"Then, is it difficult to sell a mine?"
"As a rule, it's much harder than finding one," Jim answered, with a smile. "In general, the miner struggles with half-thawn gravel that often fills up his shallow shaft, and sometimes nearly starves in the tundra bogs, while the man with money enough to work the vein gets the profit. It cost us something to hold on until we got a just price."
Evelyn did not know much about the Canadian North, but she could imagine his holding on. "I expect you will find Langrigg different from the British Columbian wilds," she said. "Do you feel strange here?"
Jim looked about. The long room was paneled, the ceiling was low, and the wide casement commanded a view of the level marsh and shining sands. It was different from the dark pine forests and snowy peaks of British Columbia. The fine old china and silver, tall candlesticks, and the flowers on the table were in marked contrast with the rude furniture of camp and shack.
"No," he said, thoughtfully. "When one has wandered about a new country, meeting all kinds of people and doing all kinds of jobs, I imagine one would not feel very strange anywhere. Besides, I've a curious notion that I have come home."
"After all, you are a Dearham; perhaps this accounts for something," Evelyn remarked and glanced at Carrie. "Did you meet your friends when you were at Montreal?"
"Jim met us in Vancouver. Jake brought him to the store when he was ill," Mrs. Winter replied.
"The store?" said Evelyn.
"Mrs. Winter means a shop," Mordaunt explained.
"Oh," said Evelyn, "that is interesting! What did you sell?"