"Hear me, lass," said Dr. McDermott, his hands resting upon the bent shoulders of Angella Loring. "In the old land, I was a stable lad and you the grand young lady of the manor house; my father was your father's groom, and all the McDermotts before me served the Lorings; but here in Alberta we're naught but mon and woman, and as mon to woman, lass, I'm asking you to be my wife."

She answered without words, laying her hands in his, but as he looked into her eyes, the doctor saw all the shadows of the sad years fade away like ghosts before the dawn, and love like the sunlight of the land of their adoption had taken their place.

"It's a puir rough sort of man you're getting," said the doctor huskily, but she laid her hands upon his lips and answered:

"Dr. McDermott, I'll be getting the salt of the earth!"

Hat twisting in his hands, outside the barn Cyril waited for Nettie. As she came out, a pail of milk in either hand, he gently took them from her and set them upon the ground. He had learned that speech by heart—the speech he was going to say to Nettie, but now as they looked into one another's eyes, no words were needed. As instinctively as life itself, they moved to each other. Nothing on earth now mattered save that they were in each other's arms.

In the house, hand in hand, they faced their friends, and immersed in their own joy noted not that the doctor's arm was about Angela's shoulders.

"Nettie and I are going to get married in the summer," said Cyril simply.

"Why wait for the summer?" rumbled their doctor friend. "Angel and I are going to Calgary tonight. Come with us."

"'Twill take a month or two to rebuild the home again," said Cyril wistfully.

"Why build again," said Angella, softly. "There's this house for you, Cyril. It's our wedding gift to you and Nettie. I'll be going—" She smiled and blushed like a girl, but finished the words bravely—"to my husband's house," she said.

THE END