THE END OF THE YEAR 249 



bushels of wheat liable to fall in grade and certain 

 to be docked in weight for its measure of wild oats 

 was all I could rely on to settle my bank bill and 

 to meet the working expenses of spring and of 

 summer, as my neighbour insisted that this year 

 there could no longer be any doubt about the fact 

 that I must plough the big field shallow in early 

 June and deep at the end of July. 



The only economy I could put in practice at 

 the moment was to save on myself. I dispensed 

 with storm-windows and all superfluous food. 

 Guy Mazey had sold me the forequarter of a steer 

 for something just over or just under eleven dollars, 

 but hacking off joints with an axe was a toil so I 

 passed it on to my brother for the use of his guests 

 at the stopping-house, and used the few remaining 

 joints of the pig which Roddy McMahon had killed 

 for me just before threshing. There were two legs 

 and they lasted each about three weeks ; with the 

 frost well in one could not have distinguished this 

 pork from cold turkey, and it became no more 

 monotonous than the tea and coffee and bread and 

 sultana cakes which completed the menu. I had 

 learned to make bread as I found it was much 

 cheaper to buy flour than bread. I had neither 

 milk nor butter nor eggs through December and 

 January, but I was really being nourished on the air, 

 which suited me amazingly as long as I lived this 

 rather unusual life of outdoor service. Directly 

 I attempt to pass the winter between the con- 

 trasting temperature of the orthodox heat within 

 and the average cold without, I feel both extremes 

 to be almost unbearable. It was the outdoor 

 interest that made things not only possible but 



