One lost it now and then.
It came from the cathedral and Lister stopped and listened.

He did not know what office was being sung, but the jaded emigrants knew, for a child got up and stood with bent head, holding a greasy cap, and a ragged woman's face got gentle as she signed herself with the cross.

It looked as if the birds of passage had found a landmark in a foreign land.

Lister was moved, and gave the child a coin before he went off.
He strolled east, past Notre Dame, towards the post office, about which the stately banks and imposing office blocks stand.

This quarter of the city drew him, for one saw how constructive talent and imagination could be used, and he wondered whether England had new buildings like these.
Sometimes one felt the Western towns were raw and vulgar, but one saw the bold Canadian genius at its best in Montreal.
After a time he stopped in front of a shop in a short side street.
Indian embroidery work and enameled silver occupied the window, and although Lister was not an artist he had an eye for line and knew the things were good.