concerned, that trouble, even the remembrance of it, might be put away for ever.  Mr. Selincourt had said that he owed a debt of gratitude to the person who had wronged him; so plainly there was no question of making up to him for any loss that he had suffered.  True, the wrong was there, and nothing could undo the sin which had been committed; but it was the sinner who had suffered, not the sinned against.  Katherine looked out through the open door of the store and saw her father walking up and down beside the man he had wronged, and a sharp pang of pity for the invalid smote her heart.  His punishment was very heavy; but even she, his daughter, who loved him so well, could not deny that it was just that he who did the wrong should pay the penalty thereof.

“Poor darling Father!” she murmured.  “But no one need ever know.  Nothing could be gained by dragging the old, bad past to light, and so it shall be buried for ever.”  Then, covering her face with her hands, she prayed that the forgiveness of Heaven might rest upon the poor sinner, whose punishment had come to him on earth.

The hours of that day flew as if every one of them were holiday time, instead of being crammed to the full with even harder work than usual.  The other matter of which Mr. Selincourt had spoken, Mary’s engagement to the unknown Archie Raymond, Katherine buried deep in her heart, a thing to be gloated over in secret, a cause for happiness which she did not care to be frank over, even to herself.  So the long, busy day went on to evening, and, in spite of all the work there had been to get through, Katherine found herself with half an hour of leisure before bedtime.

She was standing outside, fighting the mosquitoes, and wondering if she had sufficient energy left to go up the portage path to the high ground, to see the moon rise, when she saw the Selincourt boat shoot out from under the alder trees on the other side of the river, and make across for the store.

“It is Mary!” she whispered to herself; and Mary it was, with a weary, white face, and a fleecy white shawl wrapped about her head and shoulders.

“Will you come up the hill, Katherine, and see the moon rise?” she asked, in a tired tone.

“I was just thinking of doing so, only it seemed hardly worth the effort to go up alone; now you have come it will be pleasant,” Katherine answered, and, although she knew it not, there was more friendliness in her tone than Mary had ever found there before.

“Do you know, I tried going up the hill on my side, a better hill than yours, and with a better view, but it was so lonely!  Isn’t it funny what a difference companionship makes?”

“Sometimes, and in some moods.  But there are other times and other moods in which companionship is a nuisance, and solitude the only thing to be desired.  At least, that is how I have felt,” said Katherine.  Then she added hastily:  “To-night I felt as if I wanted someone to see the moon rise with me, so I am very glad you came.”