ten in evidently exhilarated spirits, and with a hopeful
description of the new scenes. Ethel read it to her father, and he
told every one about it when they came in. Tom manifested no
particular interest; but he did not go by the mail train that night,
and was not visible all the morning. He caught Ethel alone however at
noon, and said, 'Ethel, I owe you this,' offering the amount she had
paid for the letter.

'Thank you,' she said, wondering if this was to be all she should hear
about it.

'I am going by the afternoon train,' he added; 'I have been over to
Blewer. It is true, Ethel, the fellow can't stand it! he has sent down
a manager, and is always in London! Most likely to dispose of it by
private contract there, they say.'

'And what has become of old Hardy?'

'Poor old fellow, he has struck work, looks terribly shaky. He took me
for my father at first sight, and began to apologize most
plaintively--said no one else had ever done him any good. I advised
him to come in and see my father, though he is too far gone to do much
for him.'

'Poor old man, can he afford to come in now?'

'Why, I helped him with the cart hire. It is no use any way, he knows
no more than we do, and his case is confirmed; but he thinks he has
offended my father, and he'll die more in peace for having had him
again. Look here, what a place they have got to.'

And without further explanation of the 'they,' Tom placed a letter in
Ethel's hands.

'My Dear Mr. Thomas,

'I send you the objects I promised for your microscope; I could not get
any before because we were in the city; but if you like these I can get
plenty more at Massissauga, where we are now. We came here last week,
and the journey was very nice, only we went bump bump so often, and
once we stuck in a marsh, and were splashed all over. We are staying
with Mr. Muller and Cora till our own house is quite ready; it was only
begun a fortnight ago, and we are to get in next week. I thought this
would have been a town, it looked so big and so square in the plan; but
it is all trees still, and there are only thirteen houses built yet.
Ours is all by itself in River Street, and all the trees near it have
been killed, and stand up all dead and white, because nobody has time
to cut them down. It looks very dismal, but Ave says it will be very
nice by and by, and, Rufus Muller says it has mammoth privileges. I
send you a bit of rattlesnake skin. They found fifteen o