Part 34 (1/2)
The other was the head of the ”bothy” or boarding-house for hired men, a long low building, with cheerful white-curtained windows, which could be seen just beyond the cow-house.
As she looked over the broad whiteness of the farmlands, above which the sunset clouds were now tossing in climbing lines of crimson and gold, rising steeply to a zenith of splendour, and opening here and there, amid their tumult, to show a further heaven of untroubled blue--Elizabeth thought with lamentation that their days on the farm were almost done. The following week could see them at Ottawa for the opening of the session. Anderson was full of Parliamentary projects; important work for the Province had been entrusted to him; and in the general labour policy of the Dominion he would find himself driven to take a prominent part. But all the while his heart and Elizabeth's were in the land and its problems; for them the true, the entrancing Canada was in the wilds. And for Anderson, who through so many years, as an explorer and engineer, had met Nature face to face, his will against hers, in a direct and simple conflict, the tedious and tortuous methods of modern politics were not easy to learn. He must indeed learn them--he was learning them; and the future had probably great things in store for him, as a politician. But he came back to the Saskatchewan farm with joy, and he would leave it reluctantly.
”If only I wasn't so rich!” thought Elizabeth, with compunction. For she often looked with envy on her neighbours who had gone through the real hards.h.i.+ps of the country; who had bought their Canadian citizens.h.i.+p with the toil and frugality of years. It seemed to her sometimes that she was step-child rather than daughter of the dear new land, in spite of her yearning towards it.
And yet money had brought its own romance. It had enabled Anderson to embark on this ample farm of nearly two square miles, to staff it with the best labour to be got, on a basis of copartners.h.i.+p, to bring herds of magnificent cattle into these park-like prairies, to set up horse-breeding, and to establish on the borders of the farm a large creamery which was already proving an attraction for settlers. It was going to put into Elizabeth's hands the power of helping the young University of Strathcona just across the Albertan border, and perhaps of founding in their own provincial capital of Regina a training college for farm-students--girls and boys--which might reproduce for the West the college of St. Anne's, that wonderful home of all the useful arts, which an ever-generous wealth has given to the Province of Quebec.
Already she had in her mind a cottage hospital--sorely wanted--for the little town of Donaldminster, wherein the weaklings of this great emigrant army now pouring into the country might find help.
Her heart, indeed, was full of schemes for help. Here she was, a woman of high education, and much wealth, in the midst of this nascent community. Her thoughts pondered the life of these scattered farms--of the hard-working women in them--the lively rosy-cheeked children. It was her ambition so to live among them that they might love her--trust her--use her.
Meanwhile their own home was a ”temple of industrious peace.” Elizabeth was a prairie housewife like her neighbours. She had indeed brought out with her from c.u.mberland one of the Martindale gardeners and his young wife and sister; and the two North-Country women shared with the farm mistress the work of the house, till such time as Anderson should help the husband to a quarter-section of his own, and take someone else to train in his place. But the atmosphere of the house was one of friendly equality. Elizabeth--who had herself gone into training for a few weeks at St. Anne's--prided herself on her dairy, her bread, her poultry. One might have seen her, on this winter afternoon, in her black serge dress with white cap and ap.r.o.n, slipping into the kitchen behind the dining-room, testing the scones in the oven, looking to the preparations for dinner, putting away stores, and chatting to the two clear-eyed women who loved her, and would not for the world have let her try her strength too much! For she who was so eagerly planning the help of others must now be guarded and cherished herself--lest ill befall!
But now she was at the window watching for Anderson.
The trail from Donaldminster to Battleford pa.s.sed in front of the house, dividing the farm. Presently there came slowly along it a covered wagon drawn by a pair of sorry horses and piled at the back with household possessions. In front sat a man of slouching carriage, and in the interior of the wagon another figure could be dimly seen. The whole turn-out gave an impression of poverty and misfortune; and Elizabeth looked at it curiously.
Suddenly, the wagon drew up with a jerk at the gate of the farm, and the man descended, with difficulty, his limbs being evidently numb with cold.
Elizabeth caught up a fur cloak and ran to the door.
”Could you give us a bit of shelter for the night?” said the man sheepishly. ”We'd thought of getting on to Battleford, but the little un's bad--and the missus perished with cold. We'd give you no trouble if we might warm ourselves a bit.”
And he looked under his eyebrows at Elizabeth, at the bright fire behind her, and all the comfort of the new farmhouse. Yet under his shuffling manner there was a certain note of confidence. He was appealing to that Homeric hospitality which prevails throughout the farms of the Northwest.
And in five minutes, the horses were in the barn, the man sitting by the kitchen fire, while Elizabeth was ministering to the woman and child.
The new-comers made a forlorn trio. They came from a district some fifty miles further south, and were travelling north in order to take shelter for a time with relations. The mother was a girl of twenty, worn with hards.h.i.+p and privation. The father, an English labourer, had taken up free land, but in spite of much help from a paternal Government, had not been able to fulfil his statutory obligation, and had now forfeited his farm. There was a history of typhoid fever, and as Elizabeth soon suspected, an incipient history of drink. In the first two years of his Canadian life the man worked for a farmer during the summer, and loafed in Winnipeg during the winter. There demoralisation had begun, and as Elizabeth listened, the shadow of the Old World seemed to be creeping across the radiant Canadian landscape. The same woes?--the same weaknesses?--the same problems of an unsound urban life?
Her heart sank for a moment--only to provoke an instant reaction of cheerfulness. No!--in Canada the human will has still room to work, and is not yet choked by a jungle growth of interests.
She waited for Anderson to come in, and meanwhile she warmed and comforted the mother. The poor girl looked round her in amazement at the pretty s.p.a.cious room, as she spread her hands, knotted and coa.r.s.ened by work, to the blaze. Elizabeth held her sickly babe, rocking it and crooning to it, while upstairs one of kind-eyed c.u.mberland women was getting a warm bath ready, and lighting a fire in the guest-room.
”How old is it?” she asked.
”Thirteen months.”
”You ought to give up nursing it. It would be better for you both.”
”I tried giving it a bit o' what we had ourselves,” said the mother, dully--”But I nearly lost her.”
”I should think so!” laughed Elizabeth indignantly; and she began to preach rational ways of feeding and caring for the child, while the mother sat by, despondent, and too crushed and hopeless to take much notice. Presently Elizabeth gave her back the babe, and went to fetch hot tea and bread and b.u.t.ter.
”Shall I come and get it in the kitchen?” said the woman, rising.
”No, no--stay where you are!” cried Elizabeth. And she was just carrying back a laden tray from the dining-room when Anderson caught her.
”Darling!--that's too heavy for you!--what are you about?”
”There's a woman in there who's got to be fed--and there's a man in there”--she pointed to the kitchen--”who's got to be talked to. Hopeless case!--so you'd better go and see about it!”