"Marjorie, behave yourself, I'm saying, and speak as you are taught. Run away for your father."
"Indeed, Aunt, how could I do this and leave you here by yourself? A wild Indian might run off with you."
"Mercy me! What a lassie! I'm fair distracted."
"Oh, Auntie dear," said Marjorie, with a change of voice, "it is just a man bringing some oats. Mr. Harris told me he was to get a load this afternoon. We will need to take them from him. Have you any money? We must pay him, I suppose."
"Money?" cried her Aunt. "What is the use of money in this country? No, your father has it all."
"Why," suddenly exclaimed her niece, "it's not the man after all."
"What man are you talking about?" enquired her Aunt. "What man is it not?"
"It's a stranger. I mean—it's—another man," said Marjorie, distinct disappointment in her tone.
"Here, who is it, or who is it no'?"
"Oh," said Marjorie innocently. "Mr. Harris is expecting that young man who was here this morning,—the one who saved us from that awful wolf, you know."