III-XVI

As customary on Saturday noon Gordon
found his copy of the weekly _Bugle_ projecting
from his numbered compartment at
the post-office. There were no letters. He thrust
the paper into his pocket, and returned to the village
street. The day was warm, but the mists that had
enveloped the peaks were dissolving, the sky was
sparkling, clear. By evening, Gordon decided, it
would be cold again, and then the long, rigorous
winter would close upon the valley and mountains.

He looked forward to it with relief, as a period of
somnolence and prolonged rest -- the mental stress
and labor of the past days had wearied him of the
active contact with men and events. He was glad
that they were, practically, solved, at an end -- the
towering columns of figures, the perplexing problems
of equity, the far-reaching decisions.

In rehearsing his course it seemed impossible to
have hit upon a better, a more comprehensive, plan.
There was hardly a family he knew of in the valley
of which some member might not now have his
chance. That, an opportunity for all, was what
Gordon was providing.

[[335]]

p334 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p335w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p336

v?