Chapter VIII: Hopes Realized and the Journey Ended (1)

A young man with an intense love for nature, who had heard and answered the call of the wilderness, who knew the silent places, the forest giants, who associated with the birds and the rippling streams and revelled in it all, could not be content even in the little town which York was in those days. If Robert had lived to-day he would not have been content to spend his life in the heart of a city. He would have been an engineer or a surveyor or something which would have taken him out into the mountain solitudes or into the forest. He would have loved to struggle with the elements, to have studied nature’s moods and to have watched her ever-changing pictures.

Early one morning a youth, now grown to twenty-one years and more stalwart and sturdy than when we first met him, started out with a good-sized pack on his back along what was known as the Mississaga trail. In his pack was his all, a tent and an outfit to allow him to live in the forest. This was arranged so that he could make his home where night overtook him, pack up again by daylight and start on again. He wasn’t on a trapping expedition this time, however. When the lad had left his Orkney home four years before he had had a definite purpose in mind which had stayed with him steadfastly during the intervening time. The main thing he had come to Canada for was that some day he might have a home of his own and be in a position to help those whom he had left behind. His mind was filled with pictures of the log cabin he had passed on his way to Little York, and he was setting out now to search for a suitable location so that the picture might be materialized. The Mississaga trail ran westerly along the lake shore from Little York in about the same place where the Toronto to Hamilton highway now provides passage for thousands of motors. How different the scene was then, however. Nowadays we sweep along on this concrete pavement as luxuriously as in Pullman cars, at twenty to thirty miles an hour. Robert passed over the trail, which was not by any means so straight as the highway, and up and down the hills, which at that time no one ever dreamed would be smoothed up by engineers a hundred years later, slowly though steadily, all the while on the lookout for a location for his home-to-be. His ideal included several things. First of all he wanted his cabin on a height so that he could have a commanding view of the water such as had been so great a delight in his boyhood days in the far-away Orkney home. He wanted a place, too, where he could have nature’s hills and valleys--glens with the wooded giants which he had learned to look upon for protection and to furnish the fuel which he knew was so necessary in the Canadian climate. Robert’s eyes were brighter than they had been during his journey from Fort Garry a little time before. He had nothing now to worry him. His responsibilities were light. His mind was full of plans and hopes of the finest type for the future, and as, during the hours which passed he formulated further plans, his face lighted up again and again with the joys of anticipation. Again, his notice was attracted by the splendid forest trees all along the trail. He thought of the value these magnificent trees would show if they could only be taken across the sea. Little did he imagine, however, that years afterward his own son would be engaged in just such a business, having these knights of the forest cut, dressed and transported to his father’s old home. Perhaps reasons which Robert did not appreciate and which he could not understand were driving him through the forest trails. The ordinary young man would have wanted to stay in the town where such life and liveliness as were known in the new country were evident. Robert had liked life in Little York, some of which appealed to him very strongly. For instance, he had not seen a white woman since he had left his Orkney home until he walked around the streets of the village the day after his arrival. It had been a pleasant experience to associate with good men and women who talked his own language and who liked to converse about matters he was familiar with across the sea, but underneath his longing for the comforts and pleasures these conditions offered there lay a spirit and a longing which drove him unwittingly out on the trail.

As he passed along he occasionally met Indians. These seemed better men physically than those he had known in the West, but their dialect was entirely different and they were not able to understand him when he tried to speak to them. He wanted to know the conditions of the country, whether there were settlers ahead of him, where the type of location he had in mind was likely to be met with; and when he kindled a fire, after pitching his tiny tent, and stood looking into the coals, after his plain and humble supper had been prepared and eaten, when the thoughts of his ideal cabin and his prospective home occurred to him, he seemed to see dancing in the shadows a girlish figure beckoning him on. With this came pictures again of the interior of the cabin, with a warm fireplace where he could sit during the long winter nights and where happiness would be supreme, where the maiden would be the queen of the home and where he would be the king. So engaged was he with these thoughts that he did not notice the fire was dying down until the howling of wolves was heard around him, and with this the snarling of the wild cats. Quickly the fire was kindled anew, and with his feet toward the blaze he lay down to enjoy pleasant dreams.

In the morning, as he passed along the trail, he began to come into pleasing sections, and here and there he cleared away the snow between the trees and chopped into the freezing earth to examine its quality. He was in no hurry, because when he had located and erected his cabin he wanted to be finally satisfied. However, he knew from the size of the timber and the abundance of the forest growth that the land where he was standing would, if cleared, grow splendid, golden grain. Occasionally, too, he saw another cabin, which told him that pioneers were selecting locations in the district. As the trail approached the lake he saw log cabins on the other side of a clearing, and looking over the tops of the trees from a hill he noted a sweep of sand across a narrow section of the lake, with a good-sized bay beyond it. He was gazing for the first time at what we now know as Burlington Bay. He liked the situation, perhaps for one reason because it was more like his Orkney home than any part of the country he had travelled previously. He decided that somewhere in the district would be the ideal spot for his home and for a time, because he wanted to be careful and satisfied about it, he scouted through the district. As he went a little further west he discovered a section of rolling land, of hill and dale, very much like his island home in the Orkneys. Climbing one of the higher hills he found a commanding view of the bay and also found a spot where a cabin could be built amid the beauties of the forest. Amid the silence the ripple of water came to his ears, and walking a little distance down the hill he came to a spring of pure water rising out of the earth as cold and clear as crystal, so that even the winter’s frost could not prevent it flowing freely. He was satisfied. He knew in a moment that his search was over. He had discovered his idea for the future, for the home of the queen of his dreams.

Next morning Robert lost no time in beginning to carry out the practical part of his dream, and here again was put in practice some of the training he had received in the wilderness in the Hudson’s Bay Company’s employ. He selected a score or more of the forest giants in the vicinity and went to work to fell them. During his short stay in Little York he had made himself familiar with the principles used in building these useful log homes and consequently knew exactly what to do. For two or three weeks he was engaged in squaring the logs and cutting them to the proper lengths, and finally, after having made arrangements with a few of the nearest settlers, he was able to get his home together. Robert had a bigger outlook than the ordinary settler of that day. For instance, his cabin was built twenty by thirty feet, which was considerably larger than those which were usually erected. He made it one and a half stories in height and provided for a living-room with two comfortable bedrooms on the first floor. Needless to say, he did not forget the fireplace in one end of the living-room, and as this was constructed he saw pictures of the splendid fires that would be found there in the future and which would cast a cheerful glow throughout the cabin. Again, other settlers had been satisfied to build their homes from the timber most convenient. Robert had chosen for his walls oak logs and the roof was covered with shingles of split oak. Through all this he thought of the queen of the home he had not yet met, who in the future was to occupy this cabin home with him. Day after day he continued to work. Every crack was carefully chinked. The log floor was hewn as smooth as hard muscle and skill could make it. He remembered that someone else would have to keep this floor clean in the days to come, and he wanted it as smooth as possible so that this duty would be light.

The home itself finished, his attention was turned to the preparation of furniture, for in those days the pioneer had no opportunity of sending an order to the departmental store for everything he wanted.

In all this, of course, Robert was thinking primarily of the queen of the home-to-be, but provision was made as well for a welcome for the chance stranger, for he intended that hospitality of a true kind would be one of the features of the new home.

With these labors the winter had passed and summer was rapidly approaching. The sun was growing warmer each day and the generous mantle of snow was slowly but surely disappearing. Glancing occasionally down toward the bay through the little clearing which came as a result of his efforts during the winter, Robert noted that the ice was breaking up. A few weeks later the ground seemed to be alive with spring flowers all around his cabin, and the young man’s heart was full of joy and gladness in the results of the successful working-out of the early part of his plans. The birds, too, were plentiful and continually told their story of gladness in their own way.

In spite of his happiness, however, he had a continual feeling that something was lacking. At times he was lonesome. He wished to share his good fortune and he felt that he would not only be happier but that he could do better work if he had someone to work for--someone to share his happiness. When the evening came and his work was done he would sit in his cabin with his face in his hands and gaze into the glowing ashes of the fire that had been used for the preparation of his evening meal. He longed to hear the light step on the floor behind him. He longed for someone in the cabin to call him by his name. At first his struggles with the trees had been new and had kept him busy. He had found it exciting to chop away into the heart of one of the giants, to watch it tremble and then start faster on its downward journey, this to end in a final crash. But this had become commonplace. The camp-fires, the old tenting-places, the rippling streams, the forest with the birds and flowers, were all right in their place; but now he had become a real man there was a place in his heart for something bigger and stronger than any of these. Sometimes he felt that he had been very foolish in completing his cabin without making some provision for the one who was to share it with him, but again he felt that all in good time the lack would be provided for. Finally, as he sat in the cabin thinking his usual thoughts on a Saturday evening, his mind turned toward conditions in his old Orkney home, and he realized fully the real home that had been. He saw, as he never had before, that the light of that home had been mother. It was mother who kept the family waters calm. It was she who had lighted the spirit of love which had illumined that old home. In the midst of these dream fancies he was brought from his thoughts of the loved ones across the sea with a start when it seemed that suddenly a maiden’s voice called to him, clear and sweet, saying: “Robert, how is it that you are here alone? I have been dreaming too, and I have heard a call that was borne to me in the whispering of the wind, in the branches in the trees, by the song of the birds as they fluttered through the forest. These have been singing songs of love to me, songs full of hope and cheer to which my soul responds. Let me light up your life. Let me have a share in your heart.”

Robert was at a loss to understand the vision, but he felt that it was real. Naturally his last few years of life in the heart of nature had made him a believer in the spirit world, and while he could not understand nor explain the circumstances of the message which had come to him, he felt that there must be a reason for it. He felt, too, that it was an evidence that some of his longings were to be answered and, as can be anticipated, he went to sleep that evening very happily.

This feeling persisted when he arose the next morning, Sunday, and as the sun rose clear and warm and threw a golden gleam of light through the forest he knelt in a fervent prayer of thankfulness. When he sat down to his morning meal he did not forget also to give thanks for his food, for he realized that he owed all to his Heavenly Father for guiding him to this verdant spot and for helping him up to this time, and with his prayers his hope was kindled anew.

That morning, for some reason which he could hardly define, Robert felt an impulse to follow some unaccustomed paths through the forest. He had made visits to his neighbors along the trail back to Little York, but had been so busy that he had not followed the paths in any other direction. This time impulse moved him to travel north-west, and after he had covered about five miles he met a newly-blazed trail leading away from the main pathway. Perhaps it was curiosity, perhaps it was impulse which led him to follow this, but after a little time his heart suddenly jumped in his throat, and he felt himself quivering with more hesitancy than he had felt even when he was face to face with the Indians in the far North-West, when he heard a girl’s voice clearly and sweetly singing a morning hymn his mother had sung back in the old Orkney home, evidencing a love for the Great Father on high. As he listened he knew that the voice was approaching, and peering through the trees he finally caught a glimpse of the first woman he had seen in the district. It was not surprising that to this youth, who had scarcely seen a white woman, much less spoken to one since he left the old land, the voice should seem like that of an angel from heaven or as sweet as the birds that sang among the blossoms in the trees. Naturally the last thing Robert wished to do was to alarm the maiden, so he walked slowly in her direction, looking through the trees as though he had not seen her. In a moment, however, the young woman caught sight of him and stood motionless, waiting for him to approach.

In these days, when we live under the restrictions of social usage, the matter of the first meeting of a youth and a maiden is usually a somewhat formal one. Usually, too, anything but serious matters are discussed on such an occasion. Conditions were different with these two. Here was a youth who had scarcely spoken to a woman of his own class during the years since he had left his father’s home, a boy. Now a man who had established his character and had made considerable of a name for himself in a new land, he was having his first words with a maiden, who likewise had had little to do with men of her own age and who latterly, outside of the members of her own family, had not known what it was to mingle with young men. With a prayer of thankfulness in his heart Robert greeted her, and while he knew all in a moment that this was the maiden of his dreams, he was practical enough to note the beauties of face and figure and also to see that the young woman of the forest was dressed in a becoming, if simple, new gown.

In her turn also the young woman was experiencing feelings which had heretofore been unknown. She too had had dreams. She too felt that in this young man whom she had by chance met so appropriately that Sabbath morning lay the realization of her visions, and, as happiness such as she had not before known came to her, it suddenly seemed that all the songsters under the skies had gathered in the trees about and were now singing their sweetest songs for them. The girl’s cheeks were fair and perfect as a rose. Her sparkling blue eyes seemed to Robert as brilliant as stars in the heavens. She was indeed for him the forest queen. For a moment they looked into one another’s eyes with an understanding which surely was suggested in realms above the earth, and then naturally, if somewhat shyly, she invited him to her home, noting that it was just a mile further along the trail. “Father and mother would welcome you courteously, as all the people in the district do.”

Robert had always been very much at home in the forest. How he walked had not bothered him very much, but as now he stepped along the path with her whom he knew to be the queen of his heart he felt very awkward. But, as they passed along the trail and talked of the flowers, the birds, the trees and the beauties of nature, the mutual sympathy which was soon very evident shortly remedied any feelings of diffidence either of them had, and both felt that the other was surely a kindred spirit. Arriving in a little time at the cabin door, the maiden invited Robert to enter, explaining a little diffidently, “This is a stranger, mother, whom I met on our trail.” The mother’s hand was at once extended and in her eyes shone a welcome which Robert knew to be sincere. After a moment, when the mother inquired his name, he suggested somewhat casually, “If you would please me, madam, just call me Robert.” Accepting the suggestion as it was meant, the father, in a matter of fact way, in his turn remarked, “Well, Robert, where did you come from? Are you settled down around here?”

A few moments sufficed to make Robert feel heartily at home. Very soon he found out that the father was the son of a United Empire Loyalist who had left his home in the United States when the rebellion against British rule occurred thirty years before and made his way up into another section of Canada. The son, when he had married and when his family was beginning to grow up, had started out to find a fortune in this new district adjacent to Burlington Bay. Robert learned also that within a few miles of him in another new district there were a number of other loyalist families. He had heard stories at home of the sacrifices made by these splendid people and was very well satisfied that he had been directed to cast in his lot among them.

One of the many things Robert had been taught at home was that to be a good conversationalist one must be a good listener, and although he had done very little talking since he had come to Canada he remembered his parents’ advice, particularly at this time when he was anxious to make a good impression in the home, and for a time he sat listening attentively and showing a deep interest in the conversation. The father in turn was greatly impressed with the young man. He liked his open countenance and his modest and unassuming manner and, with so attentive a listener, he was moved to tell a good deal about the early experiences of his father’s family in the United States and of the journey north from New Jersey. Had he known of the adventures through which the youth had passed during the last few years, how his endurance and pluck had been tested to the uttermost, he would have considered his experiences hardly worth telling about.

In the meantime the young woman, with several others of the good-sized family of boys and girls of the home, had been busy preparing dinner, and shortly this was announced. What a dinner it was! To us who are used to several courses, cooked under most convenient conditions, it might not have seemed so appetizing, but to Robert, who for several years past had been doing the most of his cooking himself and had lived most plainly, it surely seemed a banquet, and truly it was wholesome and abundant. To the young man, who had been living largely on dried meat and flap-jacks, a boiled dinner of cabbage, potatoes and meat, tastefully seasoned, cooked to a finish, with an inviting-looking pudding and a well-filled plate of cookies, all served on a spotless tablecloth, was surely a treat. Then it all seemed so much like his mother’s cooking that it was with difficulty that the tears were kept from running down his cheeks. It was but natural, too, that the mother of the home reminded him in many ways of his own dear mother.

The afternoon passed all too quickly, and when he felt that he must go Robert said good-bye with a heart so full of love with the world that it appeared to be brighter to him. The grass was greener, the birds sang more sweetly, and even the path under his feet seemed softer than when he passed that way before. The maiden of the home came to the door with him, after he had said good-bye to the others and after the mother had given him an invitation to visit them often, and had given him a firm but gentle grip of the hand which sent a thrill to his very soul. When their eyes met as they had done that morning a look of understanding and appreciation passed between the two which told Robert more than words could have done.

Robert’s head was held a little higher than was usual when he walked to his cabin that evening. Here was the answer to his hopes and his prayers of the last few weeks. His helpmate was now within reach, and what a helpmate his newly-found love was! On Monday morning he entered on his conflict with the forest with a new spirit. He had worked hard before, but now he worked with a definite object in view. Land must be cleared to grow food and to provide for the support of his bride, and as his sturdy muscles drove the ringing axe into the trunks of the trees, with every blow the words seemed to ring through his heart, “It is for her.” Again at times he would pause for a moment and listen, and then there seemed to come to him, faintly ringing through the forest, the notes of the hymn he had heard so sweetly sung the Sunday previous. He appreciated, too, the fact that something more than his own sense had been guiding him along the trail that Sunday morning, and often during the week he was on his knees in thankfulness for the blessings that had been given him.

You chaps who have been through something of the same circumstances will appreciate how hard it was for Robert to stay away from the newly-discovered cabin even for a week. Every evening when his day’s work was done, even though he was tired enough to drop, he felt an almost unbearable impulse to walk the few miles which separated his cabin from the other home. He felt, however, that the good impression he had made the previous Sunday should be preserved, and he tried to work all the harder so that the temptation would not be so strong. It was not surprising that he woke early the following Sunday, and it was not surprising also that after his few regular duties were done he was particular to spend some little time looking after his personal appearance. Clothes were not a matter of much import those days and his appearance was something which had not heretofore bothered Robert very much. Now, however, with his new experience was coming a new feeling that he must be worthy of his new-found love in every way, and also he was anxious to appear as well as possible in her eyes. The weather was threatening that morning, but the young man could not have been held away from the other home by iron bars. As soon as he dared he started off through the forest, and again the birds sang sweetly to him and the flowers looked specially beautiful, as they had done on the previous Sunday. Arriving at the cabin he found the door open and knocked with some little diffidence, stepping to one side and waiting for an answer. In a moment he was welcomed with a pleasant smile by the one he wanted most to see. She, too, had been spending some little time over her dress. Her rosy-golden hair was neatly coiled around her shapely head. Robert had learned her name on his previous visit, when her mother had addressed her simply as “Mary,” and in consequence he greeted her naturally and simply with a “Good-morning, Mary,” and in reply she called him just as naturally by his name.

This time, as was to be expected, Mary’s father and mother were anxious to learn something more about the young man who had happened so curiously into their home, and the opportunity he had wished for but had not had previously to tell them something of his experiences was thus afforded. As simply as he could without emphasizing unduly his own deeds, he told them how he had left his home in the Orkneys with his brother, under contract with the Hudson’s Bay Company, and something of his experiences since that time. Lest they should feel that he was boasting, he hesitated to tell them about the adventuresome happenings of the last two years. Rather he dwelt upon the people at home and talked of his mother and father and of the conditions there.

While he talked Robert’s eyes followed Mary about the home while she, as a good housewife would, looked after varied duties. While perhaps he did not realize it he was interested in seeing what kind of a home was provided, and it was exceedingly satisfactory to him to see that everything was tidy and in its place. Evidently peace and love ruled supreme, and this was the kind of a home, where the parents of the children lived happily, where a man finds rest and where he learns to love and cherish the one who shares his daily duties. To Robert it seemed that Mary was the jewel of the home. He saw that she relieved her mother so far as she could with the household duties, and he noted also that she had been well trained to look after these as they should be done. With the realization of all these things the joy in his heart increased. Occasionally glances passing between them gave him further satisfaction because he felt that the feeling of kindred sympathy which had been evident on the day of their first meeting had continued, that they were both beginning to know what love meant. When they spoke to one another they continued to use the names Robert and Mary just as naturally as though they had known one another since childhood.

As the weeks passed these pleasant visits continued. After a little time, when Robert felt that he had made his position in the home known, he felt that he could make his visits more frequent, and after a little time, also, it became the custom for Mary to accompany him part of the way home when his visit was over in the early evening. Of course Robert came back when it was time for Mary to be in the cabin, and after lingering for a few moments to get a last glimpse of his sweetheart, walked away sturdily to his own cabin, dreaming of love and future happiness.

One of the pleasant incidents of the summer days was a visit Mary paid with her father and mother to Robert’s cabin. They were surprised at its size, since it was even larger than their own home provided for the good-sized family it housed. Then, while Robert drew the father to the top of the hill to show him the outlook and also to give him an idea of the work he was undertaking, Mary and her mother, as they believed Robert would wish, examined the interior of the cabin. Again they were surprised when they saw all that had been done to make the place a real home. The neatness of the cabin, considering that it was looked after by a man, was unusual. They appreciated, too, the careful work the young man had done in putting together the furniture which was placed around the three rooms, and saw that he had made every provision he knew how for the partner who was to occupy the home with him. They all appreciated that this, too, was to be a real home, and the father and mother, understanding how sturdy was the character of the young man who had prepared it, had had little hesitation in granting his request when, a short time previously, he had come to ask them for their daughter as his bride.

Between Mary and Robert themselves the utmost sympathy prevailed. It was hardly necessary to discuss the matter of an acknowledgment, for as they associated with one another during Robert’s visits and walked together when occasion permitted, the kindredness of thought and feeling was so apparent that each knew their future was bound up in the other. It was a case where God had seemed to direct, where surely a guiding hand, stronger than man’s, had been in evidence.

The wedding day was set for October 16th in the year 1819, and again nature seemed to be decked for the occasion. The forest foliage, while in a dull season, still showed bright hues. What wild flowers still bloomed in the fall of the year were used to decorate the table, and enough of these remained to provide garlands for the bride to wear. The wedding dinner was provided almost altogether by the newly-cleared land and by the animals which God provided in the district.

Simplicity prevailed everywhere in those days. There was no thought of a wedding journey. After the ceremony Robert led his bride slowly from her home to the new one. Over the trail they went quietly, thinking thoughts of the happy future; over the trail upon which they had first met less than six months before; and, as they passed, the spirit of love seemed everywhere, and in the peacefulness of the day there seemed to lie a promise of a peaceful and happy life for the newly-wedded couple. When they arrived at the door of the new home it was opened by the hand of him who was now husband. The cabin was entered, Mary tripping over the doorstep like a queen, and as Robert welcomed her, as he had never been able to do before, he realized that the cabin had now become a real home.

LOVE AND HOME.

No palace, house or cot can make a home;
Home must be made by love, and love alone.
Love can build sanctuaries in deserts bare,
Raise homes of peace and hope and loving care;
Sweet homes of freedom, where the worn may rest,
Safe as a babe upon its mother’s breast.

Love is the mainspring; love, and love alone,
Supplies the sweets of life, the joyful tone
Which joys in living each and every day;
Love is the light which lightens all the way.
Until at last, when earthly love is o’er--
And then, behold, ’tis love for evermore!

Thus were Robert’s early hopes and plans materialized. With that day came the fruition of most of his dreams, and as the days and weeks and years passed by and the fine spots in his character, the foundations of which had been so well and truly laid, developed further it was seen that they provided for a real happiness. Mary, too, had her part in providing the peacefulness and comfort of a happy home. She was a true helpmate, and with the years there came to him the blessings that come in a home. Sons and daughters were given to them, fourteen in all, and while these brought added cares and responsibilities, they brought added joys. With the course of time Robert extended his holdings. After the first few years his land had been practically all cleared, and as his sons were born to him he was anxious that provision should be made for their future. He worked hard and introduced the boys also to a life of similar industry, though he and his wife were careful to give them such education as was possible in the neighborhood. Population also grew rapidly in the district, and when Robert’s sturdy principles of character made themselves known among the neighbors various honors such as come to a similar type of man were given to him. He was a man of whom the district was proud, a man who accepted such responsibilities as were given him seriously, a man who was sure to see that things were done when they were undertaken. Robert did not escape difficulties. Even in those days business transactions were not altogether free from vexatious happenings, but he pursued the policy of honesty and straightforwardness which had been so carefully drilled into him by his father and mother, and by reason of this was always on the right side. People knew that his word could be depended on, that it was as good as his bond, that when he said a thing he meant it and that it was right.

Mary, in her turn, occupied a place relative to her husband in the community. She was a leader among the women, often going to the homes of her neighbors to provide what comfort and help was necessary in times of trouble and stress. She was always ready to give advice and help. Many and many a bride came to her for help in her difficulties. Many and many a young man was given good advice when making plans for his future.

Thus was happiness provided for and love ruled alone. For twenty-seven years the two journeyed along life’s pathway happily and truly, and then, while Robert was yet a stalwart man and apparently in good health and strength, he was one day suddenly taken ill and received his call up the long, long trail which has no ending here on earth. It was a blow to him when he realized that the end had come, particularly when it came so suddenly and unexpectedly. It was hard for him to leave his helpmate in life. It was hard, too, to have to say good-bye to the home which had been so much to him. He felt, too, that he had a good deal in life yet to do, but as the end came near he seemed to appreciate that the One who called had more work for him to do somewhere else in a better place, and through his tears he answered briefly, “God’s will be done.” And as he journeyed on up the trail he did not go blindly, for the pathway was lighted up by the love which had been born in his soul as a youth and which by the faithful following of duty had been developed into a flaming torch which was to light him continually along the pathway.

One of the sturdy hero’s hopes had not been materialized. It had been a deeply-impressed wish in his heart that some time the opportunity should be provided to return to his father and mother in the old Orkney home. In this he had been disappointed. His parents naturally had preceded him in death, and his life had been such a busy one that the considerable journey back to the old home had never been provided for. However, his wish did find realization in another way, for he found his father and mother waiting patiently for him when he reached that land “fairer than day” from which the call had come for him.

For forty years Mary, as Robert’s widow, carried on his responsibilities, and with her family of fourteen these were by no means light. Never once did she flinch, however. As Robert had prayed with her during his lifetime, so she was now given strength to pray, and as she prayed she knew that her prayers were answered. She did her best to bring her children up as their father would have had them reared. When the time came she led them to the church in the neighborhood, and Sunday after Sunday, as she walked along the roadway to the church service, holding her children by the hand, she sang the same song which Robert had heard when he had first met her, back on the trail years before. When she had lived her life as God intended she, too, was called on high and was again placed at Robert’s side to live together as they had done on earth, but in the happiness that is only known in that great land beyond.

HOW “KID” MADE GOOD

A STORY OF THE CANADIAN LUMBER WOODS

“What are you doing here, Kid?”

This was the greeting that came to a lad of fifteen who, late one afternoon in the month of October, about thirty years ago, walked into one of the lumber camps which were then located along the French River in Northern Ontario. He was a light-haired boy with blue eyes showing a natural honesty beneath them, and with a bearing that would command the admiration of any real man.

The greeting came somewhat forcibly to the boy, particularly when it was given by Scott, the foreman of the camp, who was known throughout the district as a man who demanded the best from his men, though he treated them well in return, and the lad to whom he spoke was surely in touch with new experiences. To a boy who scarcely knew what hard work really meant, who through force of circumstances was forced to come up against work which was ordinarily tackled by physical giants, this meant new as well as trying experiences. It was a well-known fact that anyone who looked for employment in a lumber camp must become one of the crew and must abide by the well-defined though unwritten rule of those days of passing through the rather rough, but usually good-natured treatment, such as all green, first-year hands, were subjected to. This policy was followed in the belief, as prevails in a good many other institutions and industries, that the sooner a green hand got his bumps the quicker he would become a full-fledged hand. Charlie, the young man our story is concerned with, had found his way to what was known as Camp No. 2. Here Scott, the foreman, had seen many years’ experience in the lumber camps and in driving logs on the most difficult water. Furthermore, Scott had gotten his early training under one of the hardest bosses that ever wore shoe leather--a man firm as steel and cold as an iceberg. Naturally he had absorbed a good deal of these qualities, but with all this he had a kindly spot in his heart, under a rough exterior, for the green hand who seemed to have in him the right sort of stuff, particularly if the new man were willing.

Probably Charlie would have chosen some other vocation had his circumstances been otherwise, but at that time and in that part of the country nothing else seemed open to him. Only a few weeks before, through the death of his father, the family’s resources had been swept away, and when the mother and the smaller children had been left without support it seemed to the oldest son that it was his duty to get into something at once which would provide for them.

Charlie looked Scott in the eyes after his first query and replied that he was looking for a job. The answer to this was not assuring.

“Kids are no good in the forest,” said the foreman. “And the best men have to hustle to hold their jobs in Camp No. 2. But you look tired, kid. I’ll feed you and give you a bunk for the night.”

For the moment Charlie was left alone and had a chance to look about him. Naturally he was interested in the approach of the crew, who, although they had just completed a hard day’s work, seemed to be full of life and good spirits and pushed one another about, as it seemed to him, rather roughly. One man who had been near when the foreman spoke to the lad had heard Scott greet him as “Kid,” and apparently, as was customary in lumber camps, a nickname like this was bound to stick. As the crew came to the Camp House two shrill blasts given by the cook on his long tin horn gave a warning to get ready for supper, and this man spoke up rather roughly:

“Get that turkey off your back, Kid, and roll up your sleeves for hash.”

Five minutes later one short blast on the horn announced supper ready, and a stream of rough, though good-natured, men bolted out of the sleeping-camp and hurried to the door of the cook-camp. Every member of the crew carried his appetite with him. They took their seats in an orderly way, for the cook was always king in the cook-camp, and they well knew that anyone who acted in a disorderly way would be ejected, even if the services of the carving-knife were required. Scott, the foreman, had told the cook to put on an extra plate, so Kid was seated, and did justice to the wholesome meal, which, his first in the camp, was somewhat of a revelation since it supplied food in plenty, cooked to a finish and placed steaming hot on the table. After his long tramp during the day, with only a snack since breakfast, the meal was very welcome.

Supper over, Kid went back to the sleeping-camp with the crew, and here the strains of violins, mouth-organs and concertinas were soon blending with voices which seemed like the roar of lions. Each of the crew seemed to have his own tune and sung whatever was nearest in his heart. Suddenly a voice rose above the noise and din, calling:

“Sourdough, don’t hog the whole camp. Give the Kid a chance.”

Charlie was bewildered. Nothing of this nature had ever been presented to him before. He thought that he had seen rough-and-tumble play in his games at school, but the antics of the fun-loving lumbermen surpassed anything he knew. The black coffee, the pea soup, the pork and beans, and the bread “like mother makes,” seemed to have added new fuel to the relentless energy in these forest giants. In addition to singing, they played jokes on one another and wrestled and danced. Old boots were flying through the air and suddenly one of these, which landed directly on Kid’s nose, caused the blood to flow freely.

One of the crew, a swarthy giant who, with matted hair and whiskers, bore a good deal of resemblance to a grizzly bear and who, by the way, probably by reason of dissimilitude, had been christened “Babe,” jumped up in the seat which ran around the edge of the lower bunks. Clenching his fist, he followed the direction from which the boot had been flung, and a warning was given that if further pranks were tried on the Kid he would smash the face of the joker so that his best girl would never recognize him again. All this was quite typical. There were many rough men in Camp No. 2 ready to act as protector to a lad like Kid. They liked the cleanness and manliness of his face, which also showed a stamping of determination indicating that he was brave enough to try to take care of himself when he had to.

After a moment Babe’s eye rested on one of the crew who was in the habit of meting out rough treatment to green hands, and who had been familiarly christened “Jumbo.” At times Babe was quite ready to do his share of the hazing process also, but he realized that beside him was a lonely lad who had wandered into the camp without knowing what experiences he would meet, and under these conditions he was glad to become the boy’s champion and ready to fight to the death, if needs be, for him. Jumbo, in his turn, did not particularly welcome being called to account before the crew by Babe or any other member of the camp, and in a moment he edged his way over to the side of the lad, and in a provoking tone remarked:

“Did you run away from your home, Kid, or did your dad kick you out?”

Babe, who had boys of his own, was a good judge of boy character, and looking down in Charlie’s face he realized that there was something more in the situation than lay on the surface. Jumbo’s insulting remark had cut like a dagger, and the boy’s face bore a look of pain which at first could not be understood. Babe noted this, and acting on his instinct for protection, dropped his fist like a sledge-hammer in Jumbo’s face and sent him rolling back among the crew.

In an instant the music and singing ceased. It was the lull before the storm. Jumbo gathered himself up and was getting ready to renew the attack when, like a flash, the door opened and in it stood a splendid specimen of manhood. It was Scott, the foreman, who instinctively seemed to have the faculty of arriving in scenes of this kind at the psychological moment. With one leap he was by Kid’s side, and seeing the blood on the lad’s face, he demanded the name of the man who had dealt the blow. Jumbo was no coward, and furthermore he had not intended to injure the lad quite so badly. He faced Scott readily, admitting that he had flung the boot, but protesting strongly against any intention of injury. Scott settled the matter characteristically and definitely by informing the crew that if any of them had not had enough to quiet their nerves for the night he was quite ready to accommodate them outside the camp, adding that men who threw boots about should be taught a lesson. His challenge was not accepted.

In a few moments the lights were ordered out, the crew threw themselves into the bunks and in a few seconds were dead to the world, and would remain so until their call would come at four the next morning.

Something in the lad’s face and in the manliness with which he accepted the situation strongly appealed to the foreman, and linking his arm in Kid’s he led him out of the door and over to his own sleeping quarters. A little later the boy told the foreman why he was looking for work.

“Well, Kid,” came the reply, roughly if kindly, “this is no charity camp, but I know the heart of the boss. We’ll give you a fair chance to earn what you can for the support of your mother and the kids. I’ll put you to work to-morrow, and you can roll in with me in my bunk to-night.”

Scott threw off his outer clothing quickly and was in his bunk in a moment. Kid undressed a little more slowly, and when the foreman looked up in a moment he saw why the lad was waiting. He was kneeling beside his bunk. As he looked at the boy saying his prayers he was forced to acknowledge that in some ways the other was braver than he, since he was not afraid to do his duty as he had been taught. In that moment Kid had won the foreman’s heart.

Long before daylight Scott was up to waken the crew. Kid was sleeping soundly, and since the foreman knew of the long tramp he had had the day before he let him sleep till the breakfast call. After breakfast, in firm but kindly tones, he told Kid he was going to put him on trial, that if he were of the right stuff he would make good.

“Put me at any work you think I can do, sir,” the boy said in return. “Any money I get from your company I want to earn honestly. I couldn’t accept charity from you or your boss while I have hands to work.”

In the woods Kid was glad to be put in the hands of Babe, who was one of the sub-foremen. At first he was naturally very awkward, but proved himself to be a willing hand, and although his hands were soon blistered, every muscle in his body ached, and he felt at times that his back would surely break, he applied himself faithfully and without a grumble. Naturally, as the days went by these conditions were remedied, and in a short time Babe was satisfied that the boy was going to make good. When, at the end of the first month, Scott inquired as to how he liked the work, his answer was: “Fine, sir. This is man’s work, and that is what I wanted to do.” At the time experienced men were receiving twenty-five dollars per month. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that when Scott gave Kid a time-cheque for twenty dollars for his first month’s work he was delighted. He was glad to think that he was now doing a man’s work and receiving a man’s pay. Of course, the cheque went home to his mother with a letter full of good cheer.

It wasn’t long until Kid, the youngest member of the crew, became a favorite in the camp. He was gifted with a beautiful voice, which was heard when he was at leisure in the forest solitude and at night when he sat in the camp and sang songs of home and mother. At times, too, he was brave enough to sing songs he had learned in church and Sunday school, and these were sung in such a way that, when they brought back early memories to the hardened members of the crew, tears came to the eyes of some of these swarthy men who, too, thought of their mothers and of Sunday-school days. By this time, too, the story of why Kid had been forced to work in the lumber camp had become well known. For a time Jumbo, who had been so drastically treated on the boy’s account on that eventful first night, held aloof; but when he heard the story and realized how the lad must have been stung by his thoughtless remark that night, he walked up to him, offering his hand and saying heartily: