I have seen many a fine Sabbath morning but none to me like that one
which was our first in the bush. The serenity of air and sky, the
solemnity of the woods, the stillness sweetened by the song of birds,
struck even the children, who were quieter than usual. After breakfast
and things were tidied up we had worship. The master read selections
from the closing chapters of Hebrews, and his prayer was one of
thankfulness to the Hand that had preserved us on our journey and
brought us to a quiet resting-place. Mrs Auld heard the children their
questions and had a lively time in scolding and coaxing them by turns to
never mind the squirrels but attend to what she was saying.

The dinner things had been cleared away when a visitor came out of the
woods. He had a red, flabby face, framed in a thick whisker turning
grey. The chief feature of his dress was a long surtout, that had been
part of a gentleman's dress-suit in its day and a shabby tile hat.
Addressing the master with deliberate ceremony, he told how he had heard
of new-comers and felt it his duty to welcome them and tender his
services. He had been four years in Canada and his experience would be
of high value in directing them what to do. Growing voluble he pointed
out what he considered were the mistakes we had already made, ending
with a plump proposal that, for his board and a certain money
consideration, he would take the direction of the settlement and
guarantee its immediate prosperity. He paused and asked for a drink. Mrs
Auld handed him a dipper. Smelling it, he said experience had taught him
the prudence of never drinking lake water without its being qualified by
a few spoonfuls of whisky. 'If you will be so kind,' he said to Mrs
Auld, 'as to bring your greybeard, I shall have pleasure in giving a
toast to your new settlement.' 'Whisky! cried Mrs Auld, 'there's no a
drop to be found here.' Turning to the master he said, 'This will never
do; you will need bees to raise the shanties, to chop, and to fallow,