FOREST, LAKE, AND RIVER 



As I was leaving the hospital, I almost ran into 

 the arms of Angus McTavish, who was on his way, 

 as he expressed it, " To see the Black Haythen." 

 I drew him aside and as briefly as possible I related 

 to him what you, dear reader, already know. 



" Man, man, but it 's a queer yarn, and all my 

 stumpin' this ten year past gone for nothin'." 

 McTavish looked so doleful at the thought of this 

 loss, and the greater loss that was not expressed, 

 that I laughed outright. 



"Tut," said I, "an old bachelor like you ought 

 to rejoice at so happy an ending to a romance like 

 this. You '11 drive out to-morrow with us to the 

 house-warming." 



" Well," he replied, " I suppose I might as 

 well." 



My story ought to end here, but it does n't. 

 The happenings in real life are so much stranger 

 than in fiction that I am forced to go on with it 

 to the end. 



It was near the close of the short winter day 

 when I drew rein on the edge of the clearing from 

 which the Maid's house was visible. The sun, 

 setting in majestic glory over the western moun- 

 tains, spread a soft pink glow across the open 

 fields of snow, while from the windows of the 

 house there shone the reflected light that glowed 



310 



