girls laughed and assured him they would enjoy the aroma. Don nodded and lit up; but as he puffed he was careful to blow the smoke so that the wind would carry it away from where the girls were sitting. These girls were all right, he said to himself—nice and pretty and considerate. He began to feel quite at home with them. Puffing serenely he took up his narrative with added zest.
“Mr. John wasn’t very strong as a youngster; he had some fever when a baby that left him kind o’ delicate. But he was fearless, quick and mighty steady. After a couple o’ years he started to pick up—and now—there ain’t a logger in Minnesoty that can beat him in rowing or wrestling or at huntin’. I took to him from the start, and I love him as I would if he were my own son. The Lord don’t make ’em any better than John Morton—let me tell ye!”
“It is fine of you to say so, Mr. McCormick,” said