hillside above the valley an avenue of ragged pines led to a large
manor house, old, quaint, but dignified, and in the doorway a
maiden stood, grave of face and wonderfully sweet, in whose brown
eyes and over whose brown curls all the glory of the little Glen of
the Cup of Gold seemed to gather.  Through many pipes he pursued
his dreams, but always they led him to that old doorway and the
maiden with the grave sweet face and the hair and eyes full of the
golden sunlight of the Glen Cuagh Oir.

"Oh, pshaw!" he grumbled to himself at last, knocking the ashes
from his pipe.  "She has forgotten me.  It was only one single day.
But what a day!"

He lit a fresh pipe and began anew to dream of that wonderful day,
that day which was the one unfading point of light in all his Old
Country stay.  Not even the day when he stood to receive his
parchment and the special commendation of the Senatus and of his
own professor for his excellent work lived with him like that day
in the Glen.  Every detail of the picture he could recall and ever
in the foreground the maiden.  With deliberate purpose he settled
himself in his chair and set himself to fill in those fine and
delicate touches that were necessary to make perfect the foreground
of his picture, the pale olive face with its bewildering frame of
golden waves and curls, the clear brown eyes, now soft and tender,
now flashing with wrath, and the voice with its soft Highland
cadence.

"By Jove, I'm dotty!  Clean dotty!  I'll make an ass of myself,
sure thing, when I see her to-day."  He sprang from his chair and
shook himself together.  "Besides, she has forgotten all about me."
He looked at his watch.  It was twenty minutes to train-time.  He
opened the door and looked out.  The chill morning air struck him
sharply in the face.  He turned quickly, snatched his overcoat from
a nail in the hall and put it on.

At this point Billy, who combined in his own person the offices of
ostler, porter and clerk, appeared, his lantern shining with a dim
yellow glare in the gray light of the dawn.

"No. 1 is about due, Doc," he said.

"She is, eh?  I say, Billy," said the Doctor, "want to do something
for me?"  He pushed a dollar at Billy over the counter.

"Name it, Doc, without further insult," replied Billy, shoving the
dollar back with a lordly scorn.

"All right, Billy, you're a white little soul.  Now listen.  I want
your ladies' parlor aired."

"Aired?" gasped Billy.

"Yes, open the windows.  Put on a fire.  I have a lady coming--I
have--that is--Sergeant Cameron's sister is coming--"

"Say no more," said Billy with a wink.  "I get you, Doc.  But what
about the open window, Doc?  It's rather cold."

"Open it up and put on a fire.  Those Old Country people are mad
about fresh air."

"All right, Doc," replied Billy with another knowing wink.  "The
best is none too good for her, eh?"

"Look here, now, Billy--" the doctor's tone grew severe--"let's
have no nonsense.  This is Sergeant Cameron's sister.  He is
knocked out, unable to meet her.  I am taking his place.  Do you
get me?  Now be quick.  If you have any think juice in that block
of yours turn it on."

Billy twisted one ear as if turning a cock, and tapped his forehead
with his knuckles.

"Doc," he said solemnly, "she's workin' like a watch, full jewel,
patent lever."

"All right.  Now get on to this.  Sitting-room aired, good fire
going, windows open and a cup of coffee."

"Coffee?  Say, Doc, there ain't time.  What about tea?"

"You know well enough, Billy, you haven't got any but that infernal
green stuff fit to tan the stomach of a brass monkey."

"There's another can, Doc.  I know where it is.  Leave it to me."

"All right, Billy, I trust you.  They are death on tea in the Old
Country.  And toast, Billy.  What about toast?"

"Toast?  Toast, eh?  Well, all right, Doc.  Toast it is.  Trust
yours truly.  You keep her out a-viewin' the scenery for half an
hour."

"And Billy, a big pitcher of hot water.  They can't live without
hot water in the morning, those Old Country people."

"Sure thing, Doc.  A tub if you like."

"No, a pitcher will do."

At this point a long drawn whistle sounded through the still
morning air.

"There she goes, Doc.  She has struck the grade.  Say, Doc--"

But his words fell upon empty space.  The doctor had already
disappeared.

"Say, he's a sprinter," said Billy to himself.  "He ain't takin' no
chances on bein' late.  Shouldn't be surprised if the Doc got there
all right."

He darted upstairs and looked around the ladies' parlor.  The air
was heavy with mingled odors of the bar and the kitchen.  A
spittoon occupied a prominent place in the center of the room.  The
tables were dusty, the furniture in confusion.  The ladies' parlor
was perfectly familiar to Billy, but this morning he viewed it with
new eyes.

"Say, the Doc ain't fair.  He's too swift in his movements," he
muttered to himself as he proceeded to fling things into their
places.  He raised the windows, opened the stove door and looked
in.  The ashes of many fires half filling the box met his eyes with
silent reproach.  "Say, the Doc ain't fair," he muttered again.
"Them ashes ought to have been out of there long ago."  This fact
none knew better than himself, inasmuch as there was no other from
whom this duty might properly be expected.  Yet it brought some
small relief to vent his disgust upon this offending accumulation
of many days' neglect.  There was not a moment to lose.  He was due
in ten minutes to meet the possible guests for the Royal at the
train.  He seized a pail left in the hall by the none too tidy
housemaid and with his hands scooped into it the ashes from the
stove, and, leaving a cloud of dust to settle everywhere upon
tables and chairs, ran down with his pail and back again with
kindling and firewood and had a fire going in an extraordinarily
short time.  He then caught up an ancient antimacassar, used it as
a duster upon chairs and tables, flung it back again in its place
over the rickety sofa and rushed for the station to find that the
train had already pulled in, had come to a standstill and was
disgorging its passengers upon the platform.

"Roy--al Ho--tel!" shouted Billy.  "Best in town!  All the comforts
and conveniences!  Yes, sir!  Take your grip, sir?  Just give me
them checks!  That's all right, leave 'em to me.  I'll get your
baggage all right."

He saw the doctor wandering distractedly up and down the platform.

"Hello, Doc, got your lady?  Not on the Pullman, eh?  Take a look
in the First Class.  Say, Doc," he added in a lower voice, coming
near to the doctor, "what's that behind you?"

The doctor turned sharply and saw a young lady whose long clinging
black dress made her seem taller than she was.  She wore a little
black hat with a single feather on one side, which gave it a sort
of tam o' shanter effect.  She came forward with hand outstretched.

"I know you, Mr. Martin," she said in a voice that indicated
immense relief.

"You?" he cried.  "Is it you?  And to think I didn't know you.  And
to think you should remember me."

"Remember!  Well do I remember you--and that day in the Cuagh Oir--
but you have forgotten all about that day."  A little flush
appeared on her pale cheek.

"Forgotten?" cried Martin.

"But you didn't know me," she added with a slight severity in her
tone.

"I was not looking for you."

"Not looking for me?" cried the girl.  "Then who--?"  She paused in
a sudden confusion, and with a little haughty lift of her head
said, "Where is Allan, my brother?"

But the doctor ignored her question.  He was gazing at her in
stupid amazement.

"I was looking for a little girl," he said, "in a blue serge dress
and tangled hair, brown, and all curls, with brown eyes and--"

"And you found a grown up woman with all the silly curls in their
proper place--much older--very much older.  It is a habit we have
in Scotland of growing older."

"Older?"

"Yes, older, and more sober and sensible--and plainer."

"Plainer?"  The doctor's mind was evidently not working with its
usual ease and swiftness, partly from amazement at the transformation
that had resulted in this tall slender young lady standing before
him with her stately air, and partly from rage at himself and his
unutterable stupidity.

"But you have not answered me," said the girl, obviously taken
aback at the doctor's manner.  "Where is my brother?  He was to
meet me.  This is Cal--gar--ry, is it not?"

"It's Calgary all right," cried the doctor, glad to find in this
fact a solid resting place for his mind.

"And my brother?  There is nothing wrong?"  The alarm in her voice
brought him to himself.

"Wrong?  Not a bit.  At least, not much."

"Not much?  Tell me at once, please."  With an imperious air the
young lady lifted her head and impaled the doctor with her flashing
brown eyes.

"Well," said the doctor in halting confusion, "you see, he met with
an accident."

"An accident?" she cried.  "You are hiding something from me, Mr.
Martin.  My brother is ill, or--"

"No, no, not he.  An Indian hit him on the head," said the doctor,
rendered desperate by her face.

"An Indian?"  Her cry, her white face, the quick clutch of her
hands at her heart, roused the doctor's professional instincts and
banished his confusion.

"He is perfectly all right, I assure you, Miss Cameron.  Only it
was better that he should have his sleep out.  He was most anxious
to meet you, but as his medical adviser I urged him to remain quiet
and offered to come in his place.  His wife is with him.  A day's
rest, believe me, will make him quite fit."  The doctor's manner
was briskly professional and helped to quiet the girl's alarm.

"Can I see him?" she asked.

"Most certainly, in a few hours when he wakes and when you are
rested.  Here, Billy, take Miss Cameron's checks.  Look sharp."

"Say, Doc," said Billy in an undertone, "about that tea and toast--"

"What the deuce--?" said the doctor impatiently.  "Oh, yes--all
right!  Only look lively."

"Keep her a-viewin' the scenery, Doc, a bit," continued Billy under
his breath.

"Oh, get a move on, Billy!  What are you monkeying about?" said the
doctor quite crossly.  He was anxious to escape from a position
that had become intolerable to him.  For months he had been looking
forward to this meeting and now he had bungled it.  In the first
place he had begun by not knowing the girl who for three years and
more had been in his dreams day and night, then he had carried
himself like a schoolboy in her presence, and lastly had frightened
her almost to death by his clumsy announcement of her brother's
accident.  The young lady at his side, with the quick intuition of
her Celtic nature, felt his mood, and, not knowing the cause,
became politely distant.

On their walk to the hotel Dr. Martin pointed out the wonderful
pearly gray light stealing across the plain and beginning to
brighten on the tops of the rampart hills that surrounded the town.

"You will see the Rockies in an hour, Miss Cameron, in the far west
there," he said.  But there was no enthusiasm in his voice.

"Ah, yes, how beautiful!" said the young lady.  But her tone, too,
was lifeless.

Desperately the doctor strove to make conversation during their
short walk and with infinite relief did he welcome the appearance
of Mandy at her bedroom door waiting their approach.

"Your brother's wife, Miss Cameron," said he.

For a single moment they stood searching each other's souls.  Then
by some secret intuition known only to the female mind they reached
a conclusion, an entirely satisfactory conclusion, too, for at once
they were in each other's arms.

"You are Moira?" cried Mandy.

"Yes," said the girl in an eager, tremulous voice.  "And my
brother?  Is he well?"

"Well?  Of course he is--perfectly fine.  He is sleeping now.  We
will not wake him.  He has had none too good a night."

"No, no," cried Moira, "don't wake him.  Oh, I am so glad.  You
see, I was afraid."

"Afraid?  Why were you afraid?" inquired Mandy, looking indignantly
at the doctor, who stood back, a picture of self condemnation.

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Cameron, blame me.  I deserve it all.  I bungled
the whole thing this morning and frightened Miss Cameron nearly
into a fit, for no other reason than that I am all ass.  Now I
shall retire.  Pray deal gently with me.  Good-by!" he added
abruptly, lifted his hat and was gone.

"What's the matter with him?" said Mandy, looking at her sister-in-
law.

"I do not know, I am sure," replied Moira indifferently.  "Is there
anything the matter?"

"He is not like himself a bit.  But come, my dear, take off your
things.  As the doctor says, a sleep for a couple of hours will do
you good.  After that you will see Allan.  You are looking very
weary, dear, and no wonder, no wonder," said Mandy, "with all that
journey and--and all you have gone through."  She gathered the girl
into her strong arms.  "My, I could just pick you up like a babe!"
She held her close and kissed her.

The caressing touch was too much for the girl.  With a rush the
tears came.

"Och, oh," she cried, lapsing into her Highland speech, "it iss
ashamed of myself I am, but no one has done that to me for many a
day since--since--my father--"

"There, there, you poor darling," said Mandy, comforting her as if
she were a child, "you will not want for love here in this country.
Cry away, it will do you good."  There was a sound of feet on the
stairs.  "Hush, hush, Billy is coming."  She swept the girl into
her bedroom as Billy appeared.

"Oh, I am just silly," said Moira impatiently, as she wiped her
eyes.  "But you are so good, and I will never be forgetting your
kindness to me this day."

"Hot water," said Billy, tapping at the door.

"Hot water!  What for?" cried Mandy.

"For the young lady.  The doctor said she was used to it."

"The doctor?  Well, that is very thoughtful.  Do you want hot
water, Moira?"

"Yes, the very thing I do want to get the dust out of my eyes and
the grime off my face."

"And the tea is in the ladies' parlor," added Billy.

"Tea!" cried Mandy, "the very thing!"

"The doctor said tea and toast."

"The doctor again!"

"Sure thing!  Said they were all stuck on tea in the Old Country."

"Oh, he did, eh?  Will you have tea, Moira?"

"No tea, thank you.  I shall lie down, I think, for a little."

"All right, dear, we will see you at breakfast.  Don't worry.  I
shall call you."

Again she kissed the girl and left her to sleep.  She found Billy
standing in the ladies' parlor with a perplexed and disappointed
look on his face.

"The Doc said she'd sure want some tea," he said.

"And you made the tea yourself?" inquired Mandy.

"Sure thing!  The Doc--"

"Well, Billy, I'd just love a cup of tea if you don't mind wasting
it on me."

"Sure thing, ma'm!  The Doc won't mind, bein' as she turned it
down."

"Where is Dr. Martin gone, Billy?  He needs a cup of tea; he's been
up all night.  He must be feeling tough."

"Judgin' by his langwidge I should surmise yes," said Billy
judicially.

"Would you get him, Billy, and bring him here?"

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