she felt it. "Did you stay on at the farm?"

"I brought up my two brothers. They were on a visit to some neighbours
at the time of the fire. We stayed on three years."

"With your father?"

"No; we three alone."

She felt vaguely puzzled; but before she could turn to another subject,
he had added--

"There was nothing else for us to do. We had no money and no
relations--nothing but the land. So we had to work it--and we managed.
But after three years we'd saved a little money, and we wanted to get a
bit more education. So we sold the land and moved up to Montreal."

"How old were the brothers when you took on the farm?"

"Thirteen--and fifteen."

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "You must be proud."

He laughed out.

"Why, that kind of thing's done every day in this country! You can't
idle in Canada."

They had turned back towards the train. In the doorway of the car sat
Philip Gaddesden lounging and smoking, enveloped in a fur coat, his