"Yes, Russian," answered the stranger quickly. "That is Russian, surely,"
he continued, pointing eagerly to the trim and cosy group of buildings.
"These Mennonites, are they prosperous--ah--citizens--ah--settlers?"

"You bet! They make money where other folks would starve. They know
what they're doing. They picked out this land that everybody else
was passing over--the very best in the country--and they are making
money hand over fist. Mighty poor spenders, though. They won't buy
nothing; eat what they can't sell off the farm."

"Aha," ejaculated the stranger, with a smile.

"Yes, they sell everything, grain, hogs, eggs, butter,
and live on cabbages, cheese, bread."

"Aha," repeated the stranger, again with evident approval.

"They are honest, though," continued his neighbour judicially;
"we sell them implements."

"Ah, implements?" enquired the stranger.

"Yes, ploughs, drills, binders, you know."

"Ah, so, implements," said the stranger, evidently making
a mental note of the word. "And they pay you?"

"Yes, they are good pay, mighty good pay.
They are good settlers, too."