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Connor, Ralph, Pseudonym, 1860-1937

"Corporal Cameron of the North West Mounted Police; a tale of the Macleod trail"


Upon this scene of vivid contrasts, on one side house and barn and yard,
and on the other the rolling fields and massive forest, Cameron stood
looking in the early light of his first morning on the farm, with
mingled feelings of disgust and pleasure. In a few moments, however, the
loveliness of the far view caught and held his eye and he stood as in a
dream. The gentle rolling landscape, with its rich variety of greens and
yellows and greys, that swept away from his feet to the dark masses of
woods, with their suggestions of cool and shady depth, filled his soul
with a deep joy and brought him memory of how the "Glen of the Cup of
Gold" would look that morning in the dear home-land so far away. True,
there were neither mountains nor moors, neither lochs nor birch-clad
cliffs here. Nature, in her quieter mood, looked up at him from these
sloping fields and bosky woods and smiled with kindly face, and that
smile of hers it was that brought to Cameron's mind the sunny Glen of
the Cup of Gold. It was the sweetest, kindliest thing his eye had looked
on since he had left the Glen.
A harsh and fretful voice broke in upon his dreaming.
"Pa-a-w, there ain't a stick of wood for breakfast! There was none last
night! If you want any breakfast you'd best git some wood!"
"All right, Mother!" called Haley from the barn yard, where he was
assisting in the milking.


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