第28章 CHAPTER VII THE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT(2)

"Yes. WE Canadians. What else? We are quite mad about the future of our country. And that is why I wanted you to come out here, Jack. There is so much a man like you might do with your brains and training. Yes. Your Oxford training is none too good for this country, and your brain none too clever for this big work of laying the foundations of a great Empire. This is big enough for the biggest of you. Bigger, even, than the thing you were doing at home, Jack. Oh, I heard all about it!""You heard all about it? I hope not. I hope you have not heard of the awful mess I made of things.""Nonsense, Jack! 'Forward' is the word here. Here is an Empire in the making, another Britain, greater, finer, and without the hideous inequalities, injustices and foolish class distinctions of the old.""My God! Sybil, you sound like Lloyd George himself! Please don't recall that ghastly radicalism to me.""Never mind what it sounds like. You will get it too. We all catch it here, especially Old Country folk. For instance, look away to the left there. See that little clump of buildings beside the lake just through the poplars. There is a family of Canadians typical of the best, the Gwynnes, our closest neighbours. Good Irish stock, they are. They came two years after we came. Lost their little bit of money. Suffered, my! how they must have suffered! though they were too proud to tell any of us. The father is a gentleman, finely educated, but with no business ability. The mother all gold and grit, heroic little woman who kept the family together. The eldest boy of fifteen or sixteen, rather delicate when he came, but fearfully plucky, has helped amazingly. He taught the school, putting his money into the farm year after year.

While teaching the school he somehow managed to grip hold of the social life of this community in a wonderful way, preached for Mr. Rhye, taught a Bible Class for him, quite unique in its way;organised a kind of Literary-Social-Choral-Minstrel Club and has added tremendously to the life and gaiety of the neighbourhood.

What we shall do when he leaves, I know not. You will like them, Iam sure. We shall drop in there on our way, if you like.""Ah, well, perhaps sometime later. They all sound rather terribly industrious and efficient for a mere slacker like myself."Along the trail they galloped, following the dogs for a mile or so until checked by a full flowing stream.

"I say, Willow Creek is really quite in flood," said his sister.

"The hot sun has brought down the snows, you know. The logs are running, too. We will have to go a bit carefully. Hold well up to the stream and watch the logs. Keep your eye on the bank opposite.

No, no, keep up, follow me. Look out, or you will get into deep water. Keep to the right. There, that's better.""I say," said her brother, as his horse clambered out of the swollen stream. "That's rather a close thing to a ducking.

Awfully like the veldt streams, you know. Ice cold, too, I fancy.""Ice cold, indeed, glacier water, you know, and these logs make it very awkward. The Gwynnes must be running down their timber and firewood. We might just run up and look in on them. It's only a mile or so. Nora will be there. She will be 'bossing the job,' as she says. It will be rather interesting.""Well, I hope it is not too far, for I assure you I am getting quite ravenous.""No, come along, there's a good trail here."

A smart canter brought them to a rather pretentious homestead with considerable barns and outbuildings attached. "This is the Switzers' place," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "German-Americans, old settlers and quite well off. The father owned the land on which Wolf Willow village stands. He made quite a lot of money in real estate--village lots and farm lands, you know. He is an excellent farmer and ambitious for his family--one son and one daughter.

They are quite plain people. They live like--well, like Germans, you know. The mother is a regular hausfrau; the daughter, quite nice, plays the violin beautifully. It was from her young Gwynne got his violining. The son went to college in the States, then to Germany for a couple of years. He came back here a year ago, terribly German and terribly military, heel clicking, ram-rod back, and all that sort of thing. Musical, too, awfully clever; rather think he has political ambitions. We'll not go in to-day. Some day, perhaps. Indeed, we must be neighbourly in this country. But the Switzers are a little trying.""Why know them at all?"

"There you are!" cried his sister. "Fancy living beside people in this country and not knowing them. Can't you see that we must not let things get awry that way? We must all pull together. Tom is fearfully strong on that, and he is right, too, I suppose, although it is trying at times. Now we begin to climb a bit here. Then there are good stretches further along where we can hurry."But it seemed to her brother that the good stretches were rather fewer and shorter than the others, for the sun was overhead when they pulled up their horses, steaming and ready enough to halt, in a small clearing in the midst of a thick bit of forest. The timber was for the main part of soft woods, poplar, yellow and black, cottonwood, and further up among hills spruce and red pine. In the centre of the clearing stood a rough log cabin with a wide porch running around two sides. Upon this porch a young girl was to be seen busy over a cook stove. At the noise of the approaching horses the girl turned from her work and looked across the clearing at them.

"Heavens above! who is that, Sybil?" gasped her brother.

Mrs. Waring-Gaunt gave a delighted little cry. "Oh, my dear, you are really back." In a moment she was off her horse and rushing toward the girl with her arms outstretched. "Kathleen, darling!