116 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



traveller almost wishes the engine would jump the 

 track or bandits hold up the train to break the 

 deadly monotony. After all, that day is a red- 

 letter one, for during it the writer made a friend. 

 At noon, the train stopped near a lonely building 

 in the pine woods to allow the passengers to dine. 

 Other bills of fare may be forgotten, but the menu 

 that noon is imperishably engraved on the tablets 

 of memory. Who would not remember a meal 

 consisting of saleratus biscuits with strong em- 

 phasis upon the saleratus " sides " of pork and 

 sweet potato pie ? It is conceivable that even these 

 may be palatable when well cooked, but the ma- 

 terials used that day had evidently had no fair 

 chance to reveal their excellence when skilfully 

 treated. 



Among the passengers was a tall, somewhat 

 gaunt man, with long, brown hair and a straggling 

 beard just showing a hint of grey. The face was 

 rugged but kindly, and the eyes deep-set. One 

 felt, instinctively, that here was a man of power 

 and goodness whom it would be a privilege to 

 know, and when a chance remark made by him to 

 the traveller from the north gave an excuse for 

 further conversation it was eagerly seized upon. 

 It was not until the train was approaching Char- 

 lotte Harbour that we learned the name of our 

 travelling companion, a name familiar, then and 

 now, the world over, among those who look and 

 long for a better day for man Edward Everett 



