“My goodness, girl! We'll go right up to the hotel,” he said, kindly. “Any of you fellows seen Rafe or Tom in town this morning with the sled and roans?”
“Hey, Hen!” cried the station master, waving a yellow paper. “Here's a telegraph despatch for you.”
It was really for Nan, and from Papa Sherwood filed just before the Afton Castle sailed from New York:
“Momsey and papa send love and kisses. Be cheerful and good. Write often. We think of you always. Kind wishes for Henry, Kate and boys. We look forward to fair voyage and safe landing. Will cable from other side. Expect happy meeting in spring. R. and J. Sherwood.”
“They got a good start,” commented Uncle Henry, putting all thought of his quarrel with Ged Raffer behind him at once. “We'll hope they have a safe voyage. Now! Where are those boys of mine?”
The town of Hobart Forks was by no means a lumber town. Millions of feet of timber was boomed on the river within the limits of the town every season, and there were great mills along the banks of the stream, too. But there were other industries, as well as churches, amusement places and many pleasant dwellings. It was no settlement of “slab shanties” with a few saloons and a general store. Nan had yet to see this latter kind of settlement.
But what she saw about the central market place of Hobart Forks opened her eyes considerably to an appreciation of the rough country she had come to, and the rough people to be met therein.
The storekeepers she saw through the frosted windows were dressed like storekeepers in Tillbury; and there were well dressed women on the streets, a few, at least.
But most of the men striding through the snow were as roughly dressed as her uncle, and not many were as good looking as Mr. Sherwood. Some who came out of the swinging doors of saloons staggered, and were very noisy in their speech and rude in their actions. Of course nobody spoke to Nan, or troubled her; Henry Sherwood was undoubtedly a man of standing in the settlement and highly respected.
Not far from the market place they came upon a sprawling old tavern, with a fenced yard at one side. As they approached, a sled drawn by a wild looking pair of rough, red-roan ponies, dashed out of the yard and stopped at the broad front portico of the hotel.