Before this Carlton had never written a line for publication; but he had
been a true observer. He had felt, and was able to project himself into
the minds of those living things he had seen and hunted.

I leave the hospital cot with a strange lump forming in my throat,
although every one around me, and the patient most of all, is gay and
blithe. I say to Carlton, "I wish I could take your knowledge and your
eyes with me into the North, there is so much I will miss because of my
lack of knowledge." With Grey's kindly interpretation I get my answer,
"You must take your own mind, your own eyes; you must see for yourself."

During the last day in Winnipeg, while the Kid (like faithful
Ariovistus) is looking after the impedimenta, I snatch half an hour to
look in at the Royal Alexandra upon the reception which the Women's
Canadian Club is tendering to Mrs. Humphry Ward. Rain-bespattered,
short-skirted, and anchored with disreputable rubbers gluey with
Winnipeg mud, I sit on the fringe of things, fairly intoxicated with the
idea that we are off and this North trip no dream. Mrs. Sanford Evans
presides with her usual _savoir faire_ and ushers in the guest of the
day, beautifully-gowned and gracious.

Like a bolt from the blue came the summons from the president, and I,
all muddy, am called to the seats of the mighty. I have never seen a
more splendid aggregation of women than the members of the Winnipeg
Canadian Club, tall, strong, alert, and full of initiative. To face
them is a mental and moral challenge. I try to hide those muddy shoes of
mine. The Winnipeg women are indulgent, they make allowance for my
unpresentable attire, and shower upon me cheery wishes for the success
of my journey. Mrs. Humphry Ward calls attention to the lack of
playgrounds in England. She wants to bring more fresh air and space to