He took off his broad hat when the others alighted, and Miss Deringham noticed there was a trace of courtliness in his simplicity.  Then he strode past her father, who was taking something out of his wallet, and swung himself lightly into the wagon.  He spoke to the team, there was a creak and rattle, and next moment the vehicle was lurching down the trail.  Deringham stood still a moment, his fingers inside the wallet and mild wonder in his eyes, and then smiled a little as his daughter turned towards him.  There was a faint pink flush of anger in her cheeks.

“The dollar does not appear to retain its usual influence in this part of Canada,” he said dryly.  “Possibly, however, the man was too embarrassed by your evident displeasure to remember his hire.”

Miss Deringham saw the twinkle in her father’s eyes and laughed a little.  “I don’t think he was,” she said.  “Had that been the case one could have forgiven him more easily.  Well, I wonder how long Barscombe will keep us waiting.”

Deringham made a whimsical gesture of resignation.  “In the meantime I notice that our late conductor has arranged a comfortable seat for you,” he said.

The girl sat down, and looked about her.  It was very still in the bush, and the sound of running water drifted musically out of the silence.  From somewhere in the distance there also came a curious drumming which she did not know then was made by an axe, but it presently ceased, and the song of the river rose alone in long drowsy pulsations.  In front of and behind her stretched the rows of serried trunks which had grown to vastness of girth and stateliness with the centuries, and the girl, who was of quick perceptions, felt instinctively the influence of their age and silence.  There was, it seemed, something intangible but existent in this still land of shadow which reacted upon her pleasantly after the artificial gaieties and glitter of surface civilization.  Her impatience and irritation seemed to melt, and the time slipped by, until she was almost drowsy when with an increasing rattle another wagon came jolting down the trail.

Its driver pulled up, and regarded them with placid astonishment, but he was amenable to the influence of Deringham’s wallet, and they took their places in the vehicle.  There was nothing remarkable about the man, and he ruminated gravely when as they stopped to let the horses drink Deringham asked him a question concerning their late companion.

“It might have been Thomson,” he said.  “A big man, kind of solid and homely?”

“No,” said Miss Deringham reflectively.  “I should scarcely describe him as homely.”

“Well,” said the other, “if you told me the kind of wagon I might guess at him.”

Deringham described the vehicle as well as he was able, and the stranger nodded.  “That’s Jimmy Thomson’s outfit all right,” said he.  “What did he charge you?”

Miss Dillingham laughed.  “It is curious that he charged us nothing,” said she.