THRESHING 49 



They were a healthy, jolly, friendly group, and in 

 time we grew to know each other well. On that 

 occasion I remember taking their photograph on 

 my new camera, which to this day seldom registers 

 a success. 



Hilaria and I had more than one offer of help in 

 the entertainment of our threshing party, but the 

 only one she would hear of was Ella Carroll, the 

 daughter of our neighbour, — the farmer and post- 

 master, Sam Carroll of Strathcarrol. We liked her 

 because she was pretty, and we stood in no awe of 

 her because she was only sixteen. Hilaria presided 

 over the cook-stove, and Ella Carroll made scones 

 by the hundred and raisin pies, apple pies, lemon 

 pies, and all sorts and conditions of cakes just as 

 casually and quickly as the average Englishwoman 

 sits down and sews on buttons with an air of 

 rest. I was henchman to Hilaria, and usually 

 dispatched to fetch the meat and merchandize in 

 the morning, and more meat and all the other things 

 that had been forgotten from Fort Qu'Appelle in 

 the afternoon. 



For a day and a half all went merrily. The sun 

 was generous indeed that year, and in October it 

 was as deliciously warm by day as is the Riviera in 

 April, and with bright, keen, moonlit, frost-kissed 

 nights. The two new granaries had been drawn 

 up side by side in the centre of the eighty-acre 

 wheat-patch. The wheat was of excellent quality, 

 plump, and of a deep gold colour, and hard as the 

 shell of ripe nuts. In the bliss of ignorance we were 

 unaware that it was freely sprinkled with wild oats. 



" There must be three thousand bushels of grain," 

 said Lai. " We have nearly filled the first granary, 



D 



