He had built up for her his castles in the air, and the miracle of it was that she had helped him to build them.

He had described for her the change that was creeping slowly over Alaska, the replacement of mountain trails by stage and automobile highways, the building of railroads, the growth of cities where tents had stood a few years before.

It was then, when he had pictured progress and civilization and the breaking down of nature's last barriers before science and invention, that he had seen a cloud of doubt in her gray eyes.
And now, as they stood on the deck of the _Nome_ looking at the white peaks of the mountains dissolving into the lavender mist of twilight, doubt and perplexity were still deeper in her eyes, and she said: "I would always love tents and old trails and nature's barriers.

I envy Belinda Mulrooney, whom you told me about this afternoon.

I hate cities and railroads and automobiles, and all that goes with them, and I am sorry to see those things come to Alaska.