CHAPTER XII 

GEORGE FACES DISASTER 

A fortnight had passed since the affair at the settlement when Hardie arrived at the Marston homestead toward supper-time. After the meal was over, he accompanied his host and Edgar to the little room used for an office. 

"As I've been busy since four this morning, I don't mean to do anything more," said George, "I suppose you don't smoke?" 

"No," Hardie answered. "It's a concession I can make without much effort to our stricter brethren. I'm inclined to believe they consider smoking almost as bad as drink. You agree with them about the latter?" 

"We try to be consistent," Edgar told him. "You see, I couldn't very well indulge in an occasional drink when I've undertaken to make those Sage Butte fellows abstainers. Anyhow, though you're by no means liberal in your view, you're practical people. As soon as I landed at Montreal, a pleasant young man, wearing a silver monogram came up to me, and offered me introductions to people who might find me a job. Though I didn't want one, I was grateful; and when I told him I wasn't one of his flock, he said it didn't matter. That kind of thing makes a good impression." 

"How are you getting on at the settlement?" 

George interposed. 

Hardie sat silent for a few moments, and George saw that his eyes were anxious and his face looked worn. 

"Badly," he said. "I feel I can talk to you freely, and that's really why I came, though I had another call to make." 
who wasn't?
 I was grateful; and when I told him I wasn't one of his flock