In the rush of life we largely ceased to think of it; but I am sure it was often in the thoughts of the old Squire and grandmother.

With them months and even years made little difference in their sense of loss, for no tidings came--none at least that were ever made public; but thereby hangs the strangest part of this story.
The old Squire, as I have often said, was a lumberman as well as a farmer.

For a number of years he was in company with a Canadian at Three Rivers in the Province of Quebec, and had lumber camps on the St.
Maurice River as well as nearer home in Maine.

After the age of seventy-three he gave up active participation in the Quebec branch of the business, but still retained an interest in it; and this went on for ten years or more.

The former partner in Canada then died, and the business had to be wound up.
Long before that time Theodora, Halstead and finally Ellen had left home and gone out into the world for themselves, and as the old Squire was now past eighty we did not quite like to have him journey to Canada.