Caius did not make many friends. It was not his nature to do so, and
though constant to the few that he had, he did not keep up any very
lively intercourse. It was partly because of this notable failure in
social duty that, when he at last decided that the work of preparation
must be considered at an end, and the active work of life begun, no
opening immediately revealed itself to his inquiring gaze. Two vacant
positions in his native country he heard of and coveted, and before he
returned he gathered such testimonials as he could, and sent them in
advance, offering himself as a candidate. When he landed in Canada he
went at once to his first college to beg in person that the influence of
his former teachers might be used on his behalf. The three years that
had passed without correspondence had made a difference in the attitude
of those who could help him; many of his friends also were dispersed,
gone from the place. He waited in Montreal until he heard that he was
not the accepted candidate for the better of the two positions, and that
the other post would not be filled till the early spring.
Caius went home again. He observed that his parents looked older. The
leaves were gone from the trees, the days were short, and the earth was
cold. The sea between the little island and the red sandstone cliff was
utterly lonely. Caius walked by its side sometimes, but there was no
mermaid there.
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