“What an ugly dog!” Colina said coolly.

The young man swung around and affectionately rubbed the dog’s ear.

“The best sporting dog in Athabasca,” he said promptly, but without any resentment.

Colina bit her lip again.  It seemed as if everything she did was mean.  “Of course his looks haven’t anything to do with his good qualities,” she said.  Here she was apologizing.

“He’s almost human,” said the young man.  “I talk to him like a person.”

“Come here, dog,” said Colina.

The animal was suddenly stricken with deafness.

“What’s his name?” she asked.

“Job.”

“Come here, Job!” said Colina coaxingly.

Job looked out across the river.

“Job!” said his master sternly.

The dog sprang to him as if they had been parted for years, and frantically licked his hand.  This display of boundless affection was suspiciously self-conscious.

The young man led him to Colina’s feet.  “Mind your manners!” he commanded.

Job in utter abasement offered her a limp paw.  She touched it, and he scampered back to his former place with an air of relief, and turning his back to her lay down again.  It cannot be said that his enforced obedience made her feel any better.

CHAPTER V.

An invitation to dine.

Lunch was not long in preparing, for the rice had been on the fire when Colina first appeared.  The young man set forth the meal as temptingly as he could on a flat rock, and at the risk of breaking his sinews carried another rock for Colina to sit upon.  His apologies for the discrepancies in the service disarmed Colina again.

“I am no fine lady,” she said.  “I know what it is to live out.”

Colina was hungry and the food good.  A good understanding rapidly established itself between them.  But the young man made no move to serve himself.  Indeed he sat at the other side of the rock-table and produced his pipe.

“Why don’t you eat?” demanded Colina.

“There is plenty of time,” he said, blushing.

“But why wait?”

“Well—­there’s only one knife and fork.”

“Is that all?” said Colina coolly.  “We can pass them back and forth—­can’t we?”

Starting up and dropping the pipe in his pocket he flashed a look of extraordinary rapture on her that brought Colina’s eyelids fluttering down like winged birds.  He was a disconcerting young man.  Resentment moved her, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

They ate amicably, passing the utensils back and forth.

After a while Colina asked:  “Do you know who I am?”

“Of course,” he said.  “Miss Colina Gaviller.”

“I don’t know you,” she said.

“I am Ambrose Doane, of Moultrie.”

“Where is Moultrie?”