church at Carrington, and every man in
the settlement rode there in her train. Few princesses of royal blood ever
had a finer escort than hers, and she came in state, as was due to
her--for Grace was a prairie princess and the heiress of Carrington.
Perhaps the memory of what had happened made her subjects doubly anxious
to show their loyalty; while, remembering who I was, and how I landed in
that country a poor emigrant, once more I found it hard to understand why
of all men such a gift had been bestowed on me.

The riders of Carrington also filled one room at the Manor with glittering
tokens of their good-will from Toronto and Montreal, besides such useful
things as tools and harness, while among the presents lay a plain letter
with a black border which Grace and I read together. It was from Martin
Lorimer. "I wish you both many blessings," it ran, "and knowing your
foolish way of thinking, I could not send the present I wanted to; but
you'll take this, with an old man's very good wishes. It's a certificate
of paid-up stock in the new Day Spring Mining Company, of which Calvert is
manager. Sell or hold as pleases you. You'll find a market--for already
Calvert's sending up good ore. I also send you something else--your
cousin valued it."

Another paper fluttered out of the envelope, and my amusement died away as
I recognized the letter I had given the bankers in Winnipeg when I drew
upon the loan.

"Of all the gifts I value this from poor Alice most," I said a little
huskily. "We should have gone under without it, and perhaps it alone
helped me to win you. Grace, to both of us, this is the strangest of
wedding presents; but what shall we do with these shares in the Day Spring
mine? They represent the principal portion of the paid-up capital."

"You will keep them," Grace said. "I think I understand why he sent them.
I had a very bitter feeling against your uncle, but I have conquered it.
The past is never done with, and it may be that what my father toiled for
and lost will come to his daughter in its own way. Ralph, there's a story
of hope and struggle and sorrow written between every line on either
paper."

We rode, in accordance with prairie custom, straight home from the church,
for Grace was no longer princess of Carrington, but the wife of a
struggling farmer, and she said that until the harvest was gathered there
must be no honeymoon. Fairmead, as all the inhabitants of the prairie
know, was only a small ho