The one and I

Front matter

Richard Landon

OW GOOD TO BE ALIVE AND ALONE WITH NATURE

PUBLISHERS

II IN THE QU'aPPELLE VALLEY

The same day^ evening time. — Early this afternoon, with a blithe farewell to me and kindly advice as to taking care of myself, Marie and Theo drove off to the settlement to purchase the monthly stores. Baby went too, and the house has been my own, to say nothing of the woods and the haystack, and I divided my time pleasantly between the three. Since the happy trio cannot return to-night, I shall be all alone with the German girl who acts as servant here, for the farm hands return to their own homes at night — nice, cosy little log houses they have too, since Jack is as good as his master in this country, and frequently he thinks himself a great deal better. When Jack is of Canadian extraction, this attitude of equality is not at all unpleasant or aggressive, but when 33 a horrid English emigrant adopts this freeand-easy manner he becomes altogether obnoxious and abominable. The lower-class Canadian is a pleasant, jolly "hail-fellow" sort of person, who never by any accident drops his "h's" or fails to remove his pipe from his mouth when he passes a woman in the street. But it is also a significant fact that he raises his hat even to the wife of his employer: it would never occur to him to touch it after the respectful manner of the poorer classes at home in England. For instance, the Barnardo boys who come to Canada, speedily learn this somewhat surprising method of salutation, and whisk off their hats and say "How do.''" with great style, an insolent grin illuminating their faces the while. They are not Canadians, and they cannot grace these actions at all. Such people jar our English sensibilities : they upset our sense of the fitness of things. The English in the Canadian North- West deeply realize the wis- 34 dom of the upper classes in England who decree that Jack is by no means as good as his master, and who also insist that, whatever the said Jack's ideas on the subject may be, he keep them to himself. In short, he must touch his hat and not hft it. Marie's German servant is a great character, and after the manner of all laboring classes of all nations, the English excepted, she can be talked to and treated in a friendly manner without becoming familiar.

To-night I supped alone. I ate a snipe that Theo shot, the last I expect, for the close season commences in two days. It was such a plump little bird that it seemed quite enough — with its toast. I spoke to Lina the maid about it beforehand, and requested her not to remove its little internal arrangements. She stared at me in horrified amazement, but obeyed. Later on, viewing the clean-picked bones, she eyed me with intense disfavor and spoke.

So

"Ach! I could not eat it! I should efen die! But den dere is no killing you foreign beobles."

Now what English servant could have said the same thing without giving dire offence?

I have spent the evening with Marie's piano, not a bad one for here, and I think we rather enjoyed each other. Now it is late, and my bed calls to me in a cosy, tempting voice. To-morrow night, when my friends return from the settlement, they may bring with them a letter from The One: I want one so; it is a month since the last letter came. His father is sending him some money, and with this and his allowance he will be able to start a store down here, or buy cattle, or something. Anyway, he says that directly he receives the money he is coming down to me and — ah ! well, we shall see. I assure you that he is quite a man to be proud of if that is what one requires, for he can ride any horse that eats hay, and rope any steer that 36 ever had a mother, but — he ought, I am sure, to have been an engineer. My bed is shouting louder and louder.

Later. — I cannot sleep though I felt so sleepy when I came to bed; it must be owing to the moon which is so brilliant that I am able to write by its light. For some time I lay hesitating whether to get out and pull down the blind or to write down all my worries. The former would have been the more sensible course to pursue, therefore I decided on the latter.

England! I wonder when I shall set eyes on the shores of England again? If I become "sensible and see things in the proper Hght," I think it will probably be many years before the quay at Liverpool will feel the affectionate pressure of my friendly foot. For being sensible will mean settling down to the everyday of Western life until Fate sends The One across the ocean to take his place in his father's shoes. One thing is cer- 37 tain, and that is that we shall not be able to afford to keep a servant for a long time to come, so I shall spend my time flourishing the dishcloth and playing hide-and-seek with the eternal dust-pan, both of which horrid articles ought to be kept in Davy Jones's locker: also, such occupations are much too "sensible" for my taste. I have the pleasure of knowing a very delightful and clever woman in England, a writer of high reputation, one who possesses both a large brain and a large heart — an unusual combination. Once in a letter she asked me how I spent my days in the far North-West. I replied fully, not forgetting to mention such pretty details as wash-tubs, floor-scrubbing, and the making of fifty pies at once when the odious threshing-gang pay their annual visit and eat up everything you can put before them like locusts. It being near threshing time when I received her letter, the chance of a delicious grumble, with the knowledge of 38 such a sympathetic hstener, quite deHghted me. In replying she said, "Child, what a life! Is it not a pity to have to clean out a pipe with a £5 note when a straw would do as well?" Bless her! That remark made me very happy. It was not the happiness of fed conceit, but a comfortable knowledge of being for once understood and apparently appreciated. In return I pointed out to her that in spite of this being a wheat-growing country, straws of the kind she referred to were unavailable, and a £5 note, being handy, was consequently used instead. My dear mother was like unto a £100 note, and — she used herself nobly and without a murmur! . . .

To return. In thinking it over I have come to the conclusion that only an infatuation can make one content, nay even eager to marry in comparative poverty, and thus couple with connubial bliss the elevating companionship of saucepans and potato-peelings. 39

If I were only a little mercenary, things would be easier, for there is not a single girl in our settlement, or in any settlement, but would snap up The One in a moment if they had the chance, not only because he is such a dear, but because some day he would be able to give them carriages and jewels and things that women seem to want so much. Love without infatuation is a strange thing ; it apparently tends to make one dainty, and yet surely this should not be the case. I must give up this analysis, or there will be trouble; I must let love-talk alone if I can, anyway for the present.

I should like to work for a while, headwork instead of body-work. Faculties that decline, like fretful babies, to be put to sleep, torment me always. I should like to go to England for a time, and later, return to The One and wed him, bringing pennies with me, and perhaps something of a name that my mind had made. There is the rub. I cannot 40 rest, for the desire to achieve stings like a Httle, sharp whip. Marriage after marriage takes place in the settlement. Ruddy youths and glad beribboned maidens join hands at the altar and go forth in gladness, content to work much, rest a little, and in fulness of time to die, having stolidly fulfilled all the functions of nature. I suppose that is very right and proper, but one might as well be an earwig or a moth. Even this day and these woods are merely intensifying my desire to be and do more than these people. I wish the spring would do for me what it did for Tennyson's young man — make me ^'lightly turn to thoughts of Love!" Then how easy everything would become, and how awfully "sensible" The One would find me when he comes out of the west with marriage in his eye! But such days as this has been only make me want to try and write of them exquisitely, to send forth a living, fragrant word-picture, acceptable to the senses of 41 many an unknown affinity. They make me want to stretch out delicate, sensitive fingers of thought that would reach beyond the seas, and touch with delight the hearts of such as would enjoy them as I do. Alas ! How highflown I am! This stirring of the spirit is, I believe, after all only the work of some malicious and mischievous sprite whose desire is merely to torment, for — cui bono? There is no time to indulge in or develop artistic instincts in this country, for the physical part of one gets so tired at the end of each day's work that it simply lies down and goes to sleep.

A cloud is nearing the moon, even as another kind of cloud seems to have enveloped me, and the last few minutes I have suffered. I almost hope to-morrow it will blow and rain, so that I shall be forced to stay in the house and learn more domestication.

The night is dimmed, so now I will try to sleep.

Evening of the next day. — In this country every one is delightfully vague about dates, and in Sleepy Hollow this seems to be especially the case. In the settlement one counts up the date according to the last edition of the weekly paper. There being no paper here one cannot count up, and after all it does not matter. I know it is somewhere in the middle of April, and that to-day has been just as fair as yesterday. The maplebuds had swollen perceptibly during the night, and everything seemed to have grown a whole inch when I went out in the morning.

I have spent the day with the Indians as arranged. They made me welcome in their own undemonstrative way, and let me help keep the fires going, and now and then stir the boiling sap. Between times I wandered round looking at things. There were carpets of moss spread out to dry in the sun: they pack the papooses in it when carrying them on their backs In little, mummy -like 48 cases. I went into one tepee, which is the circular tent they live in, made up of canvas or skins with poles to support it, and there found five jack- rabbit skins and a wolfhide hanging up to dry. These, coupled with the natural odor of warm Indian and ka-nick-ka-nick (the dried inner bark of the red willow which they use as tobacco when unable to obtain the white man's kind) gave the place a peculiar yet, curiously enough, not altogether unpleasant scent. Afterwards, the clean forest air outside, and the faint, sweet smell of the boiling sap came to me as a new joy. All day we boiled, to-morrow we boil, and the third day, like all events in fairy tales, will appear the brown sugar-crystals. The papooses were all free and as full of fun and play as white babies. There was one I would have given twenty-five dollars for if I had anywhere to keep it — such eyes, and such a little, little mouth, just like a wet red rose-bud. My especial friend 44

Wabash- Wan (the Jack- rabbit) is its father. I believe the squaws think me very silly to be so interested in everything, for they nudge each other and giggle just like school-girls. One asked me for my blouse and another for my ring ; I was sorry I was not able to oblige them.

Later. — ^At moonrise I went along the trail to meet Theo and Marie. The trail runs along the foot of the hills on the north side of the valley, and sometimes it climbs a little way up and then again descends. Two or three prairie wolves were yapping and howling in the distance, doubtless rejoicing in the mixed delights of moonlight and a cow's carcase. A pale gleam at the side of the trail caught my eye, and I stooped to it. It was another anemone, tightly folded for the night, and I could not pick it for thinking of its gladness at sunrise to-morrow. What a wonderful thing is night on the prairies; as I walked I pictured the limitless flats beyond 45 the boundaries of the valley; the many coyotes (the Indian word for wolf here universally used) that prowled and howled, moving in their silent, sneaking way like grey, sinuous shadows ; the badgers and gophers busy in their earths. Far off, like a little yellow eye, would glimmer the light of a settler's shack. How of the earth earthy that small gleam would at first appear under the swimming splendor of the moon ; I have often seen it and noticed. The moon is always a marvel, always a new pleasure, but is there not something in the small flame of an earthly lamp or fire, especially when it shines far across the vast night of the prairies, that appeals to the heart, even while the glory of the heavens uplifts the mind? Perhaps it is that the boundless, overwhelming impression of a prairie night causes one to welcome limited effort. To me the home-light of the settler is as attractive as the night-lights God has provided ; the one does not in reality lose 46 in comparison with the other. Thinking on these things as I walked, I found that though one can never imitate the Eternal Magnificence worthily, one can add to it humbly.

Such a soft, unseasonable night it was, stolen from the coming summer, that one almost expected to catch the glint of a firefly in the air, but it is yet too early. With a rumble of wheels and a clattering of hoofs, the rig rounded the corner. HaiHng my friends, I clambered in at the back, took a seat on the grocery boxes, and so home.

Ill ^ \

The Next Day.— There was a letter frpm The One: I felt there would be. It was a real letter too and not a mere note, such as he usually indulges in. If the dear boy only knew how nice and "sensibly" inclined I feel after reading a letter like this one, he would be sending me such tonics through the post every day, I believe. Perhaps not though, because he finds letter writing such a business; I believe he really hates it; so, as can be easily imagined, I have plenty of time for relapses in between, which is a pity. I have actually seen him eat nearly the half of a five-cent pen-holder in the agony of trying to think what to say to some one in a letter, and how to say it. He seems to have a mania for condensing his thoughts on paper, and judging from his adoration of Bacon's e&- 51 says, which he is always holding up to me as the perfection of literary style, I should imagine that he tries to get as near to that ideal as possible whenever he puts pen to paper. But this letter is different; my boy has actually forgotten to prune his phrases until only a stick of fact is left. He simply rambled delightfully about our "by-and-bye," and being caught by the spirit of his writing, I sped into the bluffs alone after breakfast, there to ramble back in reply, also delightfully I hope. The letter will please him, and it goes in by the man on Friday. Already I begin to wonder if I have done quite wisely in replying at once, and without taking two or three days in which to cool off and regain my balance; yet I think I have done well. This I know, that if The One wooed me like that, warmly and often, soon I would give in. It may be peculiar to think and write down such things as this when one is actually engaged to a man, but being en- 52 gaged seems so utterly different to being married.

The women in the settlement are very fond of telling me that The One is too good for me, and though I detest hearing it, in the same way that one always detests hometruths, yet I smile and agree — for it is quite true. At the same time he is also ever so much too good for any of them, only if I turned round and told them so in return they would simply snort with rage. One has to be like the parrot and think a lot.

Yes, he is indeed too good for me; he is too gentle, too sweetly yielding to my selfwill. But what a brave man ! Physically and morally and utterly brave. I have seen him ride the most awful horses, horses that one moment stand on their heads and the next on their tails, and between times seem to go up in the air like the hills of the Psalmist, while The One just sits there smiling and swearing cheerfully. Also, he once made a 53

THE ONE— AND 1 man swallow his front teeth like pills, for something horrid he said about a lady, and I do not believe she was more than a mere acquaintance of The One's at best. Then, too, he has often come to me and apologized for being cross, when perhaps I was the one to blame all the time. Certainly he is brave. If he were just brave enough, or rough enough, to take me by my ear to the parson, I should squeal; but-^go ! There it is in a nut-shell. He is too good for me, but I have a desire to thump the people who say so.

A kind and sweet friend, one of those dear things who pride themselves on "plain English," once told me that I should have lived in the stone age when it was the fashion for a man first to fell his lady-love with a club and then drag her off by the hair of her head ! Thanks! that is a shade too peremptory even for me, and I fancy that I also should have got busy just about then, and there would have been two clubs at work.

My dreams of achievement are faint and far away to-day, in fact I am glad to record that they scarcely bother me at all, though the weather continues to be quite perfect. After luncheon, I picked up a song-folio belonging to Marie and came across the song "Douglas, Douglas tender and true." Strangely enough I had never seen it before, though I knew it to be as old as the hills. I have never encouraged the average ballad, as they are most of them so feeble and badly written. But after reading The One's unusual and most tender letter, this song affected me so that my voice wobbled terribly, and presently the tears came fast and ran down into my lap. Luckily Marie was busy putting Baby to sleep somewhere, for she would have thought me either ill or crazy. I knew that if anything happened to The One away in the West, I should feel just like that girl did who had written about her Douglas. And that mood still holds me, making more 55 tears feel very near the surface. Is it a thousand, thousand pities that he is not here now? Perhaps it is. "Sensible" is not the word for my feelings ; but he is safe and well, thank God, and the woods are perfect in the late afternoon sun. I will swallow this lump in my throat and think quietly for a while.

An early and energetic squirrel, frisky from his winter's nap, ran up a near tree with a metallic squeak. It positively startled me. It is a powerful noise for such a small person to make, and he seems to do it i^ith his tail, for that bushy member jerks violently every time. I have eaten squirrel as a change from bacon on many a long camping trip, but if I was camping now and had no food, I do not think I could shoot this one, for he has such cheeky eyes, and is sitting on a bough quite near: it is very jolly of him to trust me so.

I have thought and I know. I know there is that in me which will not be quelled or thrust aside: a proud determination to do and be, by power of mind and gift of inspiration. Yet this proud Something bows its head and weeps with my body in gentle recognition of ray strong affection for The One. Then it softly but firmly withdraws and awaits the composure of my body. Now I am looking It in the eyes, and we understand each other. If there is such a condition as a heaven on earth, I could realize it, did The One but possess also this Spirit-lord and enjoy and suffer from It as I do, or did he even become conscious of and intimate with mine. If I could only make him understand! But he knows no such subtle slavery, is troubled — so far as I can see — with no ambition whatever, and so is frankly puzzled in his essentially masculine mind by my mental vagaries. I am to him merely a dear, long, lovable enigma; in short, as he frequently 57 says, "Child, you're the Very Dickens!" Being this kind of a dickens, is, though privately sufficing, not quite so simple as it sounds. However, perhaps when I marry The One and so tie myself down to mere bread-and-butter making, etc., I can knead into those mundane necessities all these out-of-place desires that torment me now. Why are people so fond of saying "Oh, yes! he or she is married and done for!" I begin to think I see a reason.

Another period of thought, bringing forth this : Am I selfish, egotistical ? Do I think I can do and be more than I really could, if given a fair chance.'' Do I? That suspicion disturbed me very much. Then, suddenly, I again caught the eye of my Spirit-lord, and Its steadfastness mocked my anxiety. I must go into the house and be among people, for 5S continually fighting this same battle makes one very weary. Being a dickens, is not so very jolly when there is mere man to be reckoned with as well.

Two days later. — In the settlement there lives a man : he shall be called The Sage. He is English and a doctor, and no one knows quite how old or how young he is, but he. is viery wise— on occasion.

Once a Canadian Pacific Railway engine ran off the track near the station and tipped itself into a sort of ditch; after that it refused to budge, but just lay there making horrid noises. The Sage was out all night showing the C. P. R. break-down gang how to put it on again. The gang, by the way, spend all their time doing these little odd jobs, and they were curiously ungrateful to The Sage for his gratuitous advice and help 59

— in fact, I believe, they even swore at him. He was very deaf. Now I think being deaf, though of course dreadfully annoying sometimes, has also its compensations. For instance. The Sage couldn't hear those men swearing at him, so his feelings could not have been hurt at all. He shoots well, has a rather bald head, keeps black dogs, and lives alone in a house he built for himself ever so many years ago, for The Sage is an "old-timer" and came to the settlement when it was quite a baby place, with only about half-a-dozen buildings to constitute the main street ; he is now an institution. If he gets an idea into his really clever head, it would take a very bad scare from an arch-angel to drive it out, and even then, I believe the tail-end of it would stay behind. He argues too, and if one is lucky enough ever to corner him in an argument, he spreads out the palms of his hands most righteously, snaps his eyes at you, and replies promptly : *'Thafs what I say!" 60 leaving you weak with amazement, while he trots off apparently victorious and immensely satisfied. Now that is a perfectly awful thing to do, and makes one simply grind one's teeth with rage. I am not sure whether he does it on purpose or not: one must remember that he is a Sage, and it may be merely his sagacious way of getting out of a tight place: he has a big, warm heart underneath it all, and we are all awfully fond of him.

Not long ago my father was married for the second time, and The Sage kindly lent his house for the married pair to return to after their short honeymoon until they could find a suitable one for themselves. Of course all that should have been arranged beforehand, but daddy is Irish. He is nicknamed The Pippin by his respectful progeny, because, having served many years in India with his regiment, he seems to have crinkled up rather — with the heat, I suppose — and now looks like a jolly little winter apple. He and his 61 wife are with The Sage now, and I am supposed to be there too, only this visit has interH vened. Next week I must return to them and keep house while they hunt house. The Pippin is deaf too, so I suspect The Step-mother is having a lively time.

Oh, but the wedding was funny! and in spite of a heartache when I imagined my father's long-ago wedding-day with my beautiful mother, I had to see the humorous side of this later event. The snow was deep on the ground and the whole North- West was ice-bound. Not having any money to speak of, I could not afford to send away to Winnipeg for flowers, so I did the best I could. I cut a big, white picture-flower out of the seedcatalogue and pinned it in his coat, where it crackled diabolically with every movement. But The Pippin did not mind, in fact he was beautifully unconcerned all through the ceremony. I had known the lady he was to marry all my life, she being an old friend of the 62 family — in fact, a sort of connection — and they were married in a friend's house, because the paper flower would not have looked well in a church — -at least, that reason suffices. A sheet was spread on the parlor-floor, and a pillow placed invitingly for each of them to kneel on. Outside the sun glittered on the snow-fields, and inside the room we all whispered impressively while we waited for the bride. Even then I felt I must laugh or die ; but when the bride entered the room, and The Pippin, looking up over his spectacles, gave vent to a long-drawn "Ah-h ! Poor dear!" I simply stuffed my handkerchief into my mouth and suffered horribly. The bride being a good sort, possessing a sense of humor, and also having under the belt of her travelling-dress a whole glass of port wine, winked at me ! We stood and we knelt in the usual way (and I, not being of sufficient importance to be given a pillow, found the floor most unsympathetic) until the knot was tied 63 and new relationships established.

Then The Pippin groaned again, it being a funny little way of his to groan plentifully when particularly happy After driving into the settlement to a nice little tea at Linnet's home (we shall come to Linnet presently), the pair went off on the west-bound express, dad's bald head gleaming prettily in the western light as he saluted the send-off from the car steps. That was the last of them for a time. Then, one fine day, they came back and with me took up their abode in the house of The Sage. The very next day the irrepressible Pippin wanted to go out and see all his old-time friends, having previous to his marriage been absent from the settlement for some time. It is here necessary that I tell of the three antipathies of my father: they are lawyers, a cold climate, and Popery. Poor dear! he really has suffered a good deal from the first two, but I can never quite fathom his intense horror of Popery; since it appears harmless 64 enough if you let it alone. But The Pippin fights a candle in a church like a pup a pig. He grew so bigoted once that he took to going to a Union Baptist Chapel, and I heard that his Amens and groans were most convincing. I put him off the chapel however in quite a simple way, for one Sunday afternoon, as he dozed in his arm-chair, I gathered up the lonely tuft of hair that he then possessed on the top of his head and rolled it neatly into a curl-paper, easily succeeded in making him forget about it, and packed him off to his chapel in a hurry. Of course the choir, where daddy was wont to bleat, was convulsed, and he thinking them very rude, and of course failing to see anything unusual in his appearance, promptly retired again into the more polite bosom of the English Church.