A heavy snow-storm delayed us for several hours, and we reached
Hamilton too late for the mid-day express for Toronto. We got there,
however, in time for the accommodation leaving at 3.15 p.m., and we
would reach Toronto at 5.05. I walked from one end of the train to the
other in hopes of finding some one I knew, from whom I could make
enquiries about home. Not a soul. I saw several persons whom I knew to
be residents of Toronto, but none with whom I had ever been personally
acquainted, and none of them would be likely to know anything about my
uncle's domestic arrangements. All that remained to be done under these
circumstances was to restrain my curiosity as well as I could until
reaching Toronto. By the by, would my uncle really meet me at the
station, according to his promise? Surely not. By what means could he
possibly know that I would arrive by this train? Still, he seemed to
have such accurate information respecting my proceedings that there was
no saying where his knowledge began or ended. I tried not to think
about the matter, but as the train approached Toronto my impatience
became positively feverish in its intensity. We were not more than
three minutes behind time, as we glided in front of the Union Station,
I passed out on to the platform of the car, and peered intently through
the darkness. Suddenly my heart gave a great bound. There, sure enough,
standing in front of the door of the waiting-room, was my uncle,
plainly discernible by the fitful glare of the overhanging lamps.
Before the train came to a stand-still, I sprang from the car and
advanced towards him. He was looking out for me, but his eyes not being
as young as mine, he did not recognize me until I grasped him by the
hand. He greeted me warmly, seizing me by the waist, and almost raising
me from the ground. I at once noticed several changes in his
appearance; changes for which I was wholly unprepared. He had aged very
much since I had last seen him, and the lines about his mouth had