and the water in the
river steadily fell, had finally cast off that afternoon; and after
ascending twenty miles or so, tied up to the bank to await the dawn.
It was now about ten; overcast above; velvety dark below; and still
as death. For the first time Garth and Natalie missed, with a catch in
the breath, the faint, domestic murmur that rises on the quietest night
from an inhabited land. It was so still they could occasionally hear the
stealthy fall of tiny, furry feet among the leaves on shore. The trees
kept watch on the bank like a regiment of shades at attention. The
moment provided Natalie's opportunity to fulfil her promise.

"I will try to be very frank," she began by saying, "I am so anxious you
should not misunderstand. You have been so good to me!"

"Please don't," said Garth uncomfortably. "Take me for granted as a man
would. I shall never be at ease with you, if you're going to be thanking
me at every opportunity!"

"I'll try not to," she said meekly. The darkness swallowed the smile and
the shine her eyes bent on him.

If Garth expected a sad beginning he was immediately undeceived.
Natalie's invincible spirits launched her gaily on her tale.

"I've lived all my days in a Canadian city back East," she began;
"too big a place to be simple; and too small to be finished. I never
appreciated the funny side of it until I travelled. You have no idea
of the complacency of such a place, the beautiful self-sufficiency of
the people; you should hear what a patronizing tone they take toward
the outside world! But they have their good points; they're kind and
friendly with each other; and not nearly so snobbish as the people of
little places are generally pictured. Everybody that is anybody knows
all the other somebodies so well, it's like one great family. My people
have lived there for ages; and so everybody knows me; and half of them
are my cousins.

"We've always been as poor as church mice," she continued in a tone of
cheerful frankness. "We live in a huge house that is gradually coming
down about our ears; the drawing-room carpet is full of holes; the old
silver is shockingly dented and the Royal Worcester all chipped. There
are other household secrets I need not go into. People are kind enough
to make believe not to notice--even when they get a chunk of plaster on
the head.

"Everybody says it's my father's fault; they say he's a ne'er-do-weel;
and even unkinder things. But he's such a dear boy"--Nata