YOU FORGOT ME The Lakeside House, substantially built of logs, with "frame" kitchen attached, stood cosily among the clump of trees, poplar and spruce, locally described as a bluff.

The bluff ran down to the little lake a hundred yards away, itself an expansion of Wolf Willow Creek.

The whitewashed walls gleaming through its festoons of Virginia creeper, a little lawn bordered with beds filled with hollyhocks, larkspur, sweet-william and other old-fashioned flowers and flanked by a heavy border of gorgeous towering sunflowers, gave a general air, not only of comfort and thrift, but of refinement as well, too seldom found in connection with the raw homesteads of the new western country.
At a little distance from the house, at the end of a lane leading through the bluff, were visible the stables, granary and other outhouses, with corral attached.
Within, the house fulfilled the promise of its external appearance and surroundings.

There was dignity without stiffness, comfort without luxury, simplicity without any suggestion of the poverty that painfully obtrudes itself.
At the open window whose vine shade at once softened the light and invited the summer airs, sat Mrs.Gwynne, with her basket of mending at her side.

Eight years of life on an Alberta ranch had set their mark upon her.