“Yes,” said Winston.  “In a tent.  I must have it finished before harvest, you see!”

The girl understood why this was necessary, but deciding that she had on other occasions ventured sufficiently far with that topic, moved on across the bridge.

“A tent,” she said, “cannot be a very comfortable place to live in, and who cooks for you?”

Winston smiled dryly.  “I am used to it, and can do all the cooking that is necessary,” he said.  “It is the usual home for the beginner, and I lived six months in one—­on grindstone bread, the tinctured glucose you are probably not acquainted with as ‘drips,’ and rancid pork—­when I first came out to this country and hired myself, for ten dollars monthly, to another man.  It is a diet one gets a little tired of occasionally, but after breaking prairie twelve hours every day one can eat almost anything, and when I afterwards turned farmer my credit was rarely good enough to provide the pork.”

The girl looked at him curiously, for she knew how some of the smaller settlers lived, and once more felt divided between wonder and sympathy.  She could picture the grim self-denial, for she had seen the stubborn patience in this man’s face, as well as a stamp that was not born by any other man at Silverdale.  Some of the crofter settlers, who periodically came near starvation in their sod hovels, and the men from Ontario who staked their little handful of dollars on the first wheat crop to be wrested from the prairie, bore it, however.  From what Miss Barrington had told her, it was clear that Courthorne’s first year in Canada could not have been spent in this fashion, but there was no doubt in the girl’s mind as she listened.  Her faith was equal to a more strenuous test.

“There is a difference in the present, but who taught you bridge-building?  It takes years to learn the use of the ax,” she said.

Winston laughed.  “I think it took me four, but the man who has not a dollar to spare usually finds out how to do a good many things for himself, and I had working drawings of the bridge made in Winnipeg.  Besides, your friends have helped me with their hands as well as their good-will.  Except at the beginning, they have all been kind to me, and one could not well have expected very much from them then.”

Maud Barrington colored a trifle as she remembered her own attitude towards him.  “Cannot you forget it?” she said, with a curious little ring in her voice.  “They would do anything you asked them now.”

“One generally finds it useful to have a good memory, and I remember most clearly that, although they had very little reason for it, most of them afterwards trusted me.  That made, and still makes, a great difference to me.”

The girl appeared thoughtful.  “Does it?” she said.  “Still, do you know, I fancy that if they had tried to drive you out, you would have stayed in spite of them?”

“Yes,” said Winston dryly.  “I believe I would, but the fact that in a very little while they held out a friendly hand to a stranger steeped in suspicion, and gave him the chance to prove himself their equal, carries a big responsibility.  That, and your aunt’s goodness, puts so many things one might have done out of the question.”