196 LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY 



upon a Canadian buokboard with hard-tack in one 

 bag and oats in another, and the journey began. It 

 was Sunday, and we held up our heads more confi- 

 dently when we got beyond the throng of well- 

 dressed church-goers. For ten miles we had a good 

 stone road and rattled along it at a lively pace. In 

 about half that distance we came to a large brick 

 church, where we began to see the rural population 

 or habitans. They came mostly in two-wheeled 

 vehicles, some of the carts quite fancy, in which 

 the young fellows rode complacently beside their 

 girls. The two-wheeler predominates in Canada, 

 and is of all styles and sizes. After we left the 

 stone road, we began to encounter the hills that are 

 preliminary to the mountains. The farms looked 

 like the wilder and poorer parts of Maine or New 

 Hampshire. While Joe was getting a supply of 

 hay of a farmer to take into the woods for his horse, 

 I walked through a field in quest of wild strawber- 

 ries. The season for them was past, it being the 

 20th of July, and I found barely enough to make 

 me think that the strawberry here is far less pun- 

 gent and high-flavored than with us. 



The cattle in the fields and by the roadside looked 

 very small and delicate, the effect, no doubt, of the 

 severe climate. We saw many rude implements of 

 agriculture, such as wooden plows shod with iron. 



We passed several parties of men, women, and 

 children from Quebec picnicking in the "bush." 

 Here it was little more than a "bush;" but while 

 in Canada we never heard the woods designated by 



