"I suppose, Principal Trenholme," said he blandly, as he entertained his visitor one day in the one family sitting-room, "I suppose that you are related to the Trenholmes of——?"
Trenholme was playing with one of the little ones who stood between his knees. He did not instantly answer—indeed, Captain Rexford's manner was so deliberate that it left room for pauses. Sophia, in cloak and fur bonnet, was standing by the window, ready to take the children for their airing. Trenholme found time to look up from his tiny playmate and steal a glance at her handsome profile as she gazed, with thoughtful, abstracted air, out upon the snow. "Not a very near connection, Captain Rexford," was his reply; and it was given with that frank smile which always leaped first to his eyes before it showed itself about his mouth.
It would have been impossible for a much closer observer than Captain Rexford to have told on which word of this small sentence the emphasis had been given, or whether the smile meant that Principal Trenholme could have proved his relationship had he chosen, or that he laughed at the notion of there being any relationship at all. Captain Rexford accordingly interpreted it just as suited his inclination, and mentioned to another neighbour in the course of a week that his friend, the Principal of the College, was a distant relative, by a younger branch probably, of the Trenholmes of—, etc. etc., an item of news of which the whole town took account sooner or later.
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.