Lady Merton, Colonist | Page 7

"Conductor!" cried a voice from the inner platform outside the
dining-room and next the train.
"And what might you be wanting, sir?" said Bettany jauntily, opening
the door to the visitor. Bettany was a small man, with thin harrassed
features and a fragment of beard, glib of speech towards everybody but
Yerkes.
"Your conductor got some milk, I think, from that cabin."
"He did--but only enough for ourselves. Sorry we can't oblige you."
"All the same, I am going to beg some of it. May I speak to the
gentleman?"
"Mr. Gaddesden, sir, is dressing. The steward will attend to you."
And Bettany retired ceremoniously in favour of Yerkes, who hearing
voices had come out of his den.
"I have come to ask for some fresh milk for a baby in the emigrant car,"
said the stranger. "Looks sick, and the mother's been crying. They've
only got tinned milk in the restaurant and the child won't touch it."
"Sorry it's that particular, sir. But I've got only what I want."
"Yerkes!" cried Elizabeth Merton, in the background. "Of course the
baby must have it. Give it to the gentleman, please, at once."
The stranger removed his hat and stepped into the tiny dining-room
where Elizabeth was standing. He was tall and fair-skinned, with a

blonde moustache, and very blue eyes. He spoke--for an English
ear--with the slight accent which on the Canadian side of the border
still proclaims the neighbourhood of the States.
"I am sorry to trouble you, madam," he said, with deference. "But the
child seems very weakly, and the mother herself has nothing to give it.
It was the conductor of the restaurant car who sent me here."
"We shall be delighted," said Lady Merton, eagerly. "May I come with
you, if you are going to take it? Perhaps I could do something for the
mother."
The stranger hesitated a moment.
"An emigrant car full of Galicians is rather a rough sort of
place--especially at this early hour in the morning. But if you don't
mind--"
"I don't mind anything. Yerkes, is that all the milk?".
"All to speak of, my lady," said Yerkes, nimbly retreating to his den.
Elizabeth shook her head as she looked at the milk. But her visitor
laughed.
"The baby won't get through that to-day. It's a regular little scarecrow. I
shouldn't think the mother'll rear it."
They stepped out on to the line. The drizzle descended on Lady
Merton's bare head and grey travelling dress.
"You ought to have an umbrella," said the Canadian, looking at her in
some embarrassment. And he ran back to the car for one. Then, while
she carried the milk carefully in both hands, he held the umbrella over
her, and they passed through the groups of passengers who were
strolling disconsolately up and down the line in spite of the wet, or
exchanging lamentations with others from two more stranded trains,
one drawn up alongside, the other behind.

Many glances were levelled at the slight Englishwoman, with the
delicately pale face, and at the man escorting her. Elizabeth meanwhile
was putting questions. How long would they be detained? Her brother
with whom she was travelling was not at all strong. Unconsciously,
perhaps, her voice took a note of complaint.
"Well, we can't any of us cross--can we?--till they come to some
bottom in the sink-hole," said the Canadian, interrupting her a trifle
bluntly.
Elizabeth laughed. "We may be here then till night."
"Possibly. But you'll be the first over."
"How? There are some trains in front."
"That doesn't matter. They'll move you up. They're very vexed it should
have happened to you."
Elizabeth felt a trifle uncomfortable. Was the dear young man tilting at
the idle rich--and the corrupt Old World? She stole a glance at him, but
perceived only that in his own tanned and sunburnt way he was a
remarkably handsome well-made fellow, built on a rather larger scale
than the Canadians she had so far seen. A farmer? His manners were
not countrified. But a farmer in Canada or the States may be of all
social grades.
By this time they had reached the emigrant car, the conductor of which
was standing on the steps. He was loth to allow Lady Merton to enter,
but Elizabeth persisted. Her companion led the way, pushing through a
smoking group of dark-faced men hanging round the entrance.
Inside, the car was thick, indeed, with smoke and the heavy exhalations
of the night. Men and women were sitting on the wooden benches;
some women were cooking in the tiny stove-room attached to the car;
children, half naked and unwashed, were playing on the floor; here and
there a man was still asleep; while one old man was painfully conning a
paper of "Homestead Regulations" which had been given