Shayll we gaythurr at thee rivverr
     Whayerr bright angel feet have traw-odd?

“Do you know who these are?” asked Miss Carmichael.

“If I thought he knew as much tune,” replied Coristine, “I should say he was The Crew.”

“Oh, tell me, please, who is The Crew?” Thereupon the lawyer launched out into a description of his travels, so comical a one that his fair companion laughed until the tears stood in her eyes, and she accused him of making her break the Sabbath.  “No,” she said at last; “that is not Sylvanus, but it is his brother Timotheus with Tryphosa.  They are sitting in a ferny hollow under these birches down the hill, with a hymn-book between them, and as grave as if they were in church.  Do you not think, Mr. Coristine, that that is a very nice and proper way for young people to improve their acquaintance?”

“Very much so, Miss Carmichael.  May I go in and get a hymn book?  I can run like a deer, and won’t take a minute over it.  One will be enough, won’t it?”

The lady laughed a little pleasant laugh, and replied:  “I think not, sir.  We are not servants, at least in the same sense, and the piano and organ are at our disposal when we wish to exercise our musical powers.”

“Snubbed again,” muttered Coristine to himself; then aloud:  “I wish I were Timotheus.”

“If you prefer Tryphosa’s company to mine, sir, you are at liberty to go; but I think your champion of Peskiwanchow would object to such rivalry.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean with Tryphosa.”

“You do not know what you mean, nor anybody else.  Let us return to the house.”

As they sauntered back, the lawyer suddenly cried out:  “What a forgetful blockhead I am.  I have had ever so many business questions to put to you, and have forgotten all about them.”

“Had you not better leave business till to-morrow, Mr. Coristine?” asked the lady, gravely, almost severely.

“Your father’s name was James Douglas Carmichael, was it not?” asked Coristine, ignoring this quietus.

“Yes,” she answered.

“He came to Canada in 1848, and was, for a time, in military service at Kingston, before he completed his medical studies.  Am I right?”

“How do you happen to know these things?  My father was singularly reticent about his past life; but you are right.”

The lawyer opened his pocket-book and took out a newspaper cutting, which he handed to his companion.  “I found that at Barrie,” he said, “and trust I have not taken too great a liberty in constituting myself your solicitor, and opening correspondence with Mr. MacSmaill, W.S., regarding your interests.”

“It was very kind of you,” she answered; “do you think it will bring us any money, Mr. Coristine?”

“Yes; it must bring some, as it is directed to heirs.  How much, depends upon the wealth of your father’s family.”

“They were very wealthy.  Papa told mamma to write home to them, but she would not.  She is too independent for that.”