It contained a post-office, tavern, blacksmith's shop, "general
store," and express-office, scarcely a dozen buildings in all, but
all differing from Collinson's Mill in some vague suggestion of
vitality, as if the daily regular pulse of civilization still beat,
albeit languidly, in that remote extremity. There was anticipation
and accomplishment twice a day; and as Key and Collinson rode up to
the express-office, the express-wagon was standing before the door
ready to start to meet the stagecoach at the cross-roads three
miles away. This again seemed a special providence to Key. He had
a brief official communication with Skinner as registrar, and duly
recorded his claim; he had a hasty and confidential aside with
Skinner as general storekeeper, and such was the unconscious
magnetism developed by this embryo millionaire that Skinner
extended the necessary credit to Collinson on Key's word alone.
That done, he rejoined Collinson in high spirits with the news,
adding cheerfully, "And I dare say, if you want any further
advances Skinner will give them to you on Parker's draft."

"You mean that bit o' paper that chap left," said Collinson
gravely.

"Yes."

"I tore it up."

"You tore it up?" ejaculated Key.

"You hear me? Yes!" said Collinson.

Key stared at him. Surely it was again providential that he had