--sprang up and opened the door. Eve stood there,
looking as modest and beautiful and elegant as ever--which is saying a
good deal, for, in deference to Mrs Liston's prejudices, she had
exchanged her old graceful tunic reaching to a little below the knee,
and her pretty bead-wrought leggings, and other picturesque
accompaniments of Indian life, for the long dress of civilisation.
However, I consoled myself with the fact that _nothing_ could spoil her,
and recalled with satisfaction the words (I don't quite remember them),
which refer to a rose smelling equally sweet under any other name.

"Prayers," said Eve.

Lest any one should feel perplexed by the brevity of her announcement, I
may mention that dear old Mrs Liston's habit was to recognise her "Best
Benefactor" night and morning by having worship in the household, and
invariably conducted it herself in her soft, slightly tremulous, but
still musical voice.

As we descended the stairs, Eve said,--"You must sit beside me to-night,
Geo'ge. When you sit opposite you gaze too much and make me
uncomfortable."

"Certainly, dear one," said I. "But pray don't call me Geo'ge--say
Geo-r-ge. There's an r in it, you know."

"Yes, Geo-o-o-r-r-r-r-ge!"

"Eve," I whispered, as we sat on the sofa together, while Mrs Liston
was wiping her spectacles, "I've been earnestly considering that last
attempt of yours, and I think upon the whole, that `Geo'ge' is better."

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

A PECULIAR WEDDING AND A WONDERFUL WALK.

Turn we once again to the great wilderness, and if we do so with half
the zest felt by Big Otter when he set forth on his journey, we will
certainly enjoy the trip, you and I, whoever you be.

But we must take the journey at a bound.

It is Christmas-time once more. Lake Wichikagan has put on its top-coat
of the purest Carrara marble. The roof of the little fort once again
resembles a French cake overloaded with creamy sugar. The pines are
black by contrast. The willows are smothered, all save the tops where
the snow-flakey ptarmigan find food and shelter. Smoke rises from the
various chimneys, showing that the dwellers in that remote outpost are
enjoying themselves as of old. The volumes of smoke also suggest
Christmas puddings.

Let us look in upon our old friends. In the men's house great
preparation for something or other is going on, for each man is doing
his best with soap, water, razor, brush, and garments, to make himself