ly, "there was a glint in that
man's eye last night that made me decide to risk the storm, though
I'm not fond of a blizzard. I believe he would have struck me. Where
is he now? I like him. I want to shake hands with him."

Mrs. Cavers sank on the lounge, white and trembling.

Dr. Clay saw the mistake the other man was making and hastened to set
him right.

"Do you mean to tell me, Clay, that that man who brought me here is
not the little girl's father? Well, then, who in the world is he?"

"His name is Sandy Braden," Dr. Clay replied, "and he is--just a
neighbour."

"Well, then," the doctor cried in astonishment, "let me tell you,
madam"--turning to Mrs. Cavers--"you have one good neighbour."

Much to the doctor's surprise, Mrs. Cavers buried her face in her
hands, while her shoulders shook with sobs. After a few minutes she
raised her head, and looking the doctor in the face, said brokenly:

"Doctor MacTavish, you are right about that, but I have not only one
good neighbour; I have many."

Then she stood up and laid her hand on the young doctor's arm.
"Dr. Clay," she said, "tell Sandy Braden I have only one word for
him"--her eyes grew misty again, and her voice tremulous--"only one
word, and that is, May God bless him--always."

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE CORRECTION LINE

It's a purty good world, this is, old man,
It's a purty good world this is;
For all its follies and shows and lies,
Its rainy weather, and cheeks likewise,
And age, hard hearing, and rheumatiz;
We're not a faultin' the Lord's own plan;
All things jest
At their best,
It's a puny good world, old man.

_----James Whitcomb Riley._

ON THE Sunday afternoon following the big storm, when the delayed
passenger train on the C. P. R. slowly ploughed its way through
snowbanks into the station at Newbank, there alighted from it a young
man with bearded face. The line had been tied up since the storm on
Thursday night, but early on Sunday afternoon the agent at Newbank,
where the railway crosses the Souris on the long wooden bridge, gave
out the glad word that "she" would be down "sometime soon," and the
inhabitants--seventeen in number--congregated on the small platform
without delay. They were expecting neither friends nor parcels. But
there would be a newspaper or two, pretty old now, as some people
reckon the age of newspapers, but in Newbank a newspaper is very
wisely considered new until it has be