Miss Selincourt entered, put her bag on the table, and gazed round with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

“What a charming room!  I think I should have been ready to weep if this had not been our house.  Are you Mrs. M’Kree?” she asked doubtfully, for, although the girl looked so young, she had just heard one of the children whisper, “Mummy.”

“No, I am Mrs. Burton, and I come from the store across the river.  Mrs. M’Kree lives farther up the river, above the second portage, so it is not easy for her to come down every day, and I have kept the house open for her.”

“It is very kind of you!” exclaimed Mary gratefully, realizing that here was a very different specimen of womanhood, from the good-natured slattern who had greeted her at Seal Cove.

“We have to be kind to each other in these wilds, or we should be badly off sometimes,” Mrs. Burton rejoined.  Then she said timidly:  “We are very glad to welcome you, and we all feel that you have conferred a great favour on us by coming to stay here this summer.”

Something like an awkward lump got into Mary’s throat then.  She had come the long, toilsome journey solely for her own pleasure, and to be near her father, yet here was one thanking her for the privilege her coming conferred on these lone dwellers in the solitudes.  She was rarely a creature of impulse, and always prided herself on the way she kept her head; but the sweet friendliness of the sad-eyed little woman touched her mightily, and stooping forward she kissed Mrs. Burton warmly, then promptly apologized, being properly ashamed of her forwardness.

“Oh, please forgive me!  I really could not help it, and you—­you looked so kind!” she said ruefully.

Mrs. Burton laughed, although she looked rather embarrassed, then she said gently:  “I am afraid you must be very tired.  If you will sit down I will quickly get you some tea.”

“Please don’t trouble.  Father and I are quite used to doing things for ourselves, and I can make a kettle boil over my spirit lamp while the men are bringing the luggage up from the boats,” Mary said hastily, feeling that she simply could not have this gentle, refined woman waiting upon her,

But for all her gentleness Mrs. Burton could be firm when she chose, and she replied quietly:  “I should not think of going away until I had seen you with a meal ready prepared.  The fire is all ready for lighting in the stove, and that will save your spirit lamp, and you are in the wilderness now, remember, where spirit is difficult to obtain.”

The two little girls trotted after their mother.  Mary tried to make friends with them, but they were not used to strangers, so showed her only averted faces and pouting red lips, which made her understand that their friendship must be left to time.

When the luggage had been brought up from the boat, Mrs. Burton had the kettle boiling, and then she sent one of the men across with a boat to the store, giving him a message for Miles, which resulted in a basket of fresh fish coming over at once.  These, delicately broiled over a fire of spruce chips, and served piping hot, made, as Mr. Selincourt observed, a supper fit for a king.