be sure, in households when the work was beyond the powers of
the family, the daughter of some neighbour might come as a helper.
Though hired, she was treated in all respects as one of the family, and
in return was likely to take the same sort of interest in the work, as
if the tie that bound her to the family was closer than wages. In truth,
such help was regarded as a favour, and not as in any way affecting the
girl's social position.

The girls in those days were more at home in a kitchen than a
drawing-room. They did better execution at a tub than at a spinet, and
could handle a rolling-pin more satisfactorily than a sketch-book. At a
pinch, they could even use a rake or fork to good purpose in field or
barn. Their finishing education was received at the country school along
with their brothers. Of fashion books and milliners, few of them had any
experiences.

Country life in Canada was plodding in the "Thirties" and there was no
varied outlook. The girls' training for future life was mainly at the
hands of their mothers; the boys followed in the footsteps of their
fathers. Neither sex felt that life was cramped or burdensome on that
account. They were content to live as their parents had done. And though
we can see that, as compared with later conditions, there may be
something wanting in such an existence, this at least we know, that, in
such a school and by such masters, the foundations of Canadian character
and prosperity were laid.

Canniff Haight: "Country Life in Canada in the 'Thirties'."
(Adapted)

He who knows most grieves most for wasted time.

Dante

HEAT

From plains that reel to southward, dim,
The road runs by me white and bare;
Up the steep hill it seems to swim
Beyond, and melt into the glare.
Upward half-way, or it may be
Nearer the summit, slowly steals
A hay-cart, moving dustily
With idly clacking wheels.

By his cart's side the wagoner
Is slouching slowly at his ease,
Half-hidden in the windless blur
Of white dust puffing to his knees.
This wagon on the height above,
From sky to sky on either hand,
Is the sole thing that seems to move
In all the heat-held land.

Beyond me in the fields the sun
Soaks in the grass and hath his will;
I count the marguerites one by one;
Even the buttercups are still.
On the brook yonder not a breath
Disturbs the spider or