The little household of Gordon’s Farm had felt the influence of the weather.  Garth’s ability for work and play had slackened, and Aileen had begun to administer a tonic: herself white and heavy-eyed, and with little inclination for work.  The cottage was stifling in the long, hot days; luckily, the nights helped them, for they all slept on the veranda, as they had done throughout the summer, and the fresh night breeze from the lake never failed.  Tom watched his wife carefully, knowing that her spirit would keep her going long after her tired body needed rest.  His own work in the paddocks was lessening as the season advanced; he had more time to give to the house, and spent many days ostensibly in the garden, but, in reality, ready to lend a hand at a hundred tasks.  It was the constant thought, even more than the actual help, that carried Aileen on from day to day.