turned in with an air of distaste. A letter that had been brought him by
the morning train lay on his table, addressed to "Alec Trenholme, Esq."
It had seen vicissitudes, and been to several addresses in different
cities, before it had been finally readdressed to this new station.
Perhaps its owner had not found the path to fortune which he sought in
the New World as easily accessible as he had expected. Whether he had
now found it or not, he set himself to that which he had found in manly
fashion.

Coming in from the cold without, and shutting himself in, as he
supposed, for the evening, he wisely determined to alleviate the
peculiar feeling of cold and desolation which the weather was fitted to
induce by having an early tea. He set his pan upon a somewhat rusty
stove and put generous slices of ham therein to fry. He made tea, and
then set forth his store of bread, his plates and cup, upon the table,
with some apparent effort to make the meal look attractive. The frying
ham soon smelt delicious, and while it was growing brown, Alec Trenholme
read his letter for the fifth time that day. It was not a letter that he
liked, but, since the morning train, only two human beings had passed by
the station, and the young station-master would have read and re-read a
more disagreeable epistle than the one which had fallen to his lot. It
was dated from a place called Chellaston, and was from his brother. It
was couched in terms of affection, and contained a long, closely
reasoned argument, with the tenor of which it would seem the reader did
not agree, for he smiled at it scornfully!

He had not re-read his letter and dished his ham before sounds on the
road assured him an ox-cart was approaching, and, with an eagerness to
see who it might be which cannot be comprehended by those who have not
lived in isolation, he went out to see Saul and his cattle coming at an