rise to surmount the unwonted growth. In the distance the lake, a mirror of silver, reflected the day's declining rays. All was silent, expectant—an earthly paradise awaiting the new race of Seth. Across the valley from side to side stretched a chain of tents, in squares and crescents. Each little tabernacle, labelled with the name of the intended occupant, stood open in a plot of five acres, duly pegged off. The belongings of each family, sent forward the day before, had been neatly bestowed in the allotted tent. The night previous, the balloting had taken place at the White House; Jim and Elms drawing, one the number of the allotment, the other the name of the future settler, from the doctor's hat on the one hand, from Mrs. Courtenay's reticule on the other. The good lady had protested.
"I want you to have a hand in it, my dear," the doctor had urged.
"I suppose because I do not approve."
"Oh, yes, you do; you are deeply interested already."
"Only for your sake."
"No wonder the lady demurs," remarked the incorrigible Tom, who had come to have a peep at the place. "Naturally she objects to have one man's hand in her reticule and another's in her husband's pocket. Typical and significant."
"Well, they'll soon be empty again," remarked the good lady. "My husband has not calculated what it will cost to feed a thousand mouths for two or three years, and to run all his factories."
"The labourers will feed themselves, my dear, if I give them the chance."
"But will they?"
"That is just the problem we are going to solve."
Now the doctor and his followers were putting the last rickety chair on its faulty legs in one tent, propping up
