use of money in this country?
No, your father has it all."

"Why," suddenly exclaimed her niece, "it's not the man after all."

"What man are you talking about?" enquired her Aunt. "What man is
it not?"

"It's a stranger. I mean--it's--another man," said Marjorie,
distinct disappointment in her tone.

"Here, who is it, or who is it no'?"

"Oh," said Marjorie innocently. "Mr. Harris is expecting that
young man who was here this morning,--the one who saved us from
that awful wolf, you know."

"That man! The impudent thing that he was," cried her Aunt.
"Wait till I set my eyes on him. Indeed, I will not look at any
one belonging to him." Aunt Janet flounced into the tent, leaving
her niece to meet the stranger alone.

"Good afternoon! Am I right in thinking that this is the engineer's
camp, for which a load of oats was ordered this morning?" Jack
French was standing, hat in hand, looking his admiration and
perplexity, for Kalman had not told him anything of this girl.

"Yes, this is the camp. At least, I heard Mr. Harris say he
expected a load of oats; but," she added in slight confusion,
"it was from another man, a young man, the man, I mean, who
was here this morning."

"Confusion, indeed!" came a muffled voice from the closed tent.

Jack French glanced quickly around, but saw no one.

"Oh," said Miss Marjorie, struggling with her laughter, "it's my
Aunt; she was much alarmed this morning. You see, the wolf and the
dogs ran right into her tent. It was terrible."

"Terrible, indeed," said Jack French, with grave politeness.
"I could only get the most incoherent account of the whole matter.
I hope your Aunt was not hurt."

"Hurt, indeed!" ejaculated a muffled voice. "It was nearer killed,
I was."

Upon this, Miss Marjorie ran to the tent door. "Aunt," she cried,
lifting up the flap, "you might as well come out and meet Mr.--"

"French, Jack French, as I am known in this free country."

"My Aunt, Miss Menzies."

"Very happy to meet you, madam." Jack's bow was so inexpressibly
elegant that Aunt Janet found herself adopting her most gracious,
Glasgow society manner.

French was profuse in his apologies and sympathetic regrets, as he
gravely listened to Aunt Janet's excited account of her warm
adventure. The perfect gravity and the profuse sympathy with which
he heard the tale won Aunt Janet's heart, and she privately decided
that here, at last, she had found in this wild and terrible country
a man i