ch he had built himself, but had been obliged
to sell in a season unfavorable for wild beasts), and the other edifices
dropped through the social scale to some picturesque barns thatched with
straw. These he excused to his Americans, but added that the ungainly
thatch was sometimes useful in saving the lives of the cattle toward the
end of an unusually long, hard winter.

"And the people," asked the colonel, "what do they do in the winter to
pass the time?"

"Draw the wood, smoke the pipe, court the ladies.--But wouldn't you like
to see the inside of one of our poor cottages? I shall be very proud to
have you look at mine, and to have you drink a glass of milk from my
cows. I am sorry that I cannot offer you brandy, but there's none to be
bought in the place."

"Don't speak of it! For an eye-opener there is nothing like a glass of
milk," gayly answered the colonel.

They entered the best room of the house,--wide, low-ceiled, dimly lit by
two small windows, and fortified against the winter by a huge Canada
stove of cast-iron. It was rude but neat, and had an air of decent
comfort. Through the window appeared a very little vegetable garden with
a border of the hardiest flowers. "The large beans there," explained the
host, "are for soup and coffee. My corn," he said, pointing out some
rows of dwarfish maize, "has escaped the early August frosts, and so I
expect to have some roasting-ears yet this summer."

"Well, it isn't exactly what you'd call an inviting climate, is it?"
asked the colonel.

The Canadian seemed a hard little man, but he answered now with a kind
of pathos, "It's cruel! I came here when it was all bush. Twenty years I
have lived here, and it has not been worth while. If it was to do over
again, I should rather not live anywhere. I was born in Quebec," he
said, as if to explain that he was used to mild climates, and began to
tell of some events of his life at Ha-Ha Bay. "I wish you were going to
stay here awhile with me. You wouldn't find it so bad in the
summer-time, I can assure you. There are bears in the bush, sir," he
said to the colonel, "and you might easily kill one."

"But then I should be helping to spoil your trade in wild beasts,"
replied the colonel, laughing.

Mr. Arbuton looked like one who might be very tired of this. He made no
sign of interest either in the early glooms and privations or the summer
bears of Ha-Ha Bay. He sat in the quaint parlor, with his hat on his
knee, in the