touched her cheek. Then he turned to Hilton, and blurted out, "Aw, the
rose o' the valley, the pride o' the wide wurruld! aw, the bloom o' the
hills! I'd have kissed her dirty shoe. McQuire!"

A burst of laughter rolled out on the clear air of the prairie, and the
hills seemed to stir with the pleasure of life. Then it was that Macavoy,
following Hilton and Ida outside, suddenly stopped beside the horse, drew
from his pocket the promissory note that Pierre had written, and said,
"Yis, but all the weddin'-gifts aren't in. 'Tis nothin' I had to
give-divil a cent in the wurruld, divil a pound av baccy, or a pot for
the fire, or a bit av linin for the table; nothin' but meself and me
dirty clothes, standin' seven fut three an me bare toes. What was I to
do? There was only meself to give, so I give it free and hearty, and here
it is wid the Queen's head an it, done in Mr. Tarlton's office. Ye'd
better had had a dog, or a gun, or a ladder, or a horse, or a saddle, or
a quart o' brown brandy; but such as it is I give it ye--I give it to the
rose o' the valley and the star o' the wide wurruld."

In a loud voice he read the promissory note, and handed it to Ida. Men
laughed till there were tears in their eyes, and a keg of whisky was
opened; but somehow Ida did not laugh. She and Pierre had seen a serious
side to Macavoy's gift: the childlike manliness in it. It went home to
her woman's heart without a touch of ludicrousness, without a sound of
laughter.



III

After a time the interest in this wedding-gift declined at Fort Guidon,