"It's my opinion there's no end to them! Hauling a load of wheat
through this kind of country must be a bit of an undertaking."

After a short rest, they toiled for an hour through the sand; and then
rode slowly over a road thickly strewn with straw, which bore the
wheels. It led them across lower ground to a strong wire fence, where
it forked: one branch skirting the barrier along the edge of a muskeg,
the other running through the enclosed land. Deciding to take the
latter, George got down at the entrance, which was barred by several
strands of wire, firmly fastened.

"Half an hour's work here," Edgar commented. "Driving's rather an
arduous pastime in western Canada."

They crossed a long field of barley, a breadth of wheat, and passed an
empty house; then wound through a poplar wood until they reached the
grass again. It was long and rank, hiding the ruts and hollows in the
trail; but after stopping a while for dinner in the shadow of a bluff,
they jolted on, and in the afternoon they reached a smoother track.
Crossing a low rise, they saw a wide stretch of wheat beneath them,
with a house and other buildings near its margin.

"That," said George, "is Sylvia's farm."

Half an hour later, they drove through the wheat, at which George
glanced dubiously; and then, traversing a belt of light sandy clods
partly grown with weeds, they drew up before the house. It was
double-storied, roomy, and neatly built of wood; but it was in very bad
repair, and the barn and stables had a neglected and half-ruinous look.