ident
to his wife. He was beginning to feel almost amiable again when
recollection of Beulah, and the regard which she was evidently
cultivating toward Travers, engulfed his returning spirits like a
cold douche. It must not come to that, whatever happened.

"You better get over to Grant's, Allan, if you're goin'," he said as
he left the table. "I've some shears to change that'll keep me busy
until you get back."

An hour later Allan returned, accompanied by George Grant, and
operations in the field were resumed. Father and son were both
anxious to make up for lost time, and they worked that night long
after their usual hour for quitting. Just as the sun was setting
George Grant left a last tank of water at the end of the field and
started for home. As he passed the buildings he saw Beulah in the
garden, and leaned over the fence for a short talk with her. The girl
was thankful the gathering dusk hid the colour of her cheeks. George
continued on his way, but still the steady panting of the engine,
louder now, it seemed, than during the day, came pulsing down on the
calm night air. The long twilight dragged on; the light faded out of
the east and south, and at last shone like the spread of a crimson
fan only in the north-west. It was quite dark when the two men, tired
and dusty, came in at the close of their long day's labour.

The table was set for two. "We have had our supper," Mary explained.
"We thought we wouldn't wait any longer."

"That's all right," said Harris, trying to be genial. But he found it
harder than he had supposed. He was very tired, and somewhat
embarrassed following the unpleasantness at noon. He had no thought
of apologizing, either to wife or daughter; on the contrary, he
intended to make it quite clear to them that they had been at fault
in the matter, but he would take his time about reopening the
subject. By waiting a day or two before reproving them he would show
that he was acting in a judicial spirit, and without any influence of
temper. Still...it was provoking that there should be nothing to talk
about.

When supper was finished Allan went to the stables to give final
attention to the horses--a duty that had always fallen to Jim--and
Harris, after a few minutes' quiet rest in his chair, began to remove
his boots.

"The cows are not milked, John," said his wife. She tried to speak in
a matter-of-fact way, but the tremor in her voice betrayed the import
of the simple statement.

Ha