A STORY Of Hie GREAT NORTH WEST
Gy viNGte e. aoe
ILLUSTRATIONS 6y /fry COST'SfcS
COPY/?/C/iT OY POOP. KEAD AM COMPANY
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—Silotz of Daily’s lumber
camo watches a stranger mishandle his
horse in climbing (he ridge and directs
him to tlie camp.
CH AFTER II—Walter Sundry introduces
himself lo John Daily, foreman, as "the
Dillingworth Dumber Co., or most of It.”
CHAPTKR III—Sandry makes acquaint
a nee with the eatnp and the work he has
come from the East to superintend and
rnuke successful.
Sometimes, to be sure, it was only a
little Oregon mist that saddened the
night outside, but it had the same
effect on the young man from the
midst of life in New York.
He was East and he knew it. Also,
the men had known it from that first
speech in the doorway of the cook
shack. They spoke ot' him among them
selves as "Dillingworth, ' accompany
ing the word with griii3, tasting its
flavor as delicately as any bo-spec
iacled professor of the East dallying
with a new derivative.
Nowhere in the world is discern
ment brought to a finer point than in
the lumber camps and mills of the
Northwest among that floating gentry
of the pike and peavey, the knee-laced
boot and the "turkey, " who pass here
and there with the seasons, picking
critically at the speech and doings of
many places
Also, nowhere is there a stronger
prejudice against any manifestation of
personal superiority, any exploitation
of what may lie east of the Cascades.
To them the man and the place art;
one;—East and Easterner.
They felt for him that contempt
which only the seasoned feel for the
inexperienced. And with the quick
ness which was his characteristic, the
new owner sensed the feeling among
them. It only added to that jumble of
sensations and impressions which had
crowded thick upon him from the first
and which he had had no time to
assort and get under control. He had
simply laid them away for future at
tention.
In the meantime he went quickly at
the work of settling himself in the
new environment. A load of lumber
was brought up the slough on the,
punt from the mill at Toledo and four
men were put to biiilflinfc » ismall of
fice. It was set at the edge of the
slough, a bit below the cook shack,
where it commanded from its two east
ern windows and door the track, the
reading donkey, the log-trail and the
rollway, and from the southern one
the winding slough, the rest ot the
track and the lower rollway, where
the donkey engine left the logs, its
duty done. After that they rolled
down with much splashing to the nar
row ribbon of water which, with ev
ery flood tide backed in from the bay.
lifted them high and trundled them
grinding and groaning, slowly down,
perhaps to the mill at Toledo, perhaps
to be laced together with mammoth
chains, built into a great raft and
towed out to the ocean to voyage
along the coast, down to southern Cal
ifornia or up to Portland. A tiny,
wheezy tug fussed about the backwa
ter for the express purpose of starting
the monster rafts out on the ebb.
Inside the new office were installed
a roll-top desk, a case of hooks, a map
or two and several chairs, beside a
small stove. Here, with the four pine
walls around him, Walter Sandry at
lust looked around and called himself
at home. The drawers of the new
desk were full of documents and mem
oranda, the history, with statistics and
records down to the minutest detail,
of the Dillingworth Lumber company.
These he set himself to master as his
first step toward the vast golden goal
of the dream that had brought him
west..
Very shrewdly he decided to take
Iiotl ing out of the capable hands of
bis foreman. There had been a soifcof
tense pause in the camp pending this
development. When it became appar
ent that things were to go on as
usual the work went forward as if
p. line had been loosened.
Pig John Daily had gone about dur
ing the few days of uncertainty with
the unruffled calm of his quiet nature,
though there was a small, a very small
ache somewhere inside him. Ever
since ho could remember, his life had
been cast in Daily's lumber camp—
when his father, old John Daily, had
logged with oxen on the eastern slopes
of the ('oast range and there was no
jerkwater railroad in to Yaqulna bay.
When a 200-foot, fir had tottered out
of lino and sent the old man forever
Into silence in the roaring thunder of
its fall, the boy John, at seventeen,
had picked up the reins of government
in the camp and carried on the work,
abetted and aided by that efficient
general, his mother. With the years
of his young manhood he had worked,
following the wilderness as progress
pushed it backward to the bay, seeing
little of the outside world save per
haps for a trip, once in three years, to
Portland or down to San Francisco,
and always during the past it had been
the Dillingworth Dumber company
into whose vust holdings the camp had
cut its way.
Always there had boen^no hand of
power In the hill? save his own, nn 1
I supervision excepting the annual visits j
| of some member of Uie firm who went i
over things, nodded, estimated, tool,
figures and went away. He had car
ried on 1)is camp himself fought sine*
he could remember with the Yellow
Pines company, whose holdings were
vast as those of the Dillingworth, and
had not thought of change.
When Walter Sandry settled quietly
down with no voice in the doings of j
the camp, Daily drew a good breath i
and went ahead once more.
As for the new timber magnate, ho
sat down at the new desk on the first
day of his occupancy of the little office
on the slough’s edge and wrote his
first letter.
It was on a printed letterhead:
Dillingworth I-umber Company,
Toledo, Oregon.
Dear Dnd: Excelsior! I fancy I’m 01
top of the world! Wish you could step 1
here for an hour's chat. Tim countr
would amaze you as It has me with I:.
mighty bigness. You feel like an ator
crawling on the sea’s floor—too small fi
count. The hills are like our belovoi
Catskills, only they are their wild cousin
from the wilderness, unkempt and savage
. . . There is wealth here. Dad, untold
wealth : t d T intend to get! a handful o
It. The timber is unsounded. It reaches
away to the Siletz reservation on tin
north—and on beyond. These Indians
oine into camp onee in awhile will
baskets, a timid sort of people, fishers
not fighters. The rurnpuge is magrtifl
cnt. We are the company, though w<
have a rival, a fi rmidable one, the Yellow ,
Pines, which operates to the south of us
I have met ta il, of their people ns yet
out my foreman t.-ils me there is. and
always has been, bad blood between us.
Well. d> ar old chap. I must not wearv
-on. Write me all the happenings tl at
concern you there. Tell Higgins if he
tiegle» ts one thing about you 1 will skin
him alive when I come home for a flying
trip.
i itope sir eon ar-1 fe ting enmforfabh
and will go !nto the Winter in good shape
When tie' sprang comes on 1 believe v:>
can bring you out hero with comfort—th
Pullman service ts smooth as glass across
continent .And 1 know the trip would
O' ;u fit you.
As he wrote those words the young
man’s bright blue eyes softened 1 ik<
i a woman's and a grim line settled
about his lips. He knew, on the word
of the greatest specialist ot two conti
nents, that the dignified old gentleman
to whom they were addressed, a white
haired gentleman with the finest bear
ing und the gentlest heart, tied irrevo
cably to an invalid ehair, had at the
most but a scant year to live. Yet he
i wrote of hope and travel and return
! ing health, wrote determinedly with it
| foree that must communicate some
i thing of its light to the lonely wreck
I left by the tide of life stranded at tin
edge of that mighty, flowing stream
: the metropolis.
He finished the letter with a com
; mendation so tender, so indicative of a
•TT^I I
Looked Around and Called Himself at
Home.
groat affection, that it did not sound
like a man's, a son's to a lather—
rather like a daughter's to an ailing
mother, signed, sealed and stamped it.
and sat for many minutes holding it in
his hand, staring hard with drawn
brows at the yellow pine of the new
walls. Again the faint shadow of sad
ness, of regret, flickered from the past
across his features. Then he sighed, :
rose with his graceful quickness and
straightened his shoulders. As lie
closed the desk and stepped from the
office he felt that he had gathered up
the reins of the new life.
—
CHAPTER V.
Wild Blood and Horseflesh.
Tho fall drew on apace. Sometimes
the austere gloom of the mighty coun
try thrilled Sandry with a strange
compelling; oftener it held him at a
dripping window with a load of lead
on his heart. He had no companions.
John Daily, easy, simple, suggesting
tried force, was his only comfort. In
him he found something vaguely fine,
as the plain little stone at the bottom
of clear waters takes on a certain
simple beauty. They spent an occa
sional evening together in the little
office, talking of the work, and the new
Qwneg asked and learned mapy things.
Into the ample heart of white-haired
Ma Daily Sandry had stepped that lifst
nisht. wholly without intent.
“He speaks like a man,’' she opined
decisively, "an' you mark my words
he'll prove himself so, if his hands are
white.”
Of the girl Si’ciz he had scarcely
taken a moment’s notice. He did not
oven know that when she served him
silenDv at the oilcloth covered table
the two long braids were tied togeth
er at the nape of her neck so that by
no chance could they fall against his
hand. Neither did he know that the
dog Coosnah watched him always with
pale e/cs. Of these two he knew les3
than cf any others in camp with whom
he had as much to do. As for the girl
herself, she kept away from his vicin
ity. Oftener they two, the girl and the
dog. silent with a common consent
like wild things of the woods, sought
tlie wind-swept top ot the groat stump
on»jthe western ridge. Here Si'etz
looked down on the drooping slope
and wondered of the cities and the
sea. He had come from them both.
She had never seen a man like him.
His cloihes were different. His speech
was unlike. So were his hands, white
and tine grained.
Also there was another of his pos
sessions that she knew in every lino
and turn, I‘lack Bolt, the splendid
horse that stamped and whinnied with
impatience in the lean-to behind the
■tiling shed. She could no ruore le^ him
alone than she could refrain from lying
down to drink from a mountain rill.
He called to her blood with irresist
ible force. Day after day she crept
shyly to the lean-to and dreamed,
watching the slope and the log-trail.
"Oh, you beauty!” she whispered
with a soft hand on the arching neck
"Oh, you beauty of the world! God
made you strong to serve and beauti
ful to be loved!”
And at that moment, on that par
ticular day, Walter Sandry stepped
into the doorway of the lean-to. At
his foot on the sill the girl whirled
upon him, her dark eyes wide with
fright and confusion.
"1—T—” she stammered like a child,
Sandry looked at her for the first
time keenly.
"You are fond < f Hie horse?" he
asked,
But her tong ■ clove suddenly to
the roof of her mouth and one ot the
inherent silences that sometimes fell
upon her shut ner lips
She dropped her eyes, twisted tier
fingers m Black Bolt s mane, and then
with a gliding motion, soft footed anti
swift, went past nim, running toward
die cook shack.
The incident was nothing in dwelt,
but it set the man thinking of her.
He had seen adoration in the eyes she
bent on the splendid animal, heard it
in the words stilted and incongruous
"Queer youngster," said Sandry to
himself.
That night after supper he came out.
contrary to his custom, from the little
south room with its patchwork quilts.
Us crocheted mat and its antique
Bible, into the big eating room
He found .Ma Daily rocking in the
little chair, her tired old hands lying
comfortably on the Portland Weekly
spread out on her slanting lap. The
wall lamps in their tin reflectors sil
vered her white hair exquisitely and
brought out softly the thousand kindly
creases on her ruddy face.
On the end of the bench drawn up
to the stand Siletz was sitting, weav
ing a mat of long grasses and her
fingers were deft as an Indian s.
Beilina lier on the bench lay Coos
nah, head on paws, eyes blinking
sleepily.
acinic hi, mi. oanury, sciiu me uiu
lady in her rich voice. “Draw up a
chair. We're restin'.”
He sat down and bent a smile as
brilliant as his blue eyes on this hardy
old mother of the wilderness. From
the first he had felt her personality,
though ho had no time to pay more
than a passing attention to it.
“1 should think you d need it," he
said. "How do you manage to keep
up the stroke?”
“Law bless you!” she laughed eas
ily, “I ben trained to it. I’ve cooked
in camp, young man, for forty-two
year straight ahead.”
“Then you've seen the growth of the
country, the coming of railroads, the
making of towns.”
“Right from the bottom up. Seen
'em grow from three cabins an' a cov
ered wagon.”
“You’ve witnessed the inroads of
the world on this fine timber, too'
“Yes. an' it hain't tcoh.ed yet. I’ve
seen it cut up over the Range an’
down this side, an' they’s double
stumpage for every acre that's ben
cut, between here’ll the coast."
Sundry was enjoying her succinct
precision of knowledge and expres
sion.
“And you’ve spent all these years in
the midst of this wet-blanket cli
mate?” he smiled, "Ilow in the world
did you do it—and keep your cheer
fulness?”
"Son,” said Ma Daily kindly, “you
can knock the country to me, but
don't, you go doin’ it where the men'll
hear you. ils web-feet are used to
the rain, but we don't like to hear the
Flasterners taik about it. It's a chip
on every Oregonian’s shoulder. You
don’t want to queer yourself.”
There was a note of genmne good
advice in the words and tone, and
Sundry got a suddep insight into sev
eral little happenings that had purzlod
him—for instance, the emphasized
wearing of blue shirts in a rain that
had soaked his overcoat and a few
remarks about the fact that Oregon
rain didn't wet through.
“Thank you, Mrs. Daily," no said
earnestly with a sudden feeling ot
friendship between him and this
shrewd, kindly old general ol men,
He turned presently *o the girl,
busy In the lamplight, her black head
shining a shadow over her eyes.
“By the way " he said, “If you caro
to you may ride Black Bolt whenever
you wish. He needs exercise and 1
cannot use him enough. Would you
care to ride lWm?“
She nodded quietly, without a flicker
of the pleased excitement he had ex
pected in the light of her seeming pas
sionate love of the animal, hut a slow,
dull flush spread upward in her dark
face and her fingers trembled a bit, lie
fancied, on the reeds.
They trembled in all surety the next
morning, when, with a bridle rd colored
and woven horsehair over her arm she
entered the lean-to.
Black Bolt was a gentleman born.
Though he was wild a - the sir! for
the free air, the green «:■ , -s and the
yielding sod under his feel h stood
still while she came up lightly as a
cat springs with a little soft alighting,
and they were gone, down over the
smooth slope of the valley toward the
lower rolhvay.
There were two interested specta
tors to that splendid night- Ma Daily
from the cook-shuck porch, who wiped
her eyes a bit and said aloud: ' Bless
the chifd! Wild wild! But it's nat
ural,” and Walter Sandry standing at
the south window of the oilice
Black Bolt, sick of the imprisoning
shed, fled like a buck full-fired with
spring, his feet skimming the wet
green of the grass. Beside them ran
Coosnah, low to the ground, long ears
flapping, keeping tile pa^e. Siietz, one
braid half whipped loose in the wind,
her bare face wet, was flushed all
through her dark cheeks, and her eyes
were like an opium smokers, content
with all the world.
“Did you like it?" Sandry asked her
amusedly that evening as lie passed
through the eating room.
“Yes," said Siietz with ner belying
Quietness.
“1 believe I've found a study, ‘ tie
said to himself as he went on, a
worthy study in human nature.
And Siietz had found a new heaven
and a new earth Something wild with
in her that had ever moved restlessly
broke torth, a glorious bower 01 ec
stasy. Day by day thereafter sac
loosed Black Bolt and sped into fields
of Elysium, lost to earth, intoxicated
mad with the. rush of wind and ram.
Always when she came back there
was the dusky Hush m her lace, tne
sleepy look of intoxication n her eycu.
Thus winter closed m on tne lonoiy
camp in tne mountains blue-black and
gray with mist and ram amt vivid
green with the new grass ot the coast
country.
CHAPTER VI.
Trouble W'th the Yellcw Pines,
i Walter Sandry sat iji the office at
the slough's edge, busy with file and
ledger. Two months had passed and
I something had lilted from lam in
these two months; a weight had light
ened. Where lied been a huge dis
gust, almost intolerable in its in
tensity, for this rain-soaked land, there
had crept in an insidious admiration.
Often now he looked down the green
little valley sharply de ned between
its binding hills and l'cit the subtle
charm of the intimate shadows, the
near white dusk and the great trees
under whose drooping feathery boughs
there lay silence and, a sense of ref
uge.
Suddenly there came to him a clam
or of voices, oaths and the throaty
tones of strong men in anger. I'p from
the lover rollway a group of loggers
catne stalking in tiieir spiked boots.
Behind them Murphy rocked excitedly
along in the tiny locomotive.
Sandry shut his ledger and stepped
outdoors.
“What's the matter, Collins?" he
asked of a huge man in the lead, a
perfect type of the logger of the great
Northwest, sun-browned, hard-mus
cled, wiry of figure and with the en
durance and power of a bull elephant.
“.Matter enough. Them damned
Yella i’ines's sawed live piles in th’
rollway an’ tore up two lengths of
track.”
Sandry went ahead down the track
and found a state of things sullicient
to raise the ire of any rivermar. or
timherjack.
\\ here the track approached the roll
way it had been torn up bodily, the
ties and rails thrown into the narrow
slough, as evidenced by a few pro
jecting ends, and the roliway itself, a
slanting floor of logs some two feet
thick supported on a group of gradu
ated piles, sagged in the center where
two piles had been cut and pried side
wise. The lower edge also drooped
for the same reason. It had been 1 lie
work of pure malice, that he saw at
a glance.
“Collins," ho said as the men came
up in a sullen group, “get to work and
see if you can raise those sawed sup
ports and pry thorn back on their
bases."
The gang went slowly down t'je
sharp bank of the tidewater slough.
“Johnny eastern,” said one softly,
“all right, all right! Brize up a roll
way! My Aunt Maria'”
Sundry stood near, realizing his lim
itations and raging helplessly watch
ing them lazily testing and pushing
here and there.
“Hadn't we better just spike ’em
on to the sides?” a-sked Collins, with a
droll upward glance.
Sandry was about to reply when
John Daily slipped down from the track
beside him Under the lee of the uam
agod roil way.
“Collins," he said sternly, “you get
hac k t ? camp and bring tools poavies,
hooks, a couple of chains and some
picks. Bring a couple of a:,es, too.
What do vou moan bv such business?"
“Orders." said Collins with a grin.
“Vou see, .Mr Sandry," said Daily
Apologetically, "there's no Axin' such
timbers as them, not when they’ve got
\W
“Seen 'Em Grow From Three Cabins
An’ a Covered Wagon.”
to carry such weight. They’ll have to
be taken out entirely an’ new ones
set.’’
"I didn't know,” returned Sandry
frankly; “won’t they hold back the
work?”
"A day or so, mebbe. We can take
the falters out an' put them on with
Collins an' the rest. There's enough
down to keep the Puckers busy a day
or two, anyway. We won't lose much.”
“Do you think this is the work of
the Yellow Pines people. Daily?’
“Sure,' said Daily with certainty,
"they've done worse than this before
now. Cut our best cable two years |
ago and twice they ve run the dinkey j
off the track into the slough. They're j
bad actors."
"Hut what's the use? What do they
gain?"
"They want to run us out of the
hills. Peon at it tor ten years. They re
just givin' you a hint as the new |
owner.'
The repairing of the damaged roll I
way was another revelation to the i
easterner. New timbers were brought ]
down and the slanting floor was thick
ly underpin; d. Then with pick and
shovel the men went at the work ot
digging out the damaged timbers. The
work was heavier, more dangerous and
disagreeable by reason of the water
four teet deep at lew tide, eight at
high, which lapped their bases.
Daily put them at the digging from
’he slope side at low tide: but on the
second day he stood long running his
blunt lingers through bis hair, as was
his custom when perplexed.
Sandry had come, down from the
oflice and now stood on the track
above the roll way looking over the
wet country below. At the roilway's
foot the sluggish ribbon of tidewater,
sullen and discolored, wound up from
the south. To the north the valley
lifted gently toward the camp and the
wilderness beyond.
Suddenly. "Daily,” he said, “what
are you going to do about it?”
"I don't just know. The men can’t
work in the water, and them piles have
got to come out. But there’s a way of
doin’ it. of course.”
"Of course," said the easterner, “and
why not go at it from above?”
The foreman looked at him inquir
ingly.
' That left bank of the slough up
there is in the form of a ridge. Don't
you think we could set a crew at it at
low tide and dig it through, turning
the water into the field yonder? That
would leave the slough empty here for
the time between high tides. Could
you get the timbers out In a few
hours?"
I rally s experienced eye had already
taken in every detail of the possibili
ties as Sandry talked.
"That's a good scheme, Mr. Sandry,’’
he said slowly. * “I believe it’ll work."
So it was that the first prat-1 ical sug
gestion of the new owner was set into
action.
The whole crew of the camp was
brouglif out of the hills and set to
work and the damaged rollway was re
paired as good as new. the break in
the west bank filled, the slough run
ning full again and nothing to show
for the trouble but the flooded field of
tules.
Under Walter Sundry's cool de
meanor there was a small glow of
satisfaction, a sense of having in a
way redeemed himself.
At supper time Siletz, moving be
tween the tables, laughed to herself,
softly, and her dark eyes under the
little shadow of her parted hair held
a sparkling gleam as if she had seen
that conflict and enjoyed it.
"Siletz,” said the owner, coming in
suddenly from the east porch after the
men had tramped heavily away to the
bunkhouse, "whom da you know out
side this camp?”
She was alone in the big spotless
kitchen, her sleeves rolled upfront her
arms, slim and brown with a smooth
color that was of the sun's giving.
“Outside the camp?" she asked, turn
ing to him for a moment, stopped in
some task of the aftermath of the
meal, "why—nobody.”
"Iton't you ever go down to Toledo?”
Sundry was leaning in the doorway,
his bright blue eyes upon her.
"Sometimes."
"Have you no friends there? No
girl friends?”
She sh: ok h*-r head and he noticed j
the ele-iu pr .tile, the shape of the 1
.-mall pointed chin, the g»<‘d forehead .
o: nflicting with a vague suggestion of !
fleeting wil.l things in the velvety 1
ev-*8.
"Is there uo qjio with whom you as
sociate outside the camp? Think."
Suddenly there passed over her fea
tures a quick change. He could liken
it to nothing but a wind on the surface
of water, just a breath of change.
“Only the Preacher," she said with
a swift slurring of softness in her
voice.
“The Preacher?”
“You don’t know him. He only comes
sometimes. He was here just before
you came.”
“Who is he?” asked Sandry curious
ly.
“I d»n’t know. Nobody knows. But
I love him."
“The Preacher,” he said to himself a
little later in the bare south room un
der the dripping eaves. “H'm! The
Bible—of course.”
With a new interest he picked up
the quaint old bcok of Holy Writ and
let it fall open in his hands as it had
a way of doing.
Out from that marvelous song of an
inspired soul, the Psalms, there looked
his answer, as he was to know in an
other day, the truest answer that could
have been given to his question:
Who shall ascend into the hill of the
I.ord? Or who shall stand in his holy
place? He that hath clean hands and a
pure heart: who hath not lifted up his
soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully.
With an odd feeling of truth struck
from the page ho closed the book and
laid it gently down on the white cloth.
CHAPTER VII
Night Wind.
From that time forth Sandry began
to take a keener interest in Siletz. For
cno thing, ho noticed that everyono
called her S'letz, with a soft slurring
cf the first syllable, and he found him
self using the name which he thought
particularly beautiful. It was the
name of the reservation to the north
and of a small part of the odds and
ends of tribes thrown in there by a
beneficent government What was her
other name? He had always thought
of her as .Ma Daily's daughter; and
yet. now that he came to think of it,
she had never seemed akin to the easy
going, open-minded foreman who was
wo like the old woman. She was alien
to both with her silences, her whimsi
cal speech and her look of hidden fire.
One day in the late fall, when the
white mist and the evergreen of the
forest had got on his nerves unbear
ably. Sundry left the office and went to
the shed for Black Bolt, only to find
him gone. He had meant to ride off
tne fit of blues. Failing that, he decid
ed to walk it off, and struck up the wet
green valley to the north.
Almost immediately the tumbling
hills closed in upon him and he foum)
himself in a wilderness of towering
firs, of dripping vine maples and mys
terious paths lost in the crowding
ferns. He was standing at rest in a
small glade carpeted with pine nee
I dies and surrounded with ferns, when
he caught the sound of voices. They
| came from the dense wall of the woods
j at his right and unconsciously he lis
| tened. tipping bis head and straining
his ears. Presently a look of blank
ness spread upon his face.
One of the voices was familiar, soft
and sliding with minors, the voice i f
the girl Siletz, and she was speaking
jargon.
Even as this amazing knowledge
was borne in upon him the tangle
parted and she stepped out before him.
A Siletz squaw followed her, a short
brown creature of comely features,
clad In brilliant flannel, a towering
pyramid of baskets slung to one shoul
der. Nosing eagerly at the girl's el
bow stepped Black Bolt, while Coos
nah brought up the rear. They per
ceived him instantly and the Indian
woman turned away with a few gut
turals which Siletz answered gently.
But in the moment that she had con
fronted him, Sandry had seen her face
and received a shock.
Beginning Just under the lower lip
and running downward to the base of
the chin there stood out three blue
bars, each composed of minutely tat
tooed designs. Unconsciously his star
tled eyes flew to the dark face of the
girl. There, on her lighter skin, tell
^ W y
“I Don’t Just Know.”
tale In its truth of outline, was the be
ginning of the same murk, broken in
its inception . by some mysterious
hand.
10 BE CONTI N l ED NEXT ISSL'i',
Choir and Quire
The word "quire, as ap; !h-u
i horus of singers is rare. The i r
word is "choir.”