again.

But month by month there came a letter telling him of her and her
work, and this helped him to forget his pain. But more and more
often as the years went on, Jack French and his man Mackenzie sat
long nights in the bare ranch house with a bottle between them,
till Mackenzie fell under the table and Jack with his hard head and
his lonely heart was left by himself, staring at the fire if in
winter, or out of the window at the lake if in summer, till the
light on the water grew red, to his great hurt in body and in soul.

One spring day in the sixteenth year, in the middle of the month of
May, when Jack had driven to the Crossing for supplies, an unexpected
letter met him, which gave him much concern and changed forever the
even current of his life. And this was the letter:

'My dear Jack,--You have not yet answered my last, you bad boy,
but you know I do not wait for answers, or you would seldom hear
from me.' "And that's true enough," murmured Jack. 'But this is a
special letter, and is to ask you to do a great thing for me, a very
great thing. Indeed, you may not be able to do it at all.' "Indeed!"
said Jack. 'And if you cannot do it, I trust you to tell me so.'
"Trust me! well rather," said Jack again.

'You know something of my work among the Galicians, but you do not
know just how sad it often is. They are poor ignorant creatures, but
really they have kind hearts and have many nice things.' "By Jove!
She'd find good points in the very devil himself!" 'And I know you
would pity them if you knew them, especially the women and the children.
The women have to work so hard, and the children are growing up wild,
learning little of the good and much of the bad that Winnipeg streets
can teach them.' "Heaven help them of their school!" cried Jack.

'Well, I must tell you what I want. You remember seeing in the
papers that I sent you some years ago, the account of that terrible
murder by a Russian Nihilist named Kalmar, and you remember perhaps
how he nearly killed a horrid man who had treated him badly, very
badly, named Rosenblatt. Well, perhaps you remember that Kalmar
escaped from the penitentiary, and has not been heard of since.
His wife and children have somehow come under the power of this
Rosenblatt again. He has got a mortgage on her house and forces
the woman to do his will. The woman is a poor stupid creature, and
she has just slaved away for this man. The boy is different. He is
a fine handsome li