Half an hour later they were in Freddy Tarlton's office on the banks of
the Little Big Swan, which tumbled past, swelled by the first rain of the
early autumn. Freddy Tarlton, who had a gift of humour, entered into the
spirit of the thing, and treated it seriously; but in vain did he protest
that the large red seal with Her Majesty's head on it was unnecessary;
Macavoy insisted, and wrote his name across it with a large
indistinctness worthy of a king. Before the night was over everybody at
Guidon Hill, save Hilton and Ida, knew what gift would come from Macavoy
to the wedded pair.



II

The next morning was almost painfully beautiful, so delicate in its
clearness, so exalted by the glory of the hills, so grand in the
limitless stretch of the green-brown prairie north and south. It was a
day for God's creatures to meet in, and speed away, and having flown
round the boundaries of that spacious domain, to return again to the nest
of home on the large plateau between the sea and the stars. Gathered
about Ida's home was everybody who lived within a radius of a hundred
miles. In the large front room all the presents were set: rich furs from
the far north, cunningly carved bowls, rocking-chairs made by hand,
knives, cooking utensils, a copy of Shakespeare in six volumes from the
Protestant missionary who performed the ceremony, a nugget of gold from
the Long Light River; and outside the door, a horse, Hilton's own present
to his wife, on which was put Pierre's saddle, with its silver mounting
and Ida's name branded deep on pommel and flap. When Macavoy arrived, a
cheer went up, which was carried on waves of laughter into the house to