Maxwell did not return from his office one evening, and Helen went to the veranda in front of the small frame house. Vancouver was growing fast and big dark pines rolled back from the end of the new street. The other end went across the top of a hill, and one saw descending roofs and the smoke from the sawmill stacks by the water-front. In the background, across the Inlet, were wooded hills and shining snow.
The houses were built of shiplap boards and fronted narrow garden lots. They were decorated by mill-sawn scrolls and tapered pillars, but the model, reproduced all along the street, got monotonous, and Helen thought their neatness dreary. Although she had not long since occupied a primitive shack, the thrill of adventure was gone, and sometimes she thought about the spaciousness and q
