Whereupon Rupert pointed out that the rich bench lands on each side of the river could be brought under cultivation, and crops secured every year by bringing the water from the stream in canals, and watering, or irrigating them. Mr. Janson listened with wonder at Rupert's description of Dry-bench reservoir, and how simple it would be to construct canals by which to water Chamogo valley.
"This valley can be made to support a good-sized population," said Rupert. "By securing the land and digging canals to it, and then selling it out in farms again—well, if you don't make a hundred per cent on your investment, I am mistaken."
They had many talks on the scheme, and at last it was decided to try it. Rupert would supervise the construction of the canals. He would remain during the winter, do what work could be done before the snow came, and then continue the work in the spring.
The land was secured at a small outlay. The canal was surveyed and a little digging was done that fall. When the snow came, Rupert rode twenty-one miles to the county seat, took the teachers' examination, received a certificate, and obtained the Chamogo district school for the winter. It was a new experience for him, and a trying one at first. The big boys came to school to get out of the storm, and incidentally, to learn something of the three R's. They were often wild, but Rupert managed them without doing any "licking," the usual mode of discipline. He now wrote to his sister Nina, and told her that he was located for the winter; that he expected to get back to Willowby, but not for a time.
So the winter months passed. Rupert studied his own lessons when he was not preparing for his day's work. He made frequent visits to the Jansons, though it was a good three miles' drive. He was always received as a friend, and, indeed, was treated as one of the family.
Was it strange that a tie should grow between Rupert Ames and Signe Dahl? Was it anything out of the way that Rupert's trips became more frequent, and that the fair-haired Norwegian looked longingly down the road for the school-master's horse?
Rupert did not try to deceive himself. It had been a year only since his experience with Virginia Wilton. He had thought that he never would get over that, but even now he could look back on it with indifference, yes, even with thankfulness. This love which seemed to be coming to him was different from that first experience. He could not explain this difference, but he knew that it existed. Rupert had no misgivings. Signe did not thrill him, did not hold him spell-bound with her presence. No; it was only a calm, sweet assurance that she was a good girl, that he loved her, and that she thought well of him. Their conversations were mostly on serious, but deeply interesting subjects. Signe, in common with her cousin and Mr. Janson, had religious views of her own, which were peculiar, at least to Rupert. Nothing more than the common doctrines of the Christian denominations had Rupert ever heard. Signe knew her Bible well, and she could find wonderful things within its lids, teachings which were new to Rupert, but which opened to him a future, a bright, glorious future, full of possibilities. Besides, they explained to him many of the mysteries of life and answered many of its hard questions.
Thus one evening—it was Friday, and he lingered longer on that evening—Mr. and Mrs. Janson were visiting neighbors, and Rupert and Signe were alone. They sat by the kitchen stove, and the blazing pine wood made a lamp unnecessary. Signe had received a letter from home which she had translated to Rupert. Her father had long since forgiven her. The few dollars she sent home now and then multiplied to quite a few kroner by the time they reached Norway, and they helped the struggling family. After old country topics had been exhausted, the conversation had drifted to religious themes, and especially to the doctrine expressed in the song "O my Father;" but they now sat silently looking into the fire. Their chairs were not far apart, and it was an easy matter for Rupert to lay his hand over Signe's fingers that rested on the arm of her chair and draw them closely into his big palm.
"Signe," he said, "if we ever lived as intelligent beings in a pre-existent state—and I now can not doubt it,—we two knew each other there. Perhaps we were the closest friends, and I have just been letting my imagination run wild in contemplating the possibilities."
"Let me tell you someting—thing. Did I get tha-at right?"