the English parsonage, with its
old-time sun-dial at the garden-gate. Within, we find what must surely
be the farthest north printing-press. Here two devoted women have spent
years of their lives printing in Cree on a hand-press syllabic hymns and
portions of the Gospel for the enlightenment of the Indians. We wander
into the school where a young teacher is explaining to his uneasy
disciples the intricacies of Present Worth and Compound Interest. Idly
we wonder to what use these bare-footed half-Cree urchins will put their
exact banking knowledge.

Everywhere around us the wild flowers are a great joy; we hail with the
gladness of released children the posies that sweetened childhood
meadows--the dwarf cornel (Cornel Canadensis), dandelions, strawberry
blossoms, wild roses, the pale wood-violet on its long stem, and amid
these familiars the saskatoon or service-berry bushes, with blueberry
vines, and viburnums of many kinds. On the street the natty uniforms of
the Mounted Police are in evidence, and baseball has penetrated as far
north as this. In the post office we read,

"It is decided to hold sports on the first day of July. The Committee
promises a splendid programme,--horse-races, foot-races, football match,
baseball game. There will also be prizes for the best piece of Indian
fancy-work. Dancing will be in full swing in the evening. All welcome."

Opposite the hotel is a reading-room built by a Methodist parson who
also made the furniture with his own hands; magazines, books,
writing-material, games are available to all. This practical work of one
man who accepted the responsibility of being his brother's keeper
appealed to us. In a store near the hotel we see a Cree boatman
purchasing a farewell present for his sweetheart. As he turns over the
fancy articles, we have bad form enough to observe his choice. He
selects a fine-tooth comb, for which he pays fifty cents, or as he calls
it, "two skins," and asks, as he tucks it into his jerkin, if he can
change it "if she doesn't like it."

In the evening it rains, and the room assigned us becomes a living
illustration of the new word we have just learned,--"muskeg," a swamp.
Putting the precious cameras on top of the bureau, we let the rest of
the things swim at their pleasure. Starting with the rest of the
unattached community of Athabasca Landing to go down to the pool-room,
we catch sight of Dr. Sussex and the Cree priest, who have found a
little oasis of their