and George rose each
morning, aching in every limb, but with a keen sense of satisfaction.
Each day's work added to the store of money he would shortly hand to
Sylvia. He saw little of Flora, but when they met by chance, as
happened once or twice, he was still conscious of something subtly
unfamiliar in her manner. He felt they were no longer on the old
confidential footing; a stronger barrier of reserve had risen between
them.

Before the last sheaves were stacked, the days were growing cool. The
fresh western breezes had died away, and a faint ethereal haze and a
deep stillness had fallen upon the prairie. It was rudely broken when
the thrashers arrived and from early morning the clatter of the engine
filled the air with sound. Loaded wagons crashed through the stubble,
the voices of dusty men mingled with the rustle of the sheaves, and a
long trail of sooty smoke stained the soft blue of the sky.

This work was finished in turn, and day by day the wagons, loaded high
with bags of grain, rolled slowly across the broad white levels toward
the elevators. Many a tense effort was needed to get them to their
destination, for the trails were dry and loose; but markets were
strong, and George had decided to haul in all the big crop. Sometimes,
though the nights were frosty, he slept beside his jaded team in the
shelter of a bluff; sometimes he spent a day he grudged laying straw on
a road; rest for more than three or four hours was unknown to him, and
meals were snatched at irregular intervals when matters of more
importance were less pressing. For all that, he was uniformly
cheerful; the work brought him the greatest pleasure he had known, and
he had grown fond of the wide, open land, in which he had once looked
forward to dwelling with misgivings. The freedom of its vast spaces,
its clear air and its bright sunshine, appealed to him, and he began to
realize that he would be sorry to leave it, which he must shortly do.
Sylvia, it was a pity, could not live in western Canada.

At length, on a frosty evening, he saw the last load vanish into the
dusty elevator, and a curious feeling of regret crept over him. It was
very doubtful if he would haul in another harvest, and he wondered
whether the time would now and then hang heavily on his hands in
England. There was a roar of machinery above him in the tail building
that cut sharply against the sky; below, long rows of wagons stood
waiting their turn, and the voice