t hand. Not a single house abutted against another. In the
gardens there would be old-fashioned flowers such as she had been
familiar with at home, before she had sought the town. Dr. Starr had
described it all. Ten minutes' walk would take one beyond the
habitations of men, into woodlands and fields and by a lake that
extended into a far wilderness, upon which one could drive a canoe and
feel as if one owned a great and beautiful world, for men were seldom
on it and above the surface it was peopled chiefly by great diving
birds and broods of ducklings. It all sounded, and doubtless was,
perfectly ideal.

But presently Hugo had finished his writing and was leaning back in
his chair.

"Do you think you would like some of those nice fresh eggs Mrs.
Papineau's little girl brought this morning?" she asked him. "And
would you like me to close the door now?"

"Thanks, Miss Nelson," he said, "I'm sure I should enjoy them ever so
much. They're a rather scarce commodity with us. Too many weasels and
skunks and other chicken-eaters to make it a healthy country for hens.
As to the door I'll be glad to have you close it if you feel cold. But
it's delightful for me to be sitting here all wrapped up in blankets
and taking in big lungfuls of our forest air. It--it makes a fellow
feel like a two-year-old."

She was about to break the eggs into a pan when she noticed the letter
lying on the table.

"Would you like me to get you an envelope, for it?" she asked.

"If you'll be so kind," he assented, gravely.

She would have offered to put the paper in the envelope for him also,
but he managed it easily enough and closed the flap.

"That's done," he said. "I wonder what will come of it?"

To this she could not reply, so she prepared the eggs and brought them
to him, with his tea and toast.

"They're going to be ever so good," he said, taking up a fork, after
which he stared out of the still-opened door.

"If you don't eat them now, they'll be cold in a minute," she warned
him.

"Oh, I'd forgotten! I must beg your pardon since you took so much
trouble about them."

He ate them slowly, as if performing some hard and solemn task. When
he had finished his meal, Madge cleared the table.

"Is there anything else you would like?" she asked. "One of your
books?"

"No, I--I don't think I want to read, just now. I--I am feeling
rather--rather disturbed for the moment."

"What's the matter?" she inquired, solicitously.

"It's