was born, and whose name was now a sacred memory. He had
sent the girl down East to those whom he knew would look
after her properly, and there, amid congenial surroundings,
she grew and quickened into a new life. But the spell of
the vast, broad prairie lands was upon her, and the love
for her father was stronger still, so she went, back to
both, and there her mind broadened, and her spirit grew
in harmony with the lessons that an unconventional life
was for ever working out for itself in those great,
unfettered spaces where Nature was in the rough and the
world was still young. She grew and blossomed into a
beautiful womanhood, as blossoms the vigorous wild-flower
of the prairies. When she smiled there was the light and
the glamour of the morning star in her dark hazel eyes,
and when her soul communed with itself, it was as if one
gazed into the shadow of the stream. There was a gleam
of gold in her hair that was in keeping with the freshness
of her nature, and the hue of perfect health was upon
her cheeks. Her eighteen years had brought with them all
the promise of the May. That she had inherited the
adventure-loving spirit of the old pioneers, as well as
the keen appreciation of the humorous side of things,
was obvious from the amount of entertainment she seemed
to find in the company of Old Rory. He was an old-timer
of Irish descent, who had been everywhere from the Red
River in the east to the Fraser in the west, and from
Pah-ogh-kee Lake in the south to the Great Slave Lake in
the north. He had been _voyageur_, trapper, cowboy,
farm-hand in the Great North-West for years, and nothing
came amiss to him. Now he was the hired servant of her