er of us than we deserve, and I dare
say I'm fortunate in that respect. In such a case, one feels it an
obligation not to abuse that person's confidence."

A slight flush crept into Sylvia's face. George believed in her and
she was very shabbily rewarding his trust.

"I'm surprised to hear you moralizing. It's not a habit of yours," she
remarked.

"No," said Herbert, pointedly; "though it may now and then make one
feel a little uncomfortable, it seldom does much good. But we were
talking about George. He tells me that winter's beginning unusually
soon; they've had what he calls a severe cold snap and the prairie's
deep with snow. He bought some more stock and young horses as an
offset to the bad harvest, and he's doubtful whether he has put up hay
enough. West and he are busy hauling stove-wood home from a bluff; and
he has had a little trouble with some shady characters as a result of
his taking part in a temperance campaign. I think that's all he has to
say."

Sylvia broke into half-incredulous merriment.

"It's hard to imagine George as a temperance reformer. Think of him,
making speeches!"

"Speeches aren't much in George's line," Herbert admitted. "Still, in
one way, I wasn't greatly astonished at the news. He's just the man to
be drawn into difficulties he might avoid, provided that somebody could
convince him the thing needed doing."

"Then you think he has been convinced?"

"I can hardly imagine George's setting out on a work of the kind he
mentioned without some persuasion," said Herbert with a smile. "The
subject's not one he ever took much interest in, and he's by no means
original."

Sylvia agreed with him, but she was silent a few moments, reclining in
an easy chair before the cheerful fire, while she glanced round the
room. It was comfortably furnished, warm, and brightly lighted; a
strong contrast to the lonely Canadian homestead to which her thoughts
wandered. She could recall the unpolished stove, filling the place
with its curious, unpleasant smell, and the icy draughts that eddied
about it. She could imagine the swish of driving snow about the
quivering wooden building when the dreaded blizzards raged; the
strange, oppressive silence when the prairie lay still in the grip of
the Arctic frost; and George coming in with half-frozen limbs and
snow-dust on his furs, to spend the dreary evening in trying to keep
warm. The picture her memory painted was vivid and it had a disturb