* * * * *
Sunday.
This Is A Real Day Of Rest, And The Men Really Do Deserve It.
We
all have a respite, as regards breakfast, it being at 9 o'clock
instead of 6.30; and do
We not appreciate the extra forty winks!
The whole day is spent more or less in loafing, we having no regular
church nearer than Winnipeg, sixteen miles, though an occasional
service is given at Headingley, eight miles off. The men lie stretched
on the straw-heaps in the yard, basking and snoozing in the sun. We
generally have some stray man out from Winnipeg, and are much struck
with the coolness of their ways. Colonial manners, somehow, jar a good
deal on one; they take it quite as a matter of course that we ladies
should wait on them at table, and attend to their bodily comforts. On
the other hand, they never seem to object to any accommodation they
get, and are perfectly satisfied with the drawing-room sofa for a bed,
even with sheets taken out of the dirty linen bag, which has been once
or twice the case when our supply has run short. I don't object to
their coming, only that our Sunday dinners have to be in proportion,
and as all our provisions come out from Winnipeg it is rather
difficult catering. We have no outside larder or anywhere to keep our
meat and butter, so have instituted a lovely one by putting all our
things down the well, which is nearly dry and is under the kitchen
floor.
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