ANNE OF GREEN GABLES COUNTRY 181

fences which seemed to be merely links between the modern wire fences and the stone dykes of older days. There were the stump fences, the zigzag or snake fences, and the pole fences. ”Ueg as a stump fence” is a well-known phrase, fraught with meaning for any Canadian. For, truly, stump fences are most delight— fully and decidedly ugly—like the English bulldog. Now they are scarce in this land. We cycled for miles, almost in despair, before we saw a stump fence. True, it was not beautiful. The stumps were thrown together in rows, their roots piteously pawing the empty air. Tangled and uneven, they lay there like giant molars extracted from the bleeding earth. No, they were not beautiful, but they had a strange uniqueness all their own. Sullen, defeated trees. They were symbolical of the blasted hopes of a young forest, of the dignity of useful home-made articles, of old times, of hard times. They were the essence of defeat and despair, of triumph—and aching backs. They are fast disappearing from the Island—a relic of a vanished age, as the Indian braves of long ago. The snake fences are going, too. Out and in they wind in a dizzy fashion so clearly descriptive of an age which had plenty of wood. They are a welcome change from the early pioneer stump fences. The pole fence, apparently, is the middle age of fences, and the forerunner of the wire. Truly, the social history of the Island is clearly written in its fences.

When I was “ doing ” the North Shore, a native of the Cavendish area, fearing that my education was being neglected, gave me some pointers on the proper roads to take.

”If you are going to Cavendish,” she said, “turn at the Stone Cottage in Springfield, and go through