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UC-NRLF 


^B    72M    m^ 


MANITOBA 
CHORE  BOY 


THE  EXPERIENCES  OF 
A  YOUNG  EMIGRANT 
TOLD  FROM  HIS  LETTERS 

By 
EAWHAKTON  GlLL,.i^ 

flonoraiy  CamoD  of  StJoWs  CatliedtalWuDip^ 

WITH  ILLUStRAtlONS 
REPRODUCED  PROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 


0    •    • 


z^?/  (Sfi  -«i*  .  &J 


A    MANITOBA   CHORE    BOY 


:i 


Phoiol  IR.  Stock. 

A    BUCK    INDIAN    SELLING    BUFFALO    HORNS. 


A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 


THE     EXPERIENCES     OF     A     YOUNG    EMIGRANT 
TOLD    FROM     HIS     LETTERS. 


BY 

E.  A.  WHARTON  pILL.   M.A.. 

Honorary  Canon  of  St.  John*  s  Cathedral,   Winniptg, 
Author  of  ** Low  in  Manitoba**   (S*c. 


IVith  illustrations  reproduud  from  photographs. 


LONDON  : 

THE   RELIGIOUS   TRACT  SOCIETY, 
4  Bouverie  St.   and   65    St.  Paul's   Churchyard,   E.C. 

1912. 


G5 


CONTENTS 


Letter  No.  i. 

Quebec,  April  13,  1911  . . 

Letter  No.  2. 

Winnipeg,  April  16,  1911 

Letter  No.  3. 

Nr.  Minneqosa,  April  21,  1911 


PAGE 

I 


7 

14 


Letter  No.  4. 

Nr.  Minn^dosa,  May  20,  1911   . . 

..      22 

Letter  No.  5. 

MiNNEDosA, /i#n^  22,  1911 

..      32 

Letter  No.  6. 

MiNNEDosA,  July  28,  1911 

..      38 

Letter  No.  7. 

MiNNEDOSA,  August  l8,   I9II 

..     44 

Letter  No.  8. 

MiNNEDOSA,  September  23,  1911  . . 

..     51 

Letter  No.  9. 

MiNNEDOSA,  October  19,  1911 

..     57 

Letter  No.  10. 

MiNNEDOSA,  November  28,  1911  . . 

..     64 

Letter  No.  11. 

MiNNEDOSA,  December  29,  1911  . . 

..     71 

Letter  No.  12. 

MiNNEDOSA,  January  27,  1912     . . 

..    77 

M208907 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


A  BUCK  INDIAN  SELLING  BUFFALO  HORNS.     Frontispiece 

Facing  Page 
A  TEMPTING  DISH  I     REAL  FRIENDS  .  .  .  .       l8 


THE  CHORE    BOY's  HOMESTEAD 24 

A     TYPICAL    cowboy's    BEDROOM    ON    A    CATTLE 

RANCH   IN   SASKATCHEWAN 30 

HAYING  BY  MEANS  OF   A  '*  SWEEP  "  :     A  BASKET 

HAY   RACK,   WHICH  HOLDS  ONE  TON               .  .  38 

READY  FOR    THE    MORNING    GALLOP:     *' OFF  FOR 

THE   day" 46 

A  BAND  OF  CATTLE  COMING  HOME  FOR  THE  MILKING  52 

THROWING      A      HORSE      WITH      LARIAT!      HORSE- 
BREAKING   BY  THE   AID  OF  THE   CHUTE        .  .  58 

THE   THRESHING 64 

MILKING  TIME  ON  A  RANCH*.     SELLING  WOOD  IN 

TOWN 72 

CHRISTMAS  TIME — THE  ICE   HARVEST        .  .            .  .  74 

AN  ONTARIO  ROAD  IN  MIDWINTER             .  .            .  .  7^ 


»      >      » 


A    Manitoba   Chore    Boy 

LETTER  No.  1 


My  Dear  Mother, 


Quebec, 
April  13, 1911. 


WE  reached  here  safely  at  8  o'clock  this 
morning,  and  I  have  an  hour  left — 
it  is  now  2  o'clock  in  the  afternoon — in 
which  to  write  you  a  letter  about  our 
voyage,  and  what  I  have  seen  of  Quebec. 
I  hope  you  got  the  postcard  I  posted  at 
Moville.  I  am  afraid  it  was  not  very 
cheerful,  but  all  the  emigrants  saying 
**  good-bye  "  to  their  friends  at  Liverpool 
just  when  we  started  made  me  feel  rather 
queer,  and  I  never  knew  how  much  I  loved 
home  and  England — and  mother — till  I 
stood  on  deck  seeing  the  old  land  grow 
dimmer  and  dimmer  in  the  distance. 
Neither  were  many  of  us  very  cheerful 
for  a  day  or  two  on  the  open  sea.  The 
sailors  said  we  were  having  a  good  time, 
but  I  thought  it  was  quite  stormy  ;  and 
we  left  a  good  deal  behind  besides  the  old 
country.  On  the  third  morning,  however, 
I  felt  quite  well,  but  very  thin  and  hungry  ; 
and  after  that  I  really  enjoyed  the  voyage 
very  much.     I  was  very  glad  that  I  came 


'  "Sr* '  '  A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

second  cabin  instead  of  steerage,  for  if  it 
did  cost  eight  pounds  instead  of  five,  it 
was  more  than  worth  the  difference  between 
the  two.  There  were  several  hundred 
foreign  steerage  passengers,  GaUcians,  I 
think  they  called  them — some  kind  of 
Austrians  or  Poles  anyway  ;  and  though 
these  were  kept  mostly  separate  from  the 
English,  still  they  were  pretty  close  neigh- 
bours, and  rather  wild  and  strange-looking, 
and  smelling. 

We  second  cabin  had  more  freedom  on 
deck,  besides  having  good  big  rooms  for 
smoking  and  music — the  smoking  room  was 
always  full ;  the  music  room  was  very 
comfortable,  and  lots  of  singing,  and  some 
very  good  singers  and  players  amongst  us. 
We  had  really  first-class  concerts  on  two 
nights,  at  which  collections  were  taken  up 
for  some  homes  for  sailors'  widows  and 
orphans.  I  sang  "  Under  the  old  Apple- 
tree,"  and  everybody  joined  in  the  chorus 
— all  very  free-and-easy  and  jolly.  After 
we  left  Ireland  the  sailors  opened  the 
hatches  into  the  hold,  and  four  "  stowaways" 
crawled  out — just  like  a  B.O.P.'s  story. 
They  were  Liverpool  street  boys,  who  had 
hidden  away  to  steal  a  passage  to  Canada. 
They  got  a  good  "  going  over  "  from  the 
captain,  but  they  were  not  unkindly 
treated ;  but  they  had  to  do  what  work 
they  could,  to  make  up  for  their  passage, 


STOWAWAYS  3 

and  they  were  set  to  keep  the  decks  clear  of 
all  rubbish  and  litter.  If  any  one  dropped 
orange  peel  or  bits  of  paper  on  deck,  it  was 
their  job  to  pick  them  up  and  keep  every- 
where tidy.  On  the  Sunday  we  were  at 
sea  we  had  church  in  the  first-class  saloon — 
first  and  second-class  passengers  together. 
There  was  no  clergyman  on  board,  so  the 
captain  read  the  service  and  a  short  sermon 
in  a  straightforward  sailor  sort  of  way,  and 
the  singing  was  splendid — old  hymns,  old 
tunes— and  everybody  sang.  One  of  the 
steerage  fellows  told  me  that  a  Salvation 
Army  chap  took  a  service  with  them — he 
said  it  was  rather  "  rummy "  after  the 
parish  church  at  his  village  at  home,  but 
very  earnest  and  hearty,  and  a  great  deal 
better  than  no  Sunday  service  at  all. 

The  food  on  board  was  very  good,  and 
plenty  of  it.  The  three  regular  meals  and 
some  bread  and  cheese  for  supper,  if  you 
wanted  it.  I  always  did — after  those  three 
blank  days  at  first. 

For  breakfast  we  had  porridge,  fish, 
bacon,  and  marmalade  or  jam  ;  for  dinner, 
soup,  fish,  meat,  pudding  and  bread  and 
cheese,  and  a  good  English  tea,  so  we  did  not 
do  at  all  badly.  There  was  great  excite- 
ment this  morning  when  we  woke  up  to  find 
we  were  in  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  everybody 
was  on  deck  to  catch  the  first  sight  of  Quebec. 
The  old  city  looked  very  beautiful  in  the 


4  A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

morning  sun  as  we  slowly  steamed  up  the 
river,  and  one  of  the  stewards  showed  me 
"Wolfe's  Cove,"  where  General  Wolfe 
landed  before  the  battle,  and  the  Heights 
of  Abraham.  There  is  a  large  house  with 
beautiful  trees  and  lawns  near  Wolfe's 
Cove,  where  the  Lieutenant-Governor  of  the 
province  of  Quebec  lives. 

I  have  been  very  busy  since  we  landed, 
going  about  with  one  of  the  other  fellows 
to  see  as  much  as  we  could  before  we 
started  again  for  Montreal. 

We  got  on  an  electric  street  car,  quite 
close  to  the  landing-place — down  in  this 
part  of  the  city  the  streets  were  very  narrow 
and  old-fashioned — sometimes  only  just 
wide  enough  for  the  carts  and  carriages 
to  let  the  cars  go  by.  After  going  some 
distance,  however,  the  street  widened,  and 
we  went  up  quite  a  steep  hill  that  brought 
us  to  the  Upper  Town,  where  there  were 
plenty  of  very  good  shops  and  fine  buildings. 
We  got  off  the  car  here  and  walked  about 
to  see  the  sights. 

The  finest  sight  of  all  was  the  Chateau 
Frontenac — it  looks  like  a  beautiful  castle 
standing  high  on  the  cliff  overlooking 
the  river,  but  really  it  is  a  huge  hotel 
belonging  to  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway. 
There  is  a  terrace  walk  all  along  the  front 
of  the  chateau,  and  from  this  you  can 
see  a  long  way  down  the  river,  while  if  you 


QUEBEC  6 

look  straight  down  over  the  railings  you 
see  the  roofs  of  the  houses  in  the  Lower 
Town. 

From  the  "  Chateau  "  we  went  to  the 
Church  of  England  Cathedral.  It  is  not  a 
bit  like  what  we  call  a  cathedral  at  home — 
just  an  ordinary,  old-fashioned  church,  but 
it  made  me  think  of  home.  There  were  a 
good  many  marble  tablets  on  the  walls, 
and  some  of  them  were  in  memory  of 
English  officers  who  died  out  here,  fighting 
in  the  old  wars.  After  leaving  the  cathedral 
we  asked  the  way  to  Wolfe's  monument, 
and  were  told  to  take  the  electric  street  car 
that  went  close  by  the  cathedral  gates. 
The  car  took  us  down  a  very  fine  street, 
with  handsome  houses  and  some  big  build- 
ings— just  as  good  as  we  have  in  a  large 
town  at  home ;  but  I  was  rather  disappointed 
when  we  came  to  the  Heights  of  Abraham. 
It  was  only  a  biggish,  flat-looking  field, 
with  some  trees  in  it.  The  monument  was 
all  right — not  very  big,  very  plain,  and  a 
very  simple,  inscription,  just  "  Here  fell 
Wolfe — victorious  "  and  the  date.  That 
single  word  "  victorious  "  is  fine — it  tells 
the  whole  story.  From  the  "  Heights " 
we  took  the  car  back  to  the  Lower  Town, 
where  we  have  just  had  a  very  decent 
dinner  for  a  shilling,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
we  shall  be  on  board  again  and  on  our  way 
to  Montreal.     You  must  not  expect  another 


6  A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

long  letter  till  we  get  to  Winnipeg — ^just 
a  picture  post-card,  perhaps,  posted  on  the 
train.  I  am  sending  you  one  or  two  photos 
of  Quebec.  After  I  get  settled  in  Manitoba 
I  shall  be  able  to  send  you  lots  of  my  own 
taking,  with  the  camera  Uncle  Jack  gave 
me.  The  chap  that  is  with  me  does  not 
like  Quebec — he  says  it  is  not  his  idea  of  a 
British  colony — it  looks  foreign,  the  houses 
are  French,  the  people  are  French,  and  they 
talk  French ;  but  I  tell  him  he  need  not 
mind,  it  is  the  old  flag  that  waves  on  the 
citadel,  and  that  is  enough  for  me.  Now 
good-bye,  mother,  dear. 

Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester. 


LETTER  No.  2 

Winnipeg, 
April  16,  1911. 
My  Dear  Mother, 

AT  last  I  am  in  the  capital  of  the  great 
West,  and  am  nearly  at  the  end  of 
my  travels.  I  am  not  sorry,  for  the  railway 
journey  is  far  more  disagreeable  than  the 
sea  voyage,  except  those  three  first  days ; 
and  I  was  very  sorry  for  the  poor  women, 
who  had  a  lot  of  little  children  to  look  after 
on  the  train.  The  first-class  people  had 
beautiful  railway  carriages,  with  a  dining 
car  and  sleeping  berths,  and  I  daresay  were 
almost  as  comfortable  as  if  they  were  in  a 
good  hotel ;  but  we  second-classes  could 
not  expect  that,  and  we  did  not  get  it. 
There  was  no  real  hardship,  only  it  was 
uncomfortable  and  tiring. 

At  Montreal  I  bought  a  basket  of  food 
to  last  till  we  reached  Winnipeg.  I  paid 
six  shillings  for  it.  It  contained  bread, 
butter,  jam,  canned  beef,  cake,  tea  and 
sugar ;  and  was  enough,  for  I  was  not  nearly 
so  hungry  on  the  train.  The  "  cars  "  were 
rather  crowded,  and  the  intermediates  and 
English  steerage  all  came  the  same  class. 
The  Galicians,  or  whatever  they  were, 
were  put  in  two  carriages  by  themselves, 
fortunately  for  us.  The  sleeping  accommo- 
dation was  rough,  bare  berths  were  fixed  up, 


8  A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

each  for  two,  but  there  were  no  mattresses, 
and  some  of  the  fellows  had  brought  no 
blankets  of  any  kind,  and  with  the  hardness 
of  the  berth  and  the  jolting  of  the  train, 
were  pretty  stiff  and  chilly  in  the 
morning.  I  was  very  glad  of  the  two 
heavy  rugs  that  I  had  with  me.  As  I  was 
in  a  lower  berth,  and  could  see  out  of  the 
window,  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  the  country 
we  passed  in  the  night,  for  there  was  a  full 
moon,  and  I  woke  up  a  great  many  times. 
I  must  describe  the  journey  as  shortly  as  I 
can,  for  I  want  to  tell  you  most  about 
Winnipeg.  The  whole  journey  seems  only 
to  have  left  four  or  five  distinct  impressions 
on  my  mind,  in  something  like  this  order — 
first,  a  long  stretch  of  country,  not  so  very 
unlike  home,  farm-houses,  trees  and  orchards, 
ploughed  fields  and  meadows,  with  every 
few  miles  a  country  village,  then  followed 
a  long  run  through  a  hilly,  rocky  country 
with  fir  or  pine  woods,  and  for  a  good 
distance  a  wide  river  not  far  from  the 
railway.  The  river — I  think  it  was  the 
Ottawa — was  very  beautiful,  with  its  high 
banks  covered  with  evergreen  trees,  while 
floating  down  it  were  huge  rafts  of  logs, 
with  little  huts  on  them,  or  tents,  and  men 
to  pilot  them  along.  At  last  we  came 
in  sight  of  some  part  of  Lake  Superior. 
We  would  run  for  quite  a  long  way  in  full 
sight  of  the  lake,  with  its  waters  shining  in 


WINNIPEG  9 

the  sun  with  here  and  there  Httle  rocky 
islands,  and  then  we  would  be  back  in 
the  forests  again.  It  was  beautiful,  but 
there  was  such  a  lot  of  it,  and  it  was  so 
lonely  and  lifeless — not  a  bird  or  beast  to  be 
seen.  The  last  stretch  of  our  journey 
was  in  the  night,  but  by  the  moonlight  it 
still  seemed  to  be  rocks  and  mountains, 
forest  and  lake,  till  we  got  nearly  to 
Winnipeg,  when  we  came  into  a  flat 
country,  with  openings  in  the  woods  and 
occasional  farm-houses.  We  got  into 
Winnipeg  at  about  9  o'clock  this  morning, 
and  the  first  thing  Jack  Dalton  (that's  the 
fellow  who  was  with  me  at  Quebec)  and  I 
did  was  to  go  to  a  restaurant,  where  we  got 
a  good  breakfast  for  a  shilling. 

We  then  went  down  to  the  Emigration 
Office  near  the  station,  to  try  and  find  out 
where  we  had  better  go  to  look  for  farm 
work.  We  found  most  of  our  fellow  train 
passengers  there — pretty  thick  on  the  ground 
too.  Emigrants  who  wish  can  stay  there 
for  nothing  till  they  go  out  to  the  country 
places,  and  there  are  berths  for  them  to 
sleep  in,  and  stoves  and  things  for  them 
to  prepare  their  own  food.  Jack  and  I 
decided,  however,  that  if  we  had  to  stay  a 
night  we  would  go  to  an  hotel,  as  we  each 
had  nearly  thirty  shillings  left  of  the  two 
pounds  apiece  with  which  we  left  home. 
There  is  a  Government  Employment  Office  in 


10        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

connection  with  the  emigrant  building,  and 
there  we  found  a  good  many  of  the  English 
fellows  who  came  over  with  us,  waiting 
till  the  clerk  in  charge  could  attend  to  them. 
The  clerk  was  writing  at  a  desk  and  paid 
no  attention  to  us  for  a  goodish  while, 
and  Jack  began  to  get  quite  indignant  at 
being  kept  standing  so  long.  At  last  he 
put  his  books  away  and  turned  round  to  us 
with  a  big  sheet  of  paper  in  his  hand. 
"  Now,  you  fellows,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a 
list  here  of  farmers  who  want  men  or  boys. 
I  am  going  to  read  out  who  the  farmer  is, 
where  he  lives,  what  he  wants,  and  the 
wages  he  will  give,  and  when  any  one 
hears  what  he  thinks  will  suit  him  he  had 
better  speak  up,  and  I  will  give  him  a  card 
of  directions  how  to  get  there."  No  one 
seemed  very  anxious  to  take  the  first  places 
he  read  out,  the  wages  were  so  much  smaller 
than  they  all  expected.  Some  of  the  grown- 
up men  had  letters  from  an  office  in  London 
— not  a  Government  office — telling  them 
that  men  without  experience  could  get 
forty  dollars  (about  eight  pounds)  a  month 
as  soon  as  they  got  to  Manitoba.  The 
highest  wages  the  clerk  read  out  was  thirty 
dollars  a  month  for  men  used  to  farm 
work,  while  for  boys,  from  fourteen  to 
twenty  years  old,  it  ran  from  five  to  fifteen 
dollars  in  most  cases. 

A  good  many  of  the  men  went  away. 


OUR    FIRST    PLAGE  11 

growling  that  the  whole  emigration  business 
was  a  swindle,  and  that  they  could  make 
more  money  at  home.  The  younger  ones, 
however,  had  most  of  them  only  a  little 
money  left,  and  were  afraid  of  being 
*'  stony  broke  "  in  a  strange  place,  so  one 
by  one  they  took  the  places  that  sounded 
most  promising  and  got  their  cards  of 
directions. 

There  were  two  fellows  wanted  for  a 
place  called  Minnedosa,  so  Jack  and  I 
decided  to  take  them  and  keep  together. 
One  was  for  a  stout  lad  of  eighteen  or 
nineteen  to  do  farm  work,  wages  fifteen 
dollars  a  month — that's  Jack,  and  the 
other  for  a  willing  boy  of  sixteen  or  seven- 
teen, to  do  the  "  chores  "  round  a  farm, 
wages  ten  dollars  a  month — and  that's  me. 
I  don't  know  what  "  chores  "  are,  and  when 
I  asked  the  clerk  if  I  could  do  them  with- 
out experience,  he  laughed,  and  said,  "You'll 
be  all  right ;  the  *  chores  '  are  everything 
that  everybody  else  doesn't  do."  We  got 
our  cards,  found  out  that  there  would  not 
be  a  train  to  Minnedosa  till  8  o'clock  to- 
morrow morning,  and  then  went  out  to  see 
all  we  could  of  Winnipeg.  First,  however, 
we  went  to  an  hotel,  to  secure  a  room  for 
to-night  and  to  have  a  bath  and  brush  our 
clothes,  for  we  both  looked  rather  grubby 
and  generally  "  tough,"  as  they  say  here, 
after  our  long  railway  journey.     By  the 


12       A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

time  this  was  done  it  was  12  o'clock,  and  the 
hotel  bell  rang  for  dinner.  It  was  a  treat 
to  sit  down  again  to  a  table  with  a  nice 
white  cloth,  with  everything  fresh  and 
clean  and  someone  to  wait  on  you.  The 
dinner,  too,  was  a  great  improvement 
on  the  "grub "  baskets  we  had  on  the  train. 
We  hardly  knew  how  to  start  on  our 
sight-seeing,  but  decided  to  take  the 
electric  street  cars  the  full  length  of  Main 
Street,  "  the  "  big  business  street,  first,  and 
then  to  go  on  some  of  the  branch  lines. 
We  had  all  the  afternoon,  and  each  separate 
trip  only  costs  five  cents,  or  twopence- 
halfpenny. 

Main  Street  is  a  very  wide,  handsome 
street ;  there  are  a  lot  of  old,  shabby-looking 
buildings  near  the  railway  station,  but 
farther  down  the  shops  and  banks  and 
offices  are  as  fine  as  in  the  market-place 
at  home,  and  the  windows  are  full  of 
beautiful  things — so  somebody  must  make 
plenty  of  money,  if  I  am  only  to  have  ten 
dollars  a  month.  There  were  a  great  many 
people  walking  along  the  pavements,  most 
of  them  well-dressed,  and  a  decent-looking 
crowd,  but  in  a  great  hurry,  as  if  they 
expected  to  miss  a  train.  The  only  people 
not  in  a  hurry  were  groups  of  foreign- 
looking  men  at  the  street  corners — emi- 
grants, I  expect,  who  had  not  got  to  work — 
and  some  roughish-looking  fellows  hanging 


ST.    JOHN'S    COLLEGE  13 

about  the  poorer  class  of  hotels,  and  they 
did  not  look  fond  of  work.  After  "  doing  " 
Main  Street  we  took  several  side  trips  and 
saw  plenty  of  fine  houses,  big  public  build- 
ings and  churches.  Our  last  trip  was  out 
to  St.  John's,  to  see  the  Church  of  England 
College  and  Cathedral.  The  college  is  a 
good-sized  place,  like  a  biggish  school  at 
home,  but  the  cathedral  is  just  a  little  old- 
fashioned  village  church,  built  long  ago 
by  the  early  missionaries,  when  there  were 
only  a  few  white  people  here  ;  but  it  has  a 
nice  graveyard,  with  plenty  of  trees,  and  is 
close  to  the  Red  River. 

As  our  train  leaves  early  in  the  morning. 
Jack  and  I  have  just  paid  our  hotel  bill 
before  going  to  bed — six  shillings  each — 
for  supper,  bed  and  breakfast. 

You  had  better  just  address  my  letters  to 
the  post-office,  Minnedosa,  Manitoba,  till 
you  get  my  next  letter,  where  I  hope  I 
shall  be  settled  down  for  a  year  to  the  life 
of  a  "  chore  boy." 

Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester. 


LETTER  No.  3 

c/o  B.  Gregory,  Esq., 
The  Hoe  Farm, 
Nr.  Minnedosa,  Manitoba, 

April  21,  1911. 

My  Dear  Mother, 

'VT'OU  will  see  by  the  address  that  I  am 
*  on  the  way  to  be  a  Manitoba  farmer — 
I  am  on  a  farm.  I  am  also  learning  what 
*'  chores  "  are,  though  I  expect  it  will  take 
all  this  letter  to  tell  you  about  my  journey 
from  Winnipeg  and  my  difficulties  in 
Minnedosa.  All  I  will  say  about  The  Hoe 
Farm  and  Mr.  Gregory  is  that  they  are  both 
all  right,  and  I  think  I  shall  like  them  both 
very  much. 

The  day  we  were  in  Winnipeg  was  warm 
and  bright — the  next  morning  it  was 
snowing — on  April  17.  However,  we  went 
to  the  station  in  the  hotel  "  bus,"  and  long 
before  we  got  to  our  journey's  end  the 
sun  was  shining  again,  and  most  of  the  snow 
melted.  We  showed  the  cards  we  got  at 
the  emigration  office  to  the  man  at  the 
ticket  place,  and  I  think  we  only  had  to  pay 
about  half  fare,  as  we  were  emigrants. 

The  first  few  miles  from  Winnipeg  was 
very  uninteresting — nothing  but  long 
stretches  of  dull,  brown,  dead-looking  grass 
as  far  as  you  could  see  on  both  sides,  and  it 

u 


A    NEW    FRIEND  15 

looked  as  wet  and  swampy  as  the  Garden  of 
Eden  in  that  book  of  Dickens  you  got  me 
to  read  when  I  first  wanted  to  go  to  Canada. 
After  a  while,  however,  it  improved,  and 
we  could  see  men  working  in  the  fields,  and 
here  and  there  Httle  log  houses  and  farm 
buildings. 

The  train  did  not  stop  till  we  got  to 
Portage  La  Prairie,  and  there  we  left  the 
main  line  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway, 
and  branched  off  on  to  the  Manitoba  and 
North- Western.  Portage  La  Prairie  looked 
quite  a  nice  little  town  from  the  train,  and 
there  seemed  to  be  plenty  of  trees  all  about 
it — though  the  trees  had  not  a  leaf  on  them ; 
in  fact,  the  whole  country  has  a  dead, 
dull  look  about  it,  except  the  people,  and 
they  seem  cheerful  and  lively  enough. 
But  you  know,  mother,  everybody  seems 
to  talk  to  everybody  else,  whether  he  knows 
him  or  not.  A  man  we  had  never  seen 
before,  and  who  looked  like  a  respectable 
farm  labourer,  sat  down  in  the  seat  facing 
me  and  Jack,  and  asked  us  when  we  landed 
— we  hadn't  said  we  were  English  at  all, 
but  he  said  he  knew  by  our  boots  !  Jack 
didn't  like  it,  and  turned  and  looked  out  of 
the  window,  and  took  no  notice  of  him. 

However,  he  seemed  to  be  quite  pleasant 
and  kind,  so  I  answered  all  his  questions, 
and  there  were  a  great  many  of  them. 
Then  he  started  to  talk  about  himself  and 


16       A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

his  farm,  and  what  a  lot  of  horses  and  cows 
he  had ;  he  wasn't  a  farm  labourer  at  all, 
but  had  a  big  farm  of  his  own  !  After  we 
left  Portage  La  Prairie  we  stopped  at 
stations  every  nine  or  ten  miles.  Most  of 
them  were  just  little  places  with  only  a  few 
houses,  but  two  of  them  were  good-sized 
villages  with  good  brick  buildings,  and  we 
could  see  from  the  train  what  looked  like 
schools  or  some  kind  of  chapels,  but  nothing 
like  a  village  church  at  home — for  every- 
thing looked  so  new.  At  last,  when  we  were 
getting  hungry  and  tired  of  the  train,  the 
"  guard "  came  through  our  carriage — 
you  know  you  can  walk  from  one  end  of 
the  train  to  the  other  here — and  called 
out  "  Minnedosa  next  station — twenty-five 
minutes  for  dinner."  Everybody  was  in 
a  stir,  putting  on  their  overcoats  and  getting 
their  parcels  and  bags,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  train  stopped,  and  we  were  there.  As 
soon  as  we  got  off  the  train  we  went  to 
where  they  were  unloading  the  luggage,  to 
see  if  we  could  find  our  boxes,  and — it  was  so 
stupid  of  us — we  had  not  got  the  little  cards, 
they  call  them  "  checks,"  changed  at 
Winnipeg,  and  of  course  they  were  not 
there.  The  luggage-man  said  we  should 
get  them  in  a  few  days,  and  after  taking  the 
numbers  of  our  checks,  he  told  us  "to 
hang  on  to  them "  till  our  boxes  came. 
Mr.  Gregory  got  mine  when  he  went  into 


A  BUSY  GUARD  17 

Minnedosa  yesterday,  so  it's  all  right  now. 
Just  as  we  got  our  difficulty  settled  a 
rough-looking  man  in  an  old  fur  coat  came 
up,  and  asked  if  either  of  us  was  for  Neil 
McLush — he  was  Jack's  farmer.  He  seemed 
in  a  great  hurry,  and  said  his  "team"  was 
waiting,  so  I  only  had  time  to  promise  to 
write  to  Jack  at  Minnedosa  post-office  and 
he  was  in  the  waggon  and  away.  I  stood 
about  for  a  few  minutes,  and  hardly  knew 
how  to  set  about  finding  my  way  to 
Mr.  Beckster's  farm,  whose  name  was  on 
the  ticket  I  got  at  the  emigration  office — 
for  it  only  said  "  near  Minnedosa."  In  the 
end  I  went  back  to  the  luggage  man  ;  he  was 
throwing  boxes  and  parcels  about  in  a  great 
rush  and  sorting  them  into  heaps ;  by-and- 
bye  he  cooled  down  a  little  in  his  energy, 
and  I  asked  him  to  look  at  my  card.  He 
read  it  through,  and  when  he  came  to  the 
name  '  Beckster '  he  gave  a  grunt — "  You'd 
better  go  and  see  the  English  Church  parson, 
Mr.  Jordan,  you  had,  before  you  look 
for  '  Beckster '  or  anyone  else,  and  what 
he  tells  you  to  do,  you  do  it."  I  wondered 
why  he  "  grunted,"  but  I  took  his  advice, 
and  he  pointed  out  the  rectory  and  told  me 
the  road.  It  was  quite  a  little  distance 
away,  and  I  had  to  cross  by  the  bridge 
over  the  river  and  go  down  the  "  Main 
Street,"  and  then  on  a  side  street  before  I 
came  to  it.     The  rectory  is  a  little  plain 


18       A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

brick  house,  but  the  church  close  to  it  is 
built  of  some  kind  of  granite,  and  looks 
like  a  church.  I  am  sending  some  pictures 
of  Minnedosa  in  this  letter,  so  you  will  see 
what  it  is  like. 

I  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  rectory,  and 
it  was  opened  by  a  stout  boy  of  about 
twelve.  I  asked  if  I  could  see  Mr.  Jordan, 
and  he  said  "  Yes,"  and  showed  me  into 
a  little  study.  A  minute  after  I  heard  him 
say,  "  Dad,  you're  wanted — there's  a 
'  green  '  Englishman  in  your  study." 

When  "  the  parson  "  came  in  he  did  not 
look  very  like  a  clergyman  at  home,  he 
had  on  an  old  peak  cap,  and  a  little  grey 
jacket,  turning  green  with  age  and  wear, 
and  a  pipe  in  his  hand ;  however,  he  turned 
out  better  than  he  looked,  and  was  so 
friendly  that  I  soon  felt  at  home  with  him. 

I  told  him  that  I  was  a  clergyman's  son, 
but  that  my  father  was  dead,  and  you 
could  not  afford  to  start  me  in  life  in  Eng- 
land, so  I  had  come  out  to  be  a  farmer  in 
Manitoba;  then  I  told  him  about  the 
emigration  office  in  Winnipeg,  and  showed 
him  my  card.  Just  like  the  luggage -man, 
he  grunted  when  he  came  to  the  name 
*'  Beckster."  "  Look  here,  Tom,"  he  said 
(I  had  only  told  him  my  name  a  minute 
before),  "this  man  Beckster  is  a  *  dead- 
beat.'  There  are  a  few  farmers  in  Manitoba — 
fortunately   only    a    few — who    will    hire 


i 
3 

1 

P- 

r 

A   TEMPTING    DISH. 


REAL    FRIENDS. 


PARSON'S   PLAN  19 

English  boys  in  the  spring,  offer  them  big 
wages  (ten  dollars  a  month  !),  work  them 
hard  all  summer,  and  then  in  the  face  of 
winter  quarrel  with  them,  or  make  them  so 
miserable  that  they  run  away,  and  never 
pay  them  any  wages  at  all.  This  man 
Beckster  is  one  of  the  worst  of  them,  and  it 
would  never  do  for  you  to  go  there."  All 
this  made  me  feel  rather  blue,  and  I  suppose 
I  looked  it,  for  he  added,  "  Don't  worry, 
we'll  get  you  fixed  all  right."  The  parson 
left  me  for  a  few  minutes,  and  when  he  came 
back  he  was  quite  the  parson — long  black 
coat,  clerical  hat,  and  quite  presentable. 
He  took  me  down  to  the  Main  Street  to  a 
restaurant,  where  he  asked  them  to  get  me 
some  dinner — I  was  quite  ready  for  it — 
and  promised  to  call  for  me  in  half  an  hour. 
I  had  just  finished  my  dinner  when  he  came 
back.  "  Now,  Tom,  come  along,  and  let  us 
see  what  we  can  do  for  you."  We  went 
first  to  a  big  stable,  in  front  of  which  a 
number  of  waggons  were  standing,  and  a 
big  boy  was  putting  the  harness  on  a  pair  of 
horses.  "  Who  is  in  to-day,  Bill  ?  "  asked 
the  parson ;  and  "Bill,"  the  big  boy,  ran 
over  half  a  dozen  names.  "  Thank  you. 
Bill,"  said  the  parson,  as  Bill  came  to  the 
end  of  his  list,  and  as  we  turned  away 
he  said  to  me,  "  Mr.  Gregory  is  the  man  for 
you,  Tom,  if  only  he  hasn't  got  a  ^  chore 
boy  '  already."      I  wondered  how  we  were 


20        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

to  find  Mr.  Gregory,  but  the  parson's  plan 
was  very  simple ;  he  just  went  into  one 
shop  after  another  with  the  same  question, 
"  Have  you  seen  Ben  Gregory  to-day  ?  " 
At  last  we  ran  him  to  earth  in  a  blacksmith's 
shop,  where  he  was  having  his  plough 
mended.  He  and  the  parson  seemed  old 
friends,  though  he  looked  more  like  a  work- 
ing man  than  I  expected,  after  what  the 
parson  had  said  about  his  being  a  large 
farmer  and  very  well  off.  They  talked 
to  one  another  on  one  side  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  the  parson  turned  to  me — "  Mr. 
Gregory  has  agreed  to  take  you,  Tom,  for  a 
year  as  '  chore  boy,'  and  will  give  you  seven 
dollars  a  month  for  the  year,  with  five 
dollars  a  month  extra  for  July,  August  and 
September,  if  you  work  well."  My  wages 
seemed  getting  less  and  less — twenty  dollars 
that  I  hoped  for  when  I  left  home,  ten 
dollars  I  was  promised  at  Mr.  Beckster's, 
and  now  down  to  seven  for  the  reality. 
However,  I  was  glad  to  agree,  especially  as 
the  parson  said  a  comfortable  home  and 
seven  dollars  you  get  is  better  than  a 
miserable  home  and  ten  dollars  you  don't 
get.  Mr.  Gregory  seemed  pleased  when  I 
said  I  would  do  my  best,  and  that  I  wanted 
to  get  on,  and  be  a  farmer  some  day  myself. 
As  he  would  not  be  ready  to  start  for  an 
hour,  the  parson  took  me  for  a  walk  round 
the  little  town,  and  showed  me  the  new 


I    GET   SETTLED  21 

church  and  his  pews  and  his  garden.  He 
has  a  large  garden — though  it  is  all  bare 
ground  now  ;  but  he  had  a  hot-bed  full  of 
little  boxes,  in  which  flowers  and  things  were 
just  coming  up.  Only  think,  he  gets  all  his 
seeds  from  Sutton's,  where  we  used  to 
get  them  when  we  were  at  the  old  rectory 
at  home,  and  he  promised  to  give  me  some 
bedding  plants  for  Mrs.  Gregory,  if  I  came 
in  some  day  in  the  beginning  of  June. 
Mr.  Gregory  was  just  ready  when  we  got 
down  to  the  big  stable,  so  I  thanked  the 
parson  for  his  help,  and  promised  to  go  and 
see  him  the  first  time  I  was  back  in  Minne- 
dosa.  We  had  a  six-mile  drive  to  The  Hoe 
Farm.  Mr.  Gregory  comes  from  Plymouth, 
and  Mrs.  Gregory  and  the  children  seemed 
quite  pleased  when  he  said  he  had  brought 
them  a  new  "chore  boy" — just  out  from 
the  "old  country";  but  I  must  keep  all 
about  the  family  and  my  "chores"  for  the 
next  letter.  You  can  feel  quite  easy, 
mother,  that  if  I  am  not  making  my 
fortune  very  quickly,  I  am  well  and 
happy,  and  among  kind  friends 
Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester. 
P.S. — The  "  chore  boy  "    is  treated  just 
like  one  of  the  family  at  The  Hoe  Farm. 


LETTER  No.  4 

c/o  B.  Gregory,  Esq., 
The  Hoe  Farm, 
Nr.  Minnedosa,  Manitoba, 
May  20,  1911. 

My  Dear  Mother, 

1HAVE  just  received  my  first  batch  of 
letters  from  home,  and  glad  enough  I 
was  to  get  them.  Thank  Uncle  Jack  for  his 
letter,  please,  and  tell  him  I  will  answer  it 
as  soon  as  I  can ;  he  need  not  be  afraid  of 
my  not  sticking  to  it,  even  if  I  do  find  farm 
life  in  Manitoba  pretty  rough.  It  is  pretty 
rough  to  an  English  boy  who  has  always 
had  a  nice  home  and  not  any  hard  work 
to  do. 

Well,  mother,  in  this  letter  I  am  to  tell 
you  what  my  new  home  is  like,  and,  of  course, 
the  first  thing  is  the  people.  Mr.  Gregory 
is  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  man  of  about 
fifty.  His  father  was  a  small  tenant  farmer 
at  home,  but  when  Mr.  Ben  Gregory  came 
out  here,  twenty-five  years  ago,  he  got  a 
place  in  Winnipeg  as  a  policeman.  He 
stayed  there  for  some  years,  and  saved  a 
little  money,  and  then  came  here  and  took 
up  a  homestead.  This  was  a  new  settle- 
ment then,  and  from  what  he  has  told 
me  they  had  a  very  hard  time  of  it,  and  were 
very  poor  for  a  long  time.     Several  years  in 

22 


EARLY  HARDSHIPS  23 

the  early  days  he  had  no  crop  to  sell,  as  his 
wheat  was  frozen  before  it  was  ripe,  and 
they  had  to  depend  for  food  and  clothing 
on  the  little  money  they  got  by  selling  the 
butter  they  made  from  three  or  four 
cows,  and  on  firewood  that  he  took  to 
market  in  IVIinnedosa.  For  the  last  six  or 
seven  years  they  have  got  on  much  better, 
and  are  now,  not  rich,  of  course,  in  money, 
but  quite  comfortably  off.  Mr.  Gregory 
bought  the  half  section  of  land  next  to  his 
first  farm  four  years  ago,  and  finished 
paying  for  it  last  year.  This  year  he  will 
have  a  hundred  and  fifty  acres  of  land  in 
crop,  and  he  has  a  large  herd  of  cattle — 
nearly  forty — and  six  working  horses  and 
some  young  colts  that  are  not  broken  in  yet. 
I  like  Mr.  Gregory  very  much,  so  far.  He 
is  a  great  worker  himself,  and  very  particular 
about  everything  being  done  well,  and  about 
great  care  being  taken  of  the  horses  and 
cattle ;  but  he  is  very  good-natured  and 
does  not  expect  me  to  know  how  to  do  so 
many  fresh  things  all  at  once.  Mrs. 
Gregory  is  a  very  quiet  little  woman,  but 
quite  as  hard  a  worker  in  her  way  as  Mr. 
Gregory.  She  was  born  in  Ontario,  her 
father  being  one  of  the  early  settlers  in 
Muskoka.  She  looks  older  than  Mr. 
Gregory,  but  really  she  is  two  or  three  years 
younger.  She  looks  as  if  she  had  grown 
old  too  soon.     I  expect  it  was  the  hard 


24        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

times  and  hardships  she  passed  through 
when  they  were  struggHng  to  get  a  start 
on  the  homestead.  There  are  two  children — 
a  boy  and  a  girl — the  girl,  Regina  (such  a 
name),  is  sixteen,  and  goes  to  a  country 
school  two  miles  away  every  day.  She  is 
to  be  a  school  teacher  when  she  passes  her 
examinations,  and  spends  most  of  her  time 
in  the  evening  doing  her  lessons.  The 
boy,  Benjamin,  usually  called  "  Little 
Ben,"  is  fourteen,  and  is  staying  at  home 
from  school  for  a  month,  to  help  his  father 
in  sowing  and  ploughing  till,  as  "  Big 
Ben"  expressed  it,  I  am  "broken  in  to  the 
farm." 

So  much  for  the  present  about  the  family, 
now  for  the  house.  It  is  built  of  poplar 
logs,  and  is  only  twenty-four  feet  long  and 
eighteen  feet  wide,  and  downstairs  is  all  in 
one  big  room.  Upstairs  it  is  divided  by 
board  partitions  into  three  rooms — one 
"big"  one  and  two  little  ones.  The  ceiling 
downstairs  is  very  low.  Mr.  Gregory's 
head  is  only  about  a  foot  and  a 
half  from  the  beams  when  he  stands  up, 
and  in  the  bedrooms  the  only  place  where 
you  can  stand  up  without  bumping  your 
head  on  the  roof  is  in  the  middle.  The 
cracks  between  the  logs  are  filled  with 
mortar,  and  the  whole  wall  of  the  house, 
inside  and  out,  is  whitewashed  with  lime. 
Joined   to   the   house   at  the   back   is    a 


A   MUSIC   TEACHER  25 

large  shed,  made  of  boards,  which  is  used  in 
winter  to  store  wood  and  meat,  and  things 
that  do  not  hurt  with  freezing ;  but  in  the 
summer  the  cooking  stove  is  put  out  there, 
and  it  is  used  as  a  kitchen.  In  the  "  Hving  " 
room  there  is  not  much  furniture — very  plain 
kitchen  chairs,  a  large  table  and  one  or  two 
home-made  cupboards.  However,  Mrs. 
Gregory  has  a  very  good  new  sewing 
machine  by  one  window,  and  they  have 
just  bought  an  organ,  like  the  "American" 
organ  they  had  in  the  mission  room  at 
home,  only  with  a  very  ornamental  top  with 
a  looking  glass  at  the  back  of  it.  No  one 
of  the  family  has  the  remotest  idea  of  how 
to  play  the  organ,  but  from  the  pride  they 
all  take  in  it  I  fancy  they  feel  that  it  gives 
an  air  of  distinction  to  the  whole  family. 
You  know  I  can't  play  much — just  an  easy 
air  in  the  treble,  with  an  occasional  thump 
for  the  bass — but  they  think  I  am  an 
expert.  Mrs.  Gregory  asked  me  yesterday 
if  I  would  give  Regina  lessons  !  I  could 
have  roared :  Mr.  Tom  Lester,  Teacher 
of  Music  !  Just  fancy  me  with  a  pupil  in 
music,  and  of  all  creatures  the  pupil  a  girl ! 
Horrors  !  but  I  could  not  get  out  of  it,  and 
next  Saturday  the  ordeal  is  to  begin,  and 
Mr.  Gregory  is  to  get  an  organ  instructor 
book  when  he  goes  in  to  Minnedosa  to- 
morrow. 

But  to   return   to   my    "mutton,"    i.e., 

c 


26        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

Hoe  Farm.  You  will  see  by  the  photo 
that  there  are  plenty  of  trees  at  the  back  of 
the  house.  Although  these  are  bare  of 
leaves  all  winter,  they  still  form  a  great 
screen  from  the  strong  winds  from  the 
north,  and  they  will  take  away  the  bare 
dreary  look  of  the  prairie  as  soon  as  they 
are  in  full  leaf.  At  present  they  are  just 
beginning  to  have  a  green  shade  from  the 
opening  buds.  At  about  fifty  yards  from 
the  back  of  the  house,  and  well  sheltered  by 
the  "bluff,"  i.e.,  the  little  grove  of  trees, 
are  the  farm  buildings.  These  are  mostly 
built  of  logs,  like  the  house,  but  the  older 
ones  are  getting  to  have  a  rather  tumble- 
down appearance,  and  Mr.  Gregory  is  going 
to  replace  them  by  new  ones  as  soon  as  he 
can  afford  it.  He  built  a  new  granary  of 
boards  last  summer,  and  this  year  a  new 
stone  stable  is  to  be  built,  and  I  am  to  have 
a  share  in  the  work. 

And  now  I  must  tell  you  what  the 
"  chores  "  are.  That  fellow  in  Winnipeg 
was  about  right,  they  are  "  everything 
that  everybody  else  does  not  do." 

Mr.  Gregory  calls  everyone  at  5  o'clock, 
when  he  gets  up  and  lights  the  fire.  Little 
Ben  and  I  go  out  first  to  the  stables,  and 
feed  the  cows  and  clean  out  the  cows'  stalls, 
while  Mr.  Gregory  attends  to  the  horses. 
By  this  time  Mrs.  Gregory  is  out,  and  she 
and  "  Little  Ben  "  milk  the  cows  between 


DRESSING  27 

them.  As  soon  as  I  can  milk  properly 
Little  Ben  and  I  are  to  do  all  the  milking. 
At  present  I  am  learning  to  milk  on  what 
they  call  a  "  stripper,"  that  is,  a  cow 
which  only  gives  a  little  milk,  and  which 
they  will  stop  milking  altogether  soon. 
I  am  managing  pretty  well  now,  but  for  the 
first  few  times  I  got  very  tired  of  the  per- 
formance, and  so  did  Old  Molly,  the  cow, 
and  there  was  very  little  milk  to  show  for 
it.  When  we  have  finished  milking  we 
go  in  to  breakfast,  which  it  is  Regina's 
morning  work  to  get  ready. 

Before  breakfast,  we  (Big  Ben,  Little 
Ben  and  myself)  perform  our  ablutions  in  a 
tin  basin  in  the  shed,  drying  our  hands  and 
faces  on  a  rough  towel  which  hangs  behind 
the  door,  and  doing  our  hair  with  a  comb 
which  is  suspended  from  the  wall  by  a  long 
string  (a  hair  brush  seems  to  be  considered 
a  luxury  for  high  days  and  holidays), 
while  for  mirror  there  is  a  looking- 
glass,  about  six  inches  square,  and  which 
has  lost  most  of  its  reflecting  stuff,  so  that 
there  is  a  good  deal  of  guess-work  in  trying 
to  part  your  hair. 

For  breakfast  the  chief  item  is  the  oat- 
meal porridge,  of  which  everyone  has  a 
large  soup-plate  full,  with  milk  and  sugar. 
There  are  bread  and  butter  and  coffee,  and 
sometimes  some  cold  meat — pork — but  the 
porridge  is  the   "  stand  by."     Everybody 


28         A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

eats  very  quickly,  and  there  is  very  little 
talking  except  from  Little  Ben,  who  keeps 
up  a  monologue.  The  little  beggar  is  the 
greatest  chatterer  I  ever  met,  but  a  very 
decent  chap  all  the  same.  As  soon  as  the 
last  mouthful  has  disappeared,  everyone  gets 
to  work  again.  Mr.  Gregory  and  Little 
Ben  go  to  the  stables,  and  are  soon  out 
in  the  fields.  Big  Ben  with  the  seeder, 
sowing  the  corn,  and  Little  Ben  with  the 
harrows,  covering  it  over  and  smoothing 
the  ground.  Regina  washes  the  breakfast 
things,  and  then  starts  off  to  school,  while 
Mrs.  Gregory  and  I  attend  to  the  milk. 
All  the  new  milk  is  put  through  a  thing 
called  a  **  separator,"  which  separates  the 
cream  from  the  milk — it  is  worked  with 
a  big  wheel  and  a  handle,  and  I  turn  the 
handle  while  Mrs.  Gregory  attends  to  the 
milk  and  the  cream.  It  takes  about  half- 
an-hour,  but  it  is  hard  work  while  it  lasts. 
When  that  is  done  I  feed  the  calves  and  the 
pigs  with  the  milk  and  some  other  stuff 
that  is  put  in  the  milk  (some  kind  of 
crushed  com)  they  call  it  "  chop  " — ^nothing 
to  do  with  mutton  ! 

My  next  "  chore  "  is  to  feed  the  hens,  of 
which  there  are  nearly  a  hundred.  We 
get  about  fifty  eggs  a  day,  but  there  are 
not  many  of  them  that  appear  on  the 
table,  as  they  fetch  a  good  price  in  town. 
When  they  get  down  to  fifteen  cents  a  dozen, 


WORK  AND  FOOD  29 

I.e.,  sevenpence-half penny,  Mrs.  Gregory 
says  we  can  eat  all  we  like.  This  finishes 
my  regular  morning  round ;  the  rest  of 
the  "chores"  are  incidental,  and  vary  from 
day  to  day — getting  water  for  the  house 
from  the  well  at  the  back  of  the  bluff,  a 
hundred  yards  away ;  cutting  long  poles 
into  fire- wood  for  the  stove  with  a  "  buck  " 
saw ;  splitting  the  wood  with  an  axe  and 
filling  the  wood  box  in  the  shed ;  and  the 
last  few  days  I  have  been  doing  some 
gardening  and  putting  in  some  seeds.  This, 
from  my  old  fondness  for  gardening,  is 
more  in  my  line,  and  I  find  I  know  more 
about  it  than  they  do  here.  It  was  a  treat 
to  find  something  that  I  could  do  without 
having  to  have  a  woman  or  a  "  kid  "  to 
show  me  how.  At  twelve  o'clock  Mr. 
Gregory  and  Little  Ben  come  in  with 
their  horses  and  we  have  dinner,  usually 
'*  pig  "  in  some  shape  (roasted,  boiled  or 
fried),  plenty  of  very  good  potatoes,  rice 
pudding  also,  usually,  with  an  occasional 
"  pie  "  (so  called),  of  dried  apples,  or  prunes, 
or  raisins.  Then  there  is  bread  and  butter 
and  tea  again.  I  am  always  as  hungry  as 
a  hunter,  or  it  would  be  a  pretty  monotonous 
diet.  After  dinner,  Mr.  Gregory  goes  back 
to  his  seeding,  and  at  first  Little  Ben 
and  I  used  to  let  the  cattle  out  and  drive 
them  to  a  slough  (a  big  pond)  for  water, 
and  back  again  to  a  big  yard  where  there 


30        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

were  some  straw  stacks;  but  now  the 
weather  is  warmer  we  let  them  out  in  the 
morning,  and  they  wander  about  on  the 
prairie  till  evening,  when  we  put  them 
back  in  the  stable,  and  give  them  some  hay 
before  we  have  supper. 

In  the  afternoons  I  go  out  with  Little 
Ben  and  work  with  him  at  the  harrowing. 
He  has  a  quiet  pair  of  horses,  and  I  can 
drive  them  pretty  well  now,  and  can  put 
their  harness  on,  and  "  hitch  "  on  to  the 
harrows  quite  farmer-like.  It  seems  gen- 
erally to  be  windy  here,  and  the  ground  is 
very  dry  and  dusty ;  when  we  come  in 
from  the  fields  we  are  as  black  as  sweeps. 
We  come  in  from  work  at  about  five  o'clock, 
and  by  supper  time,  at  six,  we  have  the 
cattle  fed  and  all  the  **  chores "  done, 
except  milking.  For  supper  we  have  bread 
and  butter,  fried  potatoes  and  cold  meat — 
still  pig — and  tea.  Supper  over,  the  milk- 
ing and  its  attendant  **chores"of  separating 
the  cream  and  feeding  the  pigs  and  calves, 
brings  the  day  to  an  end.  Mr.  Gregory 
helps  at  these  at  night,  and  they  do  not 
take  long.  Then  bed,  and  it's  a  pretty 
tired  "  chore  boy  "  that  lays  his  head  on 
the  pillow  to  dream  of  home  and  mother 
till  Big  Ben  sounds  "  Five  o'clock, 
boys,"  in  the  morning.  But  it  is  getting 
easier  as  I  get  used  to  it,  and  I  feel  first 
rate,  and   as    Little   Ben    says    vulgarly. 


PUTTING  ON  MEAT  31 

*'  I  am  putting  on  meat  like  a  stall-fed 
steer."     With  love  to  you  all. 
Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester. 
P.S. — Show  Uncle  Jack  the  photos.     I 
took  them  with  my  new  camera,  and  got 
them  developed  in  town. 


LETTER  No.  5 
The  Hoe  Farm, 

MiNNEDOSA, 

June  22,  1911. 

My  Dear  Mother, 

THE  family  have  gone  off  to  some 
kind  of  "  preaching  "  in  the  school- 
house,  but  I  thought  I  would  spend  my 
Sunday  afternoon  in  writing  home.  I 
asked  Mr.  Gregory  who  the  people  were 
that  conducted  the  service,  and  he  said 
it  was  a  "  Plymouth  Rock  "  from  Minne- 
dosa.  I  never  heard  of  that  denomination 
before,  so  thought  I  would  make  no  experi- 
ments in  theology.  As  soon  as  I  can  ride 
rather  better  I  am  to  have  one  of  the  horses, 
and  shall  be  able  to  go  to  church  in  town. 
I  still  have  plenty  of  "  chores,"  for  Little 
Ben  goes  to  school  now,  and  we  have  more 
cows  to  milk  and  more  calves  to  feed,  and 
I  do  my  share  in  the  milking,  though  not 
yet  an  expert.  The  hens,  too,  take  a  good 
deal  of  time  just  now.  They  are  Mrs. 
Gregory's  special  charge,  and  I  am  under 
her  orders,  so  I  have  nests  to  make,  broody 
hens  to  set,  and  coops  to  make  for  each 
family  of  little  chickens  as  they  make  their 
appearance. 

Surely  there  never  was'such  a  man  for 
loyalty   to  his  native  place  as  Big  Ben ; 

aa 


CLEARING  THE  "SCRUB"         33 

the  very  fowls  are  "  Plymouth  Rocks,"  and 
very  handsome  birds  they  are  too.  Mrs. 
Ben  was  awfully  taken  with  the  coops  I 
made  ;  she  said  they  were  the  best  she  ever 
had.  I  measured  and  planed  and  fitted 
every  piece  of  board  in  them.  Of  course 
it  took  time,  and  Little  Ben  undertook 
to  show  the  superior  smartness  of  the 
Canadian  way  of  doing  things — he  "  could 
make  one  in  half-an-hour."  He  did,  with 
an  axe,  a  hammer  and  a  bucksaw,  and 
it  was  coming  to  pieces  again  in  a  week. 
In  the  afternoons  for  the  last  two  or 
three  weeks  I  have  been  working  with 
Big  Ben.  He  is  clearing  and  breaking 
some  new  land  at  the  far  end  of  the  farm. 
Although  there  are  no  big  trees  to  cut  down, 
a  good  deal  of  the  prairie  is  covered  with 
"  scrub,"  i.e.,  small  bushes  of  willows  and 
wild  roses,  and  here  and  there  bluffs  of 
young  white  poplars,  twelve  or  fifteen  feet 
high.  All  this  has  to  be  cut  down  and 
cleared  away,  before  the  land  can  be 
ploughed  up  with  a  strong  breaker  plough. 
Big  Ben  has  an  axe,  and  I  have  a  brush 
hook  to  cut  the  smaller  bushes,  which  I 
pile  up  in  heaps,  to  be  burnt  as  soon  as  it 
is  dry  enough.  It  is  pretty  hard  work,  and 
I  sometimes  get  rather  sick  of  the  steady 
sticking  to  a  monotonous  job;  but  Big  Ben 
is  pleasant  to  work  with,  and  I  always 
feel  I  am  really  learning  something.     Of 


34         A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

course  he  does  all  the  ploughing.  Breaking 
"  scrub "  land  is  hardly  the  job  for  a 
beginner,  but  I  am  getting  used  to  handling 
the  horses,  and  when  there  are  many  roots 
to  be  torn  up,  I  drive  the  horses  and  keep 
them  in  the  furrow,  so  as  to  leave  him  freer 
to  hold  down  and  guide  the  plough. 

We  have  had  a  great  change  in  the 
weather  since  my  last  letter,  nearly  all 
May  it  was  fine,  but  very  chilly,  a  clear 
sky  with  strong  north-west  winds,  and 
often  a  little  frost  at  nights.  It  was  good 
enough  weather  to  work  in,  but  nothing 
seemed  to  grow,  and  I  thought  the  trees 
and  the  prairie  would  never  get  green.  In 
the  first  week  in  June,  however,  the  rain 
came,  and  since  then  it  has  been  warm 
and  showery,  and  the  whole  face  of  the 
country  is  quite  changed.  The  wild  fruit 
trees  are  white  with  blossom — the  cherry, 
the  cranberry  and  the  saskatoon ;  down 
among  the  willows  by  the  creek  are  wild 
black  currants  and  raspberry  bushes,  and 
nearly  everywhere  on  the  prairie  you  can 
see  the  flowers  of  the  wild  strawberry. 
Long  ago,  in  the  end  of  April,  came  the  first 
flower  of  spring,  the  anemone,  or  wind 
flower.  They  came  so  suddenly  and  un- 
expectedly, while  all  the  prairie  looked 
brown  and  dreary,  that  I  could  hardly 
believe  they  had  grown  out  of  doors  when 
Regina  brought  home  the  first  which  she 


THE  MOSQUITO  86 

had  picked  on  her  way  from  school.  They 
are  very  Hke  the  crocus,  only  a  pale  violet, 
and  the  flowers  come  in  clusters  before 
the  leaves.  The  violets  are  out  now,  but 
they  are  a  disappointment,  for  they  have 
no  fragrance;  in  fact,  they  are  just  what 
we  used  to  call  "  dog  violets  "  at  home. 
Everything  is  green,  the  prairie,  the  bluffs, 
the  "  grain  "  fields  ("  corn  "  means  maize 
here),  and  it  all  seems  the  more  lovely 
from  the  dreary,  forlorn  brown  interval 
between  the  winter  snow  and  summer, 
which  does  duty  in  the  West  for  spring-time. 
But,  mother,  there  is  a  serpent  in  our  Eden, 
full  of  guile,  and  more  subtle  than  any  beaat 
of  the  field — the  mosquito. 

The  mosquito  came  to  me  as  a  surprise, 
and  a  very  unpleasant  one.  I'm  sure  the 
geography  books  always  spoke  of  it  as  a 
tropical  beast.  I  suppose  it  is  an  insect, 
a  beastly  insect  any  way. 

As  soon  as  the  warm  showers  came,  it 
came  from  nowhere,  from  everywhere, 
and  it  has  made  my  life  a  burden  and  my 
face  like  a  map  of  the  world,  with  red 
blotches  to  show  the  British  Empire. 
Neither  does  it  play  the  game,  and  make 
its  attacks  when  your  hands  are  free  to 
ward  it  off,  but  just  when  you  are  carrying 
a  couple  of  pails  of  water  from  the  well  or 
milking  the  cows.  Before  the  mosquitoes 
came  I  used  to  have  to  go  and  drive  the 


36         A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

cattle  home  in  the  evening,  for  they  were 
greedy  for  the  first  green  grass  and  reeds 
along  the  sides  of  the  sloughs;  but  now 
they  will  come  racing  up,  followed  by 
clouds  of  mosquitoes,  and  we  make  smudges 
of  damp  straw  and  grass,  to  choke  off  the 
blood-thirsty  little  wretches.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  least  incidental  or  casual 
about  the  mosquito's  method  of  attack. 
He  alights  on  your  forehead,  or  neck,  or 
nose — the  tenderest  and  most  inviting  spot 
— a  thin,  leggy,  anaemic-looking  gnat.  He 
proceeds  to  unroll  his  proboscis,  like  the 
hose  of  a  water-cart,  and  makes  an  in- 
cision, swift  and  deep,  like  the  dentist's 
preliminaries  to  extracting  a  tooth  without 
pain,  and  equally  painful.  Withdrawing 
his  needle,  wiping  it  carefully,  and  putting  it 
away  in  his  instrument  case,  he  then  screws 
the  nozzle  of  his  nose  into  your  flesh,  and  pro- 
ceeds to  pump  blood.  If  suffered  to  carry 
out  his  design  to  the  end,  he  swells  and 
swells  to  the  utmost  limit  of  the  expansion 
of  his  skin,  and  finally  withdraws  and  rolls 
up  his  nose  and  flies  off  with  a  wobbly  and 
drunken  flight,  to  sleep  off  his  debauch 
among  his  depraved  companions. 

We  have  gauze  netting  over  the  bed- 
room window,  so  they  are  not  very  trouble- 
some at  night,  and  after  a  day's  hard  work 
I  am  not  easily  kept  awake.  Moreover, 
Big  Ben  assures   me   that   after  my  first 


A    GRIEVANCE  37 

summer  they  will  not  trouble  me  very 
much ;  indeed,  I  appear  to  be  the  chief 
sufferer,  which  is  a  consolation  to  the  others, 
and  Regina  has  rigged  up  for  me  a  kind 
of  muslin  curtain  to  my  straw  hat,  which 
is  a  great  protection  when  I  go  for  the  cows. 
I  hope  you  will  not  think  I  am  discon- 
tented, but  the  mosquito  is  a  grievance  ;  he 
was  not  in  the  bond. 

Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester. 

P.S. — Will  you  send  me  some  of  the 
old  part-songs  I  used  to  sing  with  Mary 
last  winter  ? 


LETTER  No.  6 

The  Hoe  Farm, 

MiNNEDOSA, 

July  28,  1911. 

My  Dear  Mother, 

MY  letter  is  a  little  late  this  month, 
but  I  have  been  very  busy  between 
work  and  play.  The  work  first.  Big  Ben 
says  that  is  the  secret  of  success  here,  and 
I  guess  he's  right.  This  has  been  our 
haying  time — ^not  a  bit  like  the  old  song, 
"Down  in  the  Meadows  amaking  the  Hay," 
nor  like  haymaking  at  the  old  Squire's, 
where  we  used  to  picnic  in  the  Park,  and 
wind  up  with  a  dance  at  the  Hall.  Little 
Ben  and  Kegina  are  having  their  school 
holidays — and  working  from  daylight  to 
dark  on  the  farm.  The  "  wimmen  folk," 
Le,,  Mrs.  Gregory  and  Regina,  are  doing  all 
the  milking  and  dairy  work,  and  most  of 
my  "  chores,"  while  "  the  menfolk,"  Big 
Ben,  Little  Ben,  and  myself,  have  been 
left  free  for  the  haymaking.  We  have  no 
meadows  here,  like  those  at  home,  but  just 
cut  the  long,  coarse  grass  which  grows  round 
the  sloughs.  As  there  are  not  many  sloughs 
on  his  own  land,  Mr.  Gregory  has  got  a 
"  permit "  to  cut  the  hay  on  a  section  of 
Government  land  two  miles  away,  and  this 
section  is  just  a  net- work   of   little  lakes 


HAYING    BY    MEANS   OF    A        SWEEP. 


Photos]  [R.  Stock, 

A    BASKET    HAY    RACK,    WHICH    HOLDS    ONE    TON. 


»       >  i  i  i 


i       3  > 


>  '-        )     \   >      > 


HAYMAKING  39 

with  belts  of  hayland  round  them.  We 
have  generally  fed  our  horses  and  had 
breakfast  before  seven  o'clock,  when  we 
start  off  in  the  waggon  to  the  haying,  taking 
our  dinner  and  a  big  bottle  of  oatmeal 
water  with  us  to  drink ;  the  slough  water 
is  impossible — too  much  animal  life  and 
embryo  mosquitoes.  We  each  have  our  own 
work.  Big  Ben  cuts  the  hay  with  a 
mower.  Little  Ben  "  coils "  it  into  rows 
with  the  old  black  mare  and  a  hay-rake,  and 
I  put  the  rows  into  "  cocks "  with  a  fork. 
The  hay  is  quite  dry  in  three  or  four  days 
of  fine  weather  here,  and,  then  we  stack 
it  out  on  the  prairie,  where  it  will  be  left 
till  it  is  needed  in  winter,  when  it  can  be 
drawn  home  on  the  sleighs.  We  put  a 
rough-and-ready  fence  of  barbed  wire  round 
the  stacks,  to  keep  stray  cattle  from  them, 
and  plough  a  few  furrows  round,  as  a  pro- 
tection from  prairie  fires  in  the  Fall.  We 
have  a  kind  of  picnic  dinner  at  eleven 
o'clock,  and  about  four  o'clock  Regina 
generally  drives  over  in  the  old  backboard 
and  brings  us  a  "  lunch,"  and  some  hot  tea. 
We  work  again  till  it  is  nearly  dusk,  and 
take  home  a  load  of  hay  with  us,  all 
riding  on  top  of  the  load.  This  load  we 
leave  at  the  hay-loft  door  for  the  night, 
and  Little  Ben  and  I  put  it  in  the  loft 
before  breakfast  the  next  morning.  As  the 
"  chores "  are  usually  all  done  when  we 


40        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

get  home  at  night,  it  is  supper  and  bed. 
The  papers  are  very  fond  of  talking  about 
"  the  strenuous  Hfe  " — Big  Ben  is  a  past 
master  in  the  art  of  living  it  himself,  and 
teaching  it  to  the  other  fellows  as  well. 

But  we  have  had  some  variety  and  fun 
in  this  last  month  too ;  we  have  a  football 
club  in  the  settlement,  and  I  am  at  my  old 
place,  "  half  back."  If  the  rest  of  this 
letter  is  out  of  your  line,  mother — and 
I  know  you  think  "  soccer "  a  horrid, 
dangerous  game — why,  just  let  Brother 
Jack  read  it;  he'll  appreciate  it  more. 
We  had  a  meeting  in  the  school  house  in 
May,  and  organised  an  Association  Football 
Club ;  we  appointed  our  member  of  the 
Ottawa  Parliament  honorary  president 
— that  means  a  ten-dollar  bill  to  the  club. 
The  member  who  represents  us  in  the 
Legislative  Assembly  at  Winnipeg  we  made 
honorary  vice-president;  the  honour  will 
cost  him  five  dollars,  and  the  ordinary 
members,  like  myself,  pay  two  dollars  apiece. 
We  have  about  twenty-five  playing  members, 
and  the  whole  settlement  takes  the  greatest 
interest  and  pride  in  the  football  '*  boys." 
We  have  a  club  practice  every  Thursday 
night,  and  have  a  series  of  matches  arranged 
with  neighbouring  clubs ;  nearly  every  school 
district  has  its  own  club.  Last  Saturday 
we  played  Hazeldean,  and  beat  them  easily. 
They  were  a  big,  heavy  lot  of  fellows,  but 


FOOTBALL  41 

slow,  and  we  played  all  round  them.  Next 
Saturday  we  are  to  play  Minnedosa  on 
their  own  ground,  and  I  expect  we  shall 
get  a  good  drubbing;  they  were  in  the 
finals  for  the  Championship  of  Manitoba 
last  year,  and  are  said  to  be  stronger  than 
ever  this  season ;  still,  we  shall  put  up  a  good 
fight.  We  shall  have  a  strong  team  when 
we  have  played  more  together,  and  get  used 
to  each  other's  game,  and  we  represent  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  society.  Four  or 
five  of  our  team  are  farmers'  sons  born  in 
Manitoba  of  Scotch  descent ;  one  Welsh- 
man, a  keen  player,  but  with  an  immense 
idea  of  the  superiority  of  Welshmen  to  all 
others,  and  a  fine  conceit  in  himself  per- 
sonally ;  two  young  fellows,  working  as 
"  hired  men  "  on  farms  near  by,  who  came 
out  as  "  Bamardo  boys."  I  suspect  they 
hail  originally  from  the  slums  of  London, 
but  really  they  are  very  decent  fellows, 
and  have  learned  to  play  the  game  some- 
where. They  have  been  out  three  or  four 
years,  and  must  be  good  workers,  for  they 
are  getting  twenty-five  dollars  a  month 
wages,  and  are  saving  up  to  go  homestead- 
ing  next  year  farther  west.  Then  there 
are  two  old  public-school  men,  fine  football 
players  and  nice  fellows,  but  somehow  not 
suited  to  the  life.  One  of  them  is  a  "  farm 
pupil,"  which  means  that  his  father  pays 
three  or  four  hundred  dollars  a  year>  so 

D 


42        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

that  his  son  may  do  a  little  farm  work 
when  he  feels  like  it,  but  I  guess  he  does  not 
feel  like  it  very  often.  I  should  not  care 
to  pay  for  the  privilege  of  doing  the 
"  chores."  He  may  have  an  easy,  pleasant 
time,  but  he'll  never  learn  to  farm  or  to 
make  a  living  by  farming  in  the  West. 
The  other  public-school  man  is  still  more 
unfortunate — he  does  not  like  work,  and 
his  people  will  not  send  him  any  money. 
He  tried  for  the  army  and  failed,  he  tried 
office  work  in  a  country  bank ;  it  was  too 
slow,  they  got  him  in  a  London  office,  and 
he  got  into  debt;  he  hung  round  among 
his  relations  till  they  were  tired  of  him, 
and  finally  gave  him  a  few  pounds  and 
sent  him  to  Manitoba.  Some  people  "  at 
home "  seem  to  think  that  there  is  a 
keenness  in  the  Colonial  air  which  inspires 
the  "  home  "  failures  with  a  keenness  and  a 
capacity  for  work  which  has  never  shown 
any  evidence  of  itself  "  at  home."  Now 
he  is  "  choring  round "  at  a  bachelor 
farmer's  for  his  board  and  lodging,  does 
the  cooking,  cleans  the  stables,  cuts  the 
firewood,  and  probably  does  the  limited 
amount  of  washing  which  is  sufficient  for  a 
bachelor's  shanty.  He  is  six  or  seven-and- 
twenty  now,  and  I  do  not  suppose  he  will 
ever  be  anything  better — a  fine  finish  to 
an  expensive  education  and  good  abilities  ! 
It  is  not  the  fault  of  the  West,  and  not 


JACK    DALTON'S    LUCK  43 

half  his  own  fault ;  he's  been  brought  up 
to  be  above  work,  and  now  he  is  above 
it  or  beneath  it.  And  yet  he  is  an  awfully 
nice  fellow  in  lots  of  ways,  and  can  play  a 
great  game  of  football  when  he  gets  roused 
up.  Jack  Dalton  and  myself  complete 
the  team.  Jack  is  our  goal-keeper,  and 
a  dandy  one  too.  He  has  only  been  able 
to  get  out  twice  to  practice,  his  *'  boss," 
different  to  most  of  the  farmers  round,  has 
no  use  for  football*  or  anything  but  hard 
work  for  his  "  hired  man^"  Jack  likes  the 
country  well  enough,  but  is  not  at  all  com- 
fortable in  his  surroundings — a  very  rough 
"  boss,"  who  usually  comes  home  *'  half 
seas  over"  and  very  profane  and  quarrel- 
some from  his  frequent  visits  to  town,  a 
houseful  of  noisy  and  unkempt  children, 
coarse  food,  ill  cooked,  and  work  all  day 
and  every  day.  I  can  tell  you  I  think  I 
am  pretty  lucky  by  comparison.  Jack 
says  he  will  "tough  it  out"  till  the  harvest, 
and  then  look  out  for  another  place,  whether 
he  can  get  his  wages  or  not  for  the  time  he 
has  been  there.  He  was  hired  for  the  year, 
and  will  probably  have  trouble,  as  he  had 
no  written  agreement  about  a  month's 
notice.  Regina  has  just  called  me  to  supper, 
so  good-bye. 

Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester, 


LETTER  No.  7 
The  Hoe  Farm, 

MiNNEDOSA, 

August  18,  1911. 

My  Dear  Mother, 

THIS  must  be  a  Show  letter — not  a 
letter  to  show,  but  to  tell  you  about 
the  great  event  of  the  year,  the  Annual 
Show  of  the  Minnedosa  Agricultural  Society. 
A  good  many  of  the  farmers  do  not  take 
much  interest  in  the  Agricultural  Society, 
but  here  we  are  all  keen  "  Show  "  people. 
Mr.  Gregory  is  one  of  the  directors,  and 
every  one  takes  an  active  part  in  making 
things  go. 

Early  in  the  summer  Big  Ben  can- 
vassed the  settlement  with  one  of  the 
directors  from  town,  to  get  new  members 
and  to  stir  up  his  neighbours  to  exhibit 
their  stock;  then  he  spent  two  days  in 
town  among  the  business  people  there,  to  get 
them  to  give  special  prizes,  and  we  all  have 
had  to  work  hard  at  home,  each  with  their 
particular  hobby.  Big  Ben  showed  his 
best  team,  the  black  mare  and  her  foal, 
his  Durham  cattle  and  Berkshire  pigs. 
Mrs.  Ben,  besides  her  butter  and  home- 
made preserves  and  white  bread  and  brown 
bread,  had  a  whole  box  full  of  things  which 
she  had  made  last  winter,   ranging  from 

44 


THE   SHOW  45 

coarse  knitted  winter  socks  to  hand-painted 
satin  sofa  cushions  and  point  lace  (this  is 
the  land  of  varied  accomplishments).  Little 
Ben  showed  the  pony  and  two  calves  which 
his  father  gave  him  for  his  own  private 
property.  Regina,  besides  helping  her 
mother,  won  the  first  prize  for  a  map  of 
Canada,  and  also  for  the  best  bouquet  of 
wild  flowers,  and  the  second  prize  for  the 
best  collection  of  native  prairie  grasses. 
We  three  young  people  spent  all  one  Sunday 
afternoon  gathering  the  wild  flowers,  and 
must  have  wandered  for  miles  over  the 
prairie.  It  was  tea-time  when  we  got  home, 
and  later  still  when  Little  Ben  turned  up. 
He  got  tired  of  looking  for  flowers,  and  wan- 
dered off  to  the  sloughs  on  the  hay  section, 
to  see  if  he  could  see  any  young  ducks. 
Mr.  Gregory  said  I  could  show  the  hens 
and  any  vegetables  I  thought  worth  while, 
as  the  poultry  and  garden  are  my  particular 
charge.  I  got  first  prize  for  the  best  coop 
of  Plyms. — six  hens  and  the  big  "  rooster  " 
— and  also  for  potatoes  and  carrots. 

The  Show  lasted  for  two  days,  the  first 
a  hard  day's  work,  for  very  early  in  the 
morning  we  had  to  drive  in  the  cattle,  and 
then  to  return  to  Hoe  Farm,  and  make  a 
second  trip  with  the  pigs,  poultry,  and  all 
the  smaller  things,  which  had  to  be  in  their 
places  in  the  Show  by  dinner-time.  Big 
Ben  stayed  in  town  all  night,  but  Little 


46        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

Ben  and  myself  went  home  and  did  the 
"  chores."  The  second  day  was  "  the  day  " 
of  the  Show,  and  although  we  were  up 
early  and  started  for  town  by  seven  o'clock, 
we  found  a  great  many  were  earlier  than 
we  were,  and  when  we  got  to  town  there  was 
not  a  spare  stall  at  the  livery  stables,  and 
the  streets  were  crowded  with  young  people 
in  their  holiday  best. 

We  drove  right  up  to  the  Show  Grounds, 
a  big,  level,  fenced-in  field  at  the  foot  of 
the  hills,  and  just  on  the  northern  outskirts 
of  the  town,  unhitched  the  team  in  the 
shelter  of  a  poplar  bluff,  tied  them  to  the 
waggon  wheels  and  gave  them  some  hay, 
and  then  left  them  to  their  own  devices, 
while  we  "  took  in  the  Show."  The  great 
attraction  for  the  ladies  was  the  Exhibition 
Hall,  a  new,  unpainted,  pagoda-like  struc- 
ture built  of  lumber,  and  two  stories  high, 
a  small  dome  on  top,  on  which  was  flying  the 
Canadian  flag  (Union  Jack  with  Canadian 
arms  in  one  corner).  The  hall  down- 
stairs was  used  for  "  dairy,  garden  and 
domestic  products,"  so  said  the  hand- 
book of  the  Show,  and  here  were  loaves 
upon  loaves  of  bread,  white  and  brown, 
small  and  large,  good,  bad  and  indifferent ; 
some,  Hke  Mrs.  Ben's,  which  took  first 
prize,  all  that  bread  should  be,  and  some 
all  that  it  should  not  be ;  butter  in  little 
dainty  pats  ready  for  the  table,  in  pound 


READY    FOR    THE    MORNING   GALLOP. 


"off  for  thf,  day." 


J     j»^»,.  j»     i 


h 


THE   EXHIBITS  47 

"  prints  "  and  in  earthenware  *'  crocks  " 
holding  twenty  pounds ;  jam,  made  from 
native  wild  fruits,  in  little  glass  jars  (some 
showed  as  many  as  ten  or  twelve  different 
varieties) ;  home-made  cheese  and  home- 
made soap  ;  then  came  the  garden  exhibits, 
all  the  ordinary  vegetables  we  have  at 
home ;  but  some,  especially  the  potatoes, 
finer  than  any  I  had  ever  seen  before. 
Next  to  the  vegetables  cam©  the  farm 
products :  bags  of  grain,  wheat,  oats  and 
barley  (grown,  of  course,  last  year),  sheaves 
of  wheat,  fresh  cut  from  the  fields,  to  show 
the  promise  of  what  we  hope  this  year's 
crop  will  be ;  and  sheaves  of  different 
kinds  of  "  tame "  grass — timothy  and 
browse  grass — which  many  of  the  farmers 
are  growing  now,  as  the  land  is  getting 
fenced  in,  and  there  is  not  so  much  wild 
land  for  the  cattle  to  roam  over.  The 
centre  of  the  hall  was  taken  up  with  flower 
stands,  on  which  were  shown  flowers  in 
pots,  cut  garden  flowers  and  wild  flowers. 
Most  of  the  house  flowers  were  shown  by  the 
town  people.  There  was  not  much  variety, 
but  plenty  of  good  geraniums,  fuchsias 
and  begonias.  The  cut  flowers  included 
most  Ox  our  old  *  favourites  "  at  home": 
stociis,  pinks,  asters,  mignonette  and  sweet 
peas — there  were  heaps  of  sweet  peas, 
beauties ! 

The  hall  upstairs  was  mostly  given  up 


48         A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

to  ladies'  fancy  work;  I'm  not  going  to 
attempt  to  describe  that !  The  "  fine  arts  " 
were  upstairs  also ;  the  less  said  of  them 
the  better,  though  there  were  one  or  two 
pretty  water-colours  of  prairie  and  log- 
house  scenes  that  were  not  so  bad,  and 
evidently  of  English  taste  and  handiwork  ; 
but  the  paintings  in  oil — ^horrors ! — none  of 
the  portraits  were  up  to  the  standard  of 
the  village  "  pub."  sign  of  the  "  Marquis  of 
Granby,"  and  the  efforts  in  scenery  would 
have  disgraced  a  travelling  show. 

Leaving  Mrs.  Ben  and  Regina  to  revel 
among  the  "  fine  arts,"  and  "  fancy  work," 
Little  Ben  and  I  made  the  round  of  the 
stables,  cattle  sheds,  and  pig  pens — ^just 
about  up  to  a  country  cattle  show  "  at 
home,"  but  only  about  a  dozen  sheep  ! 
"Too  many  prairie  wolves,  too  much  trouble 
to  put  up  fences,"  says  Big  Ben ;  and 
Canadians  do  not  seem  to  care  for  mutton, 
so  long  as  any  form  of  pig  is  available. 
At  noon  we  went  back  to  the  Hall  to  find 
the  ladies,  and  then  we  all  went  together 
to  have  dinner.  This  we  had  in  a  large 
tent  on  the  grounds,  which  was  "  run  "  by 
the  ladies  of  the  English  Church,  and  a 
very  good  dinner  we  had  for  thirty-five 
cents  apiece.  Everybody  works  here,  and 
they  all  work  together.  When  I  went  by 
the  tent  in  the  morning  the  parson  (Mr. 
Jordan)  had  his  coat  off, and  was  "bucking" 


LADIES'    WORK  49 

wood  for  the  cook  stove,  Mrs.  "  Parson," 
with  sleeves  rolled  up  and  a  big  apron 
on,  must  have  spent  most  of  the  day  in 
firing  up  the  stove  to  boil  water  for  the 
tea  and  coffee,  while  a  round  dozen  of 
other  ladies  were  cutting  up  joints  of 
beef  and  hams,  pies  and  cakes  for  dear 
life,  while  the  young  ladies  waited  on  the 
tables. 

We  saw  very  little  of  Mr.  Gregory  all 
day.  He  was  the  director-in-charge  of  the 
houses,  and  Mrs.  Gregory  foregathered  with 
one  or  two  old  cronies,  and  went  back  to  the 
Hall  to  a  more  thorough  examination  of 
the  fancy-work,  and  to  criticise  the  judging 
of  the  bread  and  butter,  which  did  not  meet 
with  her  approval.  Little  Ben  and  Regina 
and  myself  watched  the  athletic  sports, 
which  were  not  up  to  much,  except  the 
football  match  between  Minnedosa  and 
Russell,  which  was  a  fine  game;  and  as 
the  day  was  very  hot,  we  had  a  good 
many  ice-creams  and  "soft"  drinks — ginger 
beer  and  lemonade.  Fortunately,  "  hard  " 
drinks — whisky  and  beer — were  not  sold 
on  the  grounds,  and  I  only  saw  one  or  two 
men  at  all  "  under  the  weather."  We  had 
tea  again,  altogether,  in  the  tent ;  after 
which  Mrs.  Ben  and  Regina  drove  home 
in  the  buggy,  while  Little  Ben  and  myself 
drove  home  the  cattle.  It  was  dark  when 
we  got  back  to  Hoe  Farm — tired,  I  should 


50        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

say  so;  but,  like  the  "  three  jolly  huntsmen," 
we  had  a  "  rattling  day." 

Now  we  are  back  to  everyday  humdrum 
again :  school  for  Little  Ben  and  Regina, 
"  chores  "  for  the  "  chore  boy,"  and  Big 
Ben  is  ploughing  his  summer  fallow  with 
the  oxen,  to  give  the  horses  a  rest,  before 
the  serious  work  of  the  harvest,  which  will 
be  on  us  by  the  middle  of  next  week  with 
a  rush. 

Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester. 

P.S. — I  wish,  mother,  you  would  send 
some  little  fancy  thing  for  Regina' s  birth- 
day on  October  3 ;  it  would  only  look 
"  decent,"  when  they  are  all  so  kind  to  me. 


LETTER  No.  8 

The  Hoe  Farm, 

Mtnnedosa, 
September  23,  1911. 

My  Dear  Mother, 

THERE  is  nothing  like  the  harvest 
time  in  the  West  to  teach  a  fellow 
to  appreciate  Sundays  as  real  days  of  rest. 
We  have  had  glorious  weather  for  the  last 
month,  hardly  seen  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  and 
not  a  drop  of  rain  since  the  big  thunder- 
storm which  came  the  night  after  I  wrote 
my  last  letter  ;  but  it  was  a  terrific  storm. 
It  had  been  very  hot  and  sultry  for  two 
or  three  days,  and  there  were  heavy  black 
clouds  in  the  south-east  when  I  went  to 
bed  and  to  sleep.  I  was  awakened  by  a 
clap  of  thunder  which  seemed  to  jar  every 
timber  in  the  house;  before  I  realised  what 
it  was,  there  was  a  flash  of  lightning  which 
lit  up  the  room  like  switching  on  an  electric 
light,  followed  by  a  second  crash  of  thunder 
sharp  and  metallic — and  then  came  the 
rain.  It  came  first  with  a  few  big  drops, 
which  we  could  hear  splashing  on  the 
shingle  roof,  and  then  in  torrents.  The 
storm  lasted  for  nearly  an  hour,  though 
the  first  two  crashes  of  thunder  were  the 
worst — the  farm  buildings  and  yard  were  lit 
up  by  almost   continuous   sheet-lightning 


fti 


52        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

long  after  the  thunder  had  died  away  to 
an  occasional  rumbling  in  the  west. 

As  soon  as  the  worst  of  the  storm  was 
over,  Big  Ben  went  out  to  the  stables,  to  see 
if  the  cattle  and  horses  were  all  right.  There 
was  no  harm  done  there,  but  in  the  morning 
the  garden  looked  rather  a  wreck;  and  what 
was  more  serious,  the  finest  and  heaviest  of 
the  wheat  on  the  summer  fallow  was  badly 
laid  by  the  rain.  We  had  had  a  few 
thunder  showers  in  July,  but  I  never 
experienced  such  a  storm  before,  and  I 
did  not  care  for  the  experience. 

The  day  after  the  storm  Big  Ben  went 
to  town,  and  brought  out  with  him  an  extra 
"  hand "  to  help  with  the  harvest — an 
Ontario  harvester.  The  railway  company 
brings  up  on  very  cheap  tickets  thousands 
of  men  at  this  time  of  the  year,  to  help  take 
off  the  crops  in  the  West.  A  good  many  of 
them  are  farmers'  sons,  who  take  the 
opportunity  of  seeing  the  prairie,  with 
the  idea  of  afterwards  settling  here,  if  they 
like  it. 

Our  particular  "  harvester,"  Jake  Ma- 
guire,  is,  I  suspect,  a  fair  sample.  He  is 
used  to  farm  life,  and  a  good  man  with 
horses,  can  get  through  a  lot  of  work  in 
rather  a  rough-and-ready  way;  knows  a 
little  more  than  anyone  else,  though  Big 
Ben  is  working  some  of  the  conceit  out  of 
him.     He   is   jolly    and   pleasant   enough 


HARVESTING  53 

with  me,  though  there  are  some  little  things 
I  have  hardly  got  acclimatised  to  yet: 
he  chews  large  quantities  of  very  black 
tobacco.  He  is  very  skilful  in  the  use  of  the 
knife,  where  we  have  a  prejudice  for  using 
the  fork.  He  shares  my  bed,  and  only 
removes  his  outer  garments  before  retiring 
to  rest.  He  made  great  fun  of  me 
this  morning,  for  going  down  to  the 
lake  for  a  swim  before  breakfast.  He 
cannot  swim  himself,  which  I  can  quite 
understand. 

Now  for  the  harvesting.  I  escape  most 
of  my  "  chores,"  as  Little  Ben  has  to  do 
them  before  and  after  his  school  hours  ;  but 
I  have  longer  hours  and  heavier  work. 
We  cut  the  barley  first — and  on  it  I  learnt 
the  art  of  stooking,  i.e.,  putting  eight  or 
ten  sheaves  into  what  we  used  to  call 
"shocks"  at  home.  I  found  it  very  hard 
work  at  first,  not  only  that  my  arms  ached, 
but  my  wrists  were  scraped  nearly  raw  by 
the  sharp  ends  of  the  straw. 

By  the  time  we  got  to  the  wheat  the 
worst  of  my  apprenticeship  was  over,  and 
when  we  came  to  the  oats  I  rather  liked  it. 

Big  Ben  does  nearly  all  the  cutting  of 
the  "  grain "  with  the  binder  and  three 
horses.  Jake  and  myself  follow  the  "  bin- 
der "  and  do  the  "  stooking."  At  eleven 
the  three  horses  that  have  been  working 
are  put  in  the  stable  to  feed  and  rest,  and 


54        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

after  a  short  half  hour  for  dinner  Big  Ben 
is  at  work  again  with  three  fresh  horses, 
and  works  till  dusk. 

This  has  been  the  steady  round  for 
nearly  a  month,  varied  with  the  stacking 
of  the  barley  and  some  of  the  first  cut 
wheat.  Stacking  is  pretty  heavy  work  too. 
We  do  not  draw  the  "  grain  "  home,  but 
make  the  stacks  in  sets  of  four  out  in  the 
fields,  so  as  not  to  have  to  draw  our  loads 
far  over  the  rough  land. 

Big  Ben  builds  the  stacks,  and  Jake  and 
I  pitch  the  sheaves  to  him.  Stack  building 
is  quite  an  art,  as  here  they  do  not  put  any 
sort  of  thatched  cover  to  them,  as  they 
do  "at  home "  ;  at  the  same  time  they 
must  be  solid  enough  to  keep  out  any  rain 
or  snow  that  may  come  between  now  and 
threshing  time.  We  had  a  lot  of  trouble 
with  the  wheat  on  the  summer  fallow,  as  it 
never  stood  up  again  after  the  thunder- 
storm, and  a  great  deal  of  it  was  so  tangled 
up  that  the  binder  would  not  cut  it  at  all. 
However,  the  pigs  are  to  be  driven  down 
to  it  after  the  threshing,  and  I  suppose 
there  will  not  be  so  much  lost  after  all. 

We  were  far  more  fortunate  than  two 
or  three  of  our  neighbours  tp  the  south  of 
us,  for  instead  of  rain  they  had  a  hail-storm 
that  night,  and  nearly  all  their  crop  was 
destroyed.  Mr.  Gregory  and  I  drove  down 
on  the  Sunday  afternoon  after,  and  I  never 


A    HAIL-STORM  55 

saw  such  a  sight  in  my  life.  I  would  not 
have  believed  such  harm  could  have  been 
done  just  by  hail-stones.  At  one  house 
that  we  went  to  all  the  windows  were 
broken  on  one  side  of  the  house, 
and  the  flowers  and  vegetables  in  the 
garden  literally  cut  to  pieces.  The  wheat 
fields  were  as  flat  as  if  they  had  been  rolled, 
and  a  lot  of  the  grain  pounded  and  driven 
into  the  ground. 

The  man  at  the  house  said  some  of  the 
hail-stones  were  nearly  as  big  as  hens'  eggs, 
and  not  smooth  and  round,  but  just  like 
solid  chunks  of  ice.  Fortunately,  the  hail- 
storm only  came  in  a  narrow  strip  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide  across  three  farms — 
that  is,  to  do  serious  damage — but  those 
that  were  caught  by  it  will  have  no  crops 
to  sell  after  all  their  hard  work. 

The  hail-storm,  like  the  mosquito,  did  not 
appear  in  any  of  the  emigration  literature 
they  sent  me  when  I  wrote  to  that  office 
in  London.  However,  Mr.  Gregory  says 
he  has  only  been  "  hailed  out  "  once  in  the 
last  fifteen  years.  It  seems  to  run  in 
streaks ;  in  some  places  the  crops  have  never 
been  damaged  by  hail  since  the  country  was 
settled,  while  other  districts  have  been 
caught  three  or  four  times. 

There  is  to  be  a  kind  of  "  harvest  home  " 
supper  and  concert  in  the  school-house  in 
a  couple  of  weeks'  time,  at  which  I  am  to 


66         A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

sing.  My  voice  has  got  pretty  well  over 
its  "  breaking,"  and  we  practise  at  odd 
times.  We  are  going  to  sing  "  When  ye 
gang  awa,  Jamie,"  with  "  Darby  and 
Joan  "  for  an  encore,  if  we  get  one.  They 
are  rather  ancient,  but  I  do  not  fancy  we 
shall  have  a  very  critical  audience,  and  there 
is  a  strong  Scotch  element  among  our 
Canadian  neighbours.  Big  Ben  is  to  sing 
"  Nancy  Lee."  He  had  a  voice  once — 
there  is  plenty  of  it  still,  with  any  amount 
of  enthusiasm ;  but  driving  oxen  and  the 
climate  have  made  it  rather  rough  and 
jerky  in  spots. 

Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester. 


LETTER  No.  9 
The  Hoe  Farm, 

MiNNEDOSA, 

October  19,  1911. 

My  Dear  Mother, 

WE  have  had  a  comparatively  easy  time 
since  the  rush  of  harvesting  was 
over,  though  there  is  still  plenty  to  do. 
We  do  not  get  up  quite  so  early,  for  it  is 
not  light  till  seven  o'clock.  We  take  our 
full  hour  for  dinner,  and  there  is  no 
work  except  "  chores  "  after  supper.  Little 
Ben  has  been  home  from  school  most  of 
the  month,  and  Fall  ploughing  has  been 
the  standing  dish.  Fall  ploughing  is  the 
ploughing  of  the  stubble  fields  from  which 
the  crop  has  just  been  taken,  ready  for 
seeding  next  spring ;  and  Big  Ben,  Little 
Ben  and  myself  have  tramped  a  good  many 
miles  after  the  plough,  but  we  hope  to 
have  it  finished  in  a  few  days.  Two  of 
us  have  been  using  horses,  and  the  third  a 
yoke  of  oxen ;  but  I  cannot  manage  the 
oxen  very  well,  and  they  take  advantage 
of  my  ignorance.  With  Big  Ben  they  go 
along  steadily  and  smartly  enough,  and  will 
almost  keep  up  with  the  horses ;  but  as  soon 
as  I  take  the  plough-handles  they  seem 
to  think  they  can  do  as  they  like — and  they 
do.     It  is  in  vain  that  I  shout  to  them  by 


58       A  MANITOBA   CHORE  BOY 

their  proper  names  of  Buck  and  Bright  to 
"  git  up  " — they  go  slower  and  slower  till 
they  just  crawl  along.  If  I  make  a  frantic 
effort  to  reach  them  with  the  long  switch 
I  use  as  a  whip,  and  succeed  in .  landing 
a  sharp  cut  on  Buck's  hind-quarters,  he 
promptly  jumps  out  of  the  furrow,  jerks 
the  plough-handles  out  of  my  hands,  and  I 
have  to  stop  and  drag  the  plough  back  into 
its  place. 

Jake,  the  Ontario  harvester,  who  was 
with  us  last  month,  said  a  man  could  not 
drive  oxen  and  be  a  Christian — and  some- 
times I  think  he  was  about  right. 

Yesterday  afternoon  I  had  a  horrible 
time  with  them — they  seemed  possessed. 
Big  Ben  and  Little  Ben  were  in  another 
field,  and  I  had  been  left  to  finish  off  an  odd 
corner  of  stubble,  in  which  there  were  a 
good  many  stones.  I  am  satisfied  Buck 
and  Bright  just  laid  themselves  out  to 
exasperate  me.  Every  time  the  plough- 
point  struck  a  stone — ^jerk — it  was  thrown 
out  of  the  furrow,  generally  striking  me 
a  smart  blow  on  my  wrists  with  the  handles. 
I  would  shout  *'  Whoa,  whoa."  Buck  and 
Bright  would  tramp  stolidly  along,  as  if 
everything  was  lovely,  dragging  the  plough 
on  its  side.  Finally,  I  would  get  them  to 
a  standstill  and  abuse  them — not  that  they 
minded  that  in  the  least.  Buck  would 
say  inaudibly  aside  to  Bright,  "  This  English- 


THROWING   A    HORSE    WITH    LARIAT. 


HORSE-BREAKING    BY    THE^Ip.Of   THg    CHUTE^. 


'.        .     »    i»      >  »     »»     1        .'*».'»    \3     2     »'.', 


PLOUGHING  WITH  OXEN         59 

man  is  pretty  green,"  to  which  Bright 
would  reply  with  a  heavy  and  silent  wink, 
"  You  bet,  he  is."  In  twenty  yards  we 
would  strike  another  stone,  and  the  whole 
play  would  be  repeated,  with  additional 
exasperations  on  the  part  of  Buck,  the 
ringleader  in  all  the  trouble.  He  used  to 
belong  to  a  Scotch  Canadian,  and  is  possessed 
of  a  stodgy  oatmeal  kind  of  humour,  which 
does  not  recognise  when  a  joke  has  seen 
its  best  days.  My  temper  was  getting 
more  ragged  all  the  time,  and  finally,  when 
a  specially  violent  jerk  of  the  handles 
caught  me  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach  and 
knocked  me  sprawling,  I  left  them  stand- 
ing, went  to  a  near-by  bluff,  cut  a  stout 
stick,  and  undertook  to  give  them  an 
English  thrashing — especially  Buck.  They 
took  the  first  few  cuts  quietly  and  stub- 
bornly, then  switch  with  their  tails  and 
up  with  their  heads  and  off  they  galloped, 
dragging  the  plough  after  them — off  the 
ploughing — across  the  prairie  and  right 
into  the  middle  of  a  shallow  slough,  where 
they  stood  calm  and  impassive,  chewing 
the  cud. 

I  tried  hard  words  and  kind  words ;  I 
threatened,  I  entreated,  I  pelted  them 
with  sticks  and  stones ;  they  simply  ignored 
me  with  a  sublime  indifference,  and  chewed 
away  as  blandly  and  contentedly  as  if  they 
were  in  the  stable  enjoying  a  well-earned 


60       A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

repose  after  the  conscientious  performance 
of  duty.  It  ended  in  my  taking  ofiF  my 
nether  garments,  wading  in  the  slough  up 
to  my  middle  in  icy-cold  water  and  mud, 
and  driving  them  out.  The  point  of  the 
plough  was  twisted  and  one  handle  broken 
off  when  I  reached  home,  a  wet  and 
draggled  object  of  pity.  I  was  consoled  by 
Big  Ben  with  the  caustic  remark  that  "  If 
I  couldn't  keep  my  temper  I'd  better  quit 
driving  oxen  " — disgusting  ! 

But  there  has  been  compensations. 
This  is  the  shooting  season,  and  that  has 
meant  a  lot  of  pleasure  mixed  up  with  the 
trials  of  the  oxen  and  the  ploughing. 
Wild-duck  shooting  began  on  September  15, 
and  prairie-chicken  and  partridge  shooting 
on  October  1.  Little  Ben  and  I  had  a 
half -holiday  on  the  morning  of  the  fifteenth, 
and  were  off  soon  after  daylight — Little 
Ben  armed  with  his  father's  old  single- 
barrelled  muzzle-loader,  and  myself 
with  the  "  keeper's "  gun  which  Uncle 
Jack  gave  me.  When  we  reached  home, 
soon  after  dinner-time,  we  had  twenty-two 
ducks  of  different  kinds  and  sizes — five  fine 
mallards,  three  canvasbacks,  two  widgeons, 
two  spoonbills,  and  the  rest  blue-winged 
teal — quite  a  bag.  Little  Ben's  respect  for 
me  was  greatly  increased,  when  he  found 
that  I  could  shoot  a  duck,  as  he  expressed 
it,    "  on  the   fly."     His  own   way   is   the 


DUCK    SHOOTING  61 

Indian  fashion,  and  not  very  sportsmanlike 
to  my  thinking :  he  crawls  and  creeps 
through  the  long  grass  round  a  slough  in 
which  he  sees  ducks,  and  then  "  pots " 
his  unfortunate  victim  without  giving  it  a 
"  show."  We  took  the  old  collie  dog  with 
us  to  retrieve,  but  he  was  not  altogether 
a  success.  Sometimes  he  would  swim  right 
into  the  middle  of  a  slough  and  bring  a 
duck  out;  at  other  times  he  would  only 
bring  them  to  the  edge  of  the  reeds,  and  I 
would  have  to  take  off  my  shoes  and  socks, 
roll  up  my  '*  pants,"  and  wade  in  for 
them. 

Little  Ben  had  a  good  laugh  at  one  piece 
of  "  greenness "  of  mine.  After  wasting 
five  cartridges  on  what  I  took  to  be  a  small 
duck,  which  dived  the  moment  I  pulled 
the  trigger,  I  finally  knocked  it  over.  When 
I  showed  it  to  Little  Ben,  he  told  me  it  was 
a  kind  of  grebe,  not  fit  to  eat,  and  rejoicing 
in  the  euphonious  name  of  the  "  bellower." 
Since  the  first  day  we  have  had  no  regular 
"  hunts,"  but  I  have  several  times  got  two 
or  three  ducks  before  breakfast  on  the 
sloughs  near  the  house. 

The  prairie-chicken  shooting  is,  however, 
the  best  sport ;  they  are  splendid  birds, 
very  like  the  grouse  "  at  home,"  and  there 
are  lots  of  them  on  the  wheat  stubble  every 
morning  and  evening ;  but  work  comes 
first  with  a  Manitoba  farmer,   and  I  can 


62        A  MANITOBA   CHORE  BOY 

only  get  off  for  an  occasional  shot  at  them. 
Yesterday,  however,  the  ground  was  frozen 
too  hard  to  plough  in  the  early  part  of  the 
day,  and  Little  Ben  and  I  were  out  for  two 
or  three  hours.  They  are  getting  very 
wild  and  wary,  as  they  have  been  shot  at 
so  much  by  the  town  "  sports." 

Every  afternoon  when  we  are  working 
we  can  hear  the  "  pop,  pop  "  of  their  guns 
all  round,  and  sometimes  they  will  drive 
into  the  field  to  speak  to  Big  Ben,  and  ask 
permission  to  shoot  over  his  land.  More 
often  they  shoot  without  asking  leave, 
which  makes  him  "  mad."  One  day  the 
"  parson  "  from  town  walked  over  to  me 
where  I  was  ploughing,  with  his  two  boys — 
the  younger  one,  who  described  me  to  his 
father  as  "a  green  Englishman"  on  the  day  I 
reached  Minnedosa,  was  labouring  along 
under  a  load  of  prairie  chickens  and  ducks. 
The  young  cub  !  I  hope  they  were  heavy. 
The  "  parson's  "  attire  was  a  curious  mix- 
ture— it  began  with  a  clerical  collar,  and 
ended  in   a  gamekeeper's  leggings. 

The  shooting  has  been  a  great  treat,  and 
has  made  amends  for  a  lot  of  hard  work. 
The  townspeople,  lawyers  and  bankers 
and  storekeepers,  seem  to  be  able  to  get 
out  when  they  like.  They  don't  do  much 
walking.  They  have  livery  rigs  and  proper 
sporting  dogs,  setters  and  pointers  and 
retrievers.     Some  of  them  can  shoot,  and 


TOWN     SPORTSMEN  63 

some  of  them  could  not  hit  a  haystack  if 
it  were  to  fly;  but  I  doubt  if  they  get  as 
much  real  enjoyment  out  of  it  as  Little  Ben 
and  the  "  chore  boy." 

Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester. 

P.S. — Don't  meet  trouble  half-way,  my 
good  mother.  ''  Chore  boys  "  do  not  form 
attachments  on  seven  dollars  a  month. 


LETTER  No.  10. 
The  Hoe  Farm, 

MiNNEDOSA, 

November  28,  1911. 

My  Dear  Mother, 

r70R  once  I  am  writing  my  letter  on  a 
^  week-day,  as  I  gave  my  foot  a  nasty 
cut  with  the  axe  yesterday,  when  I  was 
splitting  some  firewood.  It  is  not  at  all  a 
serious  matter,  but  will  keep  me  in  the 
house  for  a  day  or  two,  and  I  rather  enjoy 
a  little  holiday. 

The  threshing  is  over — another  of  the 
great  events  of  the  farm  year.  The 
' '  threshers ' '  came  a  week  after  my  last  letter, 
and  were  here  for  six  days,  but  one  day  was 
a  Sunday,  and  for  one  day  we  lay  off,  as 
there  was  a  breakdown  with  the  separator 
(the  machine  which  does  the  threshing), 
as  a  fork  got  into  the  cylinder,  and  broke 
things  up  generally. 

The  man  who  owns  and  "  runs "  the 
threshing  machine  brought  his  gang  of 
men  with  him — ten  men  altogether — and 
two  teams  of  horses.  The  men  were  a  very 
miscellaneous  collection — the  "  boss  "  was 
a  Scotch  Canadian,  who  has  a  large  farm 
of  his  own  in  the  next  settlement — a  big, 
rough,  powerful  man,  a  *'  terror  "  to  work, 
and  make  others  work ;   but  he  knew  his 

64 


THRESHING  65 

job  thoroughly,  which  was  the  principal 
thing.  The  engineer  was  a  young  English- 
man— out  two  years — who  had  left  his 
regular  work  in  a  machinist's  shop  in  town 
just  for  the  threshing  season.  He  was  to 
have  a  hundred  dollars  a  month  wages  for 
the  two  months  that  the  season  lasts.  The 
other  men  got  about  three  dollars  and  their 
board  a  day  for  each  day  that  they 
worked;  they  included  three  Galicians — 
silent,  dark-visaged  fellows,  who  kept  to 
themselves,  two  Manitoba  farmers'  sons, 
a  "  Barnardo  boy,"  a  Swede,  and  a  time- 
expired  Royal  Navy  sailor.  The  last  was 
the  life  and  wit  of  the  gang,  and  kept  every- 
one in  a  good  humour.  He  was  at  once  an 
immense  favourite  with  Big  Ben,  for  he 
hailed  from  the  Three  Towns,  and  his 
Plymouth  yarns  made  Big  Ben  quite 
sentimental  and  reminiscent  for  a  week 
after. 

The  gang  slept  in  their  "  caboose,"  a  big 
van  fitted  up  with  sleeping  bunks,  one  tiny 
window,  a  small  stove,  and  very  limited 
ventilation. 

Personally,  I  should  not  care  for  the 
caboose  side  of  going  threshing — though 
the  "  Barnardo  boy  "  said  they  were  as  snug 
as  possible ;  but  "  snugness  "  is  not  every- 
thing. 

The  "  gang  "  only  came  into  the  house 
for  their  meals,  but  there  had  to  be  great 


66        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

cooking,  for  threshing  is  hungry  work ; 
and  it  is  a  matter  of  pride  among  the 
farmers  and  their  wives  to  "  put  up  "  good 
meals  for  the  threshers.  Mrs.  Ben  and 
Regina  were  busy  for  days  before,  baking 
bread  and  making  pies  without  number — 
apple  (dried)  pies,  pumpkin  pies,  raisin 
pies,  prune  pies.  But  the  Canadian  pie 
is  not  a  pie ;  it  is  baked  in  a  tin  plate,  two 
layers  of  paste  with  that  which  gives  it 
its  particular  name  between.  While  the 
"  wimmen  folk  "  were  busy  cooking,  Big 
Ben  and  myself  killed  and  cut  up  a  small 
steer  and  a  pig,  and  there  was  very  little  of 
either  left  when  the  "  gang  "  went  away. 

An  "  up-to-date "  separator  is  a  won- 
derful piece  of  labour-saving  machinery, 
and  very  few  men  are  required,  considering 
the  amount  of  work  which  is  done.  There 
is  a  band-cutter  which  cuts  the  twine  which 
binds  the  sheaves,  an  indicator  which 
counts  the  bushels  of  grain,  a  spout  which 
carries  the  grain  into  the  waggon  box, 
a  "  blower  "  which  carries  away  the  straw 
and  makes  a  rough  stack  of  it — all  working 
mechanically  and  saving  labour.  My  par- 
ticular duty  all  through  the  threshing  was 
to  keep  the  engineer  supplied  with  water 
for  his  boiler.  The  water  had  to  be  drawn 
from  a  little  lake — a  distance  of  half  a  mile 
or  so — in  a  big  tank.  I  had  to  back  my 
team  a  little  way  into  the  lake,  and  then  dip 


A    CATASTROPHE  67 

up  the  water  with  a  pail  fixed  to  a  long 
handle.  It  was  hard  work,  and  a  cold  and 
sloppy  kind  of  job  on  a  frosty  day. 

I  had  a  small  catastrophe  on  the  last 
morning.  I  had  filled  my  tank,  and  was 
fixing  the  cover,  when  my  horses  started 
without  warning,  and  I  fell  backwards 
into  two  feet  and  a  half  of  water.  I  was 
drenched  to  the  skin,  and  by  the  time 
I  got  back  to  the  threshing  my  clothes 
were  nearly  frozen  stiff.  The  gang  thought 
it  was  an  immense  joke.  I  didn't  see  it 
myself ;  but  I  got  a  change  of  clothes,  and 
didn't  even  catch  cold. 

We  took  two  or  three  days  to  tidy  up 
after  the  threshers  left,  and  then  Big  Ben 
and  myself  settled  down  to  drawing  the 
wheat  to  market.  After  breakfast  and 
*'  chores  "  were  over  we  would  '*  clean  up  " 
our  loads,  put  the  wheat  through  the 
fanning-mill,  to  blow  out  the  dust  and 
chaff  and  take  out  any  weed  seeds  or 
rubbish  (winnowing  we  called  it  "at 
home  "),  put  it  into  bags  and  load  it  into 
the  waggons. 

This  would  take  till  dinner-time ;  and  after 
dinner  we  took  it  to  town.  As  soon  as  we 
reached  the  grain-market — which  is  just 
the  open  street  in  front  of  the  post-office — 
the  buyers  would  rush  up,  climb  on  to  the 
load  and  open  a  bag  to  examine  the  wheat. 
Some  days  there  would  be  quite  a  com- 


68        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

petition  among  the  buyers,  and  Big  Ben 
in  the  end  would  get  several  cents  a  bushel 
more  than  the  first  price  offered. 

As  soon  as  the  grain  was  sold  we  drew 
our  waggons  up  to  the  elevator,  where  it 
was  unloaded  and  weighed.  There  are 
three  large  elevators  in  town,  but  the  last 
time  we  were  in  two  of  them  were  quite 
full,  and  the  third  had  very  little  room 
left.  There  is  such  a  rush  all  over  the 
West  to  get  the  crop  sold  that  the  railways 
cannot  take  it  away  from  the  elevators 
fast  enough.  However,  the  price  has  fallen, 
and  Big  Ben  says  he  will  not  sell  any  more 
till  spring ;  he  is  better  off  than  a  good 
many  of  his  neighbours,  who  have  to  sell, 
whether  the  price  is  good  or  bad,  to  get 
money  to  pay  their  bills.  He  gave  me  my 
wages  for  the  past  seven  months  the  other 
day,  ten  dollars  a  month  with  five  dollars 
a  month  extra  for  the  last  four  months. 
It  was  rather  better  than  he  promised  me 
at  first,  and  he  said  he  was  quite  satisfied 
with  my  work.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not 
be  able  to  save  very  much  of  it,  as  there 
are  quite  a  lot  of  things  I  have  to  get  for 
the  winter — working  clothes  and  a  fur  coat 
of  some  kind.  A  cloth  coat  is  no  good  for 
the  winter  here,  if  a  fellow  has  to  go  to  town 
on  the  top  of  a  load  of  grain,  or  to  go  to  the 
"  bush "  for  wood.  I  am  sending  some 
small    presents    home — Indian    moccasins 


INDIANS  69 

for  Jack,  moccasin  slippers  for  Mary,  and 
a  piece  of  Indian  beadwork  for  yourself. 
I  got  them  from  an  Indian  in  town  last 
week.  We  usually  see  two  or  three  when 
we  go  in — there  is  a  small  Indian  Reserve 
not  far  away,  and  the  Indians  go  into  town 
a  good  deal  in  the  summer  to  sell  wild 
fruits,  and  in  winter  with  moccasins  and 
things  they  make  from  deer-skins. 

There  is  not  much  of  the  "  Last  of  the 
Mohicans  "  about  a  Manitoba  Indian.  He 
is  usually  dressed  in  a  mixed  assortment 
of  "  white  man's"  clothes,  which  have  been 
given  him,  though  I  have  seen  one  or  two 
old  men  wearing  blankets.  On  the  Show 
Day  I  saw  one  or  two  young  squaws  who 
were  great  swells  in  the  fancy  beadwork 
line,  others  looked  like  a  "  Mary  Ann  "  on 
a  Bank  Holiday. 

Big  Ben  says  a  few  of  the  Indians  on  the 
Reserve  are  quite  well-off — have  good 
ponies  and  cattle,  and  put  up  hay  for 
themselves  and  to  sell  in  town. 

The  Reserve  is  a  block  of  land  kept  for 
the  Indians  by  the  Government,  and  the 
white  settlers  are  not  allowed  to  interfere 
with  it  in  any  way.  When  you  get  this  it 
will  be  nearly  Christmas,  and  for  the  first 
time  I  shall  be  away  from  home.  I  hope, 
mother  dear,  you  will  all  be  "  happy," 
and  if  I  am  not  "  merry  "  at  the  thought 
of  it,  I  shall  have  to  reconcile  myself  with 


70        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

the  "  Old  Squire's  "  motto—"  What  must 
be,  must  be  !  " 

Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester. 

P.S. — It  was  awfully  good  of  you  to  send 
the  pretty  collar  to  Regina  for  her  birthday ; 
she  was  delighted  with  it. 


LETTER  No.  11 
The  Hoe  Farm, 

MiNNEDOSA, 

December  29,  1911. 

My  Dear  Mother, 

CHRISTMAS  has  turned  out  better  than 
I  expected,  and  I  have  really  had  a 
very  good  time.  On  Christmas  morning 
Mr.  Gregory,  Regina  and  myself  drove  into 
town  for  church,  Little  Ben  staying  at 
home  to  help  his  mother  and  do  the 
"  chores."  It  was  a  perfect  Manitoba 
day — the  sky  without  a  cloud,  not  a  breath 
of  wind,  and  the  thermometer  a  little 
above  zero.  We  had  a  good  deal  of  snow 
in  the  early  part  of  the  month  ;  but  the 
town  trail  is  used  by  nearly  all  the  settle- 
ment, so  the  snow  was  well  packed  down, 
making  good  sleighing.  During  the  night 
the  air  had  been  heavy  with  frost  and  fog, 
which  had  crystallised  into  hoar  frost  at 
sunrise.  Every  bush  and  twig  seemed 
decked  with  diamonds  flashing  in  the  sun- 
light, and  the  horses  were  as  exhilarated  as 
ourselves  by  the  keenness  of  the  air  and  the 
merry  chiming  of  the  sleigh  bells.  Of 
course,  all  the  stores  in  town  were  closed, 
and  the  Main  Street  nearly  deserted,  but 
there  were  bands  of  bright  and  happy 
children  playing  on  the  river. 

71 


72        A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

We  put  the  horses  in  the  livery  stable, 
and  walked  up  to  the  church;  the  first 
hymn,  "  Christians,  awake,"  started  just 
as  we  entered  the  door.  The  church  was 
well  filled — I  suppose  it  holds  about  three 
hundred  people — and  there  was  a  very 
good  choir.  It  was  more  like  "  home " 
than  anything  I  have  met  since  I  came 
out.  There  was  very  little  in  the  way  of 
decoration,  but  there  was  some  real  holly, 
with  lots  of  red  berries,  on  the  pulpit  and 
above  the  altar.  I  wondered  where  the 
holly  came  from,  for  I  knew  it  did  not 
grow  here — nothing  grows  here  in  the 
winter  time.  I  heard  afterwards  that  it 
came  from  Maine,  in  the  United  States,  and 
that  it  cost  tenpence  a  pound  ! 

When  we  got  back  to  Hoe  Farm,  we 
found  dinner  ready,  and  we  were  ready  too. 
In  the  afternoon  we  had  the  cattle  to  drive 
to  the  lake  for  water,  and  the  horses  to 
attend  to — which  took  us  till  dusk — for  it 
is  dusk  by  four  o'clock.  However,  we  had 
some  good  fun  in  the  evening,  skating  on 
the  lake  by  moonlight.  A  lot  of  the 
young  people  round  were  there,  and  we 
made  a  very  noisy  party.  We  had  a  big, 
blazing  bonfire  on  the  ice — it  is  two  feet 
thick,  so  you  need  not  be  nervous — and 
finished  up  with  Big  Ben  inviting  the 
"  crowd  "  to  the  house  for  hot  mince  pies 
and  coffee. 


MILKING    TIME    ON    A    RANCH. 


SELLING    WOTJD    IN    TOWN. 


**OLD    COUNTRY"    CHRISTMAS    73 

Still  more  dissipation  in  this  letter, 
mother,  for  on  Christmas  Day  "  the 
parson "  asked  me  to  spend  the  next 
evening  at  his  house,  and  six  o'clock 
found  me  at  the  rectory  door  in  my 
Sunday  best. 

I  had  expected  just  a  quiet  family  party, 
but  found  that  I  was  only  one  of  a  crowd  of 
eighteen  young  fellows — from  eighteen  to 
twenty-five  years  old,  all  Englishmen — 
whom  *'  the  parson  "  had  gathered  together 
for  an  "  Old  Country  "  Christmas. 

I  was  introduced  to  each  one  as  Tom 
Lester,  and  the  "  parson "  called  them 
all  by  their  Christian  names.  It  was  rather 
embarrassing,  but  I  was  much  reheved  to 
find  that  I  knew  two  of  them  already — the 
engineer  and  the  Plymouth  sailor  man  who 
were  with  the  threshing  gang.  They  were 
very  friendly,  and  soon  made  me  feel  at 
home  with  the  rest.  With  the  exception 
of  one  other,  who  was  "  hired  man  "  on  a 
farm  close  to  town,  they  were  all  living  in 
Minnedosa  for  the  winter,  and  twelve  of 
them  were  "  keeping  back  "  in  the  rooms 
over  an  old  wooden  store  in  Main  Street. 
These  were  generally  known  by  the  rest  as 
"  the  Pirates,"  and  their  "  back  "  as  the 
"  Pirates'  Den."  Only  three  of  the  whole 
party  had  regular  work  for  the  winter ;  four 
were  carpenters  and  two  bricklayers,  who 
had  had  regular  work  and  good  wages  till 


U         A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

*'  freeze  up  "  (the  beginning  of  November), 
and  were  living  cheaply  out  of  their  savings 
in  the  summer  ;  the  rest  had  been  working 
on  the  railway  or  on  farms,  and  were  still 
making  a  precarious  living  by  "  bucking  " 
wood  or  other  casual  jobs  in  town.  They 
were  as  friendly  and  jolly  a  lot  of  fellows 
as  I  ever  met,  and  I  enjoyed  the  even- 
ing immensely.  They  were  much  more 
interesting  than  a  lot  of  young  fellows 
"  at  home,"  for  they  represented  such  a 
variety  of  experiences — several  of  them 
had  been  through  the  South  African  War, 
and  two  had  been  at  sea^  *'  before  the 
mast,"  on  merchant  ships.  Most  of  them 
came  to  Canada  with  the  idea  of  home- 
steading,"  but  very  few  intended  to  go 
farming  now.  Englishmen  who  have  "  fol- 
lowed a  trade  "  in  large  towns  do  not  seem 
able  to  stand  the  monotony  and  loneliness 
of  Western  farm  life.  We  were  all  laughing 
and  talking  together  when  "  the  parson's  " 
younger  boy,  my  old  friend,  came  to  call 
us  to  dinner  in  the  dining-room.  Here  we 
met  Mrs.  Jordan,  an  elder  boy  of  my  own 
age,  a  daughter  a  couple  of  years  older, 
another  daughter  about  fifteen,  and  two 
little  girls  (called  by  the  rest  Tallycoram 
and  Buster,  though  I  should  imagine  these 
names  are  not  baptismal).  Mrs.  Jordan  and 
the  girls  seemed  to  know  all  the  "  Pirates," 
and  it  was   just  like  a  big  family  party, 


J  »  J  » 
>  >  >  > 


A    CONCERT  75 

"  the  parson  "  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
faced  by  a  big  turkey  and  a  roast  of  beef, 
replaced  later  by  a  monster  plum  pudding 
and  mince  pies  ;  Mrs.  Jordan  at  the  foot 
of  the  table,  with  tea  and  coffee,  and  the 
girls  and  boys  helping  with  the  waiting. 

After  dinner,  while  the  table  was  being 
cleared  and  the  dishes  washed  up  by  Mrs. 
Jordan  and  the  girls,  helped  by  the  "  handy 
man  "  from  Plymouth,  most  of  the  others 
crowded  into  "  the  parson's  "  little  study 
for  a  smoke,  while  the  non-smokers,  a 
minority  including  myself,  sat  in  the  large 
sitting-room  and  talked.  When  the  ladies 
came  in  we  had  a  regular  concert,  vocal 
and  instrumental.  Two  of  the  "  Pirates  " 
were  really  good  violinists,  the  "  handy 
man "  had  brought  his  cornet,  while  a 
third  *'  Pirate  "  played  the  accompaniments 
for  the  songs  on  a  small  American  organ. 

Such  singing  you  never  heard  !  Soldiers' 
songs,  sailors'  songs,  comic  catches,  senti- 
mental ballads,  and  everything  with  a 
chorus  was  sung  by  the  whole  crowd.  The 
party  broke  up  at  twelve  o'clock  with  hot 
coffee,  mince  pies,  and  "  God  save  the 
King." 

I  did  not  come  back  to  Hoe  Farm  that 
night,  but  shared  the  "  handy  man's " 
bunk  in  the  "  Pirates'  Den,"  and  walked 
home  after  breakfast  the  next  morning. 
Next  week  we  shall  be  back  to  steady  work 


76         A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

again  after  our  holiday  time.  We  have  a  lot 
of  hay  to  draw  home  from  the  prairie,  and 
then  the  wood  for  next  year's  burning  has 
to  be  cut  in  the  bush  eight  miles  away, 
drawn  home,  and  cut  up  into  stove 
lengths  and  piled  up  to  get  dry.  Big  Ben 
was  in  town  yesterday,  and  sold  fifteen 
hundred  bushels  of  oats ;  the  price  has  gone 
up,  and  they  are  worth  thirty  cents  a 
bushel,  so  that  will  mean  some  more  trips 
to  town,  and  pretty  cold  trips  too,  for  it 
has  grown  much  colder  since  Christmas 
Day,  and  last  night  the  thermometer 
registered  40  degrees  below  zero.  The  little 
fiction  in  the  emigration  pamphlets  about 
not  "  feeling  "  the  cold  in  the  West,  owing 
to  the  dryness  of  the  atmosphere,  does  not, 
as  they  say  here,  "  pan  out "  in  reality. 
One  does  not  suffer  from  it,  with  plenty  of 
good  food  and  suitable  clothing,  but  you 
certainly  feel  it,  or  freeze,  and  then  you 
feel  it  when  you  thaw  out. 

Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester. 


I 


LETTER  No.  12 
The  Hoe  Farm, 

MiNNEDOSA, 

January  27,  1912. 

My  Dear  Mother, 

HAVE  been  through  my  first  blizzard, 
and  live  to  tell  the  tale.  It  was 
certainly  a  most  unpleasant  experience ; 
Big  Ben  was  with  me,  or  it  might  easily 
have  ended  in  my  being  under  a  snow- 
drift out  on  the  prairie,  instead  of 
sitting  by  a  warm  stove  writing  home  to 
you. 

The  first  two  weeks  of  this  month  were 
bitterly  cold,  but  beautifully  fine,  two 
things  that  often  go  together  here — in- 
tense frost  and  a  cloudless  sky.  Big  Ben 
and  myself  made  several  trips  to  the  bush, 
drawing  home  wood  cut  last  winter,  and 
which  had  been  piled  there  to  dry  out. 
Then  came  a  sudden  change  of  weather; 
the  wind  veered  from  the  north-west  to 
the  south-east,  and  we  had  two  or  three 
damp,  raw  days,  which  ended  in  a  fresh  fall 
of  snow,  and  a  rise  in  the  thermometer. 

The  next  morning,  after  the  snowfall, 
the  air  was  as  soft  and  mild  as  if  spring 
were  coming.  There  was  not  a  breath  of 
wind,  and  the  sun  shining  on  the  newly 
fallen  snow  made   everything   of    such   a 

77 


78         A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

dazzling  purity  of  spotless  white  that  it 
pained  one's  eyes  to  look  upon  it. 

We  started  for  "the  bush"  Big  Ben  and 
I,  with  two  teams  and  sleighs,  directly  after 
breakfast,  intending  to  make  a  long  day's 
work,  not  only  bringing  home  two  loads 
of  dry  cord  wood,  but  also  to  spend  several 
hours  in  the  woods  cutting  "  green  "  wood 
for  next  year's  supply.  The  horses  easily 
kept  the  trail,  for  they  could  feel  the  firm 
road,  made  by  our  previous  trips,  under 
the  fresh  snow,  and  we  trotted  along  gaily 
for  four  or  five  miles  of  prairie,  then  a 
couple  of  miles  of  bluffs  and  scattered 
trees,  where  the  best  timber  had  been  cut 
in  previous  years.  For  the  last  mile  to 
our  wood  piles  the  trees  were  thick  together, 
and  our  narrow  road  was  the  only  opening. 

We  unhitched  our  horses,  tied  them  to 
the  sleighs,  threw  their  blankets  over  them, 
and  both  of  us  set  to  work.  In  the  bush 
it  was  so  still  and  mild  that  we  not  only 
took  off  our  fur  coats,  but  also  our  rough 
working  jackets  and  mitts. 

In  this  part  of  the  woods  many  of  the 
poplars  were  nearly  a  foot  through  at  the 
bluff  of  the  tree,  and  about  forty  feet  high. 
Big  Ben  cut  the  trees  down,  and  I  lopped 
off  the  branches,  and  then  cut  the  trunks 
into  four-foot  lengths.  We  worked  away 
steadily  for  a  long  time,  the  silence  of  the 
woods  only  broken  by  the  chopping  of  our 


Photo] 


[R.  Stock. 


AN    ONTARIO    ROAD    IN    MIDWINTER. 


A  BLIZZARD  79 

axes,  and  the  occasional  crashing  of  the 
branches  of  a  big  tree  as  it  fell. 

It  was  past  noon  when  we  stopped  work 
for  dinner,  and  to  feed  the  horses.  For 
the  horses  we  had  brought  bundles  of 
hay  and  their  usual  allowance  of  oats,  and 
for  ourselves  several  very  substantial  rounds 
of  toast,  and  some  equall}'^  substantial 
slices  of  cold  fat  pork.  Fat  pork  and  thick 
toast  may  not  sound  very  appetising,  but, 
after  all,  the  enjoyment  of  food  is  all  a 
question  of  the  keenness  of  one's  appetite, 
and  in  the  bush  I  would  not  wish  for  a 
better  dinner. 

As  we  did  not  expect  to  be  home  very 
early,  we  also  made  a  fire,  melted  some 
snow  in  an  old  saucepan,  and  made  tea  ; 
hot,  strong,  black  tea,  without  milk  or  sugar, 
served  in  a  tin  mug,  and  with  more  than  a 
suspicion  of  smokiness,  is  just  splendid 
in  the  bush. 

It  was  not  till  we  sat  down  by  our  fire 
after  dinner  that  we  noticed  a  change  in  the 
weather,  or  rather  I  should  say  Big  Ben 
noticed  it.  The  clear  blue  of  the  patch 
of  sky  we  could  see  overhead  through  the 
tree  tops  was  becoming  hazy,  and  dimmed 
by  a  thin  film  of  quickly  moving  cloud.  We 
on  the  ground  felt  no  wind,  but  the  upper 
branches  of  the  trees  were  swaying  gently, 
and  as  we  listened  keenly  we  could  hear  a 
long,  weird  sighing  pass  through  the  woods  ; 


80         A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

it  was  not  a  sound  that  you  could  hear 
so  much  as  feel. 

I  do  not  suppose  I  should  have  paid  any 
attention  to  it  had  I  been  alone,  but  it 
filled  Big  Ben  with  uneasiness. 

"  There  is  going  to  be  a  storm,  Tom,  and 
the  sooner  we  are  out  of  this  the  better." 

We  had  loaded  our  sleighs  with  dry 
wood  before  we  had  dinner,  so  we  "  hitched 
up  "  our  horses,  and  were  soon  started  for 
home.  By  the  time  we  got  out  of  the 
thickly-wooded  bush  there  was  already  a 
great  change ;  the  sky  was  dull  and  leaden 
with  clouds,  the  air  was  thick  with  falling 
snow,  and  fierce  gusts  of  wind  went  soaring 
through  the  tree-tops,  making  the  frozen 
branches  creak  and  groan  under  their 
sudden  attacks.  So  far,  however,  we  had 
had  no  trouble  with  our  horses  and  loads, 
for  there  was  sufficient  shelter  from  the 
brushwood  and  small  bluffs  to  keep  the 
snow  on  the  ground  from  drifting  to  any 
serious  extent.  When,  however,  we  reached 
the  open  prairie,  we  felt  the  full  force  of 
the  blizzard,  and  I  was  honestly  afraid. 
It  was  not  only  that  snow  was  falling 
heavily,  but  the  wind  swept  along  the 
prairie,  carrying  the  loose  snow  that  had 
fallen  the  night  before  high  into  the  air. 
Big  Ben  was  just  in  front  of  my  horses 
with  his  team  and  load,  though  often  I 
could  not  see  them,  except  dimly  in  brief 


IN  THE  STORM  81 

lulls  of  the  storm.  Not  a  trace  of  the  trail 
was  to  be  seen,  and  in  places  new  drifts 
had  formed,  through  which  the  horses 
bravely  ploughed  their  way.  We  each  sat 
on  the  front  of  our  loads,  shouting  occasion- 
ally to  our  teams  to  cheer  them  on,  but 
(entirely  unable  to  guide  them,  for  no  one 
could  keep  his  face  to  such  a  storm  for  more 
than  a  minute. 

Suddenly  my  team  stopped,  and  I  heard 
Big  Ben  shouting  in  front.  I  got  down 
from  my  load,  and  struggled  through  the 
storm  to  see  what  was  amiss.  He  had 
struck  a  deep  drift,  and  one  of  his  horses 
was  down,  while  his  load  was  tilted  high 
on  one  side,  and  threatened  to  topple  over. 
With  a  great  deal  of  stamping  and  trampling 
down  of  the  snow  round  the  horses,  we 
managed  to  get  the  horse  up  on  its  feet 
again,  but  it  was  hopeless  to  think  of 
getting  our  loads  through  the  drift. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  throw 
off  our  wood ;  so  to  work  we  set,  and  soon 
had  it  off  and  made  a  fresh  start.  Re- 
lieved of  the  heavy  drag  of  the  loads,  our 
teams  made  better  progress,  though  we 
could  not  see  whether  we  were  in  the  road 
or  not,  and  had  to  trust  entirely  to  the 
horses,  but  they  brought  us  safely  through. 

After  what  seemed  a  long  and  weary 
plodding  through  deep,  loose  snow  the 
front  team  turned  sharply  to  the  right,  and 


82       A  MANITOBA  CHORE  BOY 

a  minute  after  the  runners  of  our  sleighs 
struck  a  firm,  hard-beaten  road — we  were 
on  the  town  trail.  Though  the  blizzard 
still  raged  as  furiously  as  before,  our  danger 
was  over,  for  the  drifting  snow  did  not 
lodge  on  the  hard-beaten  trail,  the  horses 
were  sure  of  their  footing,  and  the  force 
of  the  storm  was  on  their  side,  instead  of 
in  front  of  them. 

We  did  not  stop  again  till  we  were  at  the 
house  door  at  the  farm,  and  were  very 
thankful  to  be  safely  home. 

The  blizzard  kept  on  all  through  the 
night,  and  the  old  log  house  groaned  and 
creaked,  as  if  its  heavy  timbers  would  be 
torn  asunder.  Towards  morning  the  storm 
abated,  the  gusts  of  wind  came  at  longer 
and  longer  intervals,  and  finally  died  away 
altogether.  When  we  got  up  at  sunrise 
the  sky  was  as  bright  and  clear,  the  air  as 
calm  and  still,  as  on  the  preceding  morning ; 
but  the  Storm-King  had  played  strange 
pranks  with  the  snow.  Everywhere,  round 
the  house,  in  the  yard,  and  in  the  fields, 
where  it  had  been  exposed  to  the  full  force 
of  the  wind,  the  ground  was  swept  bare, 
and  the  snow  piled  high  in  drifts  in  every 
spot  sheltered  from  the  storm.  The  front 
door  and  windows  were  covered  nearly  to 
the  top,  and  it  took  us  all  the  morning  to 
shovel  away  a  passage  to  the  stable  door, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  feed  the  horses  and  cattle. 


THE  GLLMATE  83 

I  think  I  must  have  experienced  now  all 
the  varieties  which  go  to  the  making  of  the 
Manitoba  climate,  and,  take  it  "  for  all  in 
all,"  I  Uke  it ;  it's  all  on  a  grand  scale,  and 
there  is  none  of  the  everlasting  drizzle, 
which  used  to  make  me  feel  so  muggy  and 
discontented  with  the  world,  and  myself, 
"  at  home." 

Your  loving  son, 

Tom  Lester. 

P.S. — I  caught  a  lovely  mink  in  a  trap  on 
the  little  lake  yesterday.  As  it  is  the  first, 
1  am  going  to  make  a  ruff  of  it  for  Regina. 
I'll  send  the  next  to  Mary. 


The  End. 


Every    Boy*s    Bookshelf. 

A  New  Series  of  Eighteenpenny  Stories  for  Boys,  full  of  stirring 

adventure.     Each  with  two  illustrations  in  colours  and  coloured 

medallion  on  cover.     Large  crown  8vo,  cloth  gilt.   Is.  6d. 

SKYLARK :     His    Deeds    and    Adventures.       By 

M.  GENESTE.  With  two  coloured  illustrations  by  W.  E. 
WiGFULL.  Crown  8vo,  cloth  gilt,  Is.  6cl. 
Skylark,  so  named  from  his  propensity  for  '  larking  '  and  practical 
joking,  is  not  only  a  favourite  at  school  on  account  of  his  sunny 
disposition,  but  a  real  influence  for  good  because  of  the  uniform 
*  straightness  '  of  his  conduct.  His  adventures  include  a  fire  at  the 
school,  in  which  he  nearly  perishes,  and  being  kidnapped  and  carried 
oflf  to  France,  having  stumbled  on  evidence  tending  to  identify  the 
authors  of  a  burglary.     Altogether  the  book  is  full  of  incident. 

CAVE  PERILOUS :    A  Tale  of  the  Bread  Riots. 

By   L.    T.    MEADE,       With     two    coloured     illustrations. 

Crown  8vo,  cloth  gilt,  Is.  6d. 
A  very  brightly  written  talc,  full  of  incident  and  adventure, 
of  English  life  nearly  a  century  ago. 

The  Scotsman  says  :  '  A  spirited  and  interesting  tale  of  adven- 
ture in  which  a  boy  and  girl,  shut  up  in  a  wild  cave,  but  sustained 
by  a  sturdy  piety,  contrive  not  only  to  extricate  themselves,  but  to 
discover  and  recover  a  lost  parent  who  had  been  kidnapped.  It 
is  written  with  a  catching  vivacity,  and  is  sure  to  be  a  favourite 
with  young  readers." 

THE  TURQUOISE  RING.      By  IDA  LEMON. 

With  two  coloured  illustrations.  Crown  8vo,  cloth  gilt.  Is.  6d. 
A  brightly  written  story  that  will  hold  the  boy  reader's  attention 
all  through.     It  is  full   of  incident,  and  is  told   with  the   author's 
well-known  skill. 

OLD  SCHOOLFELLOWS  AND  WHAT  BECAME 

OF  THEM.     With  two  coloured  illustrations  by  J.  H.  Valda. 

Crown  Svo,  cloth  gilt,  Is.  6d. 
A  book  that  will  delight  both  old  and  new  schoolfellows.  A 
number  of  old  schoolfellows  find  themselves  established  not  far  from 
each  other,  and  form  a  society  for  relating  their  own  adventures  and 
the  adventures  of  schoolmates  known  to  them.  The  stories  are 
capitally  told,  and  in  the  Captain's  Story,  the  Lawyer's  Story,  the 
Doctor's  Story,  &c.,  &c.,  we  are  given  striking  examples  of  what 
the  boy  may  become  if  he  starts  with  the  right  motives.  Also 
several  disastrous  failures  give  necessary  warnings  against  laxity  of 
conduct  and  morals. 

LONDON:    THE  RELIGIOUS  TRACT  SOCIETY. 


The    Boy's    Own    Series. 

A  Series  of  Books  for  Boys  by  well-known  Writers,  containing 

Stories  of  School  Life,  Adventures  on  Sea  and  Land,  Stories  of 

Old   England,   &c.      Well  illustrated,   handsomely   bound,  cloth 

gilt,   large  crown  8vo,  2s.  6d. 

BOB     MARCHANT'S      SCHOLARSHIP.        By 

Ernest  Protheroe.  With  seven  illustrations  by  Alfred 
Pearse.     Large  crown  8vo,  cloth  gilt,  2s.  6d. 

The  School  Guardian  says :  '  A  very  readable  tale  with  plenty 
of  "go"  in  it.' 

The  Manchester  Courier  says :  '  An  attractive  story  of  school- 
boy life.' 

The  Spectator  says  :  '  Here  we  have  a  story  of  adventure,  the 
scene  of  action  being  what  is  called  the  educational  ladder.  Bob 
Marchant  wins  a  scholarship    ....  which   takes  him   to    Orville 

College,  a  first-grade  school The  subject  is  worth  treating, 

and  should  not  be  less  interesting  than  the  perils  by  flood  and  field 
which  commonly  form  the  themes  of  these  stories.' 

THE  HEROISM  OF  LANCELOT.    By  JEANIE 

FERRY.     With  three  coloured  illustrations.     Large  crown 

8vo,  cloth  gilt.  2s.  6d. 
This  book  will  be  read  with  eager  interest  and  profit  by  all  boys 
and  girls.  The  author  has  produced  quite  a  number  of  beautiful 
characters,  and  some  the  reverse  of  beautiful.  Lancelot  is  undoubtedly 
the  hero,  and  a  splendid  one,  too,  but  there  are  several  heroines  who 
run  him  close  in  the  race  of  unselfishness  and  purity  of  character. 
Boys  will  vote  the  book  'jolly'  and  'stunning,'  and  unconsciously 
they  will  have  themselves  imbibed  a  wholesome  draught  from  a  care- 
fully written  and  good  story. 

JACK   SAFFORD:    A  Tale   of   the    East    Coast. 

By  WILLIAM  WEBSTER.     With  three  coloured  illustra- 
tions by  Ernest  Prater.     Large  crown  8vo,  cloth  gilt, 
2s.  6d. 
A  breezy  boy's  book  of  adventures  in  the  North  Sea.     It  will  be 
sure  to  interest  lads  who  are  leaving  school,  and  are  wondering  what 
the  future  holds  in  store  for  them.    Honesty,  bravery,  and  a  readiness 
to  seize  opportunities  for  advancement  are  upheld  in  this  well-written 
story. 

The  British  Weekly  says :  '  The  book  is  full  of  adventure, 
and  is  most  readable.' 

The  Liverpool  Daily  Post  says :  '  A  story  of  adventure  on  sea 
and  land,  which  boys  will  read  with  avidity,  for  Jack,  among  other 
things,  had  to  find  the  way  out  of  a  very  awkward  predicament.' 

LONDON:    THE  RELIGIOUS  TRACT  SOCIETY. 


The    Boy's    Own    Series. 

FROM     SLUM     TO     QUARTER-DECK.        By 

GORDON  STABLES.  M.D..  R.N.,  Author  of  '  Wild  Life 
in  Sunny  Lands,'  *  The  Voyage  of  the  "Blue  Vega,"'  &c. 
With  six  illustrations  by  Alfred  Pearse.  Large  crown 
8vo,  cloth  gilt,  2s.  6d. 

The  hero  of  Dr.  Gordon  Stables'  new  work  is  a  London  boy 
about  whose  origin  there  is  a  mystery,  which  is  skilfully  dealt  with 
and  satisfactorily  solved.  A  story  of  the  sea,  which  the  author's 
many  admirers  will  be  eager  to  read. 

The  Record  says  :  '  It  is  a  bright  and  breezy  volume,  and  will 
please  boys  immensely.' 

The  Schoolmaster  says :  '  This  is  a  good  rattling  story  of  a 
street  arab  who  has  a  series  of  interesting  and  exciting  adventures.' 

The  United  Methodist  says :  '  Real  stirring  adventures  are 
sprung  upon  us  in  such  unique  fashion  that  we  hesitate  to  give 
prospective  readers  an  inkling  as  to  their  sequence.' 

ALLAN    ADAIR;    or,  Here  and  There    in   Many 

Lands.  By  GORDON  STABLES.  M.D..  R.N. .  Author  of 
*  In  the  Land  of  the  Lion  and  the  Ostrich.'  With  coloured 
frontispiece  and  title-page.  Large  crown  8vo,  cloth  gilt, 
2s.  6d. 

The  Examiner  says  :  *  Allan  Adair,  the  only  son  of  his  widowed 
mother,  distinguishes  himself  as  a  lad  in  helping  to  save  a  vessel  in 
distress,  and  in  return  is  offered  a  berth  by  the  owners  in  one  of 
their  ships.  Of  course  he  accepts,  and  a  life  of  world-wide  travel 
and  incident  is  the  result.  Among  many  exciting  episodes  may  be 
mentioned  shooting  "  rattlers  "  in  the  Sierras,  encounters  with  nar- 
whals and  bears  in  the  Arctic  regions,  a  hairbreadth  escape  on  the 
terrible  ice-river  of  Spitzbergen,  and  adventures  among  the  savages 
of  Patagonia.' 

GALLANT  SIR  JOHN.  BySARDIUS  HANCOCK, 

Author  of  'The  Cruise  of  the  Golden  Fleece,'  &c.  With 
three  coloured  illustrations  by  J.  Finnemore,  R.L  Large 
crown  8vo,  cloth  gilt,  2s.  6d. 

'  Gallant  Sir  John  '  is  a  stirring,  exciting  tale  of  the  days  when 
Henry  V.  was  gaining  successive  victories  in  France.  At  the  same 
time  Wyckliflfe's  Bible  was  being  circulated  by  th^  Lollards,  who 
were  being  hounded  to  exile,  outlawry  and  death  by  the  priests  of 
Rome.  Once  begun  this  story  will  hold  the  reader  to  the  end,  for 
he  will  be  taken  into  the  very  heart  of  those  troublous  times,  and  will 
witness  many  a  thrilling  scene. 

LONDON:  THE  RELIGIOUS  TRACT  SOCIETY. 


The    Boy's   Library   of 
Adventure  &  Heroism. 


MELTONIANS     ALL!        By     F.     COWLEY 

WHITEHOUSE.  With  three  coloured  illustrations  by 
J.  FiNNEMORE,  R.I.     Large  crown  8vo,  cloth  gilt,  3s.  6d. 

A  capital  boy's  book,  giving  a  stirring  account  of  life  in  a 
great  public  school.  All  three  heroes  of  the  tale  are  very  attractive 
to  the  reader,  while  the  touch  of  tragedy  describing  the  noble 
self-sacrifice  of  one  of  them  further  deepens  the  interest  of  this 
lively  story. 

The  Daily  Mail  says  :  '  A  thoroughly  healthy  school  story, 
which  touches  neither  too  lightly  nor  too  heavily  upon  the  responsi- 
bilities of  boyhood.' 

The  Globe  says :  '  A  splendid  schoolboy's  story,  in  which 
pluck,  honesty  and  steadfastness  are  winners  every  time.' 

The  English  Churchman  says  :  '  A  very  well  written  story- 
book for  boys,  dealing  with  school  life  in  a  lively  style.' 

MYDDLETON'S     TREASURE.      By     ERNEST 

PROTHEROE,  Author  of  'That  Boy  of  Eraser's,'  'Bob 
Marchant's   Scholarship,'  &c.     With  three  coloured  illus- 
trations by  J.  Macfarlane.     Large  crown  8vo.  cloth  gilt, 
3s.  6d. 
Entering  the  railway  service,  Jasper  Myddleton  worked  his  way 
up  to  the  footplate  only  for  the  past  to  rise  up  against  him  and  cause 
his   dismissal.      But   his    grit   and   dogged    pertinacity   carried   him 
safely  through   various  adventures  at    sea  and   in   Central   Africa. 
He  discovered  the  'Real  King  Solomon's  Mines,'  but  in  'Kiddy,' 
a  little  girl-friend,  he  found  the  greatest  treasure  of  all.     The  plot 
is  particularly   attractive,  and  the  reader  will  follow   Myddleton's 
vigorous,  moving  career  with  sustained  interest. 

THE  BAYMOUTH  SCOUTS.  By  TOM  BEVAN, 

Author  of  'The  Goldsmith  of  Chepe,'  'A  Trooper  of  the 
Finns,'  &c.  With  four  coloured  illustrations  by  Gordon 
Browne.     Large  crown  8vo,  cloth  gilt,  3s.  6d. 

T^his  is  a  story  of  the  days  of  Napoleon,  and  his  threatened 
invasion  of  England.  Two  boys  are  kidnapped  and  carried  to 
France,  from  where,  after  many  adventures,  they  escape  and  return  to 
England,  bringing  with  them  a  lady  and  her  daughter,  who  had 
been  ruined  by  the  Revolution.  It  is  especially  suited  for  Boy 
Scouts, 

LONDON:    THE   RELIGIOUS  TRACT   SOCIETY. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

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