We stay for a little while at the house of Ernst and Minna, who came from Europe more than six years ago. It is a sheer joy to know Minna, who is a little round-bodied woman, firm-fleshed and wholesome as an autumn apple. She has been at Athabasca Landing once. She hears there are trains there now. It may be that Madam saw them.
Minna had planned a trip to the Landing this summer but it happened she did not go after all. Ah, well! there is the money saved and she is sure to see the Landing again. Minna was going to the hospital of the good sisters to lie in with her fifth baby and Ernst was to stay here with the children. You may believe it too, that Ernst is no butter-fingers with children and a most cunning baker of bread. Minna says that down this way every man can bake bread—and does bake bread.
The little house by the trail would, of course, miss its mother for a while, but the garden seeds were in; the children's clothes were mended to the last stitch, and a parcel of baby's fixings was on its way to her from Edmonton. Now it happened there was too much important freight from the boat to carry this parcel and so it was left behind till the next trip. It was nearly too late and Minna was greatly perplexed, for surely she was going to see the Landing and how could she go without the baby's clothing.
But, at last, the parcel came, and the wagoner who delivered it was to call the next day on his return trip and take Minna with him over the portage to the boat. He came, and with him were several passengers. It was unfortunate there was no woman among them, for Minna had no neighbours; Ernst had gone down the trail, and her hour was upon her.
"Mother, she iss sick," explained her little son, "and no one iss in to come. I am by the door to stand till Father he comes back." It was nearly an hour before the distressful travellers were able to find Ernst, but no man ventured past the young sentinel.
The little daughter was half-an-hour old when Ernst was deposited on his door-step, but Minna had cared for the child herself. It was too bad the mother had fallen from the loft and hurt herself, for now, she cannot go to the hospital and she wanted to see the Landing. Ah, well! there is the money saved and that is something. It takes much money for five children.
"How old is the baby girl?" I ask, as I take my turn in kissing the mite's forehead, and in wishing that she may be a good little scout like Minna.
"She was one week last Tuesday. No! two weeks last Tuesday. Ah! Madam, I cannot surely say. Ernst I will ask him how old is the baby."
Once on the journey we passed a speckled owl in a pine-tree, but she did not answer to our "Oo-hoo!" neither did she so much as open an eye. She looks rich unto millions, and thoroughly proof against all appeals. She is what Cowper called the University of Oxford, "a rich old vixen." I intend affecting this pose myself when I find the gold at the foot of the rainbow, in order that I may be extremely insolent to the bankers and to other offensive collectors.