contrary to Jack's amiable and
patient character, and showed that some deep emotions were stirring
within him.

The second pipe "drew" well. Probably it was this that induced him to
give utterance to the expression--

"I wonder how long this sort of thing will last?"

"Just as long as you've a mind to let it, and no longer," answered a man
clad in the garb of a trapper, whose mocassin foot had given no
indication of his approach until he was within a couple of paces of the
door.

"Is that you, Joe?" said Jack, looking up, and pointing to a log which
served as a seat on the other side of the doorway.

"It's all that's of me," replied Joe.

"Sit down and fill your pipe out of my pouch, Joe. It's good 'baccy,
you'll find. Any news? I suppose not. There never is; and if there
was, what would be the odds to me?"

"In the blues?" remarked the hunter, regarding Jack with a peculiar
smile through his first puff of smoke.

"Rather!" said Jack.

"Grog?" inquired Joe.

"Haven't tasted a drop for months," replied Jack.

"All square _here_?" inquired the hunter, tapping his stomach.

"Could digest gun-flints and screw nails!"

The two smoked in silence for some time; then Joe drew forth a soiled
letter, which he handed to his companion, saying--

"It's bin lying at the post-office for some weeks, and as the postmaster
know'd I was comin' here he asked me to take it. I've a notion it may
be an offer to buy your clearin', for I've heerd two or three fellows
speakin' about it. Now, as I want to buy it myself, if yer disposed to
sell it, I hereby make you the first offer."

Jack Robinson continued to smoke in silence, gazing abstractedly at the
letter. Since his mother had died, a year before the date of which we
write, he had not received a line from any one, insomuch that he had
given up calling at the post-office on his occasional visits to the
nearest settlement. This letter, therefore, took him by surprise, all
the more that it was addressed in the handwriting of his former partner,
Murray.

Breaking the seal, he read as follows:

"Fort Kamenistaquoia, April the somethingth:--

"Dear Jack,--You'll be surprised to see my fist, but not more
surprised than I was to hear from an old hunter just arrived, that you
had taken to farming. It's not your forte, Jack, my boy. Be advised.
Sell off the farm for what it will fetch, and come and join me. My
antecedents are not in my favour, I grant;