said she liked dare-devils."

"I suppose she thinks Daly is a dare-devil," said the offended Mr.
Blundell. "And I wish people wouldn't talk about me and my skin. Why
can't they mind their own business?"

Mr. Turnbull eyed him indignantly, and then, sitting in a very upright
position, slowly filled his pipe, and declining a proffered match rose
and took one from the mantel-piece.

"I was doing the best I could for you," he said, staring hard at the
ingrate. "I was trying to make Venia see what a careful husband you
would make. Miss Sippet herself is most particular about such things--
and Venia seemed to think something of it, because she asked me whether
you used a warming-pan."

[Illustration: "She asked me whether you used a warming-pan."]

Mr. Blundell got up from his chair and, without going through the
formality of bidding his host good-by, quitted the room and closed the
door violently behind him. He was red with rage, and he brooded darkly
as he made his way home on the folly of carrying on the traditions of a
devoted mother without thinking for himself.

For the next two or three days, to Venia's secret concern, he failed to
put in an appearance at the farm--a fact which made flirtation with the
sergeant a somewhat uninteresting business. Her sole recompense was the
dismay of her father, and for his benefit she dwelt upon the advantages
of the Army in a manner that would have made the fortune of a recruiting-
sergeant.