An interminable discussion followed. The young men pursued many avocations, harvesting, cutting poles, bark-stripping, hurdling, and thatching. Month in and month out each could earn about eighteen shillings a week, a good wage in Wiltshire. They lived with their parents, but helped with the rent and paid board and lodging. So far as Lionel could gather, they were seeking change and amusement—livelier times.
“You fellows won’t get that in Canada.”
Western Canada had been mentioned as their future home.
“Ah-h-h! Have ’ee bin back there, Master Lionel?”
“No, but I know something about it. When the winter sets in, fifty degrees of frost, and you find yourselves frostbitten and forty miles from a doctor, you’ll be thinking of this snug cottage.”
But none of them budged from his determination to leave England. George, who might be reckoned the fool of the family, said finally:
“Us do hear tell there be no quality over there. Every tub a-stanin’ on its own bottom.”
“You’ll be standing on your head, George.”
Lionel returned to his father, rather discomfited. The Squire frowned, as he listened to his son’s report.
“I’ll see ’em,” he declared. “Hounds that run riot must be rated.”