pleasure and to gather knowledge. Yes, he might one day settle in
the country, but not now. He relapsed into silence, sitting with
his head fallen forward upon his breast, and so sat till the
brakeman passing through shouted, "Winnipeg! All change!" Then he
rose, thanked with stiff and formal politeness his seat-mate for his
courtesy, put on his long overcoat lined with lambskin and adorned
with braid, placed his lambskin cap upon his head, and so stood
looking more than ever like a military man.

The station platform at Winnipeg was the scene of uproar and
confusion. Railway baggagemen and porters, with warning cries,
pushed their trucks through the crowd. Hotel runners shouted the
rates and names of their hotels. Express men and cab drivers
vociferously solicited custom. Citizens, heedless of every one,
pushed their eager way through the crowd to welcome friends and
relatives. It was a busy, bustling, confusing scene. But the
stranger stood unembarrassed, as if quite accustomed to move amid
jostling crowds, casting quick, sharp glances hither and thither.

Gradually the platform cleared. The hotel runners marched off in
triumph with their victims, and express drivers and cab men drove
off with their fares, and only a scattering few were left behind.
At one end of the platform stood two men in sheepskin coats and caps.
The stranger slowly moved toward them. As he drew near, the men
glanced at first carelessly, then more earnestly at him. For a few
moments he stood gazing down the street, then said, as if to himself,
in the Russian tongue, "The wind blows from the north to-night."

Instantly the men came to rigid attention.