One Days Courtship | Page 2

Academy was not governed by a clique,
he would have been admitted long ago, and that anyhow it was only a
question of time. In fact, John admitted this to himself, but to no one
else.
He entered the ramshackle 'bus, and was driven a long distance through
very sandy streets to the hotel on the St. Lawrence, and, securing a
room, made arrangements to be called before daybreak. He engaged the
same driver who had taken him out to "The Greys," as it was, locally
called, on the occasion of his-former visit.
The morning was cold and dark. Trenton found the buckboard at the
door, and he put his camera under the one seat--a kind of a box for the
holding of bits of harness and other odds and ends. As he buttoned up
his overcoat he noticed that a great white steamer had come in the night,
and was tied up in front of the hotel.
"The Montreal boat," explained the driver.
As they drove along the silent streets of Three Rivers, Trenton called to
mind how, on the former occasion, he thought the Lower Canada
buckboard by all odds, the most uncomfortable vehicle he had ever
ridden in, and he felt that his present experience was going to
corroborate this first impression. The seat was set in the centre,
between the front and back wheels, on springy boards, and every time
the conveyance jolted over a log--a not unfrequent occurrence--the seat
went down and the back bent forward, as if to throw him over on the
heels of the patient horse.
The road at first was long and straight and sandy, but during the latter

part of the ride there were plenty of hills, up many of which a plank
roadway ran; so that loads which it would be impossible to take
through the deep sand, might be hauled up the steep incline.
At first the houses they passed had a dark and deserted look; then a
light twinkled here and there. The early habitant was making his fire.
As daylight began gradually to bring out the landscape, the sharp sound
of the distant axe was heard. The early habitant was laying in his day's
supply of firewood.
"Do you notice how the dawn slowly materialises the landscape?" said
the artist to the boy beside him.
The boy saw nothing wonderful about that. Daylight always did it.
"Then it is not unusual in these parts? You see, I am very seldom up at
this hour."
The boy wished that was his case.
"Does it not remind you of a photographer in a dark room carefully
developing a landscape plate? Not one of those rapid plates, you know,
but a slow, deliberate plate."
No, it didn't remind him of anything of the kind. He had never seen
either a slow or a rapid plate developed.
"Then you have no prejudices as to which is the best developer,
pyrogallic acid or ferrous oxalate, not to mention such recent
decoctions as eikonogen, quinol, and other?"
No, the boy had none.
"Well, that's what I like. I like a young man whose mind is open to
conviction."
The boy was not a conversational success. He evidently did not enter
into the spirit of the artist's remarks. He said most people got off at that
point and walked to warm up, and asked Trenton if he would not like to

follow their example.
"No, my boy," said the Englishman, "I don't think I shall. You see, I
have paid for this ride, and I want to get all I can out of it. I shall shiver
here and try to get the worth of my money. But with you it is different.
If you want to get down, do so. I will drive."
The boy willingly handed over the reins, and sprang out on the road.
Trenton, who was a boy himself that morning, at once whipped up the
horse and dashed down the hill to get away from the driver. When a
good half-mile had been worried out of the astonished animal, Trenton
looked back to see the driver come panting after. The young man was
calmly sitting on the back part of the buckboard, and when the horse
began to walk again, the boy slid off, and, without a smile on his face,
trotted along at the side.
"That fellow has evidently a quiet sense of humour, although he is so
careful not to show it," said Trenton to himself.
On reaching the hilltop, they caught a glimpse of the rim of the sun
rising gloriously over the treetops on the other side of the St. Maurice
River. Trenton stopped the horse, and the boy looked up to see what
was wrong. He could not imagine any one stopping merely to look