Turrif had been laid up with some complaint for a week or two, and Alec
went to say good-bye to him. The roads had been opened up again. He had
his snow-shoes on his back, and some clothes in a small pack.

Turrif's wife opened the door, and Trenholme disburdened himself and
went and sat by the bed. The little children were about, as usual, in
blue gowns; he had made friends in the house since his first supper
there, so they stood near now, and laughed at him a great deal without
being afraid. In the long large wooden room, the mother and eldest girl
pursued the housework of the morning tranquilly. Turrif lay upon a bed
in one corner. The baby's cradle, a brown box on rockers, was close to
the bed, and when the child stirred the father put out his hand and
rocked it. The child's head was quite covered with the clothes, so that
Trenholme wondered how it could breathe. He sat by the foot of the bed,
and Turrif talked to him in his slow English.

"You are wise to go--a young man and genteel-man like you."

"I know you think I was a fool to take the place, but a man might as
well earn his bread-and-butter while he is looking round the country."

"You have looked round at this bit of country for two months"--with a
shrug of the shoulders. "I should have sought your bright eyes could see
all what sere is to see in two days."

"You'll think me a greater fool when you know where I am going."

"I hope" (Turrif spoke with a shade of greater gravity on his placid
face)--"I hope sat you are going to some city where sere is money to be
made, and where sere is ladies and other genteel-men like you."