WINNIPEG BEACH Lister went to the opera with his hosts and was moved by the music and the feeling that he was one of a careless, pleasure-seeking crowd.

For the most part, his life had been strenuous and the crowds he knew were rude.

His home was a bare shack, sometimes built on the wind-swept alkali plains, and sometimes in the tangled woods.

From daybreak until dusk fell, hoarse shouts, the clank of rails, the beat of heavy hammers filled his ears, and often the uproar did not stop at dark.

When a soft muskeg swallowed the new track, he must watch, by the flaring blast-lamps, noisy ploughs throw showers of gravel from the ballast cars.
Labor and concentration had left their mark.