ve been very plentiful the last
two years. Oh, we'll have the good old times over again! You'll see,
we'll soon put you right."

"It's good of you, Garry, to think so much of me; but I'm afraid, I'm
afraid I can't come just yet. I've got so much to do. I've got thirty
men working for me. I've just got to stay."

He sighed.

"Well, if you stay I'll stay, too. I don't like the way you're looking.
You're working too hard. Perhaps I can help you."

"All right; I'm afraid you'll find it rather awful, though. No one lives
up here in winter if they possibly can avoid it. But for a time it will
interest you."

"I think it will." And again his eyes stared fixedly at that piece of
embroidery on its little hoop.

"I'm terribly, glad to see you anyway, Garry. There's no use talking,
words can't express things like that between us two. You know what I
mean. I'm glad to see you, and I'll do my best to make your visit a
happy one."

Between the curtains that hung over the bedroom door I could see Berna
standing motionless. I wondered if he could see her too. His eyes
followed mine. They rested on the curtains and the strong, stern look
came into his face. Yet again he banished it with a sunny smile.

"Mother's one regret was that you were not with her when she died. Do
you know, old man, I think she was always fonder of you than of me? You
were the sentimental one of the family, and Mother was always a gentle
dreamer. I took more after Dad; dry and practical, you know. Well,
Mother used to worry a good deal about you. She missed you dreadfully,
and before she died she made me promise I'd always stand by you, and
look after you if anything happened."

"There's not much need of that, Garry. But thanks all the same, old man.
I've seen a lot in the past few years. I know something of the world
now. I've changed. I'm sort of disillusioned. I seem to have lost my
zest for things--but I know how to handle men, how to fight and how to
win."

"It's not that, lad. You know that to win is often to lose. You were
never made for the fight, my brother. It's all been a mistake. You're
too sensitive, too high-strung for a fighting-man. You have too much
sentiment in you. Your spirit urged you to fields of conquest and
romance, yet by nature you were designed for the gentler life. If you
could have curbed your impulse and only dreamed your adventures, you
would have been the happier. Imagination's been a curse to you, boy.
You've torture