Part 8 (1/2)

”Never farmed, eh?”

”Never; couldn't milk a cow.”

”Yer don't say so,” grinned the farmer. ”Now you'll do, you will, fine.”

Joe was at a loss to understand. It seemed somewhat curious to him to hear that a hand engaged on a farm would do well when it was known that he was utterly ignorant. He explained the difficulty.

”Of course you don't understand,” said Peter, guffawing loudly; for Joe's open speaking delighted him. ”Of course you don't, 'cos back in England a man would be expected to know everything. But I'll tell you how it is with us. You're English; wall, now, in past years Englishmen got such a name with us colonials that we wouldn't employ him if we could help it. Eh? You'd like to know why? That's easy. Your Englishman would reach here dressed in knickers, perhaps--a regular swell. Us colonials with our old clothing would be fair game for him.

Then he'd know everything. He'd be wanting to do things as he'd done 'em back in his own country, and not as we've learned they has to be done here. He'd want to teach his master, and grumble--my word, nothing pleased him! Now that's all getting altered. We find immigrants readier to learn, and you're one of 'em. Mind you, there's faults with others besides the Englishman who knows everything.

There's faults with us. There's a sight of colonials who think they know more than they do, and when they get having advice from a man fresh out to the country--why, they get testy. It makes 'em angry.

They ain't too fair to the newcomer. But guess that's getting altered, as I've said. Anyway, you don't know anything, ain't that it?”

”Nothing,” laughed Joe; for the open-hearted Peter amused him.

”Then you come along in and see the missus and the children.

Afterwards there's a job for you.”

Joe was introduced to Peter's family circle, consisting of his wife and four small children. He found the shack to contain three rooms, a somewhat liberal allowance.

”Most of 'em has but one or two,” explained Peter. ”A man who has to be his own house builder can't afford too much time for fixing rooms.

However, I made two, the kitchen here and the bedroom. Later on I built a lean-to, making an extra room. That'll be for you. Now we'll feed. Like beans and bacon?”

”Anything,” said Joe heartily. ”I've had a long tramp and am hungry.

This fine air gives one an appet.i.te.”

”It's jest the healthiest place you could strike anywhere,” cried Peter, his face glowing. ”We've been here this four years. I bought the section from a man who had broken most of it and then got tired.

You see, we've prairie all round, save for the settlement close handy.

They say that the railway'll soon be along here. Anyway, there's no muskegs (swamps) hereabouts, and therefore no mosquitoes to speak of.”

”He don't know what's a muskeg,” laughed Mrs. Strike. ”Tell him.”

”It's a swamp, that's all,” came the answer, ”and there's miles of them in Canada. Often enough they're covered with low bush and with forests of rotting trees that ain't worth nothing as timber. But here we've open prairie, with plenty of wood, and huge forests at a little distance; so it's healthy. Now, you come along out and fix this job,”

he said, when Joe had finished the meal and had swallowed a cup of tea.

”I'm so busy I haven't had time to see to a number of things, specially since my man was taken ill and left. There's the pigsty, for instance; it wants cleaning out. You jest get in at it.”

Joe had long since donned his colonial outfit. He wore a slouch hat, with which no one could find a fault save for its obvious newness. An old pair of trousers covered his legs, and thick, nailed boots were on his feet. His jacket he had carried over his arm, and it was now reposing with his baggage, while a thick brown s.h.i.+rt and a somewhat discoloured red handkerchief completed his apparel. He followed Peter to an outhouse, and found at the back a range of wooden pigsties which might, with truth, be said to be in an extremely unsavoury condition.

There was a fork and a spade near at hand, together with an old tin bucket.

”Right,” he said briskly, turning up the ends of his trousers; ”I'll make a job of it. I should say that a chap who had no knowledge of farming could do this as well as any other. I'll come along when I've finished.”

Peter stood watching his new hand for some few moments, and then strode off out of sight. Joe turned his sleeves up, climbed into the sty, and set to work with a will.

”Not an overnice job,” he told himself, ”but then it's part of farming work. If I turn up my nose at this sort of thing and think myself too good for it--why, that would be a nice sort of beginning! Someone has to clean the sties on a farm. I'm the labourer, and so it's my job.”

His jovial whistle could be heard in the shack as he worked, and brought Mrs. Strike to the door with an infant in her arms.