Brede asks:  “You’ll be going over to our little store this evening, belike, for a drink?”

Says Eleseus:  “Ay, maybe, if ’twas only myself.  But I’ve my father here.”

Brede makes himself pleasant, and goes on gossiping:  “There’s a fellow coming in day after tomorrow that’s on his way to America.”

“Been home, d’you mean?”

“Ay.  He’s from up in the village a bit.  Been away for ever so many years, and home for the winter.  His trunk’s come down already by cart—­and a mighty fine trunk.”

“I’ve thought of going to America myself once or twice,” says Eleseus frankly.

“You?” cries Brede.  “Why, there’s little need for the likes of you going that way surely!”

“Well, ’twas not going over to stay for ever I was thinking.  But I’ve been travelling about so many places now, I might just as well make the trip over there.”

“Ay, of course, and why not?  And a heap of money and means and all, so they say, in America.  Here’s this fellow I spoke of before; he’s paid for more feasting and parties than’s easy to count this winter past, and comes in here and says to me, ’Let’s have some coffee, a potful, and all the cakes you’ve got.’  Like to see his trunk?”

They went out in the passage to look at the trunk.  A wonder to look at on earth, flaming all sides and corners with metal and clasps and binding, and three flaps to hold it down, not to speak of a lock.  “Burglar-proof,” says Brede, as if he had tried it himself.

They went back into the room, but Eleseus was grown thoughtful.  This American from up in the village had outdone him; he was nothing beside such a man.  Going out on journeys like any high official; ay, natural enough that Brede should make a fuss of him.  Eleseus ordered more coffee, and tried to play the rich man too; ordered cakes with his coffee and gave them to the dog—­and all the time feeling worthless and dejected.  What was his trunk beside that wonder out there?  There it stood, black canvas with the corners all rubbed and worn; a handbag, nothing more—­ho, but wait!  He would buy a trunk when he got to the towns, a splendid one it should be, only wait!

“’Tis a pity to feed the dog so,” says Brede.

And Eleseus feels better at that, and ready to show off again. “’Tis a marvel how a beast can get so fat,” says he.

One thought leading to another:  Eleseus breaks off his talk with Brede and goes out into the shed to look at the horse.  And there he takes out a letter from his pocket and opens it.  He had put it away at once, never troubling to look what money was in it; he had had letters of that sort from home before, and always a deal of notes inside—­something to help him on the way.  What was this?  A big sheet of grey paper scrawled all over; little Rebecca to her brother Eleseus, and a few words from his mother.  What else?  Nothing else.  No money at all.