Vane brought his paddle down with a thud.

"Just for to-night to the Old Country,--"

He hummed, and added:

"It sticks to one."

"What made you leave the Old Country? I don't think you ever told me."

Vane laughed.

"That's a blamed injudicious question to ask anybody, as you ought to
know; but in this particular instance you shall have an answer. There was
a row at home--I was a sentimentalist then, and just eighteen--and as a
result of it I came out to Canada." His voice changed and grew softer. "I
hadn't many relatives, and, except one sister, they're all gone now. That
reminds me--she's not going to lecture for the county education
authorities any longer."

The sloop was close ahead, and slackening the paddling they ran
alongside. Vane glanced at his watch when they had climbed on board.

"Supper will be finished at the hotel," he remarked. "You had better get
the stove lighted. It's your turn, and that rascally Siwash seems to
have gone off again. If he's not back when we're ready, we'll sail
without him."

Supper is served at the hotels in the western settlements as soon as work
ceases for the day, and the man who arrives after it is over must wait