knew him better, I'm sure she'd like him, as we all do."

Jack turned the conversation abruptly.

"But if you're going to Palmyra," he asked, "where do you mean to
stop? Have you thought about lodgings? You mustn't imagine it's a
place like an English town, with an inn or hotel or good private
apartments. There's nowhere you can put up at in these brand-new
villages. Are you going to friends, or did you expect to find
quarters as easily as in England?"

This was a difficulty which, indeed, had never even occurred to me
till that moment. I stammered and hesitated.

"Well," I said slowly, "to tell you the truth, I haven't thought
about that. The landing at Quebec was such a dreadful surprise to
me, and"--tears came into my eyes again--"I had a great shock
there--and I had to come on so quick, I didn't ask about anything
but catching the train. I meant to stop a night or two either at
Quebec or in Montreal, and to make all inquiries: but circumstances,
you see, have prevented that. So I really don't know what I'd better
do when I get to Palmyra."

"I do," my new friend answered quickly, her soft sweet voice having
quite a decisive ring in it. "You'd better not go on to Palmyra at
all. There's no sort of accommodation there, except a horrid
drinking-saloon. You'd better stop short at Adolphus Town and spend
the night with us; and then you can look about you next day, if you
like, and see what chance there may be of finding decent quarters.
Old Mrs. Wilkins might take her in, Jack, or the Blacks at the