appreciated in the midst of so much laughter and chaff that even Forgill unbent.

But a long day's work was yet before them, spurring over the sand-ridges and through the rustling grass. They had almost reached one of the westward jutting spurs of the Touchwood Hills, when the sun went down. As it neared the earth and sank amidst the glorious hues of emerald and gold, the dark horizon line became visible for a few brief instants across its blood-red face; but so distant did it seem, so very far away, the whole scene became dreamlike from its immensity.

"We've done, my lads!" shouted Bowkett; "we have about ended as glorious a day's sport as ever I had."

"Not yet," retorted Diomé. "Just listen." There was a trampling, snorting sound as of many cattle on the brink of a lakelet sheltering at the foot of the neighbouring hills.

Were they not in the midst of what the early Canadian settlers used to call the Land of the Wild Cows? Those sounds proceeded from another herd coming down for its evening drink. On they crept with stealthy steps through bush and bulrush to get a nearer view in the bewildering shadows, which were growing darker and darker every moment.

"Stop! stop!" cried Forgill, hurrying forward, as the light yet lingering on the lake showed the familiar faces of his master's cows stooping down to reach the pale blue water at their feet. Yes, there they were, the truant herd Marley was endeavouring in vain to find.

Many a horned head was lifted at the sound of Forgill's well-known call. Away he went into the midst of the group, pointing out the great "A" he had branded deep in the thick hair on the left shoulder before he had turned them loose.

What was now to be done?

"Drive them home," said the careful Forgill, afraid of losing them again. But Bowkett was not willing to return.

Meanwhile Diomé and Wilfred were busy preparing for the night at the spot where they had halted, when the presence of the herd was first perceived. They had brought the horses down to the lake to water at a sufficient distance from the cows not to disturb them. But one or two of the wanderers began to "moo," as if they partially recognized their former companions.

"They will follow me and the horses," pursued Forgill, who knew he could guide his way across the trackless prairie by the aid of the stars.

"If you come upon Marley," he said, "he can take my place in the cart, for he has most likely found the trail of the cows by this time; or if I cross his path, I shall leave him to drive home the herd and return. You will see one of us before morning."

"As you like," replied Bowkett, who knew he could do without either man provided he kept the cart. "You will probably see us back at the gate of Acland's Hut by to-morrow night; and if we do not bring you game enough, we must plan a second expedition when you have more leisure."

So it was settled between them.

Forgill hurried back to the camping place to get his supper before he started. Bowkett lingered behind, surveying the goodly herd, whilst vague schemes for combining the twofold advantages of hunter and farmer floated through his mind.

When he rejoined his companions he found them seated round a blazing fire, enjoying the boiling kettle of tea, the fried steak, and biscuit which composed their supper. The saddles were hung up on the branches of the nearest tree, and the skins and blankets which were to make their bed were already spread upon the pine brush which strewed the ground.

"Now, young 'un," said Forgill solemnly, "strikes me I had better keep you alongside anyhow."

"No, no," retorted Diomé. "The poor little fellow has been in the saddle all day, and he is dead asleep already; leave him under his blankets. He'll be right enough; must learn to rough it sooner or later."

Forgill, who had to be his own tailor and washer-woman, was lamenting over a rent in his sleeve, which he was endeavouring to stitch up. For a housewife, with its store of needles and thread, was never absent from his pocket.

His awkward attempts awakened the mirth of his companions.

"What, poor old boy! haven't you got a wife at home to do the stitching for you?" asked Diomé.

"When you have passed the last oak which grows on this side the Red River, are there a dozen English women in a thousand miles?" asked Forgill; and then he added, "The few there are are mostly real ladies, the wives of district governors and chief factors. A fellow must make up his mind to do for himself and rub through as he can."

"Unless he follows my father's example," put in Bowkett, "and chooses himself a faithful drudge from an Indian wigwam. He would want no other tailor or washerwoman, for there are no such diligent workers in the world. Look at that," he continued, pointing to his beautifully embroidered leggings, the work of his Indian relations.

"Pay a visit to our hunters' winter camp," added Diomé, "and we will show you what an old squaw can do to make home comfortable."

There was this difference between the men: Diomé who had been left by his French father to be brought up by his Indian mother, resembled her in many things; whilst Bowkett, whose father was English, despised his Indian mother, and tried to make himself more and more of an Englishman. This led him to cultivate the acquaintance with the Aclands.

"I am going to send your mistress a present," he said, "of a mantle woven of wild dogs' hair. It belonged to the daughter of an Indian chief from the Rocky Mountains. It has a fringe a foot deep, and is covered all over with embroidery. You will see then what a squaw can do."

Forgill did not seem over-pleased at this information.

"Are you talking of my Aunt Miriam?" asked Wilfred, opening his sleepy eyes.

"So you are thinking about her," returned Forgill. "That's right, my lad; for your aunt and uncle at Acland's Hut are the only kith and kin you have left, and they are quite ready to make much of you, and you can't make too much of them."

"You have overshot the mark there," laughed Bowkett; "rather think the missis was glad to be rid of the young plague on any terms."

Diomé pulled the blankets over Wilfred's head, and wished him a bonne nuit (good night).

When the boy roused up at last Forgill had long since departed, and Diomé, who had been the first to awaken, was vigorously clapping his hands to warm them, and was shouting, "Lève! lève! lève!" to his sleepy companions.

"Get up," interpreted Bowkett, who saw that Wilfred did not understand his companion's provincial French. Then suiting the action to the word, he crawled out from between the shafts of the cart, where he had passed the night, tossed off his blankets and gave himself a shake, dressing being no part of the morning performances during camping out in the Canadian wilds, as every one puts on all the clothing he has at going to bed, to keep himself warm through the night.

The fire was reduced to a smouldering ash-heap, and every leaf and twig around was sparkling with