said
Aleck McIntosh, a fellow who was supposed to be a scion of Scottish
nobility receiving remittances from his country. The most evident part
of his income, however, appeared to be contributed by his Cree wife,
who took in the little washing Carcajou indulged in and made the
finest moccasins in Ontario. "Going off with one and coming back with
another. I dare say you prefer carrying females to lugging the mails
around."

"Mebbe I likes it better but it's more hard on dem togs," asserted
Stefan, judicially.

"And--and ye left her at Hugo's shack, did ye?" ventured Pat again,
whereat Stefan nodded in assent and lighted his pipe.

"Did she say she was anyways related to him? His sister or something
like that?" persisted the engineer.

"Well, I tank she say somethin' about bein' his grandmother," retorted
Stefan, "but I can tell you something, Pat. If you vant so much know
all about it vhy you not put on your snowshoes an' tak' a run down
there. It ban a real nice little valk."

As Pat Kilrea suffered from the handicap of having been born with a
club-foot, which didn't prevent him from being an excellent man with
machinery but made walking rather burdensome for him, the others
guffawed again while the Swede opened the door and walked off, the
crusted snow crackling under his big feet.

"In course it's none of my business, like enough," said Pat,
virtuously, as he scratched a match on his trousers' leg, "but such
goings on don't seem right, nohow. 'Tain't right an' proper, because
it gives a bad example. I've knowed folks rid on a rail or even tarred
and feathered for the like of that."

Carcajou's sterling sense of propriety, as represented by half a dozen
male gossips, immediately agreed with him. The matter, they decided,
should be looked into.

"And--and what d'ye think about it, Miss Sophy?" asked Joe, desirous
of opening conversation again with the young woman and redeeming
himself.

"Things like that is beneath me to talk about," she asserted, coldly.
"And what's more, I don't care to hear about 'em. It--it's time ye got
back to the depot, Joe Follansbee and I'm goin' to close up anyways
and give ye all a chance to burn your own oil."

At this delicate invitation to vacate the premises the men rose and
trooped out. Once outside, however, they felt compelled in spite of
the bitter cold to comment a little further on the situation.

Sophy McGurn put up the large iron bar that was used to secure the
fr