urs, came into sight of his homestead as he
walked back from Sweetwater. He had gone there for his mail, which
included an English newspaper, and had taken supper at the hotel. It
was now about two hours after dark, but a full moon hung in the western
sky, and the cluster of wooden buildings formed a shadowy blur on the
glittering plain. There was no fence, not a tree to break the white
expanse that ran back to the skyline, and it struck Clarke that the
place looked very dreary.

He walked on, with the fine, dry snow the wind whipped up glistening on
his furs. On reaching the homestead, he went first to the
stable--built of sod, which was cheaper and warmer than sawed
lumber--and, lighting a lantern, fed his teams. The heavy Clydesdales
and lighter driving horses were all valuable, for Clarke was a
successful farmer and had found that the purchase of the best animals
and implements led to economy; though it was said that he seldom paid
the full market price for them. He had walked home because it was
impossible to keep warm driving; and he now felt tired and morose. The
man had passed his prime and was beginning to find the labor he had
never shirked more irksome than it had been. He dispensed with a hired
hand in winter, when there was less to be done, for Clarke neglected no
opportunity to save a dollar.

When he had finished in the stable, he crossed the snow to the house,
which was dark and silent. After the bustle and stir of London, where
he had spent some time, it was depressing to come back to the empty
dwelling, and he was glad that he had saved himself the task of getting
supper. Shaking the snow from his furs, he lighted the lamp and filled
up the stove before he sat down wearily. The small room was not a
cheerful place in which to spend the winter nights alone. Walls and
floor were uncovered and were roughly boarded with heat-cracked lumber;
the stove was rusty, and gave out a smell of warm iron, while a black
distillate had dripped from its pipe. There were, however, several
well-filled bookcases and one or two comfortable chairs,

Clarke lighted his pipe and, drawing his seat as near the stove as
possible, opened the English newspaper, which contained some news that
interested him. A short paragraph stated that Captain Bertram
Challoner, then stationed at Delhi, had received an appointment which
would shortly necessitate his return from India. This, Clarke
imagined, might be turned to goo