No one saw him save the cook, who vouchsafed him a stately and
lugubrious inclination of the head.
The newcomer was a man somewhere about thirty years of age, squarely
built, big of bone, compact in bulk. His face was burly, jolly, and
reddened rather than tanned by long exposure. A pair of twinkling
blue eyes and a humorously quirked mouth redeemed his countenance
from commonplaceness.
He spread his feet apart and surveyed the scene.
"Well, boys," he remarked at last in a rollicking big voice, "I'm
glad to see the situation hasn't spoiled your appetites."
At this they looked up with a spontaneous answering grin. Tom North
laid aside his plate and started to arise.
"Sit still, Tom," interposed the newcomer. "Eat hearty. I'm going
to feed yet myself. Then we'll see what's to be done. I think
first thing you'd better see to having this wind turned off."
After the meal was finished, North and his principal sauntered to
the water's edge, where they stood for a minute looking at the logs
and the ruffled expanse of water below.
"Might as well have sails on them and be done with it," remarked
Jack Orde reflectively. "Couldn't hold 'em any tighter. It's a
pity that old mossback had to put in a mill.
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