Such tales had been told him in his Southland, where he had not learned to question or doubt.

If so, his disappointment was not to be seen in his bearing.

That look of patient endurance may have eaten a little deeper the lines about his inky eyes, but I am sure his purpose had never wavered, nor his faith that he would win at last.
As I ate my breakfast that morning he told me of his good year.

The early produce of his garden had sold well.

Soon there would be half an acre of potatoes to dig, and now there was a fine crop of melons just coming ripe.