eady, but I'm not going to do it much longer. Mother stands
it--I guess she's got used to him, and she won't say anything, but if
there's anything I'm not strong on it's silence. I'm not afraid of
work, or hardship either. I'd live in a sack if I had to. I'd--"

"Would you live in a shack?" said Jim.

She shot a quick look at him. But he was quietly smiling into his
milk-pail, and she decided to treat his question impersonally.

"Yes, I'd live in a shack, too, if I had to. I put in my first years
in a sod-house, and there was more real happiness romping up and down
the land then than there is now. In those days everybody was so poor
that money didn't count...It's different now."

Jim did not pursue the subject, and the milking was completed in
silence. Jim finished first, and presently the rising hum of the
cream separator was heard from the kitchen.

"There he goes, winding his arm off--for me," said the girl, as she
rose from the last cow. "Poor Jim--I wish I knew whether it's just
human kindness makes him do it, or whether--" She stopped, colouring
a little over the thought that had almost escaped into words.

When the heavy grind of the separating was finished Jim went quietly
to his own room, but the girl put on a clean dress and walked out
through the garden. Rows of mignonette and lobelia bordered the
footpath, and sweet, earthy garden smells filled the calm evening
air. The rows of currant and gooseberry bushes were heavy with green
fruit; the leaves of the Manitoba maples trembled ever so little in
the still air. The sun was setting, and fleecy fragments of cloud
were painted ruddy gold against the silver background of the sky.
From the barnyard came the contented sighing of the cows and the
anxious clucking of a hen gathering in her belated brood. The whole
country seemed bathed in peace--a peace deep and unpurchasable,
having no part in any of the affairs of man.

At the lower gate she stooped to pick a flower, which she held for a
moment to her face; then, toying lightly with it in her fingers, she
slipped the latch and continued along the path leading down into the
ravine. It was dark and cool down there, with a touch of dampness in
the grass, and the balm-of-Gileads across the stream sent a fine
moist fragrance through the air. To the right lay the bench where the
sod-house had stood, not so much as a mound now marking the spot; but
the thoughts of the girl turned yearningly to it, and to the days o