It was chilly standing there at the window, in the night air, in my pyjamas. The nights were always chilly at Golden Crescent. So I went back to bed, determined to wait and see what the morrow would disclose. My first glance out of doors, early next morning, materialised what I had a vague notion might have been a dream. There was no sign of any stir in the house across the little, wooden, rustic bridge that connected it, over a narrow creek, with the roadway leading to the store. That was only natural, as, in all probability, the travellers were journey-weary. But a freshly painted rowing boat, with light oars, was made fast to the off side of the wharf, while several leather travelling bags and other packages were piled on the veranda of that house over the way. I had shaved, parted my hair at its most becoming angle and dressed myself with particular care that morning, going to the extent of sewing a burst seam in my breeches and polishing my leggings; all in anticipation of a visit from the new arrivals, thinking they would be almost certain to call at the store that forenoon to arrange for their supplies. I dusted the shelves, polished the scales, put the sacks of potatoes where they belonged, mopped up some molasses that had escaped to the floor from a leaky can and swept out the store; then I waited in blissful anticipation for my new customers. I caught a glimpse of Jake in the distance. In some strange, wireless-telepathic manner, he must have got wind of what had occurred during the night, for I noticed that he had been suddenly attacked by the same fever for cleanliness and smartness as I had been. He had turned his neckcloth, and the clean side of it was now trying to delude the innocent outside world that it (the neckcloth) had been freshly washed. Mike,--bad luck to his drunken carcass,--looked sick and appeared to be slowly recovering from the evil effects of a bath. As the morning wore on I saw an elderly, rotund lady come out to the veranda and take the baggage inside. That was the only bit of excitement that happened, after all my preparations. Later, a launch called from Camp No. 1, with an order for a thousand and one different commodities, and all required right away. That put idle, inquisitive thoughts out of my head for the remainder of the forenoon. I got out of my best clothes, donned a half-dirty shirt, a suit of overalls and a pair of old boots, then got busy selecting, sorting and packing until my brow was moist and my hair was awry. I had just got rid of the men and was standing surveying my topsy-turvy store, with everything lying around in tremendous confusion and all requiring to be set to rights again before I would know where to lay my hands on a single article; when a melodious, but rather measured, feminine voice, in the vicinity of my left shoulder, startled me into consternation.