ldn't take cold, how he used to tuck me up in the sled
with a hot stone at my feet and make short days' runs in order not to
wear out my strength. By Jove, it was a deucedly unfair advantage he
took of me."

"Is he your rival?" she asked.

"Isn't he?"

"In business?"

"How demure Miss McRae is," he commented. "Observe those long
eyelashes flutter down to the soft cheeks."

"In what book did you read that?" she wanted to know.

"In that book of suffering known as experience," he sighed, eyes
dancing.

"If you're trying to tell me that you're in love with some girl--"

"Haven't I been trying to tell you for a year?"

Her eyes flashed a challenge at him. "Take care, sir. First thing you
know you'll be on thin ice. You might break through."

"And if I did--"

"Of course I'd snap you up before you could bat an eye. Is there a
girl living that wouldn't? And I'm almost an old maid. Don't forget
that. I'm to gather rosebuds while I may, because time's flying so
fast, some poet says."

"Time stands still for you, my dear," he bowed, with a gay imitation
of the grand manner.

"Thank you." Her smile mocked him. She had flirted a good deal with
this young man and understood him very well. He had no intention
whatever of giving up the gay hazards of life for any adventure so
enduring as matrimony. Moreover, he knew she knew it. "But let's stick
to the subject. While you're proposing--"

"How you help a fellow along!" he laughed. "Am I proposing?"

"Of course you are. But I haven't found out yet whether it's for
yourself or Mr. Morse."

"A good suggestion--novel, too. For us both, let's say. You take your
choice." He flung out a hand in a gay debonair gesture.

"You've told his merits, but I don't think I ever heard yours
mentioned," she countered. "If you'd recite them, please."

"It's a subject I can do only slight justice." He bowed again.
"Sergeant Beresford, at your service, of the North-West Mounted."

"Sergeant! Since when?"

"Since yesterday. Promoted for meritorious conduct in the line of
duty. My pay is increased to one dollar and a quarter a day. In case
happily your choice falls on me, don't squander it on silks and
satins, on trips to Paris and London--"

"If I choose you, it won't be for your wealth," she assured him.

"Reassured, fair lady. I proceed with the inventory of Sergeant
Beresford's equipment as a future husband. Fond, but, alas! fickle. A
family black sheep, or if not black, at