pathetic vanity, had set her heart on driving to the new home in the old
carriage. Captain Rexford's eldest son had helped to get the vehicle off
the train, and was now working steadily with one of the station hands to
get it upon its wheels. It was assuredly such a carriage as that bit of
Canadian road had never seen before. The station loiterers, sometimes
helping in its arrangement, sometimes merely looking on, gazed at it
with unwavering attention. Robert Trenholme gazed at it also, and at
last felt obliged to give some more distinct warning of difficulties he
foresaw.

"We have native horses," he said, with a good-humoured smile that leaped
out of his eyes before it parted his lips; "we have horses, and we have
ponies, and I am afraid that a pair of the one would be as serviceable
in the long run as a pair of the other in drawing it on these roads.
Are you getting out carriage-horses from England, Captain Rexford?"

The gentleman addressed continued to set the cushions in their places,
but in a minute he went back into the station, where by a stove he found
his wife and Sophia warming themselves, the smallest children, and a pot
of carriage oil.

"You know, my dears, I never felt quite clear in my own mind that it was
wise of us to bring the carriage." He held his hands to the warmth as he
spoke. "Mr. Trenholme, I find, seems to think it heavy for these roads."

His wife heard him quite cheerfully. "In weather like this nothing could
be more desirable," said she, "than to have one's own comfortably
cushioned carriage; and besides, I have always told you we owe it to our
children to show the people here that, whatever misfortunes we have had,
we _have_ been people of consequence." She added after a moment in