"You shall lose nothing by it." He took up the bag that he had placed beside him on the platform, saying briefly, "Lead the way." "Your pardon, brother," said Simon, taking the bag from him, "this is the way." Northward across the railway tracks and up the street for two blocks, then westward they turned, toward the open prairie.
After walking some minutes, Simon pointed to a huddling group of shacks startlingly black against the dazzling snow.
"There," he cried with a laugh, "there is little Russia." "Not Russia," said Joseph, "Galicia." The stranger stood still, gazing at the little shacks, and letting his eye wander across the dazzling plain, tinted now with crimson and with gold from the setting sun, to the horizon.

Then pointing to the shacks he said, "That is Canada.

Yonder," sweeping his hand toward the plain, "is Siberia.

But," turning suddenly upon the men, "what are you ?" "We are free men," said Joseph.

"We are Canadians." "We are Canadians," answered Simon more slowly.