must 'a got the measure." The days between the thirteenth and the nineteenth were spent by Mr. Stewart, the student missionary, in covering the district, so that all the scattered settlers should know of Dr. Ransom's visit. On Tuesday morning he borrowed an extra robe, and, hitching up his team of bronchos, started on his journey to M---- Station. The roads were heavy, and twenty-five miles was a hard journey through the unpacked snow. By mid-afternoon he reached the railway, and soon had his ponies comfortably stabled in a near-by barn. About midnight he tramped through the deep snow to the dimly-lighted station. The night operator reported the train as an hour late, with the additional information that she would probably lose a little more time on the grade which lay about ten miles away. Shortly before two o'clock the welcome whistle was heard, and in a minute or two the midnight express slowed down for M----. The tall figure of the Superintendent was behind the brakeman, on the steps of the day-coach, and there was a wave of recognition before the cordial hand-clasp and words of greeting could be given. "We'll just wait till she pulls out," said the Superintendent, as Mr. Stewart started to move away after the exchange of greetings. "Yon operator has the tongue." His duties performed at the baggage car, the operator returned to the office dragging a heavy trunk along the plank platform. "Man! but that's a great muscle you have," said the Doctor genially, and in less than a five-minute conversation he knew the man's name, Old Land home, length of time in Canada, and church relationship. As he gripped the hand in bidding good-night, he got in a message that the operator has never forgotten. In recalling the visit to the writer many months later, he said, "He's a gran' man that: he'd be a wechty man gin he lived in Edinburgh. He mak's you think." "Well, Doctor," said Mr. Stewart as they neared the place where a bed had been prepared, "you'll be glad enough to get right to rest." "How far are we from your field, Mr. Stewart?" "About twenty-five miles," was the reply. "Well, then, if your team is fit, I think we'll not bother about bed just now, but get out there." Despite the protests that were made in the Doctor's interests, there was a kindly insistence that resulted in the bronchos being immediately harnessed for the return journey. In the month of February, with deep snow and zero weather, a twenty-five mile drive between 3 and 8 a.m. is by no means a pleasure trip. As the little animals ploughed their way through the drifts, the Superintendent every now and again raised his mouth above his coat collar to express his admiration. "A gr-reat team that--a gr-reat team."