At the close of the service we went to the door to say good-bye to the people. I was very touched to see that some of them were crying, no doubt from memories which the old familiar hymns and prayers had brought to mind.

The next day we were invited to supper at a farm five miles off. On the way we had a feast of beauty from the flowers, which were especially glorious now. This is the native land of golden rod and Michaelmas daisies. I have never seen such a variety of the latter—little white ones growing low on the ground, little pale mauve ones, and great bushes of deep mauve and yellow ones. There were also perennial sunflowers with beautiful dark centres, and fine erigerons. At last we arrived at the farm. It was a melancholy sight, almost buried in sand, and the farmer was leaving it. In spite of being very badly off they gave us a most delicious supper—roast chicken and layer cake and fruit and tea. It was especially welcome just then as I had been doing a lot of cooking that week, so a meal which I had not prepared was a great treat. (This may be taken in two ways.)

The next day we taught in the day school and enrolled some children for the Sunday School by Post. Then we went on and paid several visits, finishing up at Mrs. M.'s farm, where we had supper. It was wonderful to see her small son, aged three or four, rounding up cattle mounted on a tall steed. This infant had already made our acquaintance, driving over to our shack all by himself to bring us eggs.

On Thursday we left for Swanson, nearly sticking in the sand more than once. At last the sub-radius rod broke with our continual skidding, but I was able to get another at a hardware store on the way. We reached Swanson that night and camped by the church. Next day we went to see the farmer's wife who had promised to get the people together to meet us. The family consisted of Mrs. Z., a widow, her daughter, and two sons. As we drove up we saw that the wheat was being cut. Some of the binders were drawn by motor tractors and others by horses. After the tea-supper, which is the last meal of the day, Winifred went to the piano to play songs for the girl. I noticed that the two brothers looked very tired after their day's work, and guessed that they were waiting up for us as I had seen that our room led through another. At last in desperation they went to bed, and we found them fast asleep when we went through. This shack was in advance of many, as it had a door between the rooms instead of a curtain, but the girl ingenuously suggested that as it was a hot night we should leave the door open.

The next day we went out to help them stook the wheat. It was a beautiful sight, the sky so very blue and the wheat so very golden. I felt quite at home at this job, though one had to stook from a quarter to half a mile before turning, and the sheaves in the stooks were placed in a circle instead of in our English way. Their aim is to keep out the sun and wind, which would dry the wheat too much, whereas ours, of course, is to let them in. They told us that a stooking machine had been invented, but it was not very satisfactory as yet. The wheat usually stands only a week in stook, and is then threshed on the field. The rack (i.e., wagon) is accompanied by a loader (elevator) which shoots up the sheaves into the rack. When this is full it is driven to the thresher. This differs from our English threshing machine. Instead of coming out in bundles, the straw is cut fine and blown out of a funnel, accumulating in a heap on the ground. It is left there all winter, being used either as fodder or as fuel. The grain pours down a great pipe into a wagon, instead of being put into bags as with us. The wagon is then driven off to the nearest "depot," where there is always an elevator, as the tall buildings used for storing the wheat are called out here. The wagon drives into the building, where it is weighed with its freight. Then the wheat is tipped out and taken up to the store rooms above. From there it is shot down a pipe into railway trucks, and sent by train to Fort William on the Great Lakes. There it is cleaned and again stored in elevators, and then poured down a great pipe into the grain boats which carry it down the Great Lakes. Then it goes by train to Montreal and Quebec, where there are even greater elevators, whence it is sent all over the world.

We were told that this was the first good harvest in that district for five years, which shows what a gamble prairie farming is. What with drought and late frosts in spring, and hail and rain when the wheat is ripe, the result must always be uncertain. The farmers are obliged to put all their eggs into one basket, as they cannot store a root crop in winter owing to the intense frost. A daily paper, dated September, 1921, has the following news from Montreal: "Two feet of snow fell in the district of Saskatchewan, causing much damage to crops and bringing the snow-ploughs out. Drenching rains throughout the remainder of the province suspended harvesting and threshing. The storm is the worst for 25 years."

Of course I had put on my landworker's clothes to stook in, and to my surprise this caused a great sensation. They had never seen a landworker in real life, only pictures of them in the Sketch and the Daily Mirror. They said the kindest things about British women war-workers.

CHAPTER XVII

BACK TO REGINA

We returned to Swanson that evening in order to be ready for Sunday. While we were hanging up pictures in the church two boys came in. We had already met these two out in the harvest field, and had asked them to come to Sunday School. One of them pointed to the cross on the altar, and asked, "What's that?" I found that he knew nothing about the Life of our Lord, so I showed him the picture of the Nativity, and from this and the other pictures told him the sacred story. The other boy joined in at intervals, supplementing my remarks. I found that he knew the story quite well, and asked him how it was that he knew so much, and he explained that he was a Roman Catholic. I told them that there would be Sunday School on Sunday afternoon, and asked them to come, which they did. (There was no Roman Catholic church in the place.) The children seemed to enjoy the school, and the teachers-to-be came to listen. A bad thunderstorm delayed us in beginning the service following, as the people could not get there. But they arrived eventually, and seemed to think the effort worth while. A few of the people from the Birdview district, who had attended our service on the previous Sunday, were among the congregation.