neither when I was single, but if I'm carried home now it's seven hundred and fifty relief and a thousand dollars in the A. O. U. W., and that's the end of it for the woman. That's why I don't like to freeze to death, ma'am. But what can you do if you're ordered out? Suppose your woman is a-hangin' to your neck like mine hung to me to-night and cryin'—whatever can you do? You've got to go or lose your job; and if you lose your job who'll feed your kids then?"
McGraw's head appeared under the canvas doorway. Glover did not follow him and Gertrude grew alarmed: but when the canvas rattled and she saw his cap she was waiting for him at the doorway and she put her hands happily on his frozen sleeve: "I'm so glad."
He looked at her with humor in his big eyes.
"I was afraid without you," she added, confusedly.
He laughed. "There's nothing to be afraid of."
"Oh, you are so cold. Come to the fire."
"What do you think about the ploughs now?" he asked of McGraw, who had climbed up to his seat.
"How many is there?" returned the engineer as Glover shivered before the fire.
"There may be a thousand."
"What do you want me to do?"