Ranching for Sylvia. Harold Bindloss

what brought you back?"

      She was rather direct, but that is not unusual in the West, and George was mildly flattered by the interest she displayed.

      "It's a little difficult to answer. For one thing, I was beginning to feel that I was taking life too easily in England, It's a habit that grows on one."

      He had no desire to conceal the fact that he had come out on Sylvia's behalf—it never occurred to him to mention it. He was trying to analyze the feelings which had rendered the sacrifice he made in leaving home a little easier.

      "I don't think the dread of acquiring that habit is common among your people," Flora said mischievously. "It doesn't sound like a very convincing reason."

      "No," replied George, with a smile. "Still, it had some weight. You see, it isn't difficult to get lazy and slack, and I'd done nothing except a little fishing and shooting for several years. I didn't want to sink into a mere lounger about country houses and clubs. It's pleasant, but too much of it is apt to unfit one for anything else."

      "You believe it's safer, for example, to haul stovewood home through the Canadian frost or drive a plow under the scorching sun?"

      "Yes; I think I feel something of the kind."

      Flora somewhat astonished him by her scornful laugh.

      "You're wise," she said. "We have had sportsmen here from your country, and I've a vivid memory of one or two. One could see by their coarse faces that they ate and drank too much; and they seemed determined to avoid discomfort at any cost. I suppose they could shoot, but they could neither strip a gun nor carry it on a long day's march. The last party thought it needful to take a teamload of supplies when they went north after moose. It would have been a catastrophe if they had missed their dinner."

      "Going without one's dinner has its inconveniences," said George.

      "And thinking too much about it has its perils," she retorted.