Still, I fancy most of them
only toil to eat, and their views are not revealed to us. We are, you
see, women--and we live at Silverdale."
Her aunt smiled again. "How long is it since the plow crossed the Red
River, and what is Manitoba now? How did those mile furrows come
there, and who drove the road that takes the wheat out through the
granite of the Superior shore? It was more than their appetites that
impelled those men, my dear. Still, it is scarcely wise to expect too
much when one meets them, for though one could feel it is presumptuous
to forgive its deficiencies, the Berserk type of manhood is not
conspicuous for its refinement."
For no apparent reason Maud Barrington evaded her aunt's gaze. "You,"
she said dryly, "have forgiven one of that type a good deal already,
but, at least, we have never seen him when the fit was upon him."
Miss Barrington laughed. "Still, I have no doubt that, sooner or
later, you will enjoy the spectacle."
Just then, a light wagon came up behind them, and when one of the hired
men helped them in they swept out of the cool shade into the dust and
glare of the prairie, and when some little time later, with the thud of
hoofs and rattle of wheels softened by the bleaching sod, they rolled
down a rise, there was spread out before them evidence of man's
activity.
Acre by acre, gleaming chocolate brown against the gray and green of
the prairie, the wheat loam rolled away, back to the ridge, over it,
and on again.
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