A Boy of the Dominion: A Tale of Canadian Immigration

It was just past ten o'clock on a chilly morning in the early spring when Joe Bradley emerged from the shop door of the little house which had been his father's, and stepped, as it were, abruptly into life. The banging of the door and the turning of the key were a species of signal to him, as if to warn him that the past, however fair or foul it may have been, was done with, and that the future alone stared him in the face. "There it is," he said, somewhat sadly, handing the key to a man who accompanied him. "You've paid me the money, and have arranged about your lease. The business is yours." "And you can wish me success," came the answer. "Hope I'll do better than your father." "I hope it, with all my heart," said Joe, his lip a little tremulous. "Goodbye! Good luck!"