, and both laughed.

They had been thinking a twin thought--'How will my brother like such
quarters as this in the forest?'

'A queer concern,' remarked Arthur in a low voice, and rubbing his chin.

'Rather!' replied Robert, looking equally dubious.

'I like to show the shanty to youngsters,' said Mr. Holt, as he turned
from pushing back the shutter, 'that they may see what they have to
expect. From such a start as this we Canadians have all waked up into
opulence--that is, the hardworking share of us; and there's room enough
for tens of thousands to do the same off in the bush.'

'I hope so, sir,' was the least desponding remark of which Robert could
think. For the naked reality of a forest life came before him as never
previously. The halo of distance had faded, as he stood beside the
rude fireplace, fashioned of four upright limestone slabs in a corner,
reaching to a hole in the roof, down which the wind was howling just
now. It was rather a bleak look-out, notwithstanding the honeyed
promises of the old settler pouring on his ear.

'To be sure there is. Fortune's at your back in the bush; and you
haven't, as in the mother country, to rise by pushing others down.
There's no impassable gulf separating you from anything you choose
to aim at. It strikes me that the motto of our capital is as good
as a piece of advice to the settler--"Industry, Intelligence, and
Integrity"--with a beaver as pattern of the first two principles,
anyhow. So recollect the beaver, my young chaps, and work like it.'

'I don't remember the building of this,' he added; 'but every stick was
laid by my father's own hands, and my mother chinked between them till
all was tight and right. I tell you I'm prouder of it than of a piece
of fancy-work, such as I've seen framed and glazed. I love every log in
the old timbers.' And Mr. Holt tapped the wall affectionately with his
walking-staff. 'It was the farthest west clearing then, and my father
chose the site because of the spring yonder, which is covered with a
stone and civilised into a well now-a-days.'

'And is the town so modern as all that comes to?' said Robert.

[Illustration]

'Twenty years grows a city in Canada,' replied Mr. Holt, somewhat
loftily. 'Twenty years between the swamp and the crowded street: while
two inches of ivy would be growing round a European ruin, we turn a
wilderness into a cultivated country, dotted with villages. The history
of Mapleton is easily told. My fa