64 WHEAT AND WOMAN 



They knew very little more than I, but with 

 some difficulty we improved on my arrangement, 

 and all went well until I got half-way down Troy 

 Hill, when a shaft shot up in the air. A passer-by 

 came to the rescue, and, overcome with the frank- 

 ness of his criticism, there and then I learned the 

 simple art of hitching-up. 



To return to my story. Our neighbour persuaded 

 us that there was no hurry at all in returning calls 

 in Canada, but that on no account should we miss 

 seeing the hills in their glorious attire before the fall 

 of the leaf. We promptly agreed to drive with him 

 the next afternoon, and he came to fetch us in a 

 buggy distinctly built for two only. However, all 

 sense of discomfort left us as the horses raced across 

 the prairie trail to make a bee-line for the coulee, 

 which leads to the lake-shore trail. 



No words can paint the beauty of the transfigura- 

 tion of the fall in Canada. In the Qu'Appelle 

 valley the trees are a maze of every tint of gold. 

 Here and there is sometimes a touch of scarlet, and 

 in Ontario the autumn carpet is clear vermilion, 

 but in Saskatchewan the predominating tint of 

 autumn is gold, and its effect against the rose and 

 opal tint of sky and the grey-green of the landscape, 

 and the sharp cold contrast of the water is beautiful 

 beyond expression. At the foot of the coulee 

 colour reigned on every side, the very horses seemed 

 to feel its sway as they danced through entwining 

 trees down the sharp incline with the gay irrespon- 

 sibility of a British four-year-old dancing from 

 cover to cover ; only usually the light-heartedness 

 of the old country horse means ignorance, whilst the 

 light-footedness of the true Canadian stands for 



