the man was for the moment off his guard. This, however,
did not displease her.

"Of course," she said. "For that matter it couldn't have been very
burdensome to you."

Weston laughed in a rather curious fashion, and she saw the blood
creep into his face.

"I'm glad you have enjoyed it," he said. "It seems unfortunately
certain that I shall not have another time like this."

Ida was aware, of course, that the real man had spoken then, but in
another moment he once more, as she sometimes described it to herself,
drew back into his shell.

"I interrupted what you were going to say," he observed, with a
deprecatory gesture.

"It's very simple," said the girl. "If my father or any one else makes
you an offer, I should like you to take it. In one sense, chopping
trees and shoveling gravel on the track leads to nothing."

The flush Ida had already noticed grew a little plainer in the man's
face, but he smiled.

"I'm afraid I can't promise to do that," he said. "You see," and he
seemed to search for words, "there is a good deal of the vagabond in
me. I never could stand the cities, and that ought to be
comprehensible to you when you have seen the wilderness."

"In summer," said the girl dryly. "Isn't it very different during the
rest of the year?"

"Oh," declared Weston, "it's always good in the bush, even when the
pines are gleaming spires of white, and you haul the great logs out
with the plodding oxen over the down-trodden snow. There is nothing
the cities can give one to compare with the warmth of the log shack at
night when you lie, aching a little, about the stove, telling stories
with the boys, while the shingles snap and crackle under the frost.
Perhaps it's finer still to stand by with the peevie, while the great
trunks go crashing down the rapids with the freshets of the spring;
and then there's the still, hot summer, when the morning air's like
wine, and you can hear the clink-clink of the drills through the sound
of running water in the honey-scented shade, and watch the new wagon
road wind on into the pines. You have seen the big white peaks gleam
against the creeping night."

It was evident that he was endeavoring to find cause for contentment
with the life before him, but Ida fancied that he wished to avoid the
question she had raised.

"You forget to mention the raw hands and the galled shoulders, as well
as the snow-slush and the rain. However, that's not quite the point.
As I said, all that