Drove horses, went about with a thrashing outfit, hewed logs for bridges--but haven't I talked too long about myself?
You have told me nothing of--Montreal." Ida risked a chance shot.
"Don't you know that kind of life?
It must be very much the same as the one your people lead in England.

It doesn't count that their amusements are slightly different." Weston foiled her again.
"Well," he said, with an air of reflection, "I don't quite think it is; but perhaps I'm prejudiced.

I wheeled scrap-iron at the rolling-mills when I was in Montreal." He leaned farther back against the tree, with a little whimsical smile.

It was pleasant to appear as a modern Ulysses in the eyes of a very pretty girl, but he had, as she was quick to recognize, taken up the role unconsciously.
"Where are you going next ?" she asked.
"I shall probably go off prospecting if I can raise the money.

That is partly why I hope that Major Kinnaird will keep me as long as he camps out in the bush." Ida laughed.
"I think you may count on that.