WINTER QUARTERS 95 



in search of others of their kind. There was no 

 special friend to bid " Good-bye " barring Dick, 

 the gelding of the lighter team, who had something 

 delightfully English and sportsmanlike about him, 

 and always played up to our appreciation of his 

 pace with fine intelligence, although he was too 

 heavy for a hack, and one had to make friends with 

 him by less usual methods than the ordinary medium 

 of bridle and bit. 



On the last night I started for the political meeting 

 at Lipton by that far-reaching white light of the 

 moon in which one's memory always cradles Canada. 

 Lipton was across the Qu'Appelle valley, and fully 

 sixteen miles distant, but not only the moon but 

 all the stars smiled at distance, and the delicate 

 but exhilarating ice-breath, which steels the nights 

 of sun-blessed days in the Canadian November, 

 delivers one out of reach of the adversary — whether 

 armoured in terror, or shrouded in mystery, or 

 clothed in the everyday garment of the humdrum. 



The meeting was held in the implement shed of 

 Messrs. Macdonald and Newth. As I drove past 

 I noticed that the benches seemed packed — with 

 men only ! My friend Dick McGusty was hovering 

 round, and in his usual happy manner sheltered the 

 fact that I had arrived at the place where the pre- 

 sence of my sex was certainly not anticipated. He 

 felt quite sure I should be more comfortable in Mr. 

 Macdonald's office behind the scenes, and I, who 

 would not for worlds have missed what such a 

 number of men had gathered together to hear one 

 man say, felt that I should be much more com- 

 fortable if another woman shared the doubtful 

 honour of my seclusion. I had but one acquaint- 



