MEN OF THE TREES 



coached his younger brothers for Cambridge, went in 

 for farming on commercial lines, much to the disgust 

 of his very respectable family. His father was Rector 

 of Botley in Hampshire, and it was there he had caught 

 the love of the soil when farming the Rectory Glebe- 

 lands. Tired of family opposition to the work he loved, 

 he went oflf to Canada, where he cleared the bush and 

 shot the bear. This was in the early days, over a century 

 ago. His nearest neighbour was seven miles away and on 

 Sunday afternoons his only entertainment was to ride 

 over and call on him. His letters home to my grand- 

 mother were full of the adventures of a pioneer, and as 

 a great treat when, at the age of ten, I had been a good 

 boy, on Sunday afternoons my father used to read me 

 letters which his mother had read to him when he was 

 twelve. Many of these letters were full of religious sen- 

 timent and of little interest to a small boy of ten, but 

 patiently I listened to my father's reading of this old 

 time settler's dealings with the Almighty, because every 

 now and again there would be some spicy story about 

 bears. There was one such story which specially im- 

 pressed itself on my childish mind. His neighbour had 

 been aroused in the night by a terrific noise coming from 

 the barnyard. He got up, pulled his sheepskin coat over 

 his nightshirt, went out and found a big brown bear 

 trying to lift the fatted hog over the sty. He had no 

 rifle, but picked up the nearest weapon, which was a 

 spade. Armed only with this agricultural implement, 

 he tackled the bear, with the edge of the spade, killing 



250 



