f a
box-sleigh would be surprising to those without such experience. There
was nothing _blase_ about the simple country folk. A hard day's work
was nothing to them. They would follow it up by an evening's enjoyment
with the keenest appreciation; and they knew how to revel with the
best.

The first to arrive at Loon Dyke Farm were the Furrers. Daisy,
Fortune, and Rachel, three girls of round proportions, all dressed
alike, and of age ranging in the region of twenty. They spoke well and
frequently; and their dancing eyes and ready laugh indicated spirits
at concert pitch. These three were great friends of Prudence, and were
loud in their admiration of her. Peter Furrer, their brother, was with
them; he was a red-faced boy of about seventeen, a giant of flesh, and
a pigmy of intellect--outside of farming operations. Mrs. Furrer
accompanied the party as chaperon--for even in the West chaperons are
recognized as useful adjuncts, and, besides, enjoyment is not always a
question of age.

Following closely on the heels of the Furrers came old Gleichen and
his two sons, Tim and Harry. Gleichen was a well-to-do "mixed"
farmer--a widower who was looking out for a partner as staid and
robust as himself. His two sons were less of the prairie than their
father, by reason of an education at St. John's University in
Winnipeg. Harry was an aspirant to Holy Orders, and already had charge
of a mission in the small neighbouring settlement of Lakeville. Tim
acted as foreman to his father's farm; a boy of enterprising ideas,
and who never hesitated to advocate to his steady-going parent the
advantage of devoting himself to stock-raising.

Others arrived in quick succession; a truly agricultural gathering.
Amongst the latest of the early arrivals were the Ganthorns; mother,
son, and daughter, pretentious folk of considerable means, and
recently imported from the Old Country.

By half-past seven everybody had arrived with the exception of George
Iredale and Leslie Grey. The fun began from the very first.

The dining-table had disappeared from the parlour, as had the rugs
from the floor, and somehow a layer of white wax, like an incipient
fall of snow, lay invitingly on the bare white pine boarding. And,
too, it seemed only natural that the moment she came into the room
ready for the fray, Daisy Furrer should make a rush for the ancient
piano, and tinkle out with fair execution the strains of an old waltz.
Her efforts broke up any sign o