Breaking the Prairie 



in the ice in the winter and round the edges in 

 the summer, the sloughs are apt to get impure. 



Our bed and board might be rough, but our 

 hearts beat high with hope as we started out 

 to cut our first furrow in the primeval sod. 



The day was glorious and the air exhilarating, 

 and surely it was allowable if we felt a bit up- 

 lifted at what we were about to do. 



Probably for many thousands of years Indians, 

 buffalo, deer, and numerous wild animals had 

 ranged freely over the land we were about to 

 prepare for the sowing of grain, the harvest 

 from which might find its way to help feed 

 Europe's millions. 



We also had the hope before us of being real 

 freeholders in some three years, if all went well. 

 True, there was not much time for such thoughts, 

 but there was a real pleasure in marking out 

 a field nearly half a mile long, with a sense 

 of ownership. 



It was fine, too, as we started the first furrow, 

 to see the great black sod fall away from the 

 mould-board as the sharp share cut through the 

 strong grass roots. 



Having had some practice, I held the plough 



for the first round ; and though an English plough- 



jaan would have found ample cause for merri- 



^knt, as he viewed our line of furrow, it must 



