e storm, a
carefully planned storm, beginning the day before with a warm, soft
air, languorous, spring-like, with a pale yellow sun, with a cap of
silver haze around its head, which seemed to smile upon the earth with
fairest promises of an early spring. The cattle wandered far from
home, lured by the gentle air and the mellow sunshine.

It was on this fair day that Mr. P.J. Neelands took his journey to
the country to do it a service, and it is but fair to say that Mr.
Neelands had undertaken his new work with something related to
enthusiasm. It savored of mystery, diplomacy, intrigue, and there was
a thrill in his heart as he sat in the green plush-covered seat,
and leaning back, with his daintily shod feet on the opposite seat,
surveyed himself in the long mirror which filled the door of the
stateroom at the end. It was a very smartly dressed young man he saw,
smiling back engagingly, and the picture pleased him. Expenses and
salary paid, with a very delightful piece of work before him, which,
if handled tactfully and successfully, would bring him what he
craved--political promotion in the Young Men's Club. The fact in the
glass smiled again. "Diplomacy is the thing," said Peter to himself.
"It carries a man farther than anything--and I'm glad my first case
has a woman in it."

He buffed his nails on the palm of his other hand, and, looking at
them critically, decided to go over them again.

"There's nothing like personal neatness to impress a girl; and this
one, from her picture, will see everything at a glance."

Crossing the river at Poplar Ridge, he looked out of the window at the
pleasant farmyard of one of the old settlers on the Assiniboine; a
fine brick house, with wide verandahs, an automobile before the door,
a barnyard full of cackling hens, with a company of fine fat steers
in an enclosure--a pleasing picture of farm life, which filled his
imagination.

"What a country of opportunity," thought Peter, "a chance for every
one, and for women especially. Everything in life is done for them.
This house was built for some woman, no doubt. I hope she appreciates
it, and is contented and happy in it. Women were made to charm
us--inspire us--cheer us, but certainly not to rival us!"

Peter, with his hands on the knees of his well-creased trousers,
hitched them slightly, just enough to reveal a glimpse of his lavender
socks.

"Perhaps this girl needs only an interest--a love interest--" Peter
blushed as he