"
"Nancy--Nancy," said a voice from the corner in reproof, mingled with
suppressed laughter. "Nancy, you musn't be saucy. You must say 'father'
to--"
"Yes, mummy. I'll say father to--Jim."
"You imp--you imp of delight," said Jim, as he strained the dainty little
lass to his breast, while she appeared interested in a wave of his black
hair, which she curled around her finger.
Sally came forwards with the little parcel of sandwiches she had been
preparing, and put them in the saddle-bags lying on a chair at the door,
in readiness for the journey Jim was about to make. Her eyes were
glistening, and her face had a heightened colour. The three years which
had passed since she married had touched her not at all to her
disadvantage, rather to her profit. She looked not an hour older;
motherhood had only added to her charm, lending it a delightful gravity.
The prairie life had given a shining quality to her handsomeness, an air
of depth and firmness, an exquisite health and clearness to the colour in
her cheeks. Her step was as light as Nancy's, elastic and buoyant--a
gliding motion which gave a sinuous grace to the movements of her body.
There had also come into her eyes a vigilance such as deaf people
possess, a sensitive observation imparting a deeper intelligence to the
face.
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