Chapter 9

He tarried no more, and I was left alone. Not a creature came near me. It may be that my neighbours had seen him enter, and thought of me with horror as a condoner of his crime; it may be that they were afraid to meddle with a house that had fallen into so terrible a trouble; or that the frightful hurricane that burst forth and raged that day (as if to show that God's anger was aroused and His justice, though delayed, not forgotten) kept them trembling in their houses.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: A Knocking at Nightfall]

What would have befallen me if I had been left long alone in that great and evil city I know not, for I had no wits left to make any plans for myself. At nightfall, however, there came once more a knocking, and when I opened the door my father stood on the threshold. There seemed no strangeness in his presence, and I fell into his arms weeping, so that he, seeing how grievous had been my punishment, forbore to make any reproach.

The next day began our journey home, and I have never since returned to London; but when I got back to the place I had so foolishly left I found it sadder than before. Many friends were gone away or dead. Some honest lads, with whom I had jested at fair-times, hung withering on the ghastly gallows by the wayside; others lay in unknown graves; others languished in gaol or on board ship. My father's own brother, though his life was spared, had been sent away to the plantations to be sold, and to work as a slave.

It was some time before Tom Windham--that had, at considerable risk to himself, sent my father to fetch me--ventured to settle again in his old place; and for a long time after that he was shy of addressing me.

But I was changed now as much as he was. I had seen what the world was, and knew the value of an honest love in it. So that, in the end, we came to an understanding, and have been married these many years.

[Sidenote: What is girl life like in newer Canada--in lands to which so many of our brothers are going just now? This article--written in the Far North-West--supplies the answer.]

Girl Life in Canada

BY

JANEY CANUCK

If you leave out France, Canada is as large as all Europe; which means that the girls of our Dominion live under climatic, domestic, and social conditions that are many and varied. It is of the girls in the newer provinces I shall write--those provinces known as "North-West Canada"--who reside in the country adjacent to some town or village.

It is true that many girls who come here with their fathers and mothers often live a long distance from a town or even a railroad.

Where I live at Edmonton, the capital of the Province of Alberta, almost every day in the late winter we see girls starting off to the Peach River district, which lies to the north several hundred miles from a railroad.

[Sidenote: A Travelling House]

How do they travel? You could never guess, so I may as well tell you. They travel in a house--a one-roomed house. It is built on a sled and furnished with a stove, a table that folds against the wall, a cupboard for food and dishes, nails for clothing, and a box for toilet accessories. Every available inch is stored with supplies, so that every one must perforce sleep on the floor. This family bed is, however, by no means uncomfortable, for the "soft side of the board" is piled high with fur rugs and four-point blankets. (Yes, if you remind me I'll tell you by and by what a "four-point" blanket is.)

The entrance to the house is from the back, and the window is in front, through a slide in which the lines extend to the heads of the horses or the awkward, stumbling oxen.

You must not despise the oxen, or say, "A pretty, team for a Canadian girl!" for, indeed, they are most reliable animals, and not nearly so delicate as horses, nor so hard to feed--and they never, never run away. Besides--and here's the rub--you can always eat the oxen should you ever want to, and popular prejudice does not run in favour of horseflesh.

Oh, yes! I said I would tell you about "four-point" blankets. They are the blankets that have been manufactured for nearly three hundred years by "the Honourable Company of Gentlemen Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay," known for the sake of conciseness as the "H.B. Company." These blankets are claimed to be the best in the world, and weigh from eight to ten pounds. The Indians, traders, trappers, boatmen, and pioneers in the North use no others. They are called "four-point" because of four black stripes at one corner. There are lighter blankets of three and a half points, which points are indicated in the same way. By these marks an Indian knows exactly what value he is getting in exchange for his precious peltry.

After travelling for three or four weeks in this gipsy fashion, mayhap getting a peep at a moose, a wolf, or even a bear (to say nothing of such inconsequential fry as ermine, mink, beaver, and otter), the family arrive at their holding of 160 acres.

It does not look very pleasant, this holding. The snow is just melting, and the landscape is dreary enough on every side, for as yet Spring has not even suggested that green is the colour you may expect to see in Nature's fashion-plate. Not she!

But here's the point. Look you here! the house is already built for occupancy, and has only to be moved from the sled to the ground. There is no occasion for a plumber or gasfitter either, and as for water and fuel, they are everywhere to be had for the taking.

Presently other rooms will be added of lumber or logs, and a cellar excavated. But who worries about these things when they have just become possessors of 160 statute acres of land that have to be prepared for grain and garden stuff? Who, indeed?

Here is where the girl comes in. She must learn to bake bread and cakes, how to dress game and fish, and how to make bacon appetising twice a day. She must "set" the hens so that there may be "broilers" against Thanksgiving Day, and eggs all the year round. She has to sow the lettuces, radishes, and onions for succulent salads; and always she must supply sunshine and music, indoors and out, for dad and mother and the boys.

Perhaps you think she is not happy, but you are sadly mistaken. She is busy all day and sleepy all night. She knows that after a while a railroad is coming in here, and there will be work and money for men and teams, which means the establishment of a town near by, where you may purchase all kinds of household comforts and conveniences, to say nothing of pretty blouses, hats, and other "fixings." Oh, she knows it, the minx! She is the kind of a girl Charles Wagner describes as putting "witchery into a ribbon and genius into a stew."

But let us take a look at the girl who lives in the more settled parts of the country, near a town.

If she be ambitious, or anxious to help the home-folk, she will want to become a teacher, a bookkeeper, Civil Service employee, or a stenographer. To accomplish this end, she drives to town every day to attend the High School or Business College. Or perhaps she may move into town for the school terms.

Of all these occupations, that of the teacher is most popular. Teachers, in these new provinces, are in great demand, for the supply is entirely inadequate. As a result, they are especially well paid.

If the teacher is hard to get, she is also hard to hold; for the bachelor population being largely in the majority, there are many flattering inducements of a matrimonial character held out to the girl teacher to settle down permanently with a young farmer, doctor, real estate agent, lawyer, or merchant. You could never believe what inducements these sly fellows hold out. Never!

In town our girls find many diversions. She may skate, ride, play golf, basket-ball, or tennis, according as her purse or preference may dictate.

If there be no municipal public library, or reading-room in connection with the Young Women's Christian Association, she may borrow books from a stationer's lending-library for a nominal sum, so that none of her hours need be unoccupied or unprofitable.

[Sidenote: Young Men and Maidens]

In Canadian towns and villages the Church-life is of such a nature that every opportunity is given young girls to become acquainted with others of their own age. There are literary, temperance, missionary, and social clubs in connection with them, some one of which meets almost every night. In the winter the clubs have sleigh-rides and suppers, and in the summer lawn-socials and picnics much as they do in England, or in any part of the British Isles.

Compared with girls in the older countries, it is my opinion that the Canadian lassie of the North-West Provinces has a keener eye to the material side of life. This is only a natural outcome of the commercial atmosphere in which she lives.

She sees her father, or her friends, buying lots in some new town site, or in a new subdivision of some city, and, with an eye to the main chance, she desires to follow their example. These lots can be purchased at from £10 to £100, and by holding them for from one to five years they double or treble in value as the places become populated.

As a result, nearly all the girls employed in Government offices, or as secretaries, teachers, or other positions where the salaries are fairly generous, manage to save enough money to purchase some lots to hold against a rise. After investing and reinvesting several times, our girl soon has a financial status of her own and secures a competency. She has no time for nervous prostration or moods, but is alert and wideawake all the time.

Does she marry? Oh, yes! But owing to her financial independence, marriage is in no sense of the word a "Hobson's choice," but is generally guided entirely by heart and conscience, as, indeed, it always should be.

Some of the girls who come from Europe or the British Isles save their dollars to enable the rest of the family to come out to Canada.

"Wee Maggie," a waitress in a Winnipeg restaurant, told me the other day that in three years she had saved enough to bring her aged father and mother over from Scotland and to furnish a home for them.

Still other girls engage in fruit-farming in British Columbia, or in poultry-raising; but these are undertakings that require some capital to start with.

An increasingly large number of Canadian girls are taking University courses, or courses in technical colleges and musical conservatoires, with the idea of fitting themselves as High School teachers or for the medical profession.

In speaking of the girls of Western Canada, one must not overlook the Swedish, Russian, Italian, Galician, and other Europeans who have made their home in the Dominion.

The Handicrafts Guild is helping these girls to support themselves by basketry, weaving, lace and bead making, pottery, and needlework generally. Prizes are offered annually in the different centres for the best work, and all articles submitted are afterwards placed on sale in one of their work depositories. This association is doing a splendid work, in that they are making the arts both honourable and profitable.

While this article has chiefly concerned itself with the domestic and peaceful pursuits of our Canadian girls, it must not be forgotten that in times of stress they have shown themselves to be heroines who have always been equal to their occasions.

Our favourite heroine is, perhaps, Madeleine de Verchères, who, in the early days when the Indians were an ever-present menace to the settlers on the St. Lawrence River, successfully defended her father's seignory against a band of savage Iroquois.

Her father had left an old man of eighty, two soldiers, and Madeleine and her two little brothers to guard the fort during his absence in Quebec.

[Sidenote: A Girl Captain]

One day a host of Indians attacked them so suddenly they had hardly time to barricade the windows and doors. The fight was so fierce the soldiers considered it useless to continue it, but Madeleine ordered them to their posts, and for a week, night and day, kept them there. She taught her little brothers how to load and fire the guns so rapidly that the Indians were deceived and thought the fort well garrisoned.

When a reinforcement came to her relief, it was a terribly exhausted little girl that stepped out to welcome them at the head of the defenders--Captain Madeleine Verchères, aged fourteen!

Yes, we like to tell this story of Madeleine over and over.

We like to paint pictures of her, too, and to mould her figure in bronze; for we know right well that she is a type of the strong, brave, resourceful lassies who in all ranks of our national life, may ever be counted upon to stand to their posts, be the end what it may.

Gentlemen, hats off! The Canadian girl!

[Sidenote: Evelyne resented the summons to rejoin her father in New Zealand. Yet she came to see that the call to service was a call to true happiness.]

"Such a Treasure!"

BY

EILEEN O'CONNELL

"Evelyne, come to my room before you go to your singing lesson. I have had a most important letter from your father; the New Zealand mail came in this morning."

"Can I come now, Aunt Mary?" replied a clear voice, its owner appearing suddenly at the head of the stairs pinning on to a mass of sunny hair a very large hat. "I want to go early, for if I arrive first, I often get more than my regular time, and you know how greedy I am for new songs."

Mrs. Trevor did not reply; she walked slowly into her morning-room and stood at the window looking perplexed and serious, thinking nothing about her niece's lessons, and looking at, without seeing, the midsummer beauty of her garden. A few minutes later the door opened, and she turned to the young girl, who with a song on her lips danced merrily into the room.

At the sight of Mrs. Trevor's face she stopped suddenly, exclaiming, "Something is wrong! What has happened?"

"You are right, Eva, something has happened--something, my child, that will affect your whole life." With a falter in her voice the woman continued, "You are to leave me, Evelyne, and go out to New Zealand. You are needed in your father's house."

[Sidenote: "I Refuse to Go!"]

"To New Zealand?--I refuse to go."

"You have no choice in the matter, dearest. Your mother has become a confirmed invalid, and is incapable of looking after the children and the house. Your father has naturally thought of you."

"As a kind of servant to a heap of noisy boys, half of whom I never have seen even. I daresay it would be very convenient and very cheap to have me. However, I shall not go to that outlandish place they live at in New Zealand, and you must tell father so."

"But I cannot, Evie. There is no choice about it. Your parents have the first claim on you, remember."

"I deny that," said the girl passionately; "they cared so little about me that they were ready to give me to you and go to New Zealand without me; that fact, I think, ends their claims. And Auntie, having lived here for eight years, and being in every way happy, and with so much before me to make life worth living, how can they be so selfish as to wish to ruin my prospects and make me miserable?"

"Eva, Eva, don't jump to conclusions! Instead of believing that the worst motives compelled your father's decision, think it just possible that they were the highest. Put yourself out of the question for the moment and face facts. Your parents were _not_ willing to part with you; believe me, it was a bitter wrench to both to leave you behind. But settling up country in the colony was not an easy matter for my brother with his delicate wife and four children. Marjory was older than you, so of course more able to help with the boys, and knowing that his expenses would be very heavy and his means small, I offered to adopt you; for your sake, more than other considerations, I think, my offer was accepted. Since Marjory's death your mother has practically been alone, for servants are scarce and very expensive. Now, poor soul, her strength is at an end; she has developed an illness that involves the greatest care and rest. You see, darling, that this is no case for hesitation. The call comes to you, and you must answer and do your duty faithfully."

The girl buried her face in the sofa cushions, her hat lay on the floor.

"I hate children--especially boys," she said sullenly when she spoke. "Surely in eight years a doctor ought to be able to make enough to pay a housekeeper, if his wife can't look after his house."

"You don't understand how hard life is sometimes, or I think you would be readier to take up part of a burden that is dragging down a good and brave man."

"To live in an uncivilised country, where probably the people won't speak my own language----"

"Don't betray such absurd ignorance, Eva," replied Mrs. Trevor; "you must know that New Zealand is a British colony, inhabited mainly by our own people, who are as well educated and as well mannered as ourselves."

"And just when I was getting on so well with my singing! Mr. James said my voice would soon fill a concert hall, and all my hopes of writing and becoming a known author--everything dashed to the ground--every longing nipped in the bud! Oh! it is cruel, cruel!"

"I knew, dear child, that the blow would be severe; don't imagine that it will be easy for me to give you up. But knowing what lies before us, the thing to do is to prize every hour we are together, and then with courage go forward to meet the unknown future. The boys are growing up----"

"Hobbledehoys, you may be sure."

Mrs. Trevor smiled, but said nothing. "And in addition to them, there is the baby sister you have never seen."

"And never wish to," added Eva ungraciously.

"We shall have much to think of, and when once you have become used to the idea, I should strongly advise you to settle to some practical work that will help when you are forced to depend on yourself."

Eva did not reply. Mentally she was protesting or blankly refusing to give up her life of ease, of pleasures, and congenial study in exchange for the one offered her in the colony.

"Friends of your father are now home and expect to return in September; so, having arranged for you to accompany them, we must regard their arrangements as time limit. It is always best to know the worst, though, believe me, anticipation is often worse than realisation."

The sword had fallen, cutting off, as Evelyne Riley was fully convinced, every possibility of happiness on earth so far as she was concerned. Time seemed to fly on fairy wings; Mrs. Trevor made all necessary preparations, and before Evelyne realised that her farewell to England must be made, she stood on the deck of the outgoing steamer "Waimato" at the side of a stranger, waving her hand forlornly to the woman whose heart was sore at parting with one she had learned to look upon as her own child.

[Sidenote: In New Zealand]

Six weeks later, Eva landed at Wellington. The voyage had not interested her much, and she was glad to end it. She had read somewhere that it was usual to wear old clothes on board, but for landing to choose smart and becoming ones, and Eva had bestowed quite some thought on the subject. Her dark serge lay at the bottom of her trunk, and for the important occasion she decided on her most cherished frock and the new hat, which in Richmond she had worn on high-days and holidays. Certainly she looked very attractive. Almost sixteen, tall and very fair, Eva was a beautiful girl, and as the eyes of Dr. Riley fell on her, he wondered in amazement at the change that had taken place in the pale, slight child he had left with his sister. Could this really be Evelyne? If so, how was she going to suit in the simple surroundings to which she was going? He gazed in dismay at the expensive clothes and fashionable style of one who soon would need to patch and darn, to bake and cook, run the house on practical lines, and care for children.

Somewhat nervous and much excited, Eva allowed herself to be kissed and caressed, asking after her mother in a constrained fashion, for, try as she would, she bore a grudge against one who was the cause of her changed life.

A shadow overcast the doctor's face as he replied, "Your dear mother will not welcome you at our home as we had hoped. She lies very ill in a hospital at present, awaiting a severe operation, the success of which may save her life--God grant it may--but the boys and Babs are wild with excitement and longing to see you. We ought to reach 'Aroha' before they are in bed. It is only nine o'clock, and we can go part of the way by train; then we shall have a long buggy drive through the bush."

That day Eva never forgot. Travelling with one who was practically a stranger to her and yet her nearest relative, the girl felt embarrassed. She wanted to hear about her future surroundings and ask questions about the children, but she found it hard to disguise her disappointment in having to leave her old home and to pretend enthusiasm about her brothers and sister; she feared that her father would read her thoughts and be hurt and offended, so relapsed into silence. Once they left the railway they said goodbye to civilisation, Eva felt positive.

The country was at its loveliest; the early summer brought a beauty of its own. Rains had washed every leaf and refreshed each growing thing. Great trees, veritable giants, reared their heads proudly towards the sky, bushes were in full leaf, the ground on either side of the road was carpeted with thick moss that had grown for long years without being disturbed. From out of a cloudless sky the sun shone brilliantly, and the travellers gladly exchanged the high-road for the shelter of the bush. The day was undoubtedly hot, and Eva in her holiday raiment felt oppressed and weary before the carriage came in sight of the first houses that comprised the growing little township in which her father held an important position as medical man.

The style of house brought a curve of contempt to the girl's lips, but she offered no opinions. Suddenly, without a remark, her father checked the horses, as a small group came to a halt in the middle of the road and began waving their hats and shouting wildly.

"There's a welcome for you, Eva!"

"Who are they? I mean--how did those boys know I was coming?"

"They are your brothers, dear; jolly little chaps every one of them, even though they are a bunch of rough robins."

Eva shivered; her brothers--those raggety tags!

They presented a picturesque though unkempt appearance. Jack was eating a slice of bread and jam; Dick had Babs--somewhat in a soiled condition from watering the garden--on his back; Charlie, the incorrigible, with a tear in his knickers and a brimless hat on the back of his curly head, was leaping about like an excited kangaroo.

[Sidenote: "An Impossible Crowd!"]

The doctor held out his arms to the three-year-old little girl, who looked shyly at the pretty lady and then promptly hid her face. Eva's heart sank; she knew she ought to say or do something, but no words of tenderness came to her lips. The child might be attractive if clean, but it looked neglected, while the boys were what she described as "hobbledehoys." "An impossible crowd," she decided with a shudder, and yet her life was to be spent in their midst.

"Leave your sister in peace, you young rascals!" said the doctor; "she is tired. Dick, put on the kettle; Eva will be glad of some tea, I know. Welcome home, dear daughter. Mother and I have longed for you so often, and my hopes run high now that you have come. I trust you will be a second mother to the boys and Babs."

"I will try," Eva replied in a low voice.

Her father noticed her depression, so wisely said little more, but going out to see a patient, left her to settle into her new surroundings in her own fashion.