When Kalman returned from his ablutions, the bottle had vanished,
and Mackenzie, with breath redolent of its contents, had ready for
him a plate of porridge, to which he added black molasses. This,
with toasted bannock, the remains of the cold duck of the night
before, and strong black tea, constituted his breakfast.
Kalman hurried through his meal, for he hated to meet French as
he woke from his sleep.
"Will he not take breakfast?" said the boy as he rose from the table.
"No, not him, nor denner either, like as not. It iss a good thing
he has a man to look after the place," said Mackenzie with the
pride of conscious fidelity. "We will just be going on with the
oats and the pitaties. You will be taking the harrows."
"The what?" said Kalman.
"The harrows."
Kalman looked blank.
"Can you not harrow?"
"I don't know," said Kalman. "What is that?"
"Can you drop pitaties, then?"
"I don't know," repeated Kalman, shrinking very considerably in his
own estimation.
"Man," said Mackenzie pityingly, "where did ye come from anyway?"
"Winnipeg."
"Winnipeg? I know it well. I used to. But that was long ago. But
did ye nefer drive a team?"
"Never," said Kalman.
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