s. A line of white surf marked the edge of the marsh, which ran
back, broken by winding creeks, to the foot of the rising ground.
Sometimes a gleam of sunshine touched the lonely flats and they flashed
into luminous green, silver, and yellow. Then the color faded and the
light moving on forced up for a few moments the rugged blue hills
against their misty background. The landscape had not the sharp
distinctness common in Canada; it was dim and marked by an elusive
charm.

Jim began to think about Evelyn. She was somehow like the country.
Her charm was strong but not obtrusive. One could not, so to speak,
realize Evelyn at a glance; she was marked by subtle refinements and
delicacies that one rather felt than saw. Her English reserve was
fascinating, because it hinted at the reward one might get if one could
break it down. Carrie, too, was thinking about Evelyn, Mrs. Winter was
sewing, and Jake occupied himself by cleaning an old pipe.

"It's some time since we broke camp on the telegraph line," Carrie
remarked. "Do you find having nothing to do comes easy, Jim?"

"I don't expect to be idle long. It's prudent to consider before you
begin to move."

Carrie felt that Jim was getting English. He had, of course, been to
McGill, but since they reached the Old Country he was dropping his
Western colloquialisms. She thought it significant that he did so
unconsciously.

"Perhaps I'd better tell you how things are, so far as I understand
them," he went on. "To begin with, running a house like Langrigg is
expensive, and I doubt if I am rich enough to loaf in proper style."

"If you want to loaf in proper style, you must be born and raised for
the job," Jake observed.

"That's true, to some extent," Jim agreed. "I was brought up to work
and have got the habit. Well, my farm rents amount to something, but
when you have paid taxes and repaired the homesteads they don't leave
very much. It seems there are people in England willing to pay for
owning land; but that plan's not sound."

"Then, you have another?"

"It's not worked out. The leases of two good farms soon fall in and I
may manage them myself. Then I own the marsh, which feeds some sheep
and cattle in summer. The soil's good alluvial, like the gumbo on the
Manitoba plains, and would grow heavy crops if one could keep out the
water. Well, we have seen small homesteaders draining Canadian
muskegs, a long haul from a railroad, while we have a good ma