The deserted look of the place was not, at first sight, encouraging. As, however, he drew in rein at the door of the house, its owner—a man apparently in the prime of life—advanced to meet him. Dressed in a suit of homespun garments, remarkable for their ease and convenience rather than their elegance, his good-humoured and good-tempered looking face gave every indication of a hearty welcome awaiting those who happened to be in need of it. "Good evening, friend," said the settler, as the rider jumped from his horse, retaining hold of the reins with a loose hand. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a stalwart-looking youth who had made his appearance from a row of wooden shanties which formed the stabling of the settlement, "take and put up this gentleman’s horse. See that he has a good rub down before feeding, for he looks pretty well done up." "And so I should think he was," said his owner, "since it is about seven hours since our last halt for rest or refreshment of any kind." "Come in, come in, my friend; and we will soon see what the larder has to put before you." "Well, if I may so far trespass upon Canadian hospitality, I shall only be too glad to accept anything you may be able to offer me." "Rely upon it that Canadian hospitality will never be backward in giving a right good hearty welcome to travellers from the Old Country, whom fortune or misfortune may bring to our shores." "Your words," said the tired horseman, as he followed his guide into the house, "have a true British ring in them, which makes one feel at home at once." "Well, I don’t want it ever to be said that James Ranger was the man to turn away the stranger needing help from his door." Rough and unfinished in appearance as most of the appointments about the place seemed, there was yet that air of comfort and cleanliness which is the marked characteristic of nearly all Canadian houses. A living-room with a kitchen attached—the walls of which had been rendered smooth with endless coats of whitewash—formed the downstairs apartments. In the centre of the room was a rough deal table, on which a tidy white cloth was being spread by a comely-looking, matronly woman well past forty. A couple of cushioned rocking-chairs stood one on each side of a capacious fireplace, and two or three ordinary chairs, neatly cushioned, against the wall. In one corner was a serviceable chest of drawers, with a few books on the top; whilst in front of the window was a small but substantial-looking table, having all the appearance of being home-made, on which a pot with a flower in it was standing. The floor was painted yellow, and partly covered with rag carpets and rugs. Seating himself, without waiting for any further invitation, our traveller at once proceeded to divest himself of his boots, preliminary to that rest and ease so necessary after a hard day’s ride.