ay from Fort Ste. Anne, and divil a word
I knew till Pierre hit me in the eye wid it last night--and no time for
a present, for a wedding-gift--no, aw no!"

Just here Ida reached up and touched him on the shoulder. He smiled down
on her, puffing and blowing in his beard, bursting to speak to her, yet
knowing no word by signs to say; but he nodded his head at her, and
he patted Hilton's shoulder, and he took their hands and joined them
together, hers on top of Hilton's, and shook them in one of his own
till she almost winced. Presently, with a look at Hilton, who nodded
in reply, Ida lifted her cheek to Macavoy to kiss--Macavoy, the idle,
ill-cared-for, boisterous giant. His face became red like that of a
child caught in an awkward act, and with an absurd shyness he stooped
and touched her cheek. Then he turned to Hilton, and blurted out, "Aw,
the rose o' the valley, the pride o' the wide wurruld! aw, the bloom o'
the hills! I'd have kissed her dirty shoe. McQuire!"

A burst of laughter rolled out on the clear air of the prairie, and
the hills seemed to stir with the pleasure of life. Then it was that
Macavoy, following Hilton and Ida outside, suddenly stopped beside the
horse, drew from his pocket the promissory note that Pierre had written,
and said, "Yis, but all the weddin'-gifts aren't in. 'Tis nothin' I had
to give-divil a cent in the wurruld, divil a pound av baccy, or a pot
for the fire, or a bit av linin for the table; nothin' but meself and me
dirty clothes, standin' seven fut three an me bare toes. What was I to
do? There was only meself to give, so I give it free and hearty, and
here it is wid the Queen's head an it, done in Mr. Tarlton's office.
Ye'd better had had a dog, or a gun, or a ladder, or a horse, or a
saddle, or a quart o' brown brandy; but such as it is I give it ye--I
give it to the rose o' the valley and the star o' the wide wurruld."

In a loud voice he read the promissory note, and handed it to Ida. Men
laughed till there were tears in their eyes, and a keg of whisky was
opened; but somehow Ida did not laugh. She and Pierre had seen a serious
side to Macavoy's gift: the childlike manliness in it. It went home to
her woman's heart without a touch of ludicrousness, without a sound of
laughter.

III

After a time the interest in this wedding-gift declined at Fort Guidon,
and but three people remembered it with any singular distinctness--Ida,
Pierre, and Macavoy. Pierre was interested, fo