girl's sentiments were no concern of his. It was his business to
prepare the supper and wait on the party; and he set about it.
Darkness had descended upon the valley when he laid the plates of
indurated ware on a strip of clean white shingle, and then drawing
back a few yards sat down beneath the first of the pines in case they
needed anything further. A fire blazed and crackled between two small
logs felled for the purpose and rolled close together, and its
flickering light fell upon him and those who sat at supper, except at
times when it faded suddenly and the shadows closed in again. He was
then attired picturesquely in a fringed deerskin jacket dressed by
some of the Blackfeet across the Rockies. Kinnaird, who had once or
twice glanced in his direction, gazed hard at him.

"Have you ever been in India?" he asked.

"No, sir," said Weston in a formal manner, though "sir" is not often
used deferentially in western Canada.

Kinnaird appeared thoughtful.

"Well," he said, "I can't help thinking that I have come across you
somewhere before. I have a good memory for faces, and yours is
familiar."

"I have never seen you until to-day," said Weston. "I don't remember
your name, either."

"The curious thing," persisted Kinnaird, "is that while I can't quite
locate you I am almost sure I am right. What makes me feel more
certain is that, though you were younger then, you have grown into the
man I should have expected you to." Then he laughed. "Anyway, it's
clear that you don't remember me."

He turned to the others, and Miss Kinnaird asked for more coffee,
after which Weston, who brought it, sat still again to wait until he
could take away the plates. It was evident that his presence placed no
restraint on the conversation. At length he became suddenly intent.
Kinnaird was contrasting Canada and England for Miss Stirling's
benefit.

"Of course," he said, "we have nothing like this, but in the north,
at least, we have odd bits of rugged grandeur where the wildness of
the hills about one is emphasized by the green fertility of the
valleys. There is a typical place where we spent a few months last
year that I should like you to see. If you come back with us, as you
half promised, we will take you there."

Weston leaned forward a little, for he had still a curious tenderness
for the land of the fells and dales in which he had been born. He did
not know that Ida Stirling, who had watched him closely when Kinnaird
a