“And there are people all about!”
For some breathless moments they gazed upon the scene. A wide valley, flanked by hills and threaded by a gleaming river, lay before them and in a bend of the river against the gold and yellow of a poplar bluff stood a log house of comfortable size gleaming in all its newness fresh from the ax and saw.
“What does it all mean, Allan?” inquired his wife.
“Blest if I know!”
“Look at the people. I know now, Allan. It's a 'raising bee.' A raising bee!” she cried with growing enthusiasm. “You remember them in Ontario. It's a bee, sure enough. Oh, hurry, let's go!”
The bronchos seemed to catch her excitement, their weariness disappeared, and, pulling hard on the bit, they tore down the winding trail as if at the beginning rather than at the end of their hundred and fifty mile drive.
“What a size!” cried Mandy.
“And a cook house, too!”
“And a verandah!”
“And a shingled roof!”