Lady Merton, Colonist | Page 8

him at

Montreal, a lad of eighteen helping him; and close by another lad was
writing a letter, his eyes passing dreamily from the paper to the
Canadian landscape outside, of which he was clearly not conscious. In
a corner, surrounded by three or four other women, was the mother
they had come to seek. She held a wailing baby of about a year old in
her arms. At the sight of Elizabeth, the child stopped its wailing, and
lay breathing fast and feebly, its large bright eyes fixed on the
new-comer. The mother turned away abruptly. It was not unusual for
persons from the parlour-cars to ask leave to walk through the
emigrants'.
But Elizabeth's companion said a few words to her, apparently in
Russian, and Elizabeth, stooping over her, held out the milk. Then a
dark face reluctantly showed itself, and great black eyes, in deep, lined
sockets; eyes rather of a race than a person, hardly conscious, hardly
individualised, yet most poignant, expressing some feeling, remote and
inarticulate, that roused Elizabeth's. She called to the conductor for a
cup and a spoon; she made her way into the malodorous kitchen, and
got some warm water and sugar; then kneeling by the child, she put a
spoonful of the diluted and sweetened milk into the mother's hand.
* * * * *
"Was it foolish of me to offer her that money?" said Elizabeth with
flushed cheeks as they walked back through the rain. "They looked so
terribly poor."
The Canadian smiled.
"I daresay it didn't do any harm," he said indulgently. "But they are
probably not poor at all. The Galicians generally bring in quite a fair
sum. And after a year or two they begin to be rich. They never spend a
farthing they can help. It costs money--or time--to be clean, so they
remain dirty. Perhaps we shall teach them--after a bit."
His companion looked at him with a shy but friendly curiosity.
"How did you come to know Russian?"

"When I was a child there were some Russian Poles on the next farm to
us. I used to play with the boys, and learnt a little. The conductor called
me in this morning to interpret. These people come from the Russian
side of the Carpathians."
"Then you are a Canadian yourself?--from the West?"
"I was born in Manitoba."
"I am quite in love with your country!"
Elizabeth paused beside the steps leading to their car. As she spoke, her
brown eyes lit up, and all her small features ran over, suddenly, with
life and charm.
"Yes, it's a good country," said the Canadian, rather drily. "It's going to
be a great country. Is this your first visit?"
But the conversation was interrupted by a reproachful appeal from
Yerkes.
"Breakfast, my lady, has been hotted twice."
The Canadian looked at Elizabeth curiously, lifted his hat, and went
away.
"Well, if this doesn't take the cake!" said Philip Gaddesden, throwing
himself disconsolately into an armchair. "I bet you, Elizabeth, we shall
be here forty-eight hours. And this damp goes through one."
The young man shivered, as he looked petulantly out through the open
doorway of the car to the wet woods beyond. Elizabeth surveyed him
with some anxiety. Like herself he was small, and lightly built. But his
features were much less regular than hers; the chin and nose were
childishly tilted, the eyes too prominent. His bright colour,
however--(mother and sister could well have dispensed with that touch
of vivid red on the cheeks!)--his curly hair, and his boyish ways made
him personally attractive; while in his moments of physical weakness,

his evident resentment of Nature's treatment of him, and angry
determination to get the best of her, had a touch of something that was
pathetic--that appealed.
Elizabeth brought a rug and wrapped it round him. But she did not try
to console him; she looked round for something or someone to amuse
him.
On the line, just beyond the railed platform of the car, a group of men
were lounging and smoking. One of them was her acquaintance of the
morning. Elizabeth, standing on the platform waited till he turned in
her direction--caught his eye, and beckoned. He came with alacrity. She
stooped over the rail to speak to him.
"I'm afraid you'll think it very absurd"--her shy smile broke again--"but
do you think there's anyone in this train who plays bridge?"
He laughed.
"Certainly. There is a game going on at this moment in the car behind
you."
"Is it--is it anybody--we could ask to luncheon?--who'd come, I mean,"
she added, hurriedly.
"I should think they'd come--I should think they'd be glad. Your cook,
Yerkes, is famous on the line. I know two of the people playing. They
are Members of Parliament."
"Oh! then perhaps I