ed herself with the cross. It
looked as if the birds of passage had found a landmark in a foreign
land. Lister was moved, and gave the child a coin before he went off.

He strolled east, past Notre Dame, towards the post office, about which
the stately banks and imposing office blocks stand. This quarter of the
city drew him, for one saw how constructive talent and imagination could
be used, and he wondered whether England had new buildings like these.
Sometimes one felt the Western towns were raw and vulgar, but one saw
the bold Canadian genius at its best in Montreal.

After a time he stopped in front of a shop in a short side street.
Indian embroidery work and enameled silver occupied the window, and
although Lister was not an artist he had an eye for line and knew the
things were good. The soft, stained deerskin was cleverly embroidered;
he liked the warm colors of the enamel, and going in was shown a tray of
spoons.

The shop, shut in by high buildings, was dark and smelt of aromatic wood
and leather, but a beam from a window pierced the gloom and sparkled on
the silver. This was emblazoned with the arms of the Provinces; the
Ship, the Wheatsheaves, and the red Maple Leaf. Lister picked up the
articles, and while he did so was vaguely conscious that a girl at the
opposite counter studied him. He, however, did not look up until he had
selected a few of the spoons, and then he started.

The light that touched the girl's face did not illuminate it all. Her
profile was sharp as an old daguerreotype: he saw the flowing line from
brow to chin, drawn with something of austere classic beauty, the arched
lips and the faint indication of a gently-rounded cheek. The rest was in
shadow, and the contrast of light and gloom was like a Rembrandt
picture. Then the enameled spoons rattled as Lister put down the tray.
He knew the picture. When he last saw the girl, her face was lighted
like that by the blaze of a locomotive head-lamp.

"I'll take these things," he said, and crossed the floor.

The girl moved back, but he indicated a bundle of deerskin articles he
thought her business was to sell. Her color was high; he noted the vivid
white and pink against the dull background of stained leather.

"What does one do with those bags?" he asked.

"They're useful for keeping gloves and handkerchiefs," she replied. "The
pattern is worked in sinews, but we have some with a neat colored
embroidery." She paused and signed to a sales