She nodded.

"It's very short and simple, like the annals of the poor," he replied.
"From England in infancy, on a ranch in northern Alberta for ten years,
a puny little wretch I was, terribly bothered with asthma, then"--the
boy hesitated a moment--"my mother died, father moved to Edmonton, lived
there for five years, thence to Wapiti, away northwest of Edmonton, our
present home, prepared for college by my father, university course in
Winnipeg, graduated in theology a year ago, now the missionary in charge
of Wapiti and the surrounding district."

"A preacher!" said the girl, her face and her tone showing her
disappointment only too plainly.

"Not much of a preacher, I fear," said the young man with a smile. "A
missionary, rather. That's my story."

She noticed with some chagrin that he did not ask for hers.

"What are you doing here?" she enquired.

He hesitated a moment or two.

"Dad and I always take a trip into the wilds every summer." Then he
added after a few moments' pause, "But of course we have other business
on hand up here."

"Business? Up here?"