ried man," he went on. "There are no
houses such as you are accustomed to up here; the people are mostly
French, the climate is extreme; it is, in short, only a mission, and as
I've just come from there, and understand the place, I think I had
better go back and leave Mr. Steers in possession of the field."

"Oh! But----" returned Mr. Beddoe, noticing a faint tinge of sarcasm
in the tone of the speaker, "we do not ask you to do this. It's all
most unfortunate! These great distances, so difficult to find a
person--we did our best."

Ringfield rose; there was clearly no reason why he should remain in
Radford whether he went back to St. Ignace or not, and just then the
condition of his purse was extremely important. This detail was set
right in time, in about two months; meanwhile a visit to his friends in
the country would give him an opportunity to decide as to his future
movements.

The sojourn on the farm occupied three days, at the end of which he did
what he knew he would do from the moment of meeting Mr. Beddoe. He
bought a ticket for Bois Clair with almost the last money he had in the
world, and within ten days of leaving Poussette's the steamer plying on
the river to St. Ignace deposited him at the familiar rickety wharf
once more.

It was nine o'clock and dark, with a light rain falling. The
passengers, mostly tourists, were stepping off in that timorous way
peculiar to people unaccustomed to the primitive, by the light of a
lantern waveringly but officially displayed by Crabbe, the surly guide
to whom Ringfield had given his letter, and behind Crabbe, a little
higher up on the bank, stood Poussette, whose costume as usual was
characteristic. He wore a checked tweed suit of light brown, a straw
hat, and an enormous chef's apron tied round his waist under his coat.
Visions of fried bass or lunge, of potatoes _saute_, and even of hot
pancakes, danced before Ringfield's weary eyes, for he was both tired
and cold, and accordingly he gaily pushed his way through the loiterers
and fresh arrivals until he reached his host.

"Well, Poussette!" he cried, "I'm to be your man after all, it seems!
They didn't want me in the West, I found, or rather I thought it wiser
to come back and take advantage of your kind offer. I suppose you can
put me up somewhere for to-night, and to-morrow we can talk the matter
over."

The Frenchman had started violently on seeing Ringfield and a great
change came over his manner.