Always they shade off through cushionlike copses of
smaller growth into the level ground around.

The sun was sinking. I knew a mile or less further north
I should have to turn west in order to avoid rough roads
straight ahead. That meant doubling up, because some
fifteen miles or so north I should have to turn east
again, my goal being east of my starting place. These
fifteen or sixteen miles of the northward road I did not
know; so I was anxious to make them while I could see.
I looked at the moon--I could count on some light from
her for an hour or so after sundown. But although I knew
the last ten or twelve miles of my drive fairly well, I
was also aware of the fact that there were in it tricky
spots--forkings of mere trails in muskeg bush--where
leaving the beaten log-track might mean as much as being
lost. So I looked at my watch again and shook the lines
over Peter's back. The first six miles had taken me nearly
fifty minutes. I looked at the sun again, rather anxiously
I could count on him for another hour and a quarter--well
and good then!

There was the turn. Just north of it, far back from both
roads, another farmyard. Behind it--to the north, stretched
out, a long windbreak of poplars, with a gap or a vista
in its centre. Barn and outbuildings were unpainted, the
house white; a not unpleasing group, but something slovenly
about it. I saw with my mind's eye numerous children,
rather neglected, uncared for, an overworked, sickly
woman, a man who was bossy and harsh.