Kindred of the Dust | Page 7

very kind, sir. And I can have the Sawdust Pile, sir?"
"Yes; since Donald gave it to you. However, I wish you'd tear down
that patchwork fence and replace it with a decent job the instant you
can afford it."
"Ah, just wait," old Brent promised. "I know how to make things neat
and pretty and keep them shipshape. You just keep your eye on the
Sawdust Pile, sir." The old wind-bitten face flushed with pride; the
faded sea-blue eyes shone with joyous anticipation. "I've observed your
pride in your town, sir, and before I get through, I'll have a prettier
place than the best of them."
A few days later, The Laird looked across the Bight of Tyee from his
home on Tyee Head, and through his marine glasses studied the
Sawdust Pile. He chuckled as he observed that the ramshackle shanty

had disappeared almost as soon as it had been started and in its place a
small cottage was being erected. There was a pile of lumber in the
yard--bright lumber, fresh from the saws--and old Caleb Brent and the
motherless Nan were being assisted by two carpenters on the Tyee
Lumber Company's pay-roll.
When Donald came home from school that night, The Laird asked him
about the inhabitants of the Sawdust Pile with relation to the lumber
and the two carpenters.
"Oh, I made a trade with Mr. Brent and Nan. I'm to furnish the lumber
and furniture for the house, and those two carpenters weren't very busy,
so Mr. Daney told me I could have them to help out. In return, Mr.
Brent is going to build me a sloop and teach me how to sail it."
The Laird nodded.
"When his little home is completed, Donald," he suggested presently,
"you might take old Brent and his girl over to our old house in town
and let them have what furniture they require. See if you cannot
manage to saw off some of your mother's antiques on them," added
whimsically. "By the way, what kind of shanty is old Brent going to
build?"
"A square house with five rooms and a cupola fitted up like a
pilot-house. There's to be a flagpole on the cupola, and Nan says they'll
have colors every night and morning. That means that you hoist the
flag in the morning and salute it, and when you haul it down at night,
you salute it again. They do that up at the Bremerton navy-yard."
"That's rather a nice, sentimental idea," Hector McKaye replied. "I
rather like old Brent and his girl for that. We Americans are too prone
to take our flag and what it stands for rather lightly."
"Nan wants me to have colors up here, too," Donald continued. "Then
she can see our flag, and we can see theirs across the bight."
"All right," The Laird answered heartily, for he was always profoundly
interested in anything that interested his boy. "I'll have the woods boss
get out a nice young cedar with, say, a twelve-inch butt, and we'll make
it into a flagpole."
"If we're going to do the job navy-fashion, we ought to fire a sunrise
and sunset gun," Donald suggested with all the enthusiasm of his
sixteen years.
"Well, I think we can afford that, too, Donald."

Thus it came about that the little brass cannon was installed on its
concrete base on the cliff. And when the flagpole had been erected, old
Caleb Brent came up one day, built a little mound of smooth,
sea-washed cobblestones round the base, and whitewashed them.
Evidently he was a prideful little man, and liked to see things done in a
seamanlike manner. And presently it became a habit with The Laird to
watch night and morning, for the little pin-prick of color to flutter forth
from the house on the Sawdust Pile, and if his own colors did not break
forth on the instant and the little cannon boom from the cliff, he was
annoyed and demanded an explanation.

III
Hector McKaye and his close-mouthed general manager, Andrew
Daney, were the only persons who knew the extent of The Laird's
fortune. Even their knowledge was approximate, however, for The
Laird disliked to delude himself, and carried on his books at their
cost-price properties which had appreciated tremendously in value
since their purchase. The knowledge of his wealth brought to McKaye
a goodly measure of happiness--not because he was of Scottish
ancestry and had inherited a love for his baubees, but because he was
descended from a fierce, proud Scottish clan and wealth spelled
independence to him and his.
The Laird would have filled his cup of happiness to overflowing had he
married a less mediocre woman or had he raised his daughters as he
had his son. The girls' upbringing had