Now that we know who the young man is and what he is doing at a typewriter in the Nicola Valley, it may be well to explain the situation.
Three years had passed since Henty and Nelson landed in the green fields of their dreams. They bought seed and other agricultural necessities on the way out, old man Henty shipped them two cows, two horses, a few hens, a pig, and some farming utensils. They ordered lumber from a Revelstoke company, erected a shack, a temporary shelter for the stock, and built a hen-house with a pig-pen annex.
A. P. showed that he was born to be a farmer. The way he handled the plow put Evan to shame; but Evan made up in willingness to work what he lacked in physical efficiency. He learned to milk cows and make butter; he went irregularly to the village for the raw food they needed, talked the merchant into giving him a line of credit, and surveyed the valley all the way home with the pride of Noah after the flood. He developed into so good a cook that A. P. declared there must have been a chef in the family away back.
The first crop the boys had was good because it was not very big. They sold their early garden-stuff at a big price to the C.P.R., and in the fall got twenty dollars a ton for their potatoes—on the ground. Every drop of milk they could spare found a ready market in the village; often they exchanged it for butter. And those hens of theirs made good; they made very good. A. P. insisted on eating all the eggs, but Evan managed to hide away enough each week to buy sugar, tea and bread. It must be admitted, however, that bread was more frequently absent from than present at the board; crackers and ginger-snaps made edible substitutes.
When the first winter set in the bachelors of "Bachelors' Shack"—it was not a bungalow yet—were prepared for it. They had money in the bank.
"It's me for a Jew's harp and a line of novels," said Henty; "no lumbering for mine this winter. I'm all calloused from wrestling with our valley."
Nevertheless A. P. could not content himself to read longer than a week at a time. He made irregular excursions into the village and juggled scantling in a new lumber yard. Evan wanted to go, too, but Henty grunted in disgust—and Nelson agreed to stay home and tend the stock. The sow old man Henty had given them raised a family. One of the pigs was killed for meat, and the others were dressed and sold to a butcher.
The winter was mild, and there was enough snow to protect and fertilize the ground. It was a good winter for the young bachelors; the wood-chopping they did gave them health abundant, their chores kept Henty's superfluous masculinity worked off and taught Nelson the practical way of things, and the simple food they ate gave their minds an appetite for knowledge.
With all their wood-cutting and chores, though, the boys had more spare time than they knew how to dispose of. Often in the evenings they played cards, sang duets from a book of old songs, or read. To say they were always content would not be true; many a time they felt the weight of the great Silence about them, and above all they longed for the fleeting image of a girl. If they could only just see one—it would be like a drink of water on Sahara!
At long intervals they hired a boy from the village to watch their flocks for a couple of days, while they made an excursion to some town. There they filled up on candy and picture-shows until they were glad to return home.