hat the citizens might not sink knee-deep in the mire of
the spring thawing. Here and there a dilapidated wagon was drawn up in
front of a store. With a clanging of the big bell the locomotive
rolled into the little station, and Maud Barrington looked down upon a
group of silent men who had sauntered there to enjoy the one relaxation
the desolate place afforded them.

There was very little in their appearance to attract the attention of a
young woman of Miss Barrington's upbringing. They had grave bronzed
faces, and wore, for the most part, old fur coats stained here and
there with soil, and their mittens and moccasins were not in good
repair; but there was a curious steadiness in their gaze which vaguely
suggested the slow stubborn courage that upheld them through the
strenuous effort and grim self-denial of their toilsome lives. They
were small wheat-growers who had driven in to purchase provisions or
inquire the price of grain, and here and there a mittened hand was
raised to a well-worn cap, for most of them recognized Miss Barrington
of Silverdale Grange. She returned their greetings graciously, and
then swung herself from the platform, with a smile in her eyes, as a
man came hastily and yet as it were with a certain deliberation in her
direction.

He was elderly, but held himself erect, while his furs, which were
good, fitted him in a fashion which suggested a uniform. He also wore
boots which reached half-way to the knee, and were presumably lined to
resist the prairie cold, which few men at that season would do, and
scarcely a speck of dust marred their lustrous exterior, while as much
of his face as was visible beneath the great fur cap was lean and
commanding. Its salient features were the keen and somewhat imperious
gray eyes and long straight nose, while something in the squareness of
the man's shoulders and his pose set him apart from the prairie
farmers, and suggested the cavalry officer. He was in fact Colonel
Barrington, founder and autocratic ruler of the English community of
Silverdale, and he had been awaiting his niece somewhat impatiently.
Colonel Barrington was invariably punctual, and resented the fact that
the train had come in an hour later than it should have done.

"So you have come back to us. We have been longing for you, my dear,"
he said. "I don't know what we should have done had they kept you in
Montreal altogether."

Maud Barrington smiled, though there was a brightness in