t mistaken, for when I opened the door a neighbor said, "I've
brought you Mrs. Fletcher. Met her walking to Fairmead across the prairie.
No; I guess I'm in a hurry, and won't get down."

It was with no great feeling of pleasure that I led the visitor into the
house; and it is curious that as I helped her down from the wagon
something should recall Harry's warning: "That fellow Fletcher will bring
more trouble on you some day."

He had done enough in that direction already, and though I did not wish
Aline to hear the story, I was glad she was there, for preceding events
had taught me caution. So, making the best of it, I placed a chair beside
the stove, for Minnie Fletcher explained who she was, and then, while
Aline sat still looking at her with an apparent entire absence of
curiosity which in no way deceived me I waited impatiently. Minnie had not
improved since I last saw her. Her face was thin and anxious, her
dress--and even in the remoter corners of the prairie this was
unusual--was torn and shabby, and she twisted her fingers nervously before
she commenced to speak.

"I had expected to find you alone, Ralph," she said; and though I pitied
her, I felt glad that she had been disappointed in this respect. "However,
I must tell you; and it may be a warning to your sister. Tom has fallen
into bad ways again. He is my husband, Miss Lorimer, and I am afraid not a
very good one."

I could not turn Aline out on the prairie, and could only answer, "I am
very sorry. Please go on," though it would have relieved me to make my own
comments on the general conduct of Thomas Fletcher.

"It was not all his fault," she added. "The boys would give him whisky to
tell them stories when he went to Brandon for the creamery, and at last he
went there continually. He fell in with some men from Winnipeg who lent
him money, and I think they gambled in town-lots, for Tom took the little
I had saved, and used to come home rambling about a fortune. Then he would
stay away for days together, until they dismissed him from the creamery,
and all summer he had never a dollar to give me. But I worked at the
butter-packing and managed to feed him when he did come home, until--Miss
Lorimer, I am sorry you must hear this--he used to beat me when I had no
more money to give him."

Aline looked at her with a pity that was mingled with scorn: "I have heard
of such things, and I have seen them too," she said. "But why did you let
him? I think I should