Sept. 15—­Light white frost this morning.  Helping neighbors.  Sun came out on our starting to burn at Auld’s but the wind blew a gale, and we had a splendid burn.

Sept. 16—­Pouring rain and glad of it, for all of us except Sloot are dead-tired.  He says the rain will wash the charred logs and make them easier to handle.

Sept. 17—­Spent the day hauling the biggest of the partly burned logs to make a fence across the clearing.  The smaller stuff we heaped up and set on fire.  Allan handles the oxen very well considering.  Wanted Sloot to stay another week, but he could not.  He is a civil fellow and not greedy.  Ailie sent a queer present to his wife.  Before Mrs Simmins left she explained and showed how to secure and dry dandelion roots to make coffee.  In lifting potatoes, when a dandelion root is seen, it is pulled carefully, or, if scarce among potatoes, dug up carefully in the fall so as to get the entire root.  The roots are washed, dried in the sun and stored away.  As wanted for use, a root or so is chopped small, roasted in a pan until crisp, then ground, and made like ordinary coffee.

Sept. 24—­All week we worked at getting crop into the fallow.  After clearing it of sticks, we used spade, grape, and rake to get it something near level.  Gordon studded a log with wooden spikes which we dragged over the worst of it.  On getting the best seedbed possible, sowed wheat.  The soil had a topdressing of charcoal cinders and ashes that I thought would help.  If the seed gives an average yield, will not have to buy flour next year.

Sept. 26—­Rained all day yesterday; at night cleared with quite a touch of frost.  Busy chopping to enlarge clearance.  The young fellow who came out with us from Scotland and got drunk at Montreal, appeared at our door this morning.  He had lived chiefly in Toronto and his appearance showed had done no good.  Wanted a job.  Agreed with him to dig ditch in the swamp, the understanding being if he got drunk he need not come back.  Leaves are turning color.

Oct. 2—­Sat most of the day on front step taking in the beauty of the trees that overhang the pond on three of its sides.  I can compare them to nothing but gigantic flowers.  Steeped in the haze of a mellow sun the sight was soothing.  Nothing like this in Scotland.  The birds have gone; the swallows left in August.

Oct. 9—­Been a sorrowful week.  On unpacking our baggage on arrival in the bush, found my mother’s spinning-wheel was broken.  Gordon managed to mend it and I bought ten pounds of wool.  This she washed, teased, and carded, and proud she was when she sat down and began to spin the rolls into yarn.  Tuesday afternoon Ailie and Ruth went to pick wild grapes, and the rest of us were at our work in the bush.  Grannie was left alone.  She had moved her wheel to the door to sit in the sunshine, where she could see the brightness of the trees and enjoy the calm that prevailed.  How long she span