SOME OF OUR NEIGHBOURS. 125 



the carcass of the sheep which Stephens had thrown 

 out of his waggon, and there was the dog busy tearing 

 mouthfuls of flesh off its hind quarters. Driving off 

 the dog, they continued their hunt. After advancing 

 another half-mile or so, the men who were leachng the 

 way heard something, evidently some big animal, 

 moving in a clump of scrub by the side of the road. 

 They sent the dog in to scare the game, and posted 

 themselves in readiness. The dog barked — and 

 barked — and barked — and then out trotted a — harm- 

 less, innocent, ordinary donkey I 



The central figure in my next incident was a neigh- 

 bour only in the sense that every inhabitant of the 

 C4ty of Nelson is a neighbour. But the story will 

 find a fitting place here, not only as being closely 

 connected with our own experience, but also as 

 illustrating one of the sides of Canadian life; 

 although, strictly speaking, the story is British rather 

 than Canadian. 



One evening I was packing apples. The time was 

 about half-past eight. In the room were present, 

 besides myself, Maggie, Leslie, and Mr. Braine. 



Suddenly there appeared inside the door at my 

 left hand a stranger. He had entered by the back 

 of the house, had traversed the scullery and a small 

 passage, in order to reach the spot where he presented 

 himself. He opened the door so noiselessly that we 

 were all startled. He was a young man, under thirty 

 years of age. His face appeared to me familiar, 

 though for some little time I was not able to recall 

 where I had seen it before. 



" Are you the proprietor? " he asked, addressing 

 me. There was an air of directness and resolution 

 about him which at once arrested attention. 



