“We have not been especially fortunate hitherto,” he said presently.  “In fact, this city seems to be labouring under a commercial depression, and I have been unable to find any of the opportunities I had expected.  Nor has my daughter been more successful.”

Alton, who had been looking about him in the meanwhile, noticed that although the day was chilly there was no fire in the stove, while glancing at the man who lay, infirm alike in will and body, in the chair, he understood why the girl’s fingers had trembled and the mistiness he had for a moment seen in her eyes.  He was also wondering by what means he could lessen one difficulty, but it was Seaforth who devised one first.

“Things will get better presently,” he said.  “Now Harry and I often remember the pleasant evenings we spent at your ranch, and we never got suppers like those Miss Townshead made us, at Somasco.”

“My daughter found it necessary to acquire the art of cookery in Canada,” said Townshead a trifle distantly.

“Of course,” said Seaforth, smiling.  “Everybody is compelled to in this country, and I only referred to the subject because Harry seems to fancy it must be difficult to get any of the little things we are used to in the bush in the city, while your kindness to us would justify what might otherwise appear a liberty.  We brought a few odds and ends you can’t get quite so nice in Vancouver along.  Hadn’t you better go and bring them in, Harry?”

Alton glanced at him in bewildered astonishment.  “Bring them in?” he said.

Seaforth shook his head deprecatingly.  “You haven’t forgotten already, and you are not going to escape in that fashion,” he said.  “If you’ll ask at the hotel they’ll tell you where to find the things.”

Alton moved so that Townshead could not see him, and his face was utterly perplexed.  “What things?” he said.

“Two or three fowls,” said Seaforth reflectively.  “There were some eggs, a bag of the big yellow apples, and—­now it’s curious I forgot the rest.”

Alton’s eyes twinkled.  “Oh, yes,” he said.  “Some venison.  There was the deer you shot in the potatoes, and a bag of dried plums.  Our orchard has done very well, Mr. Townshead.”

“I wonder if I forgot the Excelsior pears,” said Seaforth.  “They’re as big as your two fists, and Harry’s quite proud of them.”

Townshead, who was not an observant man, appeared astonished, and also a trifle touched.  “I’m afraid I have not always appreciated my bush friends as I should have done, and your kindness will I think lessen my daughter’s difficulty respecting the commissariat,” he said.  “There are, of course, many of the little things we were used to which she feels the loss of.”

Seaforth, who read a good deal more than his words expressed in the speaker’s face, signed to his comrade, who went out and returned later with a hamper.  “Somebody must have forgotten to put the venison in, but the other things are all there,” he said.