loyer did not notice him at all unless to find fault with him.
Yet he bore it all with good humour. He had come to Canada to learn to
farm.

The only real grievance he had was that he could not get his "tub." The
night he arrived, dusty and travel-stained after his long journey, he
had asked for his "tub," but Mr. Motherwell had told him in language he
had never heard before--that there was no tub of his around the
establishment, that he knew of, and that he could go down and have a
dip in the river on Sunday if he wanted to. Then he had conducted him
with the lantern to his bed in the loft of the granary.

A rickety ladder led up to the bed, which was upon a temporary floor
laid about half way across the width of the granary. Bags of musty
smelling wheat stood at one end of this little room. Evidently Mr.
Motherwell wished to discourage sleep-walking in his hired help, for
the floor ended abruptly and a careless somnambulist would be
precipitated on the old fanning mill, harrow teeth and other debris
which littered the floor below.

The young Englishman reeled unsteadily going up the ladder. He could
still feel the chug-chug-chug of the ocean liner's engines and had to
hold tight to the ladder's splintered rungs to preserve his equilibrium.

Mr. Motherwell raised the lantern with sudden interest.

"Say," he said, more cheerfully than he had yet spoken, "you haven't
been drinking, have you?"

"Intoxicants, do you mean?" the Englishman asked, without turning
around. "No, I do not drink."

"You didn't happen to bring anything over with you, did you, for
seasickness on the boat?" Mr. Motherwell queried anxiously, holding the
lantern above his head.

"No, I did not," the young man said laconically.

"Turn out at five to-morrow morning then," his employer snapped in
evident disappointment, and he lowered the lantern so quickly that it
went out.

The young man lay down upon his hard bed. His utter weariness was a
blessing to him that night, for not even the racing mice, the musty
smells or the hardness of his straw bed could keep him from slumber.

In what seemed to him but a few minutes, he was awakened by a loud
knocking on the door below, voices shouted, a dog barked, cow-bells
jangled; he could hear doors banging everywhere, a faint streak of
sunlight lay wan and pale on the mud-plastered walls.

"By Jove!" he said yawning, "I know now what Kipling meant when he said
'the dawn comes up like thunder.'"

A