Prescott of Saskatchewan. Harold Bindloss
That strikes me as significant. You see, I can make a good guess at her motives; I’ve suffered from that kind of thing. She evidently considers you dangerous. Don’t you feel flattered?”
“Mrs. Colston has no cause for uneasiness; I could wish she had.”
“Then I’m glad my friends are going. It will save you trouble, Jack. A match between Miss Hurst and you is out of the question.”
“I’ve felt that, so far as my merits go, which is the best way I can put it,” said Prescott gravely. “You speak as if there were stronger reasons.”
“There are; I’m a little surprised you don’t see them. Your merits—I suppose you mean your character and appearance—should go a long way; we’ll admit that you’re a man who might have some attraction for even such a girl as Miss Hurst seems to be, if she didn’t pause to think. Unfortunately for you, however, it’s her duty to her relatives to make a brilliant match and I’ve no doubt she recognizes it. Girls of her station—you had better face the truth, Jack—never marry beneath them.”
“But a man may.”
“A fair shot,” laughed Jernyngham. “I can’t resent it. But the man generally suffers, and the price is a heavier one when the girl has to pay. There’s a penalty for breaking caste.”
“You seem to tolerate worse things in the old country.”
“Not often, after all—you hear of the flagrant offenders, and though I dare say there are others who are not found out, the bulk against whom there’s no reproach, excite no attention. But we’ll let that go. I want you to understand. You’re right, Jack; it’s your position that’s all wrong. Girls of the kind we’re considering are brought up in luxury, taught every accomplishment that’s economically useless, led to believe that every comfort they need will somehow be supplied. They’re charming in their proper environment, but it’s a cruelty to take them out of it. They’d be helpless in this grim country, where you must work for all you want and do without many things even then. Can you imagine Miss Hurst standing over a hot stove all day and spending her evenings mending your worn-out shirts?”
Prescott looked up, his face set hard.
“You have said enough.”
There was silence after this, until a big man dressed in old brown overalls stopped his horse near-by.
“I’ve fixed up with Farrer to send over his gasoline tractor to do the fall breaking,” he said. “Saw the telephone construction people yesterday and told them I’d let them have two teams to haul in their poles. It’s going to pay us better than keeping them for plowing.”
“Quite right, Wandle,” replied Jernyngham, and the fellow nodded to Prescott and rode away.
He lived on the next half-section and assisted Jernyngham in the management of his ranch, besides sharing the cost of labor, implements and horses with him, though Prescott had cause for believing that the arrangement was not to his friend’s benefit.
“You’d be better off if you didn’t work with that man,” he said.
“It’s possible,” Jernyngham agreed. “I know he robs me, but he saves me bother. Besides, if we decided to separate and came to a settlement, I dare say he would claim that I was in his debt; and he might be right. I’m no good at business. Ranching I don’t mind, but I could never learn how to buy and sell.”
“It’s a very useful ability,” Prescott rejoined with some dryness. “But as I want to be home for supper, I must get on.”
He unhitched his horse and mounted, and Jernyngham walked with him to the gate in the wire fence.
“You’ll remember what I told you, Jack,” he said meaningly.
“Yes,” Prescott answered with a stern face. “I suppose I ought to thank you. I’m not likely to forget.”
He rode home and arriving in time for supper took his place at the table with mixed feelings, foremost among which was keen regret. Except for the company of his Scandinavian hired man and the latter’s hard-featured wife, he had lived alone in Spartan simplicity, thinking of nothing but his farm; and his guests’ arrival had revealed to him the narrowness of his life. They had brought him new desires and thoughts, besides recalling ideas he had long forgotten, and among other things had made the evening meal a pleasant function to be looked forward to, instead of an opportunity for hurriedly consuming needed food.
The spotless cloth and the flowers on the table were novelties, but they pleased his eye. Colston with his cheerful, well-bred air and fastidiousness in dress, talked interestingly; Mrs. Colston with her gracious dignity, and Muriel, who was wholly alluring, seemed to fill the room with charm. It was perhaps all the more enjoyable because Prescott had been accustomed to pleasant society in Montreal, before he abandoned it with other amenities and went out to a life of stern toil and frugality in the grim Northwest.
He said little, though it was the last time they would gather tranquilly round his board—they were to leave for the railroad early on the morrow. A heavy melancholy oppressed him, though bright sunlight streamed into the room and an invigorating breeze swept in through the open window, outside which tall wheat and blue flax rolled away. He could not force himself to talk, though he laughed at Colston’s anecdotes, and it was a relief when the meal was over. Half an hour later he overtook Muriel strolling along the edge of the wheat.
“Have you recovered yet?” she asked. “You looked very downcast.”
“That’s how I feel. It strikes me as perfectly natural. I’ll be alone to-morrow.”
“But you were alone before we came.”
“Very true; I didn’t seem to mind it then. I was happy thinking how I could put in a bigger crop or raise another bunch of stock. My mind was fixed on the plow. But you have lifted me out of the furrow. I guess it’s weak, but somehow I hate the thought of going back to the clods.”
Remembering Jernyngham’s remarks, it struck him that this was not the line he should have taken, and for a moment or two Muriel turned her head. Then she looked at him, smiling.
“I shall be very sorry to leave, and I believe Florence and Harry feel the same.”
“But you are going to British Columbia and down the Pacific Coast. You will revel in new experiences and interesting sights.”
“I suppose so,” she answered, rather listlessly. “We shall get a glimpse of a new country, but that will be all. On the steamers we’ll meet much the kind of people we are accustomed to, and no doubt we’ll stay at hotels built especially for luxurious tourists. You see, we take our usual environment along with us.”
“But isn’t that what you like?”
“I don’t know; perhaps it ought to be.” Muriel paused and looked up at him with candid eyes. “You hinted that we had given you a new and wider outlook—or brought back the one you used to have, which is what you must have meant. You don’t seem to realize that you have done much the same thing to me.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“It shouldn’t be difficult. You know the kind of people I have hitherto met, and how we spend our time in a round of amusements that lead to nothing, with all that could jar on one carefully kept away. This is the first time I’ve come into touch with strenuous, normal life.”
“And it doesn’t seem to have frightened you?”
“No,” she said with a smile; “I’m not in the least afraid—why should I be? I must have more courage than you think, but does one need a great deal of it to live here?”
He looked at her in grave admiration. There was a hint of pride in her pose, and her eyes were calm.
“I believe if ever a time of stress came, you wouldn’t shrink. But this is