Prosper says he often shoots owls who lodge in the fir-trees, and that he gets two dollars bounty from the government from each one. He does not know it is accounted a sin to him who kills a bird that has sheltered in a fir-tree, or an animal that has crouched thereunder, for this is the tree of the Christ-Child, and a House of Refuge in the forest to the denizens thereof. To those men or women who love the fir, its bitter taste on their tongues may be more holy than bread or wine, and may convey to them an inly grace.
Also it is wrong to cast away the Christmas-tree, or the ropes of greenery which have been used for the celebration of Christmastide. These should be burned upon the hearth as a sweet savour, and the fire-master should say, "Peace be to this household and to all the household of Canada."
The resin of conifers is a more agreeable and a more seemly offering to Our Lady of the Snow than aloes, or myrrh or spices, so that it behoves us, her children, to look anew to our censing pots.
Since leaving Athabasca Landing, we have passed through enough uncultivated land to solve all the problems of Great Britain which arise out of unemployed workmen, and out of slum conditions with their attendant evils.
As its stupendous acreage, enormous fertility, and its lifeless voids are daily thrust upon me, I am filled with amazement. Surely no land was ever so little appreciated by its owners. If there were an ocean between it and our more populous provinces to the south, one might the better understand the reasons. This waste heritage can only be accounted for on the grounds of a lack of interest, and because people are indolent and like to live softly. Only two members of the Alberta legislature have ever visited this country, and these two belong here. It does not need a new Moses to stand and say, "This is a goodly land"; it needs a new and more drastic Joshua, to take them by the ear and lead them in. The time is coming when the crops from this land will, each year, outstrip in value all the gold money in the world, and it will not be so long either. I intend to buy as much of it myself as I can afford, and if I can persuade the Christians of my own town to lend me the money instead of building churches, I shall buy more than I can afford. I have read much about this country, but I find it better to come here and tread out the grapes for myself.
While I have been taking stock mentally of these things, we have arrived at Soto Landing, on the Lesser Slave River, and already the Indian women have come out of their tents to watch our movements. These people are called squatters hereabout, but I prefer to call them nesters. They sow not, neither do they gather into barns. They don't care to do either.
They view us women with a quiet appraising look, but not understanding "their dark, ambigious, fantasticall, propheticall, gibrish," I cannot learn their conclusions. The Factor's widow, who is still with us, heard one of the Indian men describe her hat as a pot, whereupon she remarked to him in excellent Cree that her pot lacked a handle. If I were to set down how the other Indians enjoyed this stabbing surprise, and how they were contorted with laughter by reason of their fellow's confusion, you would hardly believe me, so I shall not set it down.
One Indian woman wears a dress that has in it the many shocking colours of a Berlin-wool mat. She is pleased when we stroke it with our hands, and I can see she is as proud of it as I am of my dimity bed-gown with the pink rosebuds on it.
Dinner is ready on the boat and our appetites are too sharp-set to permit of delay. We eat and eat just as if eating were our chief and ever-lasting happiness, and as if life itself lay in a fleshpot.
This is a larger and better equipped boat than those on the Athabasca because it is meant for the lake traffic. We do not leave Soto Landing till three hours past the scheduled time, for Mr. J. K. Cornwall, the Member of Parliament for the Peace River Constituency, affectionately known hereabouts as "Jim," has chosen to make the portage afoot.