though he was by no means a brilliant
conversationalist, there was something in his voice and the
half-whimsical tricks of fancy which now and then characterized him
that made a wide distinction between him and the general hired hand.
Once more it seemed to her that when he had called the old country a
garden it was a somewhat apt description, for this man had evidently
been subjected to careful training and pruning in his youth. He was,
she felt, one who had grown up under a watchful eye.

"Well," she said, with a little laugh, "perhaps you are wise. One
could almost fancy that the old land is overcrowded, and even on the
richest soil one needs light and air."

Weston's smile showed that he could understand her train of thought.

"I certainly think that some of us are hardier for transplanting," he
replied. "It is easier to make a vigorous growth out in the open, in
the wind and the sun. Besides, over yonder every one is pinched and
trimmed back to the same conventional pattern. They sacrifice too much
for uniformity."

"Still," said Ida, once more harping on the idea that troubled her,
"there are only wild flowers in the wilderness. One understands that
we have nothing like your peerless English blooms."

Weston looked at her with a little gleam in his eyes.

"Oh," he said, "one must be honest, and even for the credit of the old
land I can't admit that. It couldn't be, when you have your sunlight
and your crystal skies. It always seems to me that strength is
essential to perfect grace, and one finds both, and sweetness
unexcelled, out here in Canada."

He rose, and, taking up the rod, straightened the gut trace.

"There is a big trout rising in the slack," he said. "I think you
could cast from the bank."

Ida took the rod from him, and a little thrill of satisfaction ran
through her as she poised herself upon a jutting stone at the water's
edge. He had spoken vaguely, and she would have resented any undue
explicitness, but she had watched his face, and it had set her doubts
at rest. If any English girl had ever looked upon this man with favor,
which seemed probable, it was evident that he had long ago forgotten
her; and she fancied that if he had once been stirred to passion he
was not a man who would lightly forget. Then she set about casting for
the trout, which rose again; for, in view of her encounters with Mrs.
Kinnaird, it seemed advisable to take a few fish back with her, if
only to show how she had