“It has certainly,” Mr Farquharson backed her up. “About as early as I remember it. I don’t know how much you got out here; we had a good foot in Elgin.”
“‘Bout the same, ‘bout the same,” Mr Crow deliberated, “but it’s been layin’ light all along over Clayfield way—ain’t had a pair of runners out, them folks.”
“Makes a more cheerful winter, Mrs Crow, don’t you think, when it comes early?” remarked Lorne. “Or would you rather not get it till after Christmas?”
“I don’t know as it matters much, out here in the country. We don’t get a great many folks passin’, best of times. An’ it’s more of a job to take care of the stock.”
“That’s so,” Mr Crow told them. “Chores come heavier when there’s snow on the ground, a great sight, especially if there’s drifts.”
And for an instant, with his knotted hands hanging between his knees he pondered this unvarying aspect of his yearly experience. They all pondered it, sympathetic.
“Well, now, Mr Farquharson,” Mrs Crow turned to him. “An’ how reely BE ye? We’ve heard better, an’ worse, an’ middlin’—there’s ben such contradictory reports.”
“Oh, very well, Mrs Crow. Never better. I’m going to give a lot more trouble yet. I can’t do it in politics, that’s the worst of it. But here’s the man that’s going to do it for me. Here’s the man!”
The Crows looked at the pretendant, as in duty bound, but not any longer than they could help.
“Why, I guess you were at school with Elmore?” said Crow, as if the idea had just struck him.