“Another year’s work ended, and the bounteous harvest in. Ralph, why is it that happiness brings with it a tinge of melancholy, and that out of our present brightness we look back to the shadows of other days? I have been thinking all day of curious things and people we knew—our first dance at Lone Hollow, of Geoffrey Ormond and your cousin. They all played their part in giving us what we now enjoy.”
I cracked the whip, stirring the horses into a quicker pace, and, slipping one arm around her, I said: “It is not those who work or suffer most who are always rewarded 383 as they would hope to be; and, as Johnston once said, the fallen have done great things. But we will look forward. You made true forecasts that night at Lone Hollow, and no fairer witch ever came out of Lancashire. So look again deep into the future, and tell me what you see.”
Grace laughed, and nestled closer to me under the furs, for the nights were chilly, before she answered: “There are compensations, and one cannot have everything, so I lost the gift of prophecy when a better one came to me—and, Ralph, it came that very night at the Hollow, I think. Instead, I will tell you what I hope to see. First, you faithful to your task, as faithful to me, laying together acre on acre and adding crop to crop until the possessions of Fairmead are greater than Carrington. But even before this comes—and come, I think, it will—we will try to remember that we are but stewards, and that possession brings its duties. My father was a keen sportsman, and I, too, love a horse and gun, but we thought too much of pleasure at Carrington. We will fling our doors wide open to the English poor—there are no poor in the Dominion like the English poor—and share with the needy the harvests that are granted us. I have been thinking often of your helper, Lee, and as a beginning he could send you two families in the spring—we have room for them. And so, Ralph, if you will humor me in this I shall never be sorry to preside over Fairmead instead of Carrington.”
“I will,” I answered simply; but she seemed content with the answer, and asked for no further assurance as we drove on through the night. No one could laugh more joyously than Grace, or cast about her flashes of brighter humor; but we had just completed an arduous task whose reward was greater almost than we dared hope, and our gladness was too great to find expression in merriment.
On reaching the Elktail station I was handed a telegram 384 from Calvert which had lain there some time awaiting an opportunity for delivery. It was brief, but reassuring.
“Great news. Bottomed on rich ore at last. Day Spring stock cent. per cent. premium. Don’t sell. Looking for surprising dividends.”
“This is the beginning,” said Grace. “Some day all the rest will come.”
And then, with a blast of the whistle and the lighted cars clashing as they lurched up out of the prairie, the Atlantic express rolled in and bore us east to enjoy our belated honeymoon.
Grace’s prediction was fulfilled, for although we had reverses we prospered from that day, and there are now few farms anywhere on the wide grass-lands between Winnipeg and Regina, to compare, either in area or fertility, with Fairmead, while the flour made from our wheat is spread across the breadth of Europe. And better than lands and stock is the content and peace that came to me through Grace’s companionship.
THE END