or so is chopped small, roasted
in a pan until crisp, then ground, and made like ordinary coffee.

Sept. 24--All week we worked at getting crop into the fallow. After
clearing it of sticks, we used spade, grape, and rake to get it
something near level. Gordon studded a log with wooden spikes which we
dragged over the worst of it. On getting the best seedbed possible,
sowed wheat. The soil had a topdressing of charcoal cinders and ashes
that I thought would help. If the seed gives an average yield, will not
have to buy flour next year.

Sept. 26--Rained all day yesterday; at night cleared with quite a touch
of frost. Busy chopping to enlarge clearance. The young fellow who came
out with us from Scotland and got drunk at Montreal, appeared at our
door this morning. He had lived chiefly in Toronto and his appearance
showed had done no good. Wanted a job. Agreed with him to dig ditch in
the swamp, the understanding being if he got drunk he need not come
back. Leaves are turning color.

Oct. 2--Sat most of the day on front step taking in the beauty of the
trees that overhang the pond on three of its sides. I can compare them
to nothing but gigantic flowers. Steeped in the haze of a mellow sun the
sight was soothing. Nothing like this in Scotland. The birds have gone;
the swallows left in August.

Oct. 9--Been a sorrowful week. On unpacking our baggage on arrival in
the bush, found my mother's spinning-wheel was broken. Gordon managed to
mend it and I bought ten pounds of wool. This she washed, teased, and
carded, and proud she was when she sat down and began to spin the rolls
into yarn. Tuesday afternoon Ailie and Ruth went to pick wild grapes,
and the rest of us were at our work in the bush. Grannie was left alone.
She had moved her wheel to the door to sit in the sunshine, where she
could see the brightness of the trees and enjoy the calm that prevailed.
How long she span we do not know. On Ailie's return she was startled at
the sight of her bending over the wheel. She was dead. While stooping to
join a broken thread God took her. Next day buried her on a rising bit
of ground overlooking the pond. What a mother she was I alone can know.
I shall never forget her. Last evening there was to us a marvellous
display of northern lights. When daylight faded pink clouds appeared in
the sky mixed with long shooting rays of white light. The clouds changed
shape continually, but the color was always a shade of red. At times the