"Please,--please forgive me," it read. "You are a brave and very gallant gentleman.

"MARY GRANT."

"George, my boy!" I soliloquised, "that ought to satisfy you."

But it did not. In the frame of mind I then was in, nothing could possibly have propitiated me.

As I dropped to sleep, the phrase recurred again and again: "You are a brave and very gallant gentleman." That,--maybe,--but after all a poor and humble gentleman working for wages in a country store;--so, why worry?

Next morning, although it was not the day any steamer was due, I ran the white flag to the top of the pole at the point of the rocks, in the hope that Rita would see it and take it as a signal that I wished to speak with her; and so save me a trip across, for I expected some of the men from the Camps and I never liked to be absent or to keep them waiting.

Just before noon, Rita presented herself.

"Say, George!--what's the rag up for? Did you forget what day of the week it was, or is it your birthday?

"I brought you a pie, in case it might be your anniversary. Made it this morning."

I laughed to the bright little la.s.s who stood before me with eyes dancing mischievously, white teeth showing and the pink of her cheeks glowing through the olive tint of her skin.

The more I saw of Rita, the prettier she seemed in my eyes, for she was lively and agile, trim, neat and beautifully rounded, breathing always of fragrant and exuberant health.

"Sit down beside me on the steps here, Rita," I said. "I want to talk to you. That is why I put the flag up.

"Rita,--what would you give to have your grand-dad renounce his vow some day and begin speaking to your grandmother as if nothing had ever been amiss?"

She looked at me and her lips trembled.

"Say, George! Don't fool me. I ain't myself on that subject."

"What would you give, Rita?"

"I'd give anything. I'd pretty near give my life, George; for grandmother would be happier'n an angel."

"Would you help, if some one knew a way?"

"George,--sure you ain't foolin'? True,--you ain't foolin'?"

For answer, I plunged into the scheme.

"Now,--all we require of you and your grandmother is to sit tight and neither to say nor do anything that would interfere. Leave it to--leave it to the minister. He is doing this, and he believes that it is the only way to bring your grand-dad to his senses. Mr. Auld has already tried everything else he can think of."

"It won't kill grand-dad, though?" she inquired.

"Kill him,--no! Why! it won't even hurt him, unless, maybe, his pride.

"Do you agree, Rita?"

"Sure!" she said. "But--if you or Mr. Auld hurt my grand-dad, I guess I'll kill you both,--see."

Her eyes flashed for a second and I could tell she was in deadly earnest over it. But she soon laughed and became happy once more.

"Rita,--would you like to be able to talk English,--proper English,--just as it should be talked? Would you care to learn English Grammar?" I asked, changing the subject partly.

She came close to me on the veranda steps with a jump.

"Say that over again, George. I want to get it right," she said plaintively.

"Would you like me to teach you English Grammar, Rita?" I repeated.

"Would I? Oh! wouldn't I just!"

She looked away quickly. "You wouldn't waste your time teachin' the likes of me."

"I have been through college. I know something of English Grammar and English Literature. It would be the pleasure of my life to be permitted to impart some of what I know to you."

"Oh!--but it would take years, and years, and--then some," she put in.

"Not a bit of it! It would take an hour or two of an evening, maybe twice a week. That is all,--provided you went over and learned in between times all that was given you to master."

"Gee! I could do that. You just try me."

"Well, Rita. Here is your first lesson.

"Never say 'gee.' It is not good English."

And I never heard Rita use the expression again.

I had expected to see her smile with happiness, but she was too tremendously in earnest about it. Determination was written all over her sweet little face.

"George,--I'll learn anything you tell me. I'll work hard and I'll learn terrible fast, for I know I ain't no good now at talking slick."

"Here is another for you, Rita. Never say 'ain't no good.' Say, 'I am not any good.' 'Ain't' is not a word; it does not appear in any standard dictionary of English.

"Well, little girl,--if your grand-dad is agreeable and will permit you to come over now and again of an evening, we can make a start as soon as I get the book I require from Vancouver.

"I would come over to your place, but it is quite a distance from the store and I do not like to be too long away, especially in the evenings; for I have seen Chinese in their fishing boats around, and strange launches keep coming into the Bay to anchor overnights. It does not do, you know, to neglect another man's property and goods when the other man pays me for looking after them."

"Oh! grand-dad won't mind me coming. He lets me do pretty near anything. Besides, somebody's got to come over to the store now we're getting our groceries from you instead of ordering them from Vancouver."

I was not so sanguine as Rita was, especially after what Joe had probably said to Andrew Clark regarding me.

"Well!" I concluded, "that will be my excuse when I come over with the medicine for your grand-dad's chronic complaint,--dumbness. So, don't say a word about it until I get over."

The Rev. William Auld ran in early that afternoon. He was all excitement.

"George,--I saw Margaret and I have fixed her. Poor woman,--she is as nervous as a kitten and as worried as a mother cat, fearing we may hurt Andrew. The old rascal;--he's not so easily hurt, eh, George?

"You saw Rita?"