"I'll come and help you if you'll wait a bit. Come on in, Nora."
Nora hunted round among the numerous parcels underneath the seat until she found a meshed bag containing some bread, butter and other necessaries they had bought on the way to the station. Then she walked slowly up the path to her home.
She had the feeling that she was still a free agent as long as she remained outside. Once her foot had crossed the threshold----! It was like getting into an ice-cold bath. She dreaded the plunge. However, it must be taken. He was standing stock-still in the middle of the room as she reached the door, his heavy brows drawn together.
"I'm quite stiff after that long drive."
The moment the words were out of her mouth she wished to recall them. This was no way to begin. It was actually as if she had been trying to excuse herself for not coming more quickly when she was called. His whole attitude of frowning impatience showed that he had expected her to come at the sound of his voice. His face cleared at once.
"Are you cold?" he asked with a certain anxiety.
"No, not a bit; I was so well wrapped up."
"Well, it's freezing pretty hard. But, you see, it's your first winter and you won't feel the cold like we do?"
"How odd," said Nora. "I'll just bring some of the things in." She had an odd feeling that she didn't want to be alone with him just now, and said the first thing that entered her head.
"Don't touch the trunk, it's too heavy for you."
"Oh, I'm as strong as a horse."
"Don't touch it."
"I won't," she laughed.
He brushed by her and went on out to the rig, returning almost instantly with an arm full of parcels.
"We could all do with a cup of tea. Just have a look at the stove. It won't take two shakes to light a fire."
"It seems hardly worth while; it's so late."
"Oh, light the fire, my girl, and don't talk about it," he said good-humoredly.
On her knees before the stove, with her face as flushed as if it were already glowing, Nora raked away at the ashes. Through the open doorway she could see her husband and Mr. Sharp unfasten the trunk from the back of the wagon and start with it toward the house.
"This trunk of yours ain't what you might call light, Mrs. Taylor," said Sharp good-naturedly as he stepped over the threshold.
"You see it holds everything I own in the world," said Nora lightly.
"I guess it don't do that," laughed her husband. "Since this morning, you own a half share in a hundred and sixty acres of as good land as there is in the Province of Manitoba, and a mighty good shack, if I did build it all myself."
"To say nothing of a husband," retorted Nora.
"Where do you want it put?" asked Sharp.
"It 'ud better go in the next room right away. We don't want to be falling over it."
As they were carrying it in, Nora, with a rather helpless air, carried a couple of logs and a handful of newspapers over from the pile in the corner.
"Here, you'll never be able to light a fire with logs like that. Where's that darned ax? I'll chop 'em for you. I guess you'll have plenty to do getting the shack tidy."
After a little searching, he found the ax back of the wood-pile and set himself to splitting the logs. In the meantime, Sharp, who had made another pilgrimage to the rig, returned carrying his friend's grip and gun.
"Now, that's real good of you, Sid."
"Get any shooting down at Dyer, Frank?"
"There was a rare lot of prairie chickens round, but I didn't get out more than a couple of days."
"Well," said Sharp, taking off his fur cap and scratching his head, "I guess I'll be gettin' back home now."
"Oh, stay and have a cup of tea, won't you?"
"Do," said Nora, seconding the invitation.
She had taken quite a fancy to this rough, good-natured man. In spite of his straggly beard and unkempt appearance, there was a vague suggestion of the soldier about him. Besides, she had a vague feeling that she would like to postpone his departure as long as she could.
"I hope you won't be offended if I say that I would take you for English," she said, smiling brightly on him.
"You're right, ma'am, I am English."
"And a soldier?"
"I was a non-commissioned officer in a regiment back home, ma'am," he said, greatly pleased. "But why should I be offended?"
Nora and her husband exchanged glances.
"It's this way," Frank laughed. "Gertie, that's Nora's brother's wife--down where I've been working--ain't very partial to the English. I guess my wife's been rather fed up with her talk."
"Oh, I see. But, thank you all the same, and you, too, Mrs. Taylor, I don't think I'll stay. It's getting late and the mare'll get cold."
"Put her in the shed."
"No, I think I'll be toddling. My missus says I was to give you her compliments, Mrs. Taylor, and she'll be round to-morrow to see if there's anything you want."
"That's very kind of her. Thank you very much."
"Sid lives where you can see that light just about a mile from here, Nora," explained Frank. "Mrs. Sharp'll be able to help you a lot at first."
"Oh, well, we've been here for thirteen years and we know the ways of the country by now," deprecated Mr. Sharp.
"Nora's about as green as a new dollar bill, I guess."
"I fear that's too true," Nora admitted smilingly.
"There's a lot you can't be expected to know at first," protested their neighbor. "I'll say good night, then, and good luck."
"Well, good night then, Sid, if you won't stay. And say, it was real good of you to come and fetch us in the rig."
"Oh, that's all right. Good night to you, Mrs. Taylor."
"Goodnight."
Pulling his cap well down over his ears, Mr. Sharp took his departure. In the silence they could hear him drive away.
Nora went over to the stove again and made a pretense of examining the fire, conscious all the time that her husband was looking at her intently.
"I guess it must seem funny to you to hear him call you Mrs. Taylor, eh?"
"No. He isn't the first person to do so. The clergyman's wife did, you remember."
"That's so. How are you getting on with that fire?"
"All right."
"I guess I'll get some water; I'll only be a few minutes."
He took a pail and went out. Nora could hear him pumping down in the yard. Getting up hurriedly from her knees before the stove, she took up the lamp and held it high above her head.
This untidy, comfortless, bedraggled room was now hers, her home! She would not have believed that any human habitation could be so hopelessly dreary.
The walls were not even sealed, as at the brother's. Tacked, here and there, against the logs were pictures cut from illustrated papers, unframed, just as they were. The furniture, with the exception of the inevitable rocking-chair, worn and shabby from hard use, had apparently been made by Frank, himself, out of old packing boxes. The table had been fashioned by the same hand out of similar materials. On a shelf over the rusty stove stood a few battered pots and pans; evidently the entire kitchen equipment. There were two doors, one by which she had entered; the other, leading supposedly into another room. The one window was small and low. Even in this light she could see that a spider had spun a huge web across it. In the dark corners of the room all sorts of objects seemed to be piled without any pretense of order.
She lowered the lamp and listened. Yes, she could still hear the pump. With a furtive, guilty air she hurried to complete her examination before he should surprise her.
One of the corners contained a battered suitcase and a nondescript pile of old clothes, the other was piled high with yellowing copies of what she saw was the Winnipeg Free Press and a few old magazines.
"The library!" she said bitterly, and was surprised to find that she had spoken aloud. Insane people did that, she had heard. Was she----?
She ran over to a shelf that had escaped her notice, and the ill-fitting lamp chimney rattled as she moved. It was stacked high with the same empty syrup cans that at Gertie's did the duty of flower-pots. But these held flour, now quite mouldy, and various other staple supplies all spoiled and useless. She started to say "the larder," but, remembering in time, put her hand over her lips that she might only think it.