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what our parents faced in the new world. The Belleville home was a ten-roomed brick dwelling, newly built, set in a ten acre plot one half mile north of the "first concession" east of the city. There was a fine bank barn, an orchard with apples, pears, plums, many kinds of berries, vegetables of all kinds, and also hives of bees, for father made barrels of honey as well as quantities of apple juice. Inci­ dentally, that apple juice was for cider, out of which mother made vinegar. We were allowed to make as much of the sweet nearly­ pressed juice as we wished, but no alcoholic beverage was ever seen in the Wright home.

Mother, who had the heart-breaking task of selling her lovely home, and the harder problem of what to take and what to leave behind, put her two small girls with friends while she settled up the necessary business. She was not used to handling such heavy responsibility and those with whom she had to deal took advantage of that fact. Hence she did not receive anything like the value of the property. With all the difficult details finally settled, the move to the homestead began. Mother had never travelled far, and instead of sending most of her luggage by freight she had so much luggage to be transferred at points of change that the trainman used language not fit for gentle ears. At Petrolia, one of mother's eight brothers met the train and I well recall the tearful farewells. The Riel rebellion was in the offing, a threat in the far west, and friends feared for our scalps, a quite unnecessary worry, as the rebellion did not trouble Manitoba much.

The C.P.R. at that time had been finished as far as Alexander, eight miles west of Brandon. At Winnipeg the second and last change of trains was made, and when we reached Chater, Dad met the train and at Brandon we spent that night.

In the early morning of a cold and dismal September day (16th, 1883), we started the forty mile trek to the homestead. The wagon was piled high with household goods with dad driving the oxen only by voice and goad. Mother, weary, ill and very lonely, rode at his side while we youngsters trotted most of the wayan foot, occasionally climbing up for a brief rest. That night we slept at a place called "the stopping place" and lay on poles covered with our own blankets. For this privilege dad had to pay fifty cents each.

Brother Mait was awaiting us when we arrived. It was at dusk and it was bitterly cold with the ground covered with frost. Of that night I dimly recall seeing mother toss some filthy bedding out of the upstairs window, before she could unpack our clean things and make up the beds. The next morning everything was frosted over and as far as the eye could see was limitless reaches of dull bare prairie. Frank Howell was the only neighbor and he was living in a sad shanty at that time. The nearest post office was at Ed Ham­ mond's home, about four or five miles from our place. When a mail day came, mother and we girls would sometimes walk for the mail, eagerly looking for some word from "home." There was no school,