Up the Country: A Saga of Pioneering Days

One Saturday night a couple of months following the birthday ball at Three Rivers, Bert sat down to write a letter. It was a love letter, and he had called upon the aid of Charlotte, a fact which indicated that it was more a state than a spontaneous affair. The children were abed. Philip was absent at Coolooluk, and the sister and brother had the living room of the new home to themselves. Awaiting the shrinking of the slabs, the walls had been papered with periodicals, and very cosy and cheerful the room was with its beautiful fire of boxwood blazing on the wide, white hearth.

With writing materials laid out on the hardwood table that he had made, Bert was waving his quill in a circular movement above the spotless paper, rather like a rooster flaps his wings before he crows. After waving his hand about several times, he came to a standstill, laid down the quill and took off his coat. Again he waved the quill, equally ineffectually, and then rolled up his shirt sleeves, showing his tanned muscular forearms where many a girl had wished to press her fingers or try her teeth.