natch half an hour to
look in at the Royal Alexandra upon the reception which the Women's
Canadian Club is tendering to Mrs. Humphry Ward. Rain-bespattered,
short-skirted, and anchored with disreputable rubbers gluey with
Winnipeg mud, I sit on the fringe of things, fairly intoxicated with the
idea that we are off and this North trip no dream. Mrs. Sanford Evans
presides with her usual _savoir faire_ and ushers in the guest of the
day, beautifully-gowned and gracious.

Like a bolt from the blue came the summons from the president, and I,
all muddy, am called to the seats of the mighty. I have never seen a
more splendid aggregation of women than the members of the Winnipeg
Canadian Club, tall, strong, alert, and full of initiative. To face
them is a mental and moral challenge. I try to hide those muddy shoes of
mine. The Winnipeg women are indulgent, they make allowance for my
unpresentable attire, and shower upon me cheery wishes for the success
of my journey. Mrs. Humphry Ward calls attention to the lack of
playgrounds in England. She wants to bring more fresh air and space to
the crowded people of the Old World. I submit that my wish is the
mathematical converse to hers. My great desire is to call attention to
the great unoccupied lands of Canada, to induce people from the crowded
centres of the Old World to use the fresh air of the New.

[Illustration: The Canadian Women's Press Club]

To those who bid us good-bye at the train, the Kid and I yell
exultantly, "All aboard for the Arctic Ocean and way ports!"

A group of Galicians sitting by the curb, two mothers and seven small
children, one a baby at the breast, make the last picture we see as the
train pulls out. It was the end of their first day in Winnipeg. The
fathers of the flock evidently were seeking work and had left their
families gazing through the portals of the strange new land. In the
half-sad, altogether-brave lines on the young mothers' faces and their
tender looks bent on the little ones we read the motive responsible for
all migrations--"Better conditions for the babies." In the little
fellows of seven or eight with their ill-fitting clothes and their
dogged looks of determination one sees the makers of empire. Before a
decade is past they will be active wheat-growers in their own right,
making two grains grow where one grew before and so "deserving better of
mankind than the whole race of politicians put together." I think it was
President Garfie