On the prairie the life is quite different. Here the settler is content with the little wooden cabin of double boards with tar-paper between, which he erects himself; his supplies he brings in the form of flour, bacon, and canned goods from the nearest town many miles away. His nearest neighbour may be ten miles away, his railway-station twenty; all around to the horizon stretches a vast plain, like the sea. His horses are hobbled at night to keep them from straying, for there are no fences; he cuts their hay for the winter in the "slews" or "swales" – low-lying, marshy spots on the prairie. He is fortunate if there is within reasonable distance a poplar thicket, where he can cut some firewood. From morn to night he follows the plough through the rich black soil, which has waited for it from time immemorial; his whole life is the wheat. A lonely, hard existence, but the reward comes so fast that in a few years of good crops he may spend his winters in the South, while his sons and daughters attend college.
Now, a peep at the home of the "habitant" – the French-Canadian farmer in the Province of Quebec. A tiny white house in the shadow of a little church, whose spire is tipped with a golden cross, overlooking a mighty river; a narrow strip of farm, every inch in cultivation; a group of many dark-eyed children chattering in a picturesque patois; you close your eyes and you are in Brittany. Hard-working, home-loving, religious, but light-hearted, these people preserve throughout centuries without change the virtues and customs, the speech and the religion of their ancestors. They grow most of what they eat; they make everything they wear; and little money means wealth. Their sons are found in the factory towns of the New England States, and in the lumber woods of the North.
"We leev very quiet 'way back on de contree:
Don't put on same style lak de big village."
or —
"De fader of me was habitant farmer,
My gran'fadder too, and hees fader also.
Dey don't mak' no monee, but dat isn't funny,
For it's not easy get everything, you must know,"
as Drummond the habitant poet quaintly says.
Most of the schools in Canada are public, which means just the opposite to what it means to the English boy who knows Rugby, Eton, or Harrow; they are like English Board-schools, free to all, and attended by both boys and girls. Then there are high schools, where students may be prepared for college, and there are private schools, corresponding to the English public schools; of these the oldest and most noted is Upper Canada College, which is like the Eton of Canada. There are Universities in all the provinces, and Toronto and McGill University in Montreal are as large as the great Universities at home.
The English boy or girl coming to Canada will find the money quite different from what he has been accustomed to; it is measured in dollars, and a dollar is about equal to four shillings. There are 100 cents in a dollar, and there is a copper coin for 1 cent, value one halfpenny, usually called a "copper," and silver coins for 5, 10, 25, and 50 cents; but for large sums bank-notes in denominations of 1, 2, 5, 10 dollars and more are used. As the decimal system is used, it is really simpler than pounds, shillings, and pence, and one soon becomes accustomed to it, though for some time one fears that one is paying too much, especially as prices for small articles are often higher in Canada.
CHAPTER IV
WINTER SPORTS
As soon as the ground is covered with snow, and the snow gets hard enough, every boy and girl in Canada fetches out his or her flexible flyer, bob-sleigh, or other form of child's sleigh, and dragging it to the top of an incline, sets it off gliding to the bottom.
The flexible flyer is a small sleigh that will not carry more than one big child or two very small ones. The rider lies stretched out on the sleigh, flat on his stomach, with his legs sticking out behind. A bob-sleigh is larger – often made, in fact, by fastening a piece of board across two sleighs running one behind the other. The riders on this go down in a sitting attitude, with their legs sticking out on each side of them, while one of them steers with his feet. And jolly fun it is to see them flying down like an express train, laughing and shouting, with red, rosy cheeks and bright, sparkling eyes. What matters an occasional spill in the snow? That only adds to the fun, and makes the game all the merrier.
While the children enjoy this "coasting," as they call it, the young men strap on their snowshoes and race across fields and fences, leaping or rolling over the latter, until they arrive at some appointed inn, where they partake of a good meal, with plenty of singing of rousing, lusty choruses and other kinds of jollification. Then on they strap their snowshoes again, and, with many a whoop and shout, stretch out in Indian file on their homeward journey. If there is no moon they carry torches, and the ruddy, flickering light adds picturesqueness to the long belted blankets or tunics and tasselled tuques of the snowshoe runners.
"A pretty picture it is as the snowshoers turn down into a gully, some slipping, some recovering from a threatened upset by a feat of balancing, and then, still in Indian file, getting over the fence, every man in his own peculiar way. Some take it at a leap, others climb it cautiously; some roll over sideways in a lump, pitching feet and snowshoes before them. Some are too slowly careful, and, catching a shoe on the top rail, measure their full length in the snow. There is no stopping here, for we are far from road and railroad, out in the open country, with several miles of field before us, and twenty fences in the way. Most of the farmers, with fellow-feeling, have left a few rails down, so that there is no obstruction. But a tramp is as tame without a tumble as without a fence, so here goes for your five feet ten! Never was there charger could take a high fence like a snowshoer! As an old song of the Montreal Snowshoers' Club runs:
"Men may talk of steam and railroads,
But too well our comrades know
We can beat the fastest engines
In a night tramp on the snow.
They may puff, sir, they may blow, sir,
They may whistle, they may scream —
Gently dipping, lightly tipping,
Snowshoes leave behind the steam!"
It is the dry snow, the bracing air, and the clear skies of the Canadian winter season that, combined with the exercise, produce this great exhilaration of spirits, and set up an equally great – appetite.
Ladies take part in this sport as well as men. Indeed, they also share in the tobogganing and the ice-hockey; in the former along with their brothers and friends, and in the latter in separate clubs.
But the favourite winter sport is ice-hockey. The game is carried on under cover in large halls, the floor of which can be artificially flooded and frozen. In this way a smooth, level expanse of ice is secured, a thing that can be seldom got out of doors owing to the great quantity of snow that lies on the ground. The game is played pretty much as hockey is on grass; the ball or disc the players chase is called a "puck," and they make it skim along the ice with hockey-sticks of the usual shape.
The hockey matches between rival cities are affairs of the greatest interest to the inhabitants. A large number of deeply interested sympathizers always accompany the team that goes to play away from home – in fact, the enthusiasm and excitement reach quite as high