Withered leaves fluttered down, and the smell of a burning heap hung in the damp air.
The touches of brown and gold in the landscape hinted that time was passing.

Winter was already advancing across the wastes of Northern Canada and the geese and ducks were flying south.

Festing heard in fancy the brant's changing cry that always filled him with unrest, but the letter in his hand was a clearer call.

Kerr had offered him a contract for hauling a quantity of telegraph posts and logs across the snow, and his calculations indicated that the work ought to be profitable.
It would keep him occupied all winter; one could buy horses cheap when harvest was over and sell them advantageously when plowing began in the spring.

Besides, the money he earned would help him to stock his farm and furnish his homestead well.
He had loitered in England long enough.