of British Columbia. Poor Banty had been so
accustomed to chum about with the old Lillooet hunter whom he had
nicknamed "The Eena" (which is the Chinook for "Beaver") that the
thought of a perfect outsider breaking into their companionship for
all the holidays was little short of misery.

But the next day when Banty drove down to Kamloops to meet the train,
and his cousin stepped from the sleeper on to the station platform,
things looked worse than threatened misery. The future loomed before him
like a tragedy; he almost groaned aloud, for swinging towards him with a
loose-jointed English gait was a tall, yellow-haired chap, the size of
a man, with a face sea-tanned between a pink and a brown, his long neck
encircled with a very high, very stiff collar, his light grey suit
pressed as if it had just arrived from the tailor's, and poor Banty's
quick eye flew from the smiling pink face to the faultlessly-trousered
legs--horrors! The trousers were _long_. (Banty had at least expected
a boy of his own size and age.) But, worst of all, below the trousers
gleamed immaculate shoes of patent leather!

"I'm glad Eena didn't come," moaned Banty. "If he'd seen _this_, he
would have steered clear of the ranch for weeks." Then, bracing himself
like a man, he went forward with outstretched hand to greet his
unwelcome relative. The English lad blushed like a girl as he met his
Canadian cousin, but his handclasp was decidedly masculine as his soft
London voice said: "Awfully good of you to come and fetch me, don't
you know. I suppose you're my Cousin Bantmore?"

"'Banty,'" was all the stricken boy could reply.

"Oh, good! I like that, 'Banty.' That's a great name!" exclaimed the
tall Britisher. "You're lucky! What would you do if you were handicapped
with a tag like mine--Constantine--with all the dubs at school calling
you 'Tiny' for short, while you stood a good five feet nine in your
socks? Isn't it dreadful?"

Instantly Banty found his heart warming towards this big pink cousin,
who bore with such sturdy good humor the affliction of such a terrible
name. "It _is_ bad," he assented, "but it might be doctored. Haven't you
got a middle name?"

"It's worse," grinned the victim. "It's St. Ives. I tried it on the
second term, and the crowd called me 'Ivy,' and one smartie sent me a
piece of blue ribbon to tie my yellow curls with--he wrote _that_ in
an insulting note."

"What'd you do?" gasped Banty.

"Licked him in full view of