When Captain Rexford had decided upon buying a farm at Chellaston, he had had some correspondence with Principal Trenholme on the subject, having been put into communication with him by the widow of the relative at whose house Sophia and Trenholme had first met.  This was the whole extent of the acquaintance.  Of Sophia’s step-mother and her numerous children Robert Trenholme knew nothing, save that a second family existed.  Nor did Captain Rexford imagine that his eldest daughter had any distinct remembrance of a man whom she had so casually known.  Fathers are apt to assume that they know the precise extent of their daughters’ acquaintanceships, for the same reason that most people assume that what they never heard of does not exist.  Yet when Trenholme actually repaired to the station at the hour at which Captain Rexford had announced his arrival, it was a fact that many of his leisure thoughts for a month back had been pointing forward, like so many guide-posts, to the meeting that was there to take place, and it was also true that the Rexford family—­older and younger—­were prepared to hail him as a friend, simply because their knowledge of him, though slight, was so much greater than of any other being in the place to which they were come—­and everything in this world goes by comparison.

Now the main feature of the arrival of the Rexford family in Chellaston was that they brought their own carriage with them.  It was an old, heavy carriage, for it had come into Captain Rexford’s possession in the first place by inheritance, and it was now a great many years since he had possessed horses to draw it.  From its long and ignominious retreat in an outhouse it had lately emerged to be varnished and furbished anew, in order to make the handsomer appearance in the new country.  It had been one of the considerations which had reconciled Mrs. Rexford to emigration, that on a farm this carriage could be used with little extra expense.

Principal Trenholme had come to the station, which was a little way from the village, in a smart gig of his own.  According to Captain Rexford’s instructions, he had sent to the station a pair of horses, to be harnessed to the aforesaid carriage, which had been carefully brought on the same train with its owners.  He had also sent of his own accord a comfortable waggon behind the horses, and he straightway urged that the family should repair in this at once to their new home, and leave the carriage to be set upon its wheels at leisure.  As he gave this advice he eyed the wheelless coach with a curiosity and disfavour which was almost apparent through his studious politeness.

His arguments, however, and Captain Rexford’s, who agreed with him, were of no avail.  Mrs. Rexford, partly from sentiment, partly from a certain pathetic vanity, had set her heart on driving to the new home in the old carriage.  Captain Rexford’s eldest son had helped to get the vehicle off the train, and was now working steadily with one of the station hands to get it upon its wheels.  It was assuredly such a carriage as that bit of Canadian road had never seen before.  The station loiterers, sometimes helping in its arrangement, sometimes merely looking on, gazed at it with unwavering attention.  Robert Trenholme gazed at it also, and at last felt obliged to give some more distinct warning of difficulties he foresaw.