e back soon, why--I will send
you her equivalent in cash; but I'd ruther see--I'd ruther see you come
back for it!"

It was with a very lonely heart that Ranald watched out of sight the
steamboat that carried to their homes in the Indian Lands the company
of men who had been his comrades for the long months in the woods and
on the river, and all the more that he was dimly realizing that this
widening blue strip of flowing river was separating him forever from the
life he so passionately loved. As his eyes followed them he thought of
the home-coming that he would have shared; their meetings at the church
door, the grave handshakings from the older folk, the saucy "horos" from
the half-grown boys, the shy blushing glances from the maidens, and last
and dearest of all, the glad, proud welcome in the sweet, serious face
with the gray-brown eyes. It was with the memory of that face in his
heart that he turned to meet what might be coming to him, with the
resolve that he would play the man.

"Hello, old chap, who's dead?" It was Harry's gay voice. "You look like
a tomb." He put his arm through Ranald's and walked with him up the
street.

"Where are you going now?" he asked, as Ranald walked along in silence.

"To get some clothes."

"Thank the great powers!" ejaculated Harry to himself.

"What?"

"And where are you going to get them?"

"I do not know--some store, I suppose." Ranald had the vaguest notions
not only of where he should go, but of the clothes in which he ought to
array himself, but he was not going to acknowledge this to his friend.

"You can't get any clothes fit to wear in this town," said Harry,
in high contempt. Ranald's heart sank. "But come along, we will find
something."

As they passed in front of the little French shops, with windows filled
inside and out with ready-made garments, Ranald paused to investigate.

"Oh! pshaw," cried Harry, "don't know what you'll get here. We'll find
something better than this cheap stuff," and Ranald, glad enough of
guidance, though uncertain as to where it might lead him, followed
meekly.

"What sort of a suit do you want?" said Harry.

"I don't know," said Ranald, doubtfully. It had never occurred to him
that there could be any great difference in suits. There had never been
any choosing of suits with him.

"Like yours, I suppose," he continued, glancing at Harry's attire, but
adding, cautiously, "if they do not cost too much."

"About forty dollars,"