Chapter XII: Making the Grade

Fully to describe Higgins's altercations with lumber-jacks and tin-horn gamblers and the like in pursuit of clean opportunity for other men would be to pain him. It is a phase of ministry he would conceal. Perhaps he fears that unknowing folk might mistake him for a quarrelsome fellow. He is nothing of the sort, however; he is a wise and efficient minister of the gospel--but fights well, upon good occasion, notwithstanding his forty-odd years. In the Minnesota woods fighting is as necessary as praying--just as tender a profession of Christ. Higgins regrets that he knows little enough of boxing; he shamefacedly feels that his preparation for the ministry has in this respect been inadequate. Once, when they examined him before the Presbytery for ordination, a new-made seminary graduate from the East, rising, quizzed thus: "Will the candidate not tell us who was Caesar of Rome when Paul preached?" It stumped Higgins; but--he told us on the road from Six to Four--"I was confused, you see. The only Caesar I could think of was Julius, and I knew that _that_ wasn't right. If he'd only said _Emperor_ of Rome, I could have told him, of _course!_ Anyhow, it didn't matter much." Boxing, according to the experience of Higgins, was an imperative preparation for preaching in his field; a little haziness concerning an Emperor of Rome really didn't matter so very much. At any rate, the boys wouldn't care.

Higgins's ministry, however, knows a gentler service than that which a strong arm can accomplish in a bar-room. When Alex McKenzie lay dying in the hospital at Bemidji--a screen around his cot in the ward--the Pilot sat with him, as he sits with all dying lumber-jacks. It was the Pilot who told him that the end was near.

"Nearing the landing, Pilot?"

"Almost there, Alex."

"I've a heavy load, Pilot--a heavy load!"

McKenzie was a four-horse teamster, used to hauling logs from the woods to the landing at the lake--forty thousand pounds of new-cut timber to be humored over the logging-roads.

"Pilot," he asked, presently, "do you think I can make the grade?"

"With help, Alex."

McKenzie said nothing for a moment. Then he looked up. "You mean," said he, "that I need another team of leaders?"

"The Great Leader, Alex."

"Oh, I know what you mean," said McKenzie: "you mean that I need the help of Jesus Christ."

No need to tell what Higgins said then--what he repeated about repentance and faith and the infinite love of God and the power of Christ for salvation. Alex McKenzie had heard it all before--long before, being Scottish born, and a Highlander--and had not utterly forgotten, prodigal though he was. It was all recalled to him, now, by a man whose life and love and uplifted heart were well known to him--his minister.

"Pray for me," said he, like a child.

McKenzie died that night. He had said never a word in the long interval; but just before his last breath was drawn--while the Pilot still held his hand and the Sister of Charity numbered her beads near by--he whispered in the Pilot's ear:

"Tell the boys I made the grade!"

* * * * *

Pat, the old road-monkey--now come to the end of a long career of furious living--being about to die, sent for Higgins. He was desperately anxious concerning the soul that was about to depart from his ill-kept and degraded body; and he was in pain, and turning very weak.

Higgins waited.

"Pilot," Pat whispered, with a knowing little wink, "I want you to fix it for me."

"To fix it, Pat?"

"Sure, you know what I mean, Pilot," Pat replied. "I want you to fix it for me."

"Pat," said Higgins, "I _can't_ fix it for you."

"Then," said the dying man, in amazement, "what the hell did you come here for?"

"To show you," Higgins answered, gently, "how _you_ can fix it."

"_Me_ fix it?"

Higgins explained, then, the scheme of redemption, according to his creed--the atonement and salvation by faith. The man listened--and nodded comprehendingly--and listened, still with amazement--all the time nodding his understanding. "Uh-_huh!_" he muttered, when the preacher had done, as one who says, I _see!_ He said no other word before he died. Just, "Uh-_huh!_"--to express enlightenment. And when, later, it came time for him to die, he still held tight to Higgins's finger, muttering, now and again, "Uh-_huh!_ Uh-_huh!_"--like a man to whom has come some great astounding revelation.