The Valley of Gold

red her. She was looking upon the great figure of a man. He was aged, nearing the fullness of the allotted span. His shoulders, however, were square and his back straight. His form ros

soft rotundity of a child's and the roses of a girl. Before her stood the father of Ned Pullar. Often had

bsorbed was he in his employment that he was rudel

lar, I b

igure in white. Her face was attractive with a br

his stick and bowed with courtly stateliness. "Is i

Mary M

and held out his hand

lad, Ned, has been telling me much

rustic chair

mile as she accepted the proffered chair. "But you have not favoured us yet. I

winkled at

d he amusedly. "I shall have to hunt

him. "But you must not entertain now, Mr. Pullar. I came over to watch you at

n laughed

," was the reply. "I am thres

with a stick? Is Ned not the b

ame into the o

think so

d so does the wh

not thresh this. Those bags are filled with rare wheat heads

f a dozen bulging grain sacks sw

eyes

ard you are with seeds. One man told me solemnly that he believed you could grow a good

he read earnestly the beautiful, vivacious face o

was his satisfied reflection. "Would you li

omprehend the meaning of his question but she was fascinate

you?" was her s

aid he. "I will s

tub. Seizing the handle he pulled it out into the sunlight. Lifting a covering he disclosed to her eyes a mass of grain-beautiful wheat, brown-gold in colour, wit

ng and dipping up a handful. She observed how

to you," was he

oked up at him with a clear-eyed raptur

I tell you the tale of the

s low. Then followed one or two without a harvest. Ned was growing to be a husky little chap when a crop grew on the place that promised us a forty-bushel yield. But one day a black cloud swept over the homestead and in ten minutes it was gone. We had no seed. On the heels of the hail came a drought year. Following it appeared a crop that filled the settlement with hope. We were getting ready to cut when a blight appeared. The rust reduced the yield from forty bushels to five. So passed the years and the battle went against us, with the frost the worst enemy of all. One terrible harvest it came to me that the seed was wrong. It matured too slowly. What we needed was a seed that would come along f

t it took a great deal of time. My neighbours began to surpass me in quantity of yield. Eventually they regarded me as luny. At last only Kitty and Ned believed in me. They never failed me. They became experts in seed selection. They helped me with their sympathy. Together we made thousands of tests. Gradually we caught our feet. O

ety of grain that has appeared for some reason in your field. The task of plucking these 'rogues' is called 'roguing.' Upon their return the

your Red Knight at last. I found him growing

he head that caught my eye, as it had caught Kitty's and Ned's. It was not exceptionally large but well compacted and heavy, its spikelets p

paused, lost a

ualities each harvest. It is of the highest milling grade, grows a strong straw and erect, compact head, maturing three full weeks before any other wheat. This tub is filled from our head-row plots with the very purest Red Knight. In ad

at length by Mary. At the first accents of her voice her com

. "You and Ned and-his mother are-gracious benefactors. You a

an looked eagerly into th

mers round about us and a sure crop for the struggling pioneer in the new places of the world. It will mean that a million homesteads will spring up in the great Northern plains where men could scarcely live because of th

ue! But the world will have to hear about it. It will take time to marshall the forces of The Red Knight and start him on his great crusade. Y

Ned and I have thought it over, but

l over them. It was Mary

lp you? I have done a little writing. We could get the facts into shape

er with eyes in which g

story enough to

noon and we can work at the tale of The Red Knight while the children are p

eflected deeply

lly. "But I will think it over. If I d

eply. "This has been an amazing hour. But

she vanished t

he returned to the sack of unthreshed wheat. Picking up the flail

gel she is. Our dreams will come true