If Any Man Sin

st beautiful cameos. Tall, dark trees of spruce, fir, and jack-pine shouldered back from the margin and cast irregular silhouettes around the border. Lofty mountain peaks to

ka." Where this stream joined the lake the land was level, which from time imme

ious battle had taken place among the trees at the mouth of the Quaska. But wars and diseases had thinned the tribe until it numbered barely one hundred souls, men, women, and children in all. The days of warfare were now over, and these natives led a quiet life, sub

the children played near the shore. It all seemed such a free and easy existence. There was none of the mad rush for wealth, no hard grinding at the wheels of industrial life in office, factory, or store. The dwelling places were of the humblest. All the land for miles around was theirs, with no taxes to pay, and

bundle in his arms. At length they came to a lodge where a middle-aged woman and a girl of seventeen were seated upon the ground just before the entrance. As the men approached the women rose quickly to their feet, and looked intently upon the man with the burden in his arms. His companions utt

ief, unstrapped the pack from his back, and sank, much exhausted, upon the ground. A conversation at once ensued between his two companions and the Indian women. Then, while the girl laid Nance upon a bed of furs within the lodge, the other squaw began to broil a fish over the hot coals of the fire-pl

e had imagined that such a thing would be very easy. In this, however, he had been mistaken. At the trading post, where he and Nance had left the boats, there was a mission church. That evening, at the ringing of the little bell, the Indians had left whatever they were doing and flocked to service. Rutland, knowing that this was no place for him, had left at once, carrying Nance in his arms. In company with several natives he reached an encampment miles away. Here he believed he could remain. But no, even out in the great open he saw the Indians gather together in a little group ere they laid themselves down to sleep. He watched them with much curiosity, thinking they were about to perform some ancient heathen rite. One native, who seemed to be a leader, spoke a few words, and then all began to sing. Though he did not understand a word of the language, he recognised the tune of

markable manner. He learned, too, that these Indians were not the ordinary miserable creatures sometimes seen hanging around stores and railway stations. They were the nobility of the land, and having once embraced the

hness in bringing the child with him. Why had he not left her at the mission station where she would have been well cared for? He thought of this by day as he struggled over the cruel trail with the little one in his arms, and he upbraided himself at night when she awoke and cried piteously for her father and mother. But as a rule he was glad that he had her with him. She fared better than he did, for at every camp the In

her Indians or whites. He dreaded the idea, however, of doing this, for he knew that it would mean many hardships for a time at least. So now as he sat quietly smoking, he was anxious to ascertain whether these people would hold a service such as he

round him upon the ground. Their only musical instrument was the mournful Indian drum. But this was altogether different. On one occasion several of the men had listened to the sound of a violin at the fur-trading post, and they had never wearied of telling what they had heard to the rest of their tribe. They were naturally musical, these waifs of the wilderness. The sighing of the breeze, the murmur of the stream, and the roar of the tempest in winter, all had their meaning. They were sounds which soothed or roused their wild nature. So as they listened this night their heart

quiet lake. Rutland sat for a while watching the superb scene. Then he rose to his feet, and went to the lodge where Nance was lying. He saw that she was sleeping comfortably and, bending over her, he kissed her little white cheek. The child moved