even pace down the road from the hills. The cart ran more easily now
that the road was of the better sort, and the spirits of both man and
beasts were so raised by the sight of a house that they all seemed in
better form for work than when in the middle of their journey.

Alec Trenholme waited till the cart drew up between his door and the
railway track, and regarded the giant stature of the lumberman, his
small, round head, red cheeks, and luxuriant whiskers, with that
intense but unreflecting interest which the lonely bestow upon
unexpected company. He looked also, with an eye to his own business, at
the contents of the cart, and gave the man a civil "good evening."

As he spoke, his voice and accent fell upon the air of this wilderness
as a rarely pleasant thing to hear. Saul hastily dressed his whiskers
with his horny left-hand before he answered, but even then, he omitted
to return the greeting.

"I want to know," he said, sidling up, "how much it would cost to send
that by the cars to St. Hennon's." He nudged his elbow towards the
coffin as he spoke.

"That box?" asked the station-master. "How much does it weigh?"

"We might weigh it if I'd some notion first about how much I'd need to
pay."

"What's in it?"

Saul smoothed his whiskers again. "Well," he said--then, after a slight
pause--"it's a dead man."