We are, you see, women--and we live at Silverdale." Her aunt smiled again.

"How long is it since the plow crossed the Red River, and what is Manitoba now?
How did those mile furrows come there, and who drove the road that takes the wheat out through the granite of the Superior shore?
It was more than their appetites that impelled those men, my dear.

Still, it is scarcely wise to expect too much when one meets them, for though one could feel it is presumptuous to forgive its deficiencies, the Berserk type of manhood is not conspicuous for its refinement." For no apparent reason Maud Barrington evaded her aunt's gaze.

"You," she said dryly, "have forgiven one of that type a good deal already, but, at least, we have never seen him when the fit was upon him." Miss Barrington laughed.

"Still, I have no doubt that, sooner or later, you will enjoy the spectacle." Just then, a light wagon came up behind them, and when one of the hired men helped them in they swept out of the cool shade into the dust and glare of the prairie, and when some little time later, with the thud of hoofs and rattle of wheels softened by the bleaching sod, they rolled down a rise, there was spread out before them evidence of man's activity.
Acre by acre, gleaming chocolate brown against the gray and green of the prairie, the wheat loam rolled away, back to the ridge, over it, and on again.