Corporal Cameron of the North West Mounted Police Part 31

"Let me try that," said Cameron, and, putting forth his strength, he brought the axe down fairly upon the stick with such force that the instrument sh.o.r.e clean through the knot and sank into the log below.

"Huh! that's a cracker," said Tim with ungrudging admiration. "All you want is knack. I'll slab it off and you can do the knots," he added with a grin.

As the result of this somewhat unequal division of labor, there lay in half an hour a goodly pile of fire wood ready for the cooking. It caught Haley's eye as he came in to breakfast.

"I say, Missus, that's a bigger pile than you've had for some time.

Guess my new man ain't so slow after all."

"Huh!" puffed his wife, waddling about with great agility, "it was Tim that done it."

"Now, Ma, ye know well enough he helped Tim, and right smart too," said the daughter, but her mother was too busy getting breakfast ready for the hungry men who were now performing their morning ablutions with the help of a very small basin set upon a block of wood outside the kitchen door to answer.

There were two men employed by Haley, one the son of a Scotch-Canadian farmer, Webster by name, a stout young fellow, but slow in his movements, both physical and mental, and with no further ambition than to do a fair day's work for a fair day's pay. He was employed by the month during the busier seasons of the year. The other, Perkins, was Haley's "steady" man, which means that he was employed by the year and was regarded almost as a member of the family. Perkins was an Englishman with fair hair and blue eyes, of fresh complexion, burned to a clear red, clean-cut features, and a well knit, athletic frame. He was, as Tim declared, a terror to work; indeed, his fame as a worker was well established throughout the country side. To these men Cameron was introduced as being from Scotland and as being anxious to be initiated into the mysteries of Canadian farm life.

"Glad to see you!" said Perkins, shaking him heartily by the hand.

"We'll make a farmer of you, won't we, Tim? From Scotland, eh? Pretty fine country, I hear--to leave," he added, with a grin at his own humour. Though his manner was pleasant enough, Cameron became conscious of a feeling of aversion, which he recognised at once as being as unreasonable as it was inexplicable. He set it down as a reflection of Tim's mental att.i.tude toward the hired man. Perkins seized the tin basin, dipped some water from the rain barrel standing near, and, setting it down before Cameron, said:

"Here, pile in, Scotty. Do they wash in your country?"

"Yes," replied Cameron, "they are rather strong on that," wondering at the same time how the operation could be performed successfully with such a moderate supply of water. After using a second and third supply, however, he turned, with hands and face dripping, and looked about for a towel. Perkins handed him a long roller towel, black with dirt and stiff with grease. Had his life depended upon it Cameron could not have avoided a shuddering hesitation as he took the filthy cloth preparatory to applying it to his face.

"'Twon't hurt you," laughed Perkins. "Wash day ain't till next week, you know, and this is only Wednesday." Suddenly the towel was s.n.a.t.c.hed from Cameron's hands.

"Gimme that towel!" It was the girl, with face aflame and eyes emitting blue fire. "Here; Mr. Cameron, take this," she said.

"Great Jerusalem, Mandy! You ain't goin' to bring on a clean towel the middle of the week?" said Perkins in mock dismay. "Guess it's for Mr.

Cameron," he continued with another laugh.

"We give clean towels to them that knows how to use 'em," said Mandy, whisking wrathfully into the house.

"Say, Scotty!" said Perkins, in a loud bantering tone, "guess you're makin' a mash on Mandy all right."

"I don't know exactly what you mean," said Cameron with a quick rising of wrath, "but I do know that you are making a beastly cad of yourself."

"Oh, don't get wrathy, Scotty!" laughed Perkins, "we're just having a little fun. Here's the comb!" But Cameron declined the article, which, from its appearance, seemed to be intended for family use, and, proceeding to his room, completed his toilet there.

The breakfast was laid in the kitchen proper, a s.p.a.cious and comfortable room, which served as living room for the household. The table was laden with a variety and abundance of food that worthily sustained the reputation of the Haleys of being "good feeders." At one end of the table a large plate was heaped high with slices of fat pork, and here and there disposed along its length were dishes of fried potatoes, huge piles of bread, hot biscuits, plates of b.u.t.ter, pies of different kinds, maple syrup, and apple sauce. It was a breakfast fit for a lord, and Cameron sat down with a pleasurable antic.i.p.ation induced by his early rising and his half hour's experience in the fresh morning air with the wood pile. A closer inspection, however, of the dishes somewhat damped the pleasure of his antic.i.p.ation. The food was good, abundant, and well cooked, but everywhere there was an utter absence of cleanliness.

The plates were greasy, the forks and knives bore the all too evident remains of former meals, and everywhere were flies. In hundreds they swarmed upon the food, while, drowned in the gravy, cooked in the potatoes, overwhelmed in the maple syrup, buried in the b.u.t.ter, their ghastly carca.s.ses were to be seen. With apparent unconcern the men brushed aside the living and picked out and set aside the remains of the dead, the unhappy victims of their own greed or temerity, and went on calmly and swiftly with their business. Not a word was spoken except by Cameron himself, who, constrained by what he considered to be the ordinary decencies of society, made an effort to keep up a conversation with Mr. Haley at the head of the table and occasionally ventured a remark to his wife, who, with Mandy, was acting as a waiter upon the hungry men. But conversation is a social exercise, and Cameron found himself compelled to abandon his well meant but solitary efforts at maintaining the conventions of the breakfast table. There was neither time nor occasion for conversation. The business of the hour was something quite other, namely, that of devouring as large a portion of the food set before them as was possible within the limits of time a.s.signed for the meal. Indeed, the element of time seemed to be one of very considerable importance, as Cameron discovered, for he was still picking his way gingerly and carefully through his pork and potatoes by the time that Perkins, having completed a second course consisting of pie and maple syrup, had arrived at the final course of bread and b.u.t.ter and apple sauce.

"Circulate the b.u.t.ter!" he demanded of the table in general. He took the plate from Cameron's hand, looked at it narrowly for a moment, then with thumb and forefinger drew from the b.u.t.ter with great deliberation a long dun-coloured hair.

"Say!" he said in a low voice, but perfectly audible, "they forgot to comb it this morning."

Cameron was filled with unspeakable disgust, but, glancing at Mrs.

Haley's face, he saw to his relief that both the action and the remark had been unnoticed by her. But on Mandy's face he saw the red ensign of shame and wrath, and in spite of himself he felt his aversion towards the ever-smiling hired man deepen into rage.

Finding himself distanced in his progress through the various courses at breakfast, Cameron determined to miss the intermediate course of pie and maple syrup and, that he might finish on more even terms with the others, proceeded with bread and b.u.t.ter and apple sauce.

"Don't yeh hurry," said Mrs. Haley with hearty hospitality. "Eat plenty, there's lots to spare. Here, have some apple sauce." She caught up the bowl which held this most delicious article of food.

"Where's the spoon?" she said, glancing round the table. There was none immediately available. "Here!" she cried, "this'll do." She s.n.a.t.c.hed a large spoon from the pitcher of thick cream, held it dripping for a moment in obvious uncertainty, then with sudden decision she cried "Never mind," and with swift but effective application of lip and tongue she cleansed the spoon of the dripping cream, and, stirring the apple sauce vigourously, pa.s.sed the bowl to Cameron. For a single moment Cameron held the bowl, uncertain whether to refuse or not, but before he could make up his mind Mandy caught it from his hands.

"Oh, Ma!" she exclaimed in a horrified tone.

"What's the matter?" exclaimed her mother. "A little cream won't hurt."

But Mandy set the bowl at the far end of the table and pa.s.sed another to Cameron, who accepted it with resolute determination and continued his breakfast.

But Perkins, followed by Webster and Tim, rose from the table and pa.s.sed out into the yard, whence his voice could be heard in explosions of laughter. Cameron in the meantime was making heroic attempts to cover up the sound by loud-voiced conversation with Haley, and, rendered desperate by the exigencies of the situation, went so far as to venture a word of praise to Mrs. Haley upon the excellence and abundance of her cooking.

"She ain't got no chance," said her husband. "She's got too much to do and it's awful hard to get help. Of course, there's Mandy."

"Of course, there's Mandy," echoed his wife. "I guess you'd just better say, 'There's Mandy.' She's the whole thing is Mandy. What I'd do without her goodness only knows."

But Mandy was no longer present to enjoy her mother's enconiums. Her voice could be heard in the yard making fierce response to Perkins'

jesting remarks. As Cameron was pa.s.sing out from the kitchen he heard her bitter declaration: "I don't care, it was real mean of you, and I'll pay you for it yet, Mr. Perkins--before a stranger, too." Mandy's voice suggested tears.

"Oh, pshaw, Mandy!" remonstrated Perkins, "it was all a joke, and who cares for him anyway, unless it's yourself?"

But Mandy, catching sight of Cameron, fled with fiery face behind the kitchen, leaving Perkins gazing after her with an apologetic grin upon his countenance.

"She's rather hot under the collar," he confided to Cameron, "but she needn't get so, I didn't mean nothin'."

Cameron ignored him. He was conscious mainly of a resolute determination that at all costs he must not yield to his almost uncontrollable desire to wipe off the apologetic smile with a well directed blow. Mr. Denman's parting advice was in his mind and he was devoting all his powers to the business of adjusting himself to his present environment. But to his fastidious nature the experiences of the morning made it somewhat doubtful if he should be able to carry out the policy of adjustment to the extreme of schooling himself to bear with equal mind the daily contact with the dirt and disorder which held so large a place in the domestic economy of the Haley household. One thing he was firmly resolved upon, he would henceforth perform his toilet in his own room, and thereby save himself the horror of the family roller towel and the family comb.

Breakfast over, the men stood waiting orders for the day.

"We'll have to crowd them turnips through, Tim," said his father, who seemed to avoid as far as possible giving direct orders to his men.

"Next week we'll have to git at the hay." So to the turnip field they went.

It is one of the many limitations of a city-bred boy that he knows nothing of the life history and the culture of the things that grow upon a farm. Apples and potatoes he recognises when they appear as articles of diet upon the table; oats and wheat he vaguely a.s.sociates in some mysterious and remote way with porridge and bread, but whether potatoes grow on trees or oats in pods he has no certain knowledge. Blessed is the country boy for many reasons, but for none more than this, that the world of living and growing things, animate and inanimate, is one which he has explored and which he intimately knows; and blessed is the city boy for whom his wise parents provide means of acquaintance with this wonder workshop of old mother Nature, G.o.d's own open country.

Turnip-hoeing is an art, a fine art, demanding all the talents of high genius, a true eye, a sure hand, a sensitive conscience, industry, courage, endurance, and pride in achievement. These and other gifts are necessary to high success. Not to every man is it given to become a turnip-h.o.e.r in the truest sense of that word. The art is achieved only after long and patient devotion, and, indeed, many never attain high excellence. Of course, therefore, there are grades of artists in this as in other departments. There are turnip-h.o.e.rs and turnip-h.o.e.rs, just as there are painters and painters. It was Tim's ambition to be the first turnip-h.o.e.r of his district, and toward this end he had striven both last season and this with a devotion that deserved, if it did not achieve, success. Quietly he had been patterning himself upon that master artist, Perkins, who for some years had easily held the champions.h.i.+p for the district. Keenly Tim had been observing Perkins'

excellencies and also his defects; secretly he had been developing a style of his own, and, all unnoted, he had tested his speed by that of Perkins by adopting the method of lazily loafing along and then catching up by a few minutes of whirlwind work. Tim felt in his soul the day of battle could not be delayed past this season; indeed, it might come any day. The very thought of it made his slight body quiver and his heart beat so quickly as almost to choke him.

To the turnip field hied Haley's men, Perkins and Webster leading the way, Tim and Cameron bringing up the rear.

"You promised to show me how to do it, Tim," said Cameron. "Remember I shall be very slow."

"Oh, shucks!" replied Tim, "turnip-hoeing is as easy as rollin' off a log if yeh know how to do it."

"Exactly!" cried Cameron, "but that is what I don't. You might give me some pointers."

"Well, you must be able to hit what yeh aim at."

"Ah! that means a good eye and steady hand," said Cameron. "Well, I can do billiards some and golf. What else?"

"Well, you mustn't be too careful, slash right in and don't give a rip."