It was respectful, but not diffident.

The girl had no need to assert herself; she was on excellent terms with the sturdy toilers, who nevertheless cheerfully submitted to her rule.
When the meal was over, Grant led his guests into a smaller room, and produced a bag of domestic tobacco.
"The stock have gone far enough," he said.

"You'll stay here to-night." Flett looked doubtful, though it was obvious that he wished to remain.
He was a young, brown-faced man, and his smart khaki uniform proclaimed him a trooper of the Northwest Mounted Police.
"The trouble is that I'm a bit late on my round already," he protested.
"That's soon fixed," said Grant.
He opened a roll-top desk, and wrote a note which he read out: "'Constable Flett has been detained in the neighborhood of this homestead through having rendered, at my request, valuable assistance in rounding up a bunch of cattle, scattered in crossing the flooded river.'" "Thanks," said Flett.

"That kind of thing counts when they're choosing a corporal." Grant turned to George with a smile.
"Keep in with the police, Lansing--I've known a good supper now and then go a long way.

They may worry you about fireguards and fencing, but they'll stand by you when you're in trouble, if you treat them right.