he slashing the dark cool masses of maple, birch, and elm; all
these made a scene of such varied loveliness as to delight the soul
attuned to nature.

Upon this scene of vivid contrasts, on one side house and barn and yard,
and on the other the rolling fields and massive forest, Cameron stood
looking in the early light of his first morning on the farm, with
mingled feelings of disgust and pleasure. In a few moments, however, the
loveliness of the far view caught and held his eye and he stood as in a
dream. The gentle rolling landscape, with its rich variety of greens and
yellows and greys, that swept away from his feet to the dark masses of
woods, with their suggestions of cool and shady depth, filled his soul
with a deep joy and brought him memory of how the "Glen of the Cup of
Gold" would look that morning in the dear home-land so far away. True,
there were neither mountains nor moors, neither lochs nor birch-clad
cliffs here. Nature, in her quieter mood, looked up at him from these
sloping fields and bosky woods and smiled with kindly face, and that
smile of hers it was that brought to Cameron's mind the sunny Glen of
the Cup of Gold. It was the sweetest, kindliest thing his eye had looked
on since he had left the Glen.

A harsh and fretful voice broke in upon his dreaming.

"Pa-a-w, there ain't a stick of wood for breakfast! There was none last
night! If you want any breakfast you'd best git some wood!"

"All right, Mother!" called Haley from the barn yard, where he was
assisting in the milking. "I'm a comin'."

Cameron walked to meet him.

"Can I help?" he enquired.

"Why, of course!" shouted Haley. "Here, Ma, here's our new hand, the
very man for you."

Mrs. Haley, who had retired to the kitchen, appeared at the door. She
was a woman past middle age, unduly stout, her face deep lined with
the fret of a multitude of cares, and hung with flabby folds of skin,
browned with the sun and wind, though it must be confessed its color was
determined more by the grease and grime than by the tan upon it. Yet,
in spite of the flabby folds of flesh, in spite of the grime and grease,
there was still a reminiscence of a one-time comeliness, all the more
pathetic by reason of its all too obvious desecration. Her voice was
harsh, her tone fretful, which indeed was hardly to be wondered at,
for the burden of her life was by no means light, and the cares of the
household, within and without, were neither few nor trivial.