pleasing information that we were shortly to receive a, for us,
rather large sum of money. It was good news, but it did not quite
account for Mr. Hubbard's present state of mind, and I looked up
enquiringly.

"You see, Wife, it means that I can take my Labrador trip whether
anyone sends me or not," he said triumphantly.

His eyes glowed and darkened and in his voice was the ring of a
great enthusiasm, for he had seen a Vision, and this trip was a
vital part of his dream.

The dream had begun years ago, when a boy lay out under the apple
trees of a quiet farm in Southern Michigan with elbows resting on
the pages of an old school geography, chin in palms and feet in
air. The book was open at the map of Canada, and there on the
other page were pictures of Indians dressed in skins with war
bonnets on their heads; pictures of white hunters also dressed in
skins, paddling bark canoes; winter pictures of dog-teams and
sledges, the driver on his snow-shoes, his long whip in hand. The
boy would have given all the arrow-heads he had for just one look
at what he saw pictured there.

He was born, this boy, of generations of pioneer ancestors, the
line of his mother's side running back to Flanders of three hundred
years ago, through Michael Paulus Van Der Voort, who came to
America from Dendermonde, East Flanders, and whose marriage on 18th
November, 1640, to Marie Rappelyea, was the fifth recorded marriage
in New Amsterdam, now New York. A branch runs back in England to
John Rogers the martyr. It is the boast of this family that none