farm, let there be no mistake, and
not merely a homestead.

There were abundant signs of prosperity in the trim, well-groomed
appearance of the place. The unmistakable hall-mark was to be found in
the presence of a steam-thresher, buried beneath a covering of
tarpaulin and snow, in the array of farming machinery, and in the maze
of pastures enclosed by top-railed, barbed-wire fencing. All these
things, and the extent of the buildings, told of years of ceaseless
industry and thrift, of able management and a proper pride in the
vocation of its owner.

Nor were these outward signs in any way misleading. Silas Malling in
his lifetime had been one of those sound-minded men, unimaginative and
practical, the dominant note of whose creed had always been to do his
duty in that state of life in which he found himself. The son of an
early pioneer he had been born to the life of a farmer, and, having
the good fortune to follow in the footsteps of a thrifty father, he
had lived long enough to see his farm grow to an extent many times
larger and more prosperous than that of any neighbour within a radius
of a hundred miles. But at the time of our story he had been gathered
to his forefathers for nearly three years, and his worthy spouse,
Hephzibah Malling, reigned in his stead. She ruled with an equally
practical hand, and fortune had continued to smile upon her. Her bank
balance had grown by leaps and bounds, and she was known to be one of
the richest women in Southern Manitoba, and her only daughter,
Prudence, to be heiress to no inconsiderable fortune. There was a son
in the family, but he had eschewed the farm life, and passing out of
the home circle, as some sons will, had gone into the world to seek
his own way--his own experiences of life.

In spite of the wealth of the owners of Loon Dyke Farm they were
very simple, unpretentious folk. They lived the life they had always
known, abiding by the customs of childhood and the country to which
they belonged with the whole-hearted regard which is now becoming so
regrettably rare. Their world was a wholesome one which provided them
with all they needed for thought, labour and recreation. To
journey to Winnipeg, a distance of a hundred and twenty-six miles,
was an event which required two days' preparation and as many weeks of
consideration. Ainsley, one of those little border villages which
dot the international boundary dividing Canada from the United
States, was a place rarely v