time. I could row across there blindfold."

As I paddled her over, I thought what a pity it was she could not talk
more correctly than she did. It was the one, the only jarring, note in
her entire make-up. But for that, she was as perfect a little lady as
I had ever met.

Why not offer to teach her English? came the question to me;--and I
decided I would some day, but not just then. I would wait until I knew
her a little better; I would wait until I had become better acquainted
with her people; until the edge of my quarrel with Joe had worn off.

As we grounded on the shore, in front of Rita's home, old Andrew
Clark,--short and sturdy in appearance and dour as any Scot could ever
be,--was on the beach. He came down to meet us and invited me up for a
cup of tea.

I accepted the invitation, as I had a business project to discuss with
the old man, something that should prove a benefit to the store and a
financial benefit to him.

He led me into the kitchen, where his wife,--a quiet, white-haired old
lady with a loving face and great sad eyes,--was sitting in an armchair
darning.

She looked up as we entered.

Andrew Clark did not seek to introduce me, which I thought unmannerly.
I turned round for Rita, but Rita had not followed us in; so I went
forward and held out my hand. The dear old woman took it and smiled as
if to say, "How sensible of you."

"Sit down and make yourself at home," she said kindly.

She spoke with the accent of an Eastern Canadian, although it was
evident she had spent many years in the West.

Andrew Clark still held to his mother tongue,--Lowland Scots. But his
speech was also punctuated with Western slang and dialect.

Every article of furniture in that kitchen was home-made:--chairs,
table, picture frames, washstands,--everything, and good solid
furniture it was too.

The table was already set for tea. Mrs. Clark busied herself infusing
the refreshment, then Rita came in and we all sat down together.

Andrew Clark's grace was quite an event,--as long as the ten
commandments, sonorous, impressive and flowery.

I found he could talk, and talk well; and of many out-of-the-common
subjects he displayed considerably more than a passing knowledge.

Margaret Clark,--for that was the lady's name,--was quiet and seemed
docile and careworn. She impressed me as being the patient bearer of a
hidden burden.

There was something in the manner in which our conversation was
conducted