“Do what I tell you,” said Paul, and passing out of the house he mounted his horse and was about to depart when into the yard cantered a lady, tall, finely developed, sitting her horse superbly and with a somewhat masculinely dashing style. With a slight bow Paul was passing her when she drew up her horse sharply, swung him round and reaching out her hand, cried: “Why, glory be! If it ain’t Paul! The years can’t change those eyes. How are you, Paul? It is good to see you again. And so tall and handsome! Get off your horse and come in. Didn’t you come to see me? Or was it Dad?” Her frank, breezy, kindly manner did much to take the chill out of Paul’s voice. “I have just had a little business with your father, Adelina,” he said. “But,” he added, taking her hand, remembering that he had no quarrel with her, “I am glad I saw you before I left.” “But you will come in. Do come. I want awfully to have a talk with you. When did you come home? And how long are you going—I mean—oh, shucks! I want an hour’s talk at the very least.” She paused abruptly, studying his face. Then she turned to her father, who had come to the door. What she saw in his face apparently changed her mind. “I will ride with you a bit, Paul,” she said quietly. Gladly would Paul have declined her offer, but he could find no convenient excuse, so in silence they rode together toward the Pine Croft Ranch, Paul wondering how much she knew of the whole tragedy of his father’s death and she trying to compose the tumult in her heart which the sight of Paul had awakened. Paul was determined that he would wait her pleasure and her revealing. Suddenly and apropos of nothing, Adelina burst forth into a vivid account of her life’s happenings during the past six years; two years in a Toronto school, a winter in Vancouver with an aunt, the rest of the time poking round this valley, which however had considerably wakened up from its dreamy monotony of their early years—new settlers had come in, surveyors’ parties were everywhere about, a railway was to be put through the Crow’s Nest Pass, times were good, everybody who had anything to sell was making money. Her dad, or rather Asa, A. Warren Sleeman, Esq., now, if you please! was into town sites and railway contracts and that sort of thing, and making slathers of money. Oh, everything was booming. And by the time her history had been related she had herself firmly and fully in hand. “And now for your story, Paul,” she cried, turning her dancing eyes on him. In three sentences Paul told her. Five years and a half he had lived with his stepmother’s people in the far north. His stepmother had died on the way out, leaving her children at a Mission School. He had herded cattle near Edmonton for the last six months and was on his way to Vancouver now, to learn to be an engineer. That was all. Somehow Adelina’s face shone as with a light of glad relief. Paul had come back to her as free of heart as he had gone.