A DAUGHTER OF THE PRAIRIE 

 THE COMING OF NANCY 



I WENT back to my farm determined to remain in 

 personal charge until it could be left to fulfil its 

 role of a successful revenue-producing investment 

 in the hands of others. I had not the remotest idea 

 that I was entering on a phase of strenuous labour, 

 and had certainly no intention of sparing more than 

 two years of my life, into which I hoped to gather 

 all that was worth while in every corner of the globe, 

 to the proving of agricultural or any other kind 

 of labour on the Canadian prairie. By way of 

 tempering the wind to the shorn lamb I constantly 

 assured myself that I would travel east or west 

 through the coming winter, and that I would make 

 the cottage as beautiful as I could, since I had to 

 live in it. 



The first days were not exactly inspiring. The 

 temperature, it is true, was often above zero ; but 

 an east wind raged, and the stove pipes smoked. 

 I scrubbed floors and cleaned out cupboards, but 

 the result simply grinned at my labour, and 

 finally I lay down with the worst headache on 

 record. 



My brother, returning from a journey to South 

 Qu'Appelle, where he had been to discover the 



127 



