Arthur Wemyss, fifth son of the Reverend Alfred Austin Wemyss, Rector of St. Agnes, Tilbury Road, County of Kent, England, had but recently crossed the ocean. He and six hundred other fifth sons of rectors and earls and dukes had crossed the ocean in the same ship and had been scattered abroad over Manitoba and the Northwest Territories to be instructed in agricultural pursuits by the honest granger, and incidentally to furnish nutriment for the ever-ready mosquito or wasp, who regarded all Old Country men as their lawful meat.

The honest granger was paid a sum varying between fifty and one hundred fifty dollars for instructing one of these young fellows in farming for one year, and although having an Englishman was known to be a pretty good investment, the farmers usually spoke of them as they would of the French-weed or the rust in the wheat. Sam Motherwell referred to his quite often as “that blamed Englishman” and often said, unjustly, that he was losing money on him every day.

Arthur-the Motherwells could not have told his other name-had learned something since he came. He could pull pig-weed for the pigs and throw it into the pen; he had learned to detect French-weed in the grain; he could milk; he could turn the cream-separator; he could wash dishes and churn, and he did it all with a willingness, a cheerfulness that would have appealed favourably to almost any other farmer in the neighbourhood, but the lines had fallen to Arthur in a stony place, and his employer did not notice him at all unless to find fault with him. Yet he bore it all with good humour. He had come to Canada to learn to farm.

The only real grievance he had was that he could not get his “tub.” The night he arrived, dusty and travel-stained after his long journey, he had asked for his “tub,” but Mr. Motherwell had told him in language he had never heard before-that there was no tub of his around the establishment, that he knew of, and that he could go down and have a dip in the river on Sunday if he wanted to. Then he had conducted him with the lantern to his bed in the loft of the granary.

A rickety ladder led up to the bed, which was upon a temporary floor laid about half way across the width of the granary. Bags of musty smelling wheat stood at one end of this little room. Evidently Mr. Motherwell wished to discourage sleep-walking in his hired help, for the floor ended abruptly and a careless somnambulist would be precipitated on the old fanning mill, harrow teeth and other debris which littered the floor below.

The young Englishman reeled unsteadily going up the ladder. He could still feel the chug-chug-chug of the ocean liner’s engines and had to hold tight to the ladder’s splintered rungs to preserve his equilibrium.

Mr. Motherwell raised the lantern with sudden interest.

“Say,” he said, more cheerfully than he had yet spoken, “you haven’t been drinking, have you?”

“Intoxicants, do you mean?” the Englishman asked, without turning around. “No, I do not drink.”

“You didn’t happen to bring anything over with you, did you, for seasickness on the boat?” Mr. Motherwell queried anxiously, holding the lantern above his head.

“No, I did not,” the young man said laconically.

“Turn out at five to-morrow morning then,” his employer snapped in evident disappointment, and he lowered the lantern so quickly that it went out.

The young man lay down upon his hard bed. His utter weariness was a blessing to him that night, for not even the racing mice, the musty smells or the hardness of his straw bed could keep him from slumber.

In what seemed to him but a few minutes, he was awakened by a loud knocking on the door below, voices shouted, a dog barked, cow-bells jangled; he could hear doors banging everywhere, a faint streak of sunlight lay wan and pale on the mud-plastered walls.

“By Jove!” he said yawning, “I know now what Kipling meant when he said ‘the dawn comes up like thunder.’”

A few weeks after Arthur’s arrival, Mrs. Motherwell called him from the barn, where he sat industriously mending bags, to unhitch her horse from the buggy. She had just driven home from Millford. Nobody had taken the trouble to show Arthur how it was done.

“Any fool ought to know,” Mr. Motherwell said.

Arthur came running from the barn with his hat in his hand. He grasped the horse firmly by the bridle and led him toward the barn. As they came near the water trough the horse began to show signs of thirst. Arthur led him to the trough, but the horse tossed his head and was unable to get it near the water on account of the check.

Arthur watched him a few moments with gathering perplexity.

“I can’t lift this water vessel,” he said, looking at the horse reproachfully. “It’s too heavy, don’t you know. Hold! I have it,” he cried with exultation beaming in his face; and making a dash for the horse he unfastened the crupper.

But the exultation soon died from his face, for the horse still tossed his head in the vain endeavour to reach the water.

“My word!” he said, wrinkling his forehead, “I believe I shall have to lift the water-vessel yet, though it is hardly fit to lift, it is so wet and nasty.” Arthur spoke with a deliciously soft Kentish accent, guiltless of r’s and with a softening of the h’s that was irresistible.

A light broke over his face again. He went behind the buggy and lifted the hind wheels. While he was holding up the wheels and craning his neck around the back of the buggy to see if his efforts were successful, Jim Russell came into the yard, riding his dun-coloured pony Chiniquy.

He stood still in astonishment. Then the meaning of it came to him and he rolled off Chiniquy’s back, shaking with silent laughter.

“Come, come, Arthur,” he said as soon as he could speak. “Stop trying to see how strong you are. Don’t you see the horse wants a drink?”

With a perfectly serious face Jim unfastened the check, whereupon the horse’s head was lowered at once, and he drank in long gulps the water that had so long mocked him with its nearness.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Russell,” the Englishman cried delightedly. “Thanks awfully, it is monstrously clever of you to know how to do everything. I wish I could go and live with you. I believe I could learn to farm if I were with you.”

Jim looked at his eager face so cruelly bitten by mosquitoes.

“I’ll tell you, Arthur,” he said smiling, “I haven’t any need for a man to work, but I suppose I might hire you to keep the mosquitoes off the horses. They wouldn’t look at Chiniquy, I am sure, if they could get a nip at you.”

The Englishman looked perplexed.

“You are learning as well as any person could learn,” Jim said kindly. “I think you are doing famously. No person is particularly bright at work entirely new. Don’t be a bit discouraged, old man, you’ll be a rich land-owner some day, proprietor of the A. J. Wemyss Stock Farm, writing letters to the agricultural papers, judge of horses at the fairs, giving lectures at dairy institutes-oh, I think I see you, Arthur!”

“You are chaffing me,” Arthur said smiling.

“Indeed I am not. I am very much in earnest. I have seen more unlikely looking young fellows than you do wonderful things in a short time, and just to help along the good work I am going to show you a few things about taking off harness that may be useful to you when you are president of the Agricultural Society of South Cypress, or some other fortunate municipality.”

Arthur’s face brightened.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Russell,” he said.

That night Arthur wrote home a letter that would have made an appropriate circular for the Immigration Department to send to prospective settlers.