settlement."

"You'd cut out all that makes life bearable," Charnock replied, and
added while his face went hard: "Besides, three years is too long."

Festing thought he understood. The portrait of an English girl hung on
the wall behind the stove, and Charnock had already been some time in
Canada.

"Anyhow," the latter resumed, "you take much for granted if you count
upon a moderately good crop; I haven't got one yet. We're told this is
a great country for the small farmer, and perhaps it is, so long as he
escapes a dry June, summer hail, rust, and autumn frost. As a matter of
fact, I've suffered from the lot!"

"So have others, but they're making good."

"At a price! They sweat, when it's light long enough, sixteen hours a
day, deny themselves everything a man can go without, and when the grain
is sold the storekeeper or implement dealer takes all they get. When the
fellow's sure of their honesty he carried them on, for the sake of the
interest, until, if they're unusually lucky, a bonanza crop helps them
to wipe off the debt. But do you imagine any slave in the old days ever
worked so hard?"

Festing knitted his brows. He felt that Charnock must be answered, and
he was not a philosopher.

"Canada's a pretty hard country, and the man without much capital who
undertakes to break new soil must have nerve. But he has a chance of