hesitated a moment--"my mother died, father moved to Edmonton, lived
there for five years, thence to Wapiti, away northwest of Edmonton, our
present home, prepared for college by my father, university course in
Winnipeg, graduated in theology a year ago, now the missionary in charge
of Wapiti and the surrounding district."

"A preacher!" said the girl, her face and her tone showing her
disappointment only too plainly.

"Not much of a preacher, I fear," said the young man with a smile. "A
missionary, rather. That's my story."

She noticed with some chagrin that he did not ask for hers.

"What are you doing here?" she enquired.

He hesitated a moment or two.

"Dad and I always take a trip into the wilds every summer." Then he
added after a few moments' pause, "But of course we have other business
on hand up here."

"Business? Up here?"

"Yes. Dad has some." He made as if to continue, but changed his mind and
fell into silence, leaving her piqued by his reserve and by his apparent
indifference to the things concerning herself. She did not know that he
was eagerly hoping that she would supply this information.

At length he ventured, "Must you go away to-day?"

"I don't suppose there's any 'must' about it."

"Why not stay?"

"Why should I?"

"Oh, it would be jolly," he cried. "You see, we could--explore about
here--and,"--he ended rather lamely,--"it's a lovely country."

"We've seen a lot of it. It IS lovely," she said, her eyes upon his face
as if appraising him. "I should like to know you better," she added,
with sudden and characteristic frankness, "so I think we will stay. But
you will have to be awfully good to me."

"Why, of course," he cried. "That's splendid! Perfectly jolly!"

"Then we had better find father and tell him. Come along," she ordered,
and led the way back to the camp.

The young man followed her, wondering at her, and giving slight heed
to the chatter she flung over her shoulder at him as she strode along
through the bushes.

"What's the matter with you?" she cried, facing round upon him. "You
were thinking about me, I know. Confess, now."

"I was," he acknowledged, smiling at her.

"What were you thinking? Tell me," she insisted.

"I was thinking--" He paused.

"Go on!" she cried.

"I was thinking of what your father said about you."

"My father? About me? What did he say? To you?"

"No. To dad."

"What was it? Tell me. I must know." She was very imperious in her
m