“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.”

“Not good for soldiers, eh?” laughed the stranger.

“Soldiers?  No, I guess not.  But we don’t want soldiers.”

“What?  You have no soldiers?  No garrisons?”

“No, what do we want soldiers for in this country? 
We want farmers and lots of them.”

The stranger was apparently much struck with this remark.  He pursued the subject with keen interest.  If there were no soldiers, how was order preserved?  What happened in the case of riots?  What about the collecting of taxes?

“Riots?  There ain’t no riots in this country.  What would we riot for?  We’re too busy.  And taxes?  There ain’t no taxes except for schools.”

“Not for churches?” enquired the foreigner.

“No, every man supports his own church or no church at all if he likes it better.”

The foreigner was deeply impressed.  What a country it was, to be sure!  No soldiers, no riots, no taxes, and churches only for those who wanted them!  He made diligent enquiry as to the Mennonite settlements, where they were placed, their size, the character of the people and all things pertaining to them.  But when questioned in regard to himself or his own affairs, he at once became reticent.  He was a citizen of many countries.  He was travelling for pleasure and to gather knowledge.  Yes, he might one day settle in the country, but not now.  He relapsed into silence, sitting with his head fallen forward upon his breast, and so sat till the brakeman passing through shouted, “Winnipeg!  All change!” Then he rose, thanked with stiff and formal politeness his seat-mate for his courtesy, put on his long overcoat lined with lambskin and adorned with braid, placed his lambskin cap upon his head, and so stood looking more than ever like a military man.

The station platform at Winnipeg was the scene of uproar and confusion.  Railway baggagemen and porters, with warning cries, pushed their trucks through the crowd.  Hotel runners shouted the rates and names of their hotels.  Express men and cab drivers vociferously solicited custom.  Citizens, heedless of every one, pushed their eager way through the crowd to welcome friends and relatives.  It was a busy, bustling, confusing scene.  But the stranger stood unembarrassed, as if quite accustomed to move amid jostling crowds, casting quick, sharp glances hither and thither.