esn't take us very long to
fall to! How long is it since we had bacon and eggs for breakfast? It
seems to me to be so far back I can't remember! We are both rather thin
after living on Jap diet so long, and are quite ready to wind up with
more buckwheat cakes when we have finished the other things. All the
servants are Chinamen you notice, and very well they wait too.

While we eat, Mr. Clay tells us much about his kingdom. He and his wife
have another house which is in New Westminster, not far off up the
river, and they go there for the winter, only staying here in the summer
when the work is in full swing. He is the manager of only one cannery
here, and there are several others all working amicably together.

[Illustration: A SIWASH INDIAN.]

Then we stroll out, feeling blissfully satisfied, a condition we have
long been strangers to, and as we smoke Mr. Clay points out the other
houses round. There is the house for the white men who assist him, the
houses for the Japs, and the Chinese house. At the back of his own
premises are sheds where he keeps a couple of horses and some cows for
his own use. Then there is the Stores, a big building full of tinned
meats, sacks of rice, tobacco and tea, and all sorts of underclothing,
as well as the other little things men are likely to want.

Afterwards we stroll through the Chinamen's house. It is a queer-looking
place, with bunks ranged along the walls and a huge wooden table down
the middle, where just now numbers of complacent Chinamen are sitting
down to a midday meal of rice with cooked fish. As we pass along we see
that each man keeps his little treasures beside his bunk, for, though so
impassive, the Chinaman is a home-loving creature; there are little
images of carved ivory and other small treasures. Do you see that white
rat with pink eyes restlessly doing sentry-go in his cage?

Behind the house, and some distance off, is the Indian village, where we
see great barn-like buildings; here the Siwash Indians live, and several
of their flat-faced, broad-nosed children are tumbling about and
playing; as we come up one sturdy youngster raises a heavy stick and
flings it with all his force at a wretched little seal tied up by a
flapper. Mr. Clay goes quickly forward and catches hold of the little
Indian boy, and the women all rush out and talk at a tremendous rate; it
ends in the manager giving a trifle for the seal and making a signal to
his men, who take up the poor litt