the vault of azure melts into the dusty
whiteness of the grasses. Then, level on level, with each slowly swelling
rise growing sharper under that crystalline atmosphere the prairie rolls
in, broken here by a willow copse and there by a straggling birch bluff,
while a belt of cool neutral shadow marks the course of a deep-sunk
ravine. At first sight it is all one glaring sweep of white and gray, but
on looking closer with understanding eyes one sees the yellow and
sage-green of tall reeds in a sloo, the glowing lights of sun-bleached
buffalo bones, and a mingling of many colors where there is wild
peppermint or flowers among the grass. Then, broad across the foreground,
growing tall and green in a few moister places, and in others changing to
ochre and coppery red, there ripples, acre after acre, a great sea of
grain whose extent is beyond the comprehension of the insular Briton.

That, at least, with its feathery oat tassels and stately heads of wheat,
is a picture well worth looking upon, for there are few places in the
world where one may see furrows of equal length. It was won hardly, by
much privation, and in the sweat of the brow, as well as by the favor of
Providence, as Grace would say, and she is right in most things, except
when she attempts to instruct me in stock feeding, for we hold on the
prairie that it is not fair to place all the burden on Providence.
Therefore the settlers who succeed cut down rations and work double tides
to help themselves in time of adversity.

Yes, though better men have done more and failed, we worked hard enough
for it, Harry Lorraine and I, stinting ourselves often to feed the stock
and deal justly with the soil, until at last the ill-fortune turned and
the kindly earth repaid us a hundred fold for our trust in it.

Grace partly approves of the foregoing, for she laid by her sewing to read
the loose sheets beside me, bending down until her hair, which is
bronze-gold with the sun in it, just touched my own. It may be that my
eyes are prejudiced, but I have never seen a woman who might compare with
her. Neither has her comeliness faded. Instead, it has grown even more
refined and stately, for Grace had always a queenly way, since the day
when I first met her, the fairest maid--I think so now, though it is long
ago--that ever trod the bleak moorlands of eastern Lancashire.

Beyond the wheat and straggling birches I can see the shingled roofs of
Harry's dwelling. We have long been