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Matthew enjoyed the drive after his own fashion, except during the moments when he met women and had to nod to them-for in Prince Edward island you are supposed to nod to all and sundry you meet on the road whether you know them or not.

Matthew dreaded all women except Marilla and Mrs. Rachel; he had an uncomfortable feeling that the mysterious creatures were secretly laughing at him.

He may have been quite right in thinking so, for he was an odd-looking personage, with an ungainly figure and long iron-gray hair that touched his stooping shoulders, and a full, soft brown beard which he had worn ever since he was twenty.

In fact, he had looked at twenty very much as he looked at sixty, lacking a little of the grayness.

When he reached Bright River there was no sign of any train; he thought he was too early, so he tied his horse in the yard of the small Bright River hotel and went over to the station house.

The long platform was almost deserted; the only living creature in sight being a girl who was sitting on a pile of shingles at the extreme end.

Matthew, barely noting that it WAS a girl, sidled past her as quickly as possible without looking at her.

Had he looked he could hardly have failed to notice the tense rigidity and expectation of her attitude and expression.

She was sitting there waiting for something or somebody and, since sitting and waiting was the only thing to do just then, she sat and waited with all her might and main.

Matthew encountered the stationmaster locking up the ticket office preparatory to going home for supper, and asked him if the five-thirty train would soon be along.

"The five-thirty train has been in and gone half an hour ago," answered that brisk official.

"But there was a passenger dropped off for you-a little girl.

She's sitting out there on the shingles.

I asked her to go into the ladies' waiting room, but she informed me gravely that she preferred to stay outside.

There was more scope for imagination,' she said.

She's a case, I should say."

"I'm not expecting a girl," said Matthew blankly. "It's a boy I've come for. He should be here. Mrs. Alexander Spencer was to bring him over from Nova Scotia for me."

The stationmaster whistled.

"Guess there's some mistake," he said.

"Mrs. Spencer came off the train with that girl and gave her into my charge.

Said you and your sister were adopting her from an orphan asylum and that you would be along for her presently.

That's all I know about it-and I haven't got any more orphans concealed hereabouts."

"I don't understand," said Matthew helplessly, wishing that Marilla was at hand to cope with the situation.

"Well, you'd better question the girl," said the station-master carelessly. "I dare say she'll be able to explain-she's got a tongue of her own, that's certain. Maybe they were out of boys of the brand you wanted."

He walked jauntily away, being hungry, and the unfortunate Matthew was left to do that which was harder for him than bearding a lion in its den-walk up to a girl-a strange girl-an orphan girl-and demand of her why she wasn't a boy.

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