ous, and while it was growing brown, Alec Trenholme
read his letter for the fifth time that day. It was not a letter that he
liked, but, since the morning train, only two human beings had passed by
the station, and the young station-master would have read and re-read a
more disagreeable epistle than the one which had fallen to his lot. It
was dated from a place called Chellaston, and was from his brother. It
was couched in terms of affection, and contained a long, closely
reasoned argument, with the tenor of which it would seem the reader did
not agree, for he smiled at it scornfully!

He had not re-read his letter and dished his ham before sounds on the
road assured him an ox-cart was approaching, and, with an eagerness to
see who it might be which cannot be comprehended by those who have not
lived in isolation, he went out to see Saul and his cattle coming at an
even pace down the road from the hills. The cart ran more easily now
that the road was of the better sort, and the spirits of both man and
beasts were so raised by the sight of a house that they all seemed in
better form for work than when in the middle of their journey.

Alec Trenholme waited till the cart drew up between his door and the
railway track, and regarded the giant stature of the lumberman, his
small, round head, red cheeks, and luxuriant whiskers, with that
intense but unreflecting interest which the lonely bestow upon
unexpected company. He looked also, with an eye to his own business, at
the contents of the cart, and gave the man a civil "good evening."

As he spoke, his voice and accent fell upon the air of this wilderness
as a rarely pleasant thing to hear. Saul hastily dressed his whiskers
with his horny left-hand before he answered, but even then, he omitted
to return the greeting.

"I want to know," he said, sidling up, "how much it would cost to send
that by the cars to St. Hennon's." He nudged his elbow towards the
coffin as he spoke.

"That box?" asked the station-master. "How much does it weigh?"

"We might weigh it if I'd some notion first about how much I'd need to
pay."

"What's in it?"

Saul smoothed his whiskers again. "Well," he said--then, after a slight
pause--"it's a dead man."

"Oh!" said Trenholme. Some habit of politeness, unnecessary here, kept
his exclamation from expressing the interest he instantly felt. In a
country where there are few men to die, even death assumes the form of
an almost agreeable change as a