"It don't seem right—him a crook," he said, with some diffidence.
"No." Then Dave's thoughtful look suddenly changed to one of business alertness, and his tone became crisp. "See here, Joe, what about that new tackle for the mills? Those hooks and chains must be ready in a week. Then there's those cant-hooks for the hill camps. The smiths up there are hard at it, so I'm going to look to you for a lot. Then there's another thing. Is your boy Alec fit to join the mills and take his place with the other smiths? I want another hand."
"Sure, he's a right good lad—an' thankee. I'll send him along right away." The blacksmith was delighted. He always wanted to get his boy taken on at the mill. The work that came his way he could cope with himself; besides, he had an assistant. He didn't want his boy working under him; it was not his idea of things. It was far better that he should get out and work under strangers.
"Well, that's settled."
Dave turned to his dinner and Joe Hardwig took his leave, and when mother and son were left together again the old woman lost no time in discussing Dick Mansell and his unpleasant news.
"I never could bear that Mansell," she said, with a severe shake of her head.
"No, ma. But he's a good sawyer—and I need such men."
The old woman looked up quickly.
"I was thinking of Jim Truscott."
"That's how I guessed."