s wife went everywhere. In
fashionable circles she was "new"--a potent charm to acquire
popularity, and the little velvet-clad figure was always the centre
of interest among all the women in the room. She always dressed in
velvet. No woman in Canada, has she but the faintest dash of native
blood in her veins, but loves velvets and silks. As beef to the
Englishman, wine to the Frenchman, fads to the Yankee, so are velvet
and silk to the Indian girl, be she wild as prairie grass, be she on
the borders of civilization, or, having stepped within its boundary,
mounted the steps of culture even under its superficial heights.

"Such a dolling little appil blossom," said the wife of a local
M.P., who brushed up her etiquette and English once a year at
Ottawa. "Does she always laugh so sweetly, and gobble you up with
those great big gray eyes of her, when you are togetheah at home,
Mr. McDonald? If so, I should think youah pooah brothah would feel
himself terrible _de trop_."

He laughed lightly. "Yes, Mrs. Stuart, there are not two of
Christie; she is the same at home and abroad, and as for Joe, he
doesn't mind us a bit; he's no end fond of her."

"I'm very glad he is. I always fancied he did not care for her,
d'you know."

If ever a blunt woman existed it was Mrs. Stuart. She really meant
nothing, but her remark bothered Charlie. He was fond of his
brother, and jealous for Christie's popularity. So that night when
he and Joe were having a pipe, he said:

"I've never asked you yet what you thought of her, Joe." A brief
pause, then Joe spoke. "I'm glad she loves you."

"Why?"

"Because that girl has but two possibilities regarding
humanity--love or hate."

"Humph! Does she love or hate _you_?"

"Ask her."

"You talk bosh. If she hated you, you'd get out. If she loved you
I'd _make_ you get out."

Joe McDonald whistled a little, then laughed.

"Now that we are on the subject, I might as well ask--honestly, old
man, wouldn't you and Christie prefer keeping house alone to having
me always around?"

"Nonsense, sheer nonsense. Why, thunder, man, Christie's no end fond
of you, and as for me--you surely don't want assurances from me?"

"No, but I often think a young couple--"

"Young couple be blowed! After a while when they want you and your
old surveying chains, and spindle-legged tripod telescope kickshaws,
farther west, I venture to say the little woman will cry her eyes
out--won't you, Christie?" This last in