its rays mellowing in a sheen of ground-mist that enveloped the
prairie, but there is a tang in the Manitoba morning air even in
midsummer, and the men walked briskly through the crisp stubble. A
little later Beulah came down to the corral with her milk-pails, and
the cows, comfortably chewing where they rested on their warm spots
of earth, rose slowly and with evident great reluctance at her
approach. A spar of light blue smoke ascended in a perpendicular
column from the kitchen chimney; motherly hens led their broods forth
to forage; pigs grunted with rising enthusiasm from near-by pens, and
calves voiced insistent demands from their quarters. The Harris farm,
like fifty thousand others, rose from its brief hush of rest and
quiet to the sounds and energies of another day.

Breakfast, like the meal of the night before, was eaten hurriedly,
and at first without conversation, but at length Harris paused long
enough to remark, "Riles is talkin' o' goin' West."

"The news might be worse," said Beulah. Riles, although a successful
farmer, had the reputation of being grasping and hard to a degree,
even in a community where such qualities, in moderation, were by no
means considered vices.

Harris paid no attention to his daughter's interruption. It was
evident, however, that his mention of Riles had a purpose behind it,
and presently he continued:

"Riles has been writin' to the Department of the Interior, and it
seems they're openin' a lot of land for homesteadin' away West, not
far from the Rocky Mountains. Seems they have a good climate there,
and good soil, too."

"I should think Mr. Riles would be content with what he has," said
Mary Harris. "He has a fine farm here, and I'm sure both him and his
wife have worked hard enough to take it easier now."

"Hard work never killed nobody," pursued the farmer. "Riles is good
for many a year yet, and free land ain't what it once was. Those
homesteads'll be worth twenty dollars an acre by the time they're
proved up."

"I wish I was sure of it--I wouldn't think long," said Allan. "But
they say it's awful dry; all right for ranchin', but no good for
farmin'."

"Who says that?" demanded his father. "The ranchers. They know which
side their bread's buttered on. As long's they can get grazin' land
for two cents an acre, or maybe nothin', of course they don't want
the homesteader. They tell me the Englishmen and Frenchmen that went
out into that country when us Canadians sett