To Mrs. Rexford Trenholme was chiefly useful as a person of whom she could ask questions, and she wildly asked his advice on every possible subject.  On account of Captain Rexford’s friendly approval, and his value to Mrs. Rexford as a sort of guide to useful knowledge on the subject of Canada in general and Chellaston in particular, Robert Trenholme soon became intimate, in easy Canadian fashion, with the newcomers; that is, with the heads of the household, with the romping children and the pretty babies.  The young girls were not sufficiently forward in social arts to speak much to a visitor, and with Sophia he did not feel at all on a sure footing.

After this little conversation with Captain Rexford about his relatives, and when Sophia had received the other children from the hands of Eliza and repaired with them to the house door, Trenholme also took leave, and rose to accompany her as far as the gate.

Sophia shivered a little when she stepped out upon the narrow wooden gallery in front of the door.

The Rexford house was not situated in the midst of the farm, but between the main road that ran out of the village and the river that here lay for some distance parallel with the road.  On the next lot of land stood an empty house in the centre of a large deserted garden; and on the other side of the road, about a quarter of a mile off, stood the college buildings, which were plainly to be seen over flat fields and low log fences.  Beyond the college grounds were woods and pastures, and beyond again rose Chellaston Mountain.  This view was what Sophia and Trenholme looked upon as they stood on the verandah; and all that they saw—­field, road, roof, tree, and hill—­was covered with sparkling snow.  It was a week since the snow came, and Sophia still shivered a little whenever she looked at it.

“I am sorry to see you do not look upon this scene as if it rejoiced your heart,” he said.  “When you know it better, you will, I hope, love it as I do.  It is a glorious climate, Miss Rexford; it is a glorious country.  The depressions and fears that grow up with one’s life in the Old World fall away from one in this wonderful air, with the stimulus of a new world and a strong young nation all around.  This snow is not cold; it is warm.  In this garden of yours it is just now acting as a blanket for the germs of flowers that could not live through an English winter, but will live here, and next summer will astonish you with their richness.  Nor is it cold for you; it is dry as dust; you can walk over it in moccasins, and not be damp:  and it has covered away all the decay of autumn, conserving for you in the air such pure oxygen that it will be like new life in your veins, causing you to laugh at the frost.”

“I have not your enthusiasm,” she replied.  Together they led the unsteady feet of the little ones down the crisp snow path which Harold’s industrious shovel had made.

Trenholme spoke briefly of the work he was trying to do in his school.  A clergyman has social licence to be serious which is not accorded to other men.  Wherefore he spoke as a clergyman might speak to a friend, saying, in general terms, how steep is the ascent when, among mundane affairs, human beings try to tread only where the angels of the higher life may lead.