and fine as flour by the frost.  It had no cohesion, the runners sank in it, and Winston was almost waist-deep when he dragged the floundering team through the drifts.  A day had passed since he had eaten anything worth mention, but he held on with an endurance which his companion, who was incapable of rendering him assistance, wondered at.  There were belts of deep snow the almost buried sleigh must be dragged through, and tracts from which the wind had swept the dusty covering, leaving bare the grasses the runners would not slide over, where the team came to a standstill, and could scarcely be urged to continue the struggle.

At last, however, the loghouse rose, a lonely mound of whiteness, out of the prairie, and Winston drew in a deep breath of contentment when a dusky figure appeared for a moment in the doorway.  His weariness seemed to fall from him, and once more his companion wondered at the tirelessness of the man, as floundering on foot beside them he urged the team through the powdery drifts beneath the big birch bluff.  Winston did not go in, however, when they reached the house, and when, five minutes later, Maud Barrington came out, she saw him leaning with a drawn face very wearily against the sleigh.  He straightened himself suddenly at the sight of her, but she had seen sufficient, and her heart softened towards him.  Whatever the man’s history had been he had borne a good deal for her.

The return journey was even more arduous, and now and then Maud Barrington felt a curious throb of pity for the worn-out man, who during most of it walked beside the team; but it was accomplished at last, and she contrived to find means of thanking him alone when they reached the Grange.

Winston shook his head, and then smiled a little.  “It isn’t nice to make a bargain,” he said.  “Still, it is less pleasant now and then to feel under an obligation, though there is no reason why you should.”

Maud Barrington was not altogether pleased, but she could not blind herself to facts, and it was plain that there was an obligation.  “I am afraid I cannot quite believe that, but I do not see what you are leading to.”

Winston’s eyes twinkled.  “Well,” he said reflectively, “I don’t want you to fancy that last night commits you to any line of conduct in regard to me.  I only asked for a truce, you see.”

Maud Barrington was a trifle nettled.  “Yes?” she said.

“Then, I want to show you how you can discharge any trifling obligation you may fancy you may owe me, which of course would be more pleasant to you.  Do not allow your uncle to sell any wheat forward to you, and persuade him to sow every acre that belongs to you this spring.”

“But however would this benefit you?” asked the girl.

Winston laughed.  “I have a fancy that I can straighten up things at Silverdale, if I can get my way.  It would please me, and I believe they want it.  Of course a desire to improve anything appears curious in me!”