The station-master, who was, in fact, master, clerk, and porter in one, was as new to his surroundings as the little fresh-smelling pinewood house.
He was a young Englishman, and at the first glance it could be seen he had not long been living in his present place.

He had, indeed, not yet given up shaving himself, and his clothes, although rough, warm, and suited to his occupation, still suggested, not homespun, but an outfit bought of a tailor.
It was about four o'clock on that November afternoon when the new official of the new station looked out at the dark red land and the bright-tinted cloud.

It was intensely cold.

The ruts of the roads, which were not made of logs here, were frozen stiff.

The young man stood a minute at his door with his hands in his pockets, sniffed the frost, and turned in with an air of distaste.