CHAPTER VI
LIVIN' ALONG
Several months had passed without a word from Harbor Jim, when one morning going thru a batch of mail, that was given over to business matters, I came upon a rather soiled envelope that was post-marked "St. John's." I was quite sure that it was from Jim and I pushed aside the communications from firms that offered me oil stock and a fortune and the letters of others who were suing for favors of one kind and another and turned with the relish of a boy to read the message from my friend. I am willing that you should read it, but I have made some corrections in spelling and a few in grammar, that you may read it about as he would have read it aloud, about, I think, as he intended it to read.
"Dear One,
"It's a long time since we've seen you on the flakes. It's a long time since we've read the word o' the Lord together beside the evening lamp. I'm not thinking of coming to New York to see you. I know I have been invited manys the time, but I'm not risking a leg yet in your full streets. It's gettin' bad enough in St. John's with all the autos a-whisking down Water St. It's a fine thing that we can send a message up there to you. It was a kind Father that made it possible for us to get acquainted with each other as well as with Him. I often think of the Master's ideas on the subject. You remember He told us if we really got acquainted with our brothers we should know the Father, and without that acquaintance we couldn't really know Him.
"There ain't no great thing happened to tell of. I've just been livin' along. Eatin' and sleepin' every day and fishin' most days. But I've been prayin' every day and a receivin' of replies day by day. The Lord's been with me all the way. Yes, just as much as though I could write you of a great, sudden happening. There's a good many folks I find who recognize the Lord's doings in the big, flashing things of life and forget Him altogether except at them special times. It's rare that I sit up with a corpse, which I often do, without hearing a confession about the Lord's hand and the Lord's doing in the coming of the stroke; but it's most likely that same man who is very conscious and pitiful didn't have much thought or dealings with the Lord till his sorrows come upon him.
"Now the Lord is in the Valley of the Dark Times and He's on the Bright Height of Victory, but He's also along the Common Way, the level road that makes up the every day's travel. That's what I used to forget and that's what I'm beginning to remember and it makes heap a different in your knowledge o' life itself and the joy you get outen it.
"There's countless folks know He never fails in time o' need, but I'm one who finds that He never fails at any time and that every day is a day o' need.
"It may be I've met the wrong kind o' folks some of the journey, but I've found a good many that make a heap a trouble just out o' living. They remind me o' Martha who got so fussed up doing common housework she couldn't understand the need o' spiritual house-keeping at all. Folks don't seem to have time enough to live their lives easily. They start off with a hitch and they break down afore they get very far. Seems though they thought there want goin' to be another life after this one and they'd got to do all eternity's work in this little span o' time. Don't seem reasonable and natural to expect a man to do the work o' two worlds in one. The Lord don't expect it neither.
"The Lord Jesus had about the biggest task on hand that any man ever had. His job was to save the world. He had only three years for His ministry and if he had lived as some of the folks hereabouts are livin' He would have so consumed Himself with worry and fret that He would a died with a fever afore the first year was over. One thing I note as I read His story is that He moved majestic like He had time to do what needed to be done. I guess it's the things that we could get on with out that take the most time and gender the most worry.
"There's always time enough to do what the Lord intended to be done in this life, else He wouldn't have assigned it. He wouldn't run His universe on a leisurely and comfortable plan, if He expected us to wear ourselves out hustling. I take it He counts a thousand years are as one day not only for Himself but as well for us children. Thinkin' of His plan kinder takes the fever outen your veins, kinder makes you understand what His Son meant about the peace that passeth understandin'.
"Effie is the same as ever. She's just livin' along, same's I. The children are doin' well at school. Bob McCartney was over night afore last. His boy has got the rheumatics, but I guess tain't nothin' permanent. The government is thinkin' o' takin' over the railroad again. Our railroad has had a hard time and it's been found fault with a good deal, but it's got an iron constitution and I guess it can stand it. As I told you once, it's all the railroad we've got and it's a powerful lot bettern no railroad.
"I am thinkin' often these days of little Peter. I can think now without swallowin' hard and I'm beginnin' to get comfort instead of trouble when I think. I have been thinking about the conditions o' life over there. Sometime when your down here I'll talk with you about the Heaven Home, but it would take too long to write it out and then I don't knows you would be interested. Any how it would come out easy with your kind o' questions. I like you, but I do think your about the hardest questioner I ever knowed.
"Respectfully yours, that's how letters are signed when a man writes you for fish or bait or somethin', but I don't see why it ain't proper for a friend, for certain we ought to respect our friends, and the fact we can respect 'em makes us the more sure their friends.
"Jim."
"P. S. I saw Bob McCartney last night. He was lookin' well and had his behaviour (silk-hat) on. He had been to a party."
CHAPTER VII
THE HEAVEN HOME
When again the good fortune brought me to Newfoundland and led me out to the fisherman's cottage, I did not forget Jim's promise to tell me of his observations concerning the future life. We had, thru our increasing friendship, come to understand each other. I had learned when to keep silent and I knew Jim's moods and when to intrude would be the height of ingratitude and when to enter would be the act of an accepted friend.
The reading of the Book had been finished for the evening and there was yet a half hour before my friend would count it his time to retire. "How about the Heaven Home, I think that is what you called it," I asked, and Jim, without parleying, was ready to speak freely in answer.
"Yes," he said, "I like the word home, as applied to it. I couldn't think of Peter as wantin' to stay in a mansion. In the Comfort Chapter in John, I've always read the word 'home' in place of 'mansion.' The parsons tell me that there are some mistakes in the translatin' o' the Good Book, and I am sure that it's a mistake here. There ain't enough comfort in the thought of a mansion for most of us common run o' folks, and it was for us that He come and told of this life and the life to come.
"I'm sure it's a home. I think it must have in it things that match up with what we got here. I don't see how we could feel at home without something like tables and chairs. We had a parson one time who knew all about it over there, accordin' to his tell. He told us about the crowns and harps and the golden streets and the singin' that went on all the day long. But I callate no Lander would care for such a life as that, and if that's what it's like there's precious few of us 'uns over there.
"Now if it's a home as I think it must be since the Father has planned it, there must be homelikeness there. There must be somethin' that corresponds to tables and chairs and all the little things that go to makin' up a real home, else how could a man be happy over there, who had just left a happy home here. I'm not sayin' we shall always need them things, but I am a sayin' that in the very next life we must have things we are used to for a spell till we get to the point where we don't need them, but somethin' else. Sounds sensible to me to think that way.
"You remember that after the Lord was dead and Peter was plumb worn out and discouraged; there didn't seem to be no hope nowheres; he decided to go fishin'. I callate there are times when a man would rather go salmon fishing than to do anything else in the world, provided he knows what good salmon fishin' is. Now for these fishermen about the only thing the Lord can do, if He wants to make 'em happy as He promised to do, is to give 'em a chance at fishin'.
"I wouldn't be at all surprised some morning in Heaven to be trailin' along the bank o' some good stream fishin' and lookin' up sudden to see the Lord there a fishin' too.
"You smile, but why not? Do you think the Father is so foolish as to drop us down in a strange place where we don't understand and we don't know what to do. Does it appear to you that the Lord would take a little fellow like Peter and send him around with a harp. I'll tell you what Peter would want to do, he would want to jump rain barrels so as he would know how to jump ice pans when he got older.
"What good would it do to take any little fellow outen the primary school and put him right into college. It wouldn't do him or the college one particle of good. It would be a sheer waste for everybody concerned. I think the Father is wiser than that, and it's always kinder amused me and somewhat disgusted me that the parsons have imagined heaven to be so teetotally different from this life.
"I've seen so much of His wisdom here, I can't come to think that He's working blind and foolish over there. Will I know little Peter, sure I will, or it wouldn't be heaven. Then his new little body must look like the present one, only stronger and it won't hurt it so much when he pinches it.
"He'll get into the place that fits for him, not because he's sent, but because he just naturally goes where he belongs. And as it is with little Peter so it will be with every one. Perhaps by this time he has seen the Christ, for the kingdom is always found quicker by a child than by a grown man. Children see things that we older folks find it hard to see."
"How about Rascal Moore?" I asked.
"Just now he's taken his cat and dog and he's gone to the woods.[2] Mebbe there a stick will hit him and knock a little sense into him. He's by no means hopeless. I've seen worse ones than he is get sense afore they died. But you mean what would become of him if he went just as he is. Well, there must be sufferin' for the likes o' him. You can't, and I find the Lord Himself don't, seem to make a sinner into a saint all of a sudden. He may wake him up sudden and start him, but it takes time to get him rounded off. He'll go where he belongs just as the others; and if for a while he belongs in an uncomfortable, painful place why there's where he'll go. I never could see the sense in trying to think that everybody would go right off to one same place and be in heaven. There's too much difference in folks; there's the converted and the unconverted; there's the sinners and the saints; and though you put 'em in the same place, it wouldn't be the same place for them. It don't seem probable to me either that they can't never change their places when they get over there. There's a good deal o' changin' here, so there's likely to be over there.
"There are changes in the earth homes, there'll be changes in the heaven homes. And it will be well so long as the changes are for the better. I can't think that will always be the case, howsomever, for it ain't the case here. But gradual I'm expectin' conditions will improve and the handicaps are less over there. With the help o' Moses, Isaiah and the prophets and saints we ought to get on at a fair pace. A tremendous lot o' mothers is over there; they've been a goin' out one by one for a terrible long spell, makes me dizzy when I get to thinkin' o' some o' these subjects. Mothers don't loaf so long as there's chance to help kids, an' I'm callating that they'll do some pretty good work along lines o' convertin' over there.
"I expect to hear the baccaloo[3] over there and I'd rather hear a baccaloo than a nightingale or a lark for it would seem more like home. That's the big thing and the Lord ain't likely to disappoint me or any one who is lookin' for a home over there.
"The heaven home is a good sight nearer than most folks think. The journey is short and it's only our poor sight and our hearin' that has made it so far away. I know Peter's often near me while I'm at work and it's a comfortable feeling, not a scarey one to think he's liable to be around most any time and I must be on my guard not to let slip any string o' words that would be bad for him to hear. It chucks a fellow up to feel that he must be on his best for the little fellow sees and knows. I want to be such a father as he'll respect. It must be mighty oncomfortable for some folks when they get over there, for some folks don't do no growing after they lose their loved ones and how in sank they expect to be fit company for their folks when they themselves get over there is more'n I can tell.
"Because there's homes there don't in no way interfere with it's bein' a beautiful place. It don't have to have golden harps to make it worth while. There's probably rivers that are prettier than 'ourn, and there must be pink calmia, fox-gloves and sweet william, pansies, tea-bushes and a good many others that I don't happen to think of. There must be places in heaven that look like Deer Lake, Gaff Topsail, Kelligrews and Brigus. Mebbe there's places in heaven like New York, too, though from what you say it will need some changin' to be kept as a heaven city.
"I don't want you to think that I'm a gump[4] because of these ideas, but to me they've been a good deal of comfort and whenever I get to doubting at all about things over there I just recall it's a home and I settle back content."
CHAPTER VIII
CHRISTMAS WITH JIM'S FRIENDS
There was the calendar right before me on the wall, with figures big enough to mentally hit me and hit hard, and I should have remembered that the road of the year had turned toward Christmas. But before me was an unfinished news article that even a hungry and insistent stomach did not seem able to push to a conclusion. Beyond my desk out of the window I looked now and then down upon the hurrying throng who were making their way across City Hall Park to Brooklyn Bridge. It was the hour when you do not know whether to call it day or night. It was indescribable in another way,—it was either misting or raining. I suppose a Scotchman would have called it mist and an Irishman rain. I think that any one looking out that night would have found it hard to see in the gray view anything suggestive of Christmas. I turned from the wet view to my unfinished work only to be again interrupted.
A Western Union boy burst into my office with a telegram. It was from St. John's and I wondered as I tore it open if anything had happened to Harbor Jim. It was short and for once the operators had apparently followed the author's spelling.
come fur chrismus cant take no fur an answer no how biggest an best you or yourn hev ever seed come jim
A few days afterward a long letter came enforcing and elaborating the invitation. Jim wrote that he was already at work upon a Christmas that would eclipse anything New York had ever had. He had taken the idea out of a city paper that I had sent him a year before and had developed it and he wouldn't care to go forward with it, unless I could be there.
That is how it happened that a few days before Christmas, on the last steamer that would get me there in time, I was steaming into St. John's Harbor. Our boat was sheathed with ice and as in the morning we came thru the Narrows there were knobs of ice floating around us. The hills were white and the brown stone now and then stuck thru where the snow had lost its footing.
Landing I found the people in furs and the sleighs making merry music with their bells. A fellow agreed to drive me out to Jim's for two dollars and a half and I went in his sleigh, he called it, but in New England it would have more properly have been called a pung.
Jim almost literally wrapped me in his arms and outdid himself in the cordiality of his welcome.
"How's fishing, Jim?" I asked when the first greetings were over and I had my feet up in front of the stove.
"Fishin', why land o' Goshen, this ain't no time for fishin'. There ain't but one thing on my mind an' that is Christmas. Don't you see what we are a' doin'?"
A kettle of oil was on the stove and the dipping of half grown candles had been recently finished. On the floor were half a hundred full grown candles.
Jim could talk only of Christmas. "I've been thinkin'," he said, "that if there should ever be a second coming of the Lord or He should send another Son to His people He couldn't pick out a better place than this. Suppose it was to be another birth. I callate this land has just as good a chance as Palestine and hereabouts is as fittin' a place as Bethlehem. Look out there at the snow! Makes you think o' a baby's blankets, it's so white and clean and pretty. Our nights man't have stars as brilliant as that one greater star of the first Christmas mornin', but I don't believe they have flyin' lights[5] like 'ourn. I hev noticed that the Lord tries to be as impartial as He can and since He sent His Son to the East last time, if ever He should send again why I think He'd be likely to send Him somewhere hereabouts. You remember the Son liked fishin' an' He'd be delighted with Newfoundland."
The door opened and Bob McCartney walked in.
"What's the matter, Bob; what you got your good behavior[6] on fur?" asked Jim as his friend entered.
"Ain't the occasion worth it? You sed yourself that it was to be the biggest Christmas the Landers ever hed; and I'd like to know if we aren't in a way celebratin' now while we're gettin' ready."
"Who's coming to this Christmas, Jim?" I asked, taking my turn at a question.
"Well, everybody in this town, quite a mess o' folk from St. John's and Quidi Vidi. Some from Brigus, Kelligrews and Heart's Ease. Aunt Saray Bailey is a' comin' from Nancy Jobble.[7] It's such a general invitation that they ain't no definite countin' no how, but their comin'. Everybody that meets anybody hereabouts and nowadays jes' says are you a' comin' to Jim's fur Christmas."
Gradually by prying questions I found out what Jim was planning to do. He had been extremely interested in the account I had sent him of the illuminated tree in Madison Square, and had resolved to have the trees on a neighboring hill-top all illuminated where they stood. In place of electric lights he was engaged in making tallow candles by hand.
The day before Christmas, Mrs. Jim was up very early and when I came down to breakfast she greeted me with this:
"Got to make a biler full o' tea this morning fur the Decoratin' Committee will be here shortly."
"Yes," added Jim, "they'll be here shortly and then we'll be a carryin' out Christmas. Up your way they fetch it in, but we're a goin' to carry it out, good and proper, this year."
The first arrival was Bob, who had caught the full contagion of Jim's spirit, and the second was Parson Curtis.
"Hello, Pa'son Curtis," said Jim as he ushered in his guest. "Did you come to look on or to work?"
"Put me in among the workers, Jim," replied the parson.
"That's right, Pa'son," Jim spoke with heartiness. "I like a pa'son that ain't a mite afraid o' work. I callate that our Lord was one o' the greatest workers this world ever seed, and it's a good thing fur those who are a takin' His place to be up in the front row o' workers. Here's a bag o' candles and here's a coil o' wire. You can take 'em up the hill and begin hitchin' 'em to the tallest tree. You can begin on the low branches an' when the younger fellows get here we'll let 'em shinney up to the taller branches."
By eight o'clock, fifty men and boys were at work, many of them bringing their own donation of candles, and each time that Jim saw more candles coming he beamed, for it meant more trees could be included in the scheme.
With banter, jest and story the work of attaching the candles went on thru the morning and at noon we went back to Jim's for dinner. We all knew what to expect and we were not disappointed, when with keen appetites, we crowded the little house and waited our turn for a hot plate of brewse. It's Newfoundland's distinctive dish and salt fish and pork never tasted better than that noon after our climbing up in the trees.
Walking back to finish our work in the afternoon I said to Jim:
"It strikes me it is a little unfortunate that the hill we are decorating has no tall spruce on top. The trees are well arranged on the slopes but the top of the hill itself hasn't a tree on it!"
"That's what pleases me about it. That's why I selected it, because it leaves room for the Candles of the Lord," answered Jim. "There on the top is where the Light o' the World will shine out tonight. When we get the rest of the work done we'll place it."
An hour later Jim came dragging a sled with a huge candle, four feet high, at least, and it was carefully erected in the centre of the open place on the hill. At three o'clock the work was finished and Jim addressed the workers:
"Thank you all. We'll knock off for a spell. Those that lives near can go home. Those that lives too far will find plenty at my house. Be back every one of you an hour before sunset. The sun won't wait for any o' ye and if you don't get here the lightin' will go on jes' the same, but I wants you all to be here, sure."
They began to arrive before the appointed time, but I waited within until it began to grow dark, then I stepped to the door and watched the multitude coming up from the valley. I remember once I went out with the crowds and climbed Mt. Rubidoux in California on an Easter morning. A little in advance of the larger contingent I stood and watched them coming up out of the darkness of the roads below into the growing light of the mountain top and the new day. I thought of that experience again as I watched them coming along the road to climb the hill and keep Christmas Eve with Jim. Only in this instance the picture was reversed and I saw them coming out of the light into the gathering darkness of the night.
There were many from St. John's who had come out for the lark of it. Men that worked along Water St. and Dock St. Girls from the stores came in little groups full of tickles and nudging one another as things happened to meet their fancy. Women in black were in the crowd who had been before along a sorrowful way and turned to make this journey that they might find light. Some of them plainly showed by their demeanor that they were conscious of the fact that Christ was the best part of Christmas.
Boys were in the throng, many of them swaggering along with sticks, copying the manner of English soldiers who feel their importance when on furlough. Little girls tripped along, some of them singing a little Christmas song that begins
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day."
The chatter of the many voices did not altogether drown their childish voices and they rose like bird notes above the rushing winds of a forest.
It was slippery walking and now and then some one would fall, but a hand would be reached out to them and they would again go on with a laugh. Everywhere was the glitter. That is what the Newfoundlanders call the spectacle of a snow and icegirt earth. During the day many of our hands had been nearly frozen because of the ice on the trees and they were festooned and sheathed with ice where their branches were a little out of the wind and it had not stripped them of snow during the recent storm. It was a white, shining world, softened by a waning light.
Now the fellows who had been appointed had been at work some time with torches and as we looked up tree after tree put on a garland of jewels and stood forth resplendent for the feast. Parson Curtis had lit the first torch from the Candle of the Lord, as Jim called the big candle on the hill-top, and each torch had been lit from his.
Murmurs ran thru the crowd as the scene grew more beautiful with the lighting of more trees and the deepening of the night shadows. It was now quite dusky, but the snow kept the light so that we could see the workers finishing the lighting.
When all was ready, standing beside the Candle of the Lord, Jim spoke:
"Brothers in Christ, we all are that tonight. I am glad you have come to celebrate the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ. Pa'son Curtis will lead us in prayer."
Jim knelt in the snow and the great company followed his example. The prayer was short and Jim was ready to announce the singing of the first of the Christmas hymns, when some one I didn't know made his way thru the crowd, and waiving all formalities, touched Jim on the arm and spoke hurriedly:
"Rascal Moore's took sick. He's got a ketch in his glutch[8] and the Missus wants you to come over right now to sit up with him. She can't manage him no how and she's sent for you."
I was standing beside Jim, watching now his face and now the lights. I looked squarely at him now and thought of the weeks of preparation that he had gone thru and how like some rare flower that blossoms only in the night it had unfolded petal by petal before his delighted eyes. I thought, too, of Rascal Moore, who had so long been living up to his name. It seemed unfair indeed to ask him to go now on this Christmas Eve that he had planned for and was making so successful. Let any one else go if they would, but surely not Jim.
"Tell 'em I'm on my way," was all he said to the messenger, and he moved along as he spoke.
Turning to me he said, what made me feel that he was still human, and without these words I think I must have doubted it. "It would have been a little easier if it had a' been Bob instead of Rascal."
The program began, though Jim was leaving and had turned his back on it all. Will Cunningham, whose tenor voice often led in the little church, started the Christmas hymn "Holy Night, Peaceful Night," and the crowd sang. The female voices seemed in preponderance and I fancied the men all thru the crowd were doing what the few around me were doing, heaping choice epithets upon Rascal Moore.
Jim was yet to see more of his Christmas trees. He may have forgotten it, but his friends remembered that Rascal Moore's place was just about at the foot of the hill and some one started taking off the candles from the trees that were a little beyond and decorating those that were in the direct line toward the Moore house. There were so many hundreds the work was speedily performed. The candles were re-lit and by seven o'clock there was a row of lighted trees extending straight down the hill to the Moore house and at the top of the hill the big candle could now be distinctly seen against the black back-ground of the night.
It may be the angels are a little nearer on Christmas Eve and they decided to add to the wonderful beauty of that night for which Jim had worked and prayed. For now the northern lights came, adding great plumes of light, flashing across the sky in a glory burst of light.
"It's the dead men playing. Come to earth, they have, for Christmas Eve," explained Bob.
When all was ready some one knocked at the Moore door and brought Jim to the porch and he stood bare-headed looking up the wonderful avenue of light to the top of the hill. Then he lifted his eyes from the earth lights and the black crowd to the sky.
"The heavens declare the glory of God," Jim spoke quietly, but many could hear his words. "Mebbe little Peter is here tonight playing in the heavens and joinin' us in our songs. The Lord of Joy has come again!"
"What did you leave us for, Jim?" some one in the crowd shouted.
The hundreds stood waiting for Jim's answer. It was a hush of expectancy, such as fitted that holy night.
Jim answered slowly, measuring his words:
"I heard my Father calling and I went to answer Him!"
CHAPTER IX
HONEY-MOONING ON THE FLAKES
Jim lapsed into silence and his wife, laying down her mending, poked the fire and soon had tea brewing. The Landers are tea drinkers like the English.
"It's a beautiful story, sir, and we often live it over again," Mrs. Jim said as she poured the tea. I noted the flow-blue china and, answering my query, she said:
"It was my grandfather's. He brought it from England sixty years ago. Of course we're awful careful of it, but we use it, for Jim says the only way to have plenty is to use what you have. We always keep a pot handy and there's always a ready chair, for many a time a neighbor drops in and we wouldn't want to let them go on without a cup o' tea,—a cup o' kindness, Jim calls it."
"Now, I've read books," continued Jim, "and they always end just where they really should begin. When in the book story they decide to get married, then they stop short. If I should ever write a story, which I ain't likely to do, with my little learnin', I'd not stop there, but I'd let that end only the first chapter and I'd let the story go on with its joy and sorrow and its hope and its fear and the problems big and little; the blessings so rare that follow along even as they do in real life.
"If I'm not tiring you, I'd be glad to give you another half chapter afore we all quit and turn in for the night."
Jim put down his empty tea cup with a smack of appreciation at his wife's proper brewing and deliberately cut off a fresh slice of tobacco and crushed it into the bowl of his pipe, and I knew that for at least a half hour, the story would go on, the story that was so real to him and now so fascinating to me.
"Bein' both of us very sure, and the Lord havin' given the sign o' His good pleasure, there beyond Brigus, we didn't wait long afore we were hitched up.
"We begun right here in this house and we started right in here the first night and we went to work on the flakes the next morning. We didn't go off no where's for a honey-mooning.
"I reckon there's no place a real woman would rather go at that time than to the new home where her life is agoin' to be lived, and that vacationing then ain't best for either. In any case we never thought a travelling, for you see the cod was running well and 'twas the height of the season and we had to fill the flakes, while we could.
"A man and a woman who gets married has to get acquainted and adjusted one to the other and there's no better place for learnin' to conform than right where they are agoin' to live and raise their children.
"Course a couple can just pretend for a spell there ain't any work to be done, but there is, and I reckon the sooner they face it, the better for all concerned. If you're agoin' to cut bait, there's no use standin' round dreadin' it.
"When I was a boy we used to have in our house a religious book with pictures of saints in it and every blessed one on' 'em had a ring around their head, halos, I think they call 'em; now I callate that a home ought to have some kind of a halo over it and it's easier to get it fastened on just right when your startin' married life and if you don't get it on then, like's not you'll never have a real home but just a house for feeding and sleeping.
"We got the halo fixed on, eh, Effie," and the fisherman's eyes confirmed his words.
"So, next morning we put on our fishin' clothes and went out on the flakes. We'd clean fish for a spell and then we'd split and spread for a spell. Now I know from the standin' point o' city folks fishin' clothes ain't very scrumptious to look at and they are kinder soused with smell, but our clothes didn't interfere none with our honeymoon.
"Her dress was kinder faded blue, but I always liked blue. It's heaven's color and often the sea borrows it, and that morning it made her cheeks more wonderful pink than I'd seen 'em before.
"There was a kind of down-right, deep-seated satisfaction to both of us in feeling we was at work; both of us a doin' what needed to be done and a sharin' of the burdens or the joys which ever you wants to call 'em. For I have found that some folks get their joys and burdens mixed up and don't seem to know one from 'tother till it's too late and they wake up with a start when they can't change 'em.
"Sharin', I said, and that's a word we set out to understand when we commenced an' with us it's always been a big word ever since.
"After breakfast that first morning we went to the flakes, I took out my wallet and said to her: 'There's no sense of my carryin' this round when you are more likely to need it than I. I'll leave it here behind the clock and when you need money, it's yours and bein' yours you don't have to give any account of it 'cept to your own conscience. More properly speakin' it's 'ourn, for now we're married there ain't no longer yourn or mine, but 'ourn.'
"I callate that if a man can trust a woman to bring up his children, trust her with his house and his reputation and his disposition, he ain't no cause to fear to trust her with his wallet.
"Bob McCartney always says a woman ought to have an allowance, but I tell him too much book-keeping is bad for a married couple and then how's a man able to judge the amount of an allowance anyhow. I guess most women earn more'n an allowance, and a sharin' always seems bigger than an allowance.
"I've heared folks liked honey-moons 'cause they got away from pryin' eyes, but I want you to know that our honeymoon want never once interrupted. The neighbors see we had work to do and they had theirs and we both of us did it. The children of the neighbors was often round with us then, but they made us think of 'ourn that was to come, in the favor of the Lord. And if when I helped her along from plank to plank, I held her hand a little longer than absolutely necessary, who was to care.
"There's been no decided change in the years; we've been honey-mooning along just about the same. Course with the children she had more to do in doors, but she's always managed, if there was an extra run o' fish to come to the flakes and help me over the rush; and if one o' the kids was sick or anything extra come, why I've always toted the load for her."
During the last few sentences Jim was watching the clock intently and as he spoke the last sentence, he crossed the little room and began winding the clock. I looked up and there, sticking out from behind the clock, was a worn, brown wallet. Evidently he was still living up to his habit of sharing.
"It's time all decent folks was in bed," he said. "We done want to ape the city folks."
So bidding them good night I went out into the night. The rain had ceased and there were fast hurrying clouds breaking up and I could see the moon high over the spruces. I felt my way along the road back to St. John's.
CHAPTER X
JIM AND HIS BOOK
"They that seek the Lord understand all things." Jim spoke with his usual deliberation. Again, I had found my way to the little house, where now I felt welcome. It was "lightin' an' readin'" time as Jim called it.
"They that seek the Lord, understand all things," repeated Jim. I'm finding it true more and more. It is true that the Lord giveth to a man what is good in His sight, wisdom and knowledge and joy.
"We began sharin' the book, just as we began sharin' the wallet. I callated that since the Lord by wisdom founded the earth we'd have to found our earth home the same way.
"I'm not educated with figgering knowledge. I never got much school wisdom, for I never went much, and what I did get was mostly from the fellow that set on the bench with me instead of from the teacher. The teacher was so busy with fifty odd pupils, varying from four to twenty years in age, that he didn't have much time for any one. He had to skip from the multiplication table to algebra and often he skipped some of the pupils, and I was apt to be the one he overlooked.
"I know my limitations. A city chap told me about them once and I thanked him." Jim chuckled at the remembrance.
"'Look ahere,' the city chap said to me, 'do you know you've lost all the G's out of your vocabulary. Your words don't look nor sound natural. You better start in putting them on. And there is no such word as ain't. Remember that or you can't talk in polite society.'
"I presume he knew, for he talked as though he was on good terms with a dictionary; and when he went fishing and caught the hook in his hand he said words that weren't in the dictionary, and that came near breaking the first commandment. I've got some of those G's put back on, but not all. Two things is helping me on the job, the reading of the Good Book and the children.
"Book learnin's a fine thing. I'm stumblin' along thru a book or two myself, but I callate the prophets didn't refer to book knowledge when they wrote of wisdom, but rather heart and soul wisdom. The promise I recollect was this: 'For wisdom shall enter into thine heart and knowledge shall be pleasant unto thy soul.'
Then he reached for his Bible, but before he opened it he said:
"This is the most valuable thing in this house. I've been in houses in St. John's fussed up with furniture and things, so many you felt you would disturb 'em by setting down, but this book wasn't no where to be seen and once I asked a woman to let me look at the Book, and she said she'd have to keep me waitin' till she found it, but she was quite sure she had it. Guess its wisdom never got very far into her soul.
"It's a satisfyin' book. Readin' of it is like quenching your thirst at a hill spring. In the days afore I was converted as a young fellow with the rest, I used to sail over to the French Island of St. Pierre and smuggle in a few gallons of rum. But it never quenched my thirst. It would leave me afterward, all-fired thirsty. But open this book and you find fountains of cool water.
"I've tried in the years to halt at the springs as Moses and his people did when they crossed the desert and come to a spring. There's many a river of the water o' life flowing sweet and fair as we journey thru the good book, but to me the promises are the springs and wife and I have lingered longest at the springs. We've marked them and there's a good many of them and we haven't found them all yet. She has helped me mark 'em. A fisherman's hands get a bit calloused and clumpsy and she does most of the markin', but I do my share of the discoverin'. It's always a happy night, when we find a new spring and rejoice in a new promise, but it's a glad night when we quench our thirst at any one of the never-failing springs. Their all of 'em fresh an' sparklin'; there's nary a one of His that are salt or bitter.
"Effie keeps a pencil handy there with her sewing things and when I find a new promise, I hand over the book to her and she underlines it. Then the favorite springs we mark in the margin, so we'll find 'em easy as we journey."
He opened the book, his book it was in more ways than one. It was very much worn; its leaves were thumbed and now and then as he turned the pages a fish scale dropped out.
"Here are the Great Mountain Springs. The Master indicated them with a big, Blessed, so we wouldn't miss them, perhaps the clearest one is this, Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God, but they've all got sparkling water; their all promises that quench the soul's thirst.
"You will find some of these same markers in the Old Testament, though few folks seem to search there for the Blesseds. Here are some of the springs that are marked for our use.
"'Blessed are they that wait for Him!'
"'Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.'
"'Blessed is the man whom thou choosest and causest to approach unto Thee, that he may dwell in Thy courts: we shall be satisfied with the goodness of Thy house, even of Thy holy temple.'
"'Blessed is he that considereth the poor.'
"'Blessed is the man whose strength is in Thee, in whose heart are the highways to Zion.'
"Let me turn the pages slowly and when I come to a favorite spring we'll halt a moment," commented Jim as he continues his reading.
"'He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.'
"It won't hurt you a mite, if you hev to wait awhile atween the verses. Most parsons read the Bible too fast. They go scurryin' thru the readin' like as though a shower was comin' an' they had to get in out of it post haste."
"'Fear not; I am with thee; be not discouraged; for I am thy God; I will strengthen thee, yes, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.'
"'With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation.'
"That there first part has puzzled me somewhat, for I've known many a one to die young. My folks used to say the good died young, cause the Lord had need of 'em over there. Struck me as kinder queer. But I reckon He meant here just what He said, as He does elsewhere. It's His intention to have long life and goodness go together, only some of us interferes with His plan, but He lets us interfere 'cause it's best and will work out His way in the end."
"'He shall call upon me and I will answer him. I will be with him in trouble. I will deliver him and honor him.'
"'Behold I will bring thee health and a cure.'
"'The Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended.'
"'There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.'
"Did you think," said Jim, interrupting his reading, "that there were so many bright, clear springs for the traveller?"
Then, without waiting for any answer, he continued slowly turning the pages, reading me from his marked places.
"'Delight thyself in the Lord and He shall give thee the desires of thy heart.'
"'The joy of the Lord shall be your strength.'
"'He that endureth to the end shall be saved.'
"There are signs put up, too, not only to mark springs but to inform us," interpolated Jim.
"Now once as we was journeying, it come over me that these springs may have been intended for others and not for us and that very night, I come upon this sign and it took every bit of doubt out of my heart.
"'For the promise is unto you and your children.' How could it be plainer than that?"
As he closed the Book I said: "I, too, have a Book but I think sometimes I have lost my way as I journeyed and I am going to put up sign-boards of my own now, so I'll never lose my way again. There is no use to camp in dark valleys when just beyond are the hills and the springs. It's unwise to wander thru deserts of generalizations when the promises are close at hand."
"Yes," added Jim, "what do we care whether King Agag was hewed to pieces or not. We know the words of salvation."
CHAPTER XI
RAILROADING WITH THE KID
If there is anything that I have told you about Harbor Jim that sounds feeble or sickly sentimental, I have told you an untruth. Turn back to where I said it, and cross it out. It doesn't belong in this story. It's rank injustice to Jim.
I have fished with a good many of the Landers. I have been fishing off the banks when the weather has kept every man of us praying, who knew how to pray, and I have had a chance to judge of these bronzed fellows, big of hand and foot and the same of heart, most of them, as they met the wind and weather, the fortunes of life on the sea and the shore; and I want you to know I never have known and loved a manlier man than Jim.
Maybe that was why I was surprised one morning as we were returning to camp from a trip up the Humber River after salmon, to see the tears rolling down his cheeks and to note that he hastily took his sleeve and wiped his face and swallowed hard.
In this land of uncrossed lakes and unfished rivers, there is probably not a fairer one than the Humber River and there are reminders of Norway both on the lower and upper Humber.
It was with some difficulty that I had persuaded Harbor Jim to leave his home for the trip inland to the Humber for salmon fishing. The Lander does not take readily to a vacation, indeed, the average Lander cannot afford to take one. After several days of argument, Jim gave in, with this sentiment:
"I think the Lord must a been a good fisherman, else He wouldn't a picked fishermen to follow Him. He wanted to swap stories with 'em now and again. The Master knew by the ruffle and the shadow on the lake when the fish was schooling and he told Peter where to let down his nets. I have an idea He went away sometimes to fish as well as to pray and that fishin' with Peter and John, they come to know each other better."
After that Jim was as keen as a boy to get ready the lines and the flies and to pack our little outfit. We went on the train to Deer Lake, crossed the lower end of the lake and went up the river. We fished near Steady Brook Falls and away up at Big Falls and the weather was all that could be desired. We caught more salmon and trout than we needed and we were bringing out all that the law would allow us to transport. It had been the best week's fishing I had ever had, and there had been some surprises. We had by chance fallen in with an old friend of mine from the States and another day we had seen a stag of great size following the birds down to a pool.
All had gone so well with us that I was at a loss to account for this sudden demonstration of feeling. It was not like Jim. I knew him and his way well enough, to know that he would not wish to be questioned, so we tramped on in silence over the carry, and it was not for an hour afterward that he ventured an explanation.
"There at the carry you may have thought it strange, the way I acted up. That little fellow we seed there playing with his father's canoe, made me think of little Peter. I've never mentioned him, I seldom do, but I think a good deal about him and often I believe he is with me. He made the carry and past over to Kingdom Come three years ago.
"Do you know sometimes when I used to watch my little Peter playing, and the light and shadows would be around him, I used to think, pardon me, he looked like the pictures I've seen of the carpenter's Son, His Son. He was our first child, born out of our first wonderful love, but he never was a strong child. I don't know why. I never could think of him as becomin' a fisherman. He used to like better'n the average child, to journey with us thru the land o' the springs during the evenings, and I thought mebbe the Lord would call him to be a preacher, though I never let on to him, what I was a thinkin'.
"When he was eight, he got kinder spindlin' and at the same time he wanted to go to the woods and to see the island. He had another hankering, too, that was to ride on the trains. He used to collect engine numbers any time he was in St. John's. His mother used to say that she believed he'd be an engine driver instead of a preacher.
"At first I didn't pay much attention when he asked to go, but as he got thinner and paler, I began to take trips with him on the railroad. We had great times together going to places and for a time they seemed to chuck him up a bit. We went down to old Placentia one time. Ever down there? It's a lovely old place; lies sprawled out on a sandy beach with arms reaching round it and the hills sending down beauty on to it. We climbed the hill across the gut from the town, Castle Hill, and saw the crumbling ruins of the old French Fort and we went across to Bradshaw's and saw the Communion set that was presented by King William the Fourth.
"Sometimes we would take mother along and go to Top-sails and look down the bay as we ate our lunch. Then one time we went over to Belle Isle and saw the men working in the iron mines under the sea and Peter talked about what he saw for weeks. I was worried a good deal about him, but we both felt better on the trips. There was always something to see. For miles our railroad gives you Conception Bay with now a frame of hills and now one of spruces. Then in the centre of the island are great lonesome barrens where the caribou come to feed and the little nameless lakes are clustered. Peter had 'em all named, but I think he used to change the names sometimes. There were so many his little mind forgot the long list.
"Then 'twas fun to be on our railroad. It's a road that throws you about some; makes an impression on you, and a good hard one, sometimes. But it's the only railroad we've got in the Dominion and without it our country wouldn't have the farms it has now, nor friends like you, coming and going.
"I remember when we took the sleeper, the kid and I. We didn't often do that; we couldn't afford it, but this time we were going over to the Codroys and I put the little fellow to bed and sat down for a spell of thinking, across the aisle from him. Suddenly the train gave a lurch. Guess the engineer got kinder hot stoppin' to drive cows off the track and we was a hittin' it up as much as thirty miles an hour. What do you think? Little Peter come a flyin' down from his berth right into my arms and he says, not hurt a bit, only tickled:
"'Pa, a fellow has to be put to bed more'n once to stay put on our road.'
"He always called it our road, though he knew its short-comings as well as I.
"We only took one winter trip and that was a long one and I blamed myself many a time for taking the risk, though I don't know's it hurt him any, and I'm sure I always kept him warm and covered. When we got to Gaff Topsails, the track ahead was solid, sheer ice and the wind swept fierce across it from the south. They strapped the train on the track, so's it wouldn't tumble over. Seems funny now, but it wasn't then. But we didn't suffer any. They had lots of food-stuff aboard and when it give out the train hands went across the snow to the next town to get more. It took us fifteen days to get to Petrie's. The store-keeper at Petrie's had been up to St. John's to buy goods and he was on the train with us, anxious to get home. He was kind to little Peter and rode him pig-a-back every day, when it was too bad for him to walk about.
"The store-keeper reached Petrie's in thirteen days, two days ahead of the train, by walking the last ten miles. His folks was surprised, for they didn't expect him until the train got in.
"Still that trip we made better time than the trains sometimes do in the winter. One train took twenty-six days to get across the island.
"On these trips, Peter and I would come home with many a story to tell mother and little Peter would be wildly excited and there would be big, red spots in both his cheeks; and when the excitement of the trip was over he would grow weary. He would cough and want to eat less and sleep less, but always he was cheerful and a-planning for railroading with his Dad."
It came time to camp for the night and Jim stopped the story, as he started our fire and I began to put up our tent.
CHAPTER XII
THROUGH THE VALLEY WITH THE LITTLE FELLOW
When we had eaten our fill of fried salmon and blue-berry duff, that no one could stir up and bake better than Jim, and the camp was tidied for the night, Jim went on with his story.
He had come to the hard part of the story, the saddest part of his life, and I was glad that it was dark; I knew it would be easier for him. I was glad, too, that the camp fire was dying down, for thus I would see less of suffering that might be revealed could I see his face in the brighter light.
"I had the Grenfell doctor come. I'd sent ahead to have him met at the Hospital Ship and a doctor, a great man from the States, on his vacation, they said, come over here to our place. He was giving his vacation because he loved Grenfell and the fishermen.
"Little Peter answered all of his questions and I was sheer proud of him. I could see the Doctor liked the little man. He said to Peter, when he had finished examining him:
"'I'll make you better, my little man, if I can. You take all the eggs and milk the hens and the cows will let you have and grow so fat your mother won't know you.'
"But to me, he said, when he walked down the road a piece with me:
"'You're Harbor Jim, they tell me, a man loved hereabouts for the fights you've made to reach the harbor in a night of storm. I am hating to tell you, Jim, but it's goin' to be a hard fight this time, the hardest fight you ever had. There's a chance; but one lung is all gone and the other's bad. I'll do my best, but if you have to go thru the valley with the little fellow, I'll only hope you won't forget to live up to your reputation.'
"Then he left me all manner of directions, about eggs and milk that was to give him ammunition for the fight. Told me to soak him in sunshine and so on. And I did just as he told me. I gave him his cod-liver oil, when I had to invent fairy stories to get him to swallow it. I wrapped him up in blankets and sat him in the sunshine. His mother did as much or more'n I did. I used to listen of a night to see if he breathed all right. I listened, when ever Effie was asleep, to see if I could tell if he breathed as strong as he did the night before.
"Those days my heart was sore all the while, but I couldn't let on for fear she'd know just how I felt."
Jim swallowed hard, but he had made up his mind to tell me the story of little Peter and he wasn't the man to back down. He had a knife and a piece of a birch and he was whittling away. The light would flare up a moment and I could see him looking straight ahead into the fire and whittling faster.
"Then I had to cover it up from him; for little Peter was sure that he was getting better. Seems though the worse he got, the surer he was he'd be better tomorrow. When he got so weak I had to carry him across the room, he began to talk more about spring and railroading again with his dad.
"Sometimes when I'd been off and was comin' home, I dreaded so seeing him, thus weak, that I'd rather a-gone thru the Narrows on the darkest night God ever made, than to face Peter with a jolly quip. So many times then, and so many times since, I have thought, if I only could have toted the load for him. If only my hand could a-held it up for him. He was so little and frail and I was big and strong. And it was the utter, awful helplessness of it that made it so hard to bear. We wanted to help so bad and there was so very little that either of us could do.
"We didn't have Clara then. She didn't come until afterward, and then Peter was all we had. It didn't seem that we could give him up. I reasoned with myself and I didn't one night forget the Book. But there were nights when we halted at the springs that our mouths were so dry and parched that even the Water of Life seemed not to be sufficient to quench them.
"We went deeper and deeper into the valley. He grew weaker and weaker. Just like a little flower that is fading away. One night he grew worse. It was February, and I put on my snow shoes and started for St. John's for a doctor. I walked away into the night and I got a doctor and was back afore dawn.
"The doctor took his pulse and said:
"'He'll be crossing at the dawn.'
"Little Peter often listened to the Book and he was beginning to love it, too; and just before the sun broke that cold, February morning, he whispered:
"'God is light; in Him is no darkness at all.'
"Then it was morning, but oh, it was night and the valley for us! The doctor left us and we sat alone, her hand in mine. Effie didn't say anything; I think if she had I couldn't a bore it. And there was no minister present. I was glad of that, too. I guess they all want to help, but a good many on'em that I have knowed want to argue and to tell you it's all right and you don't want to talk just then and arguments don't offer much comfort. The time had come when only one could comfort us and we had to find Him. Some do not find Him for days, some for weeks, some never find Him again.
"The words that kept saying themselves over to me were these: 'Be still and know that I am God.' I was some impatient, some bitter. I know I oughtn't to have been, but I was, and I answered the Lord: 'I am still; see me suffering here; is that all the message?'
"It was a good thing we had something to do. We had to see to the little wasted body. We had to arrange for the service. We had to tidy up the house. We shared it all, the new sorrow and the pain, just as we had shared the wallet and the joys. The minister come way from St. John's and I was grateful to him. I don't remember just what he said, but I am sure that Peter was worthy all the good he said of him; and I know that I needed all the prayer he made.
"But when it was all over and the house was so quiet, it was harder still. It didn't do no good to listen for his breathing. There was no need to think of eggs or milk for the little fellow's breakfast. He was gone!
"I was very tired and I was about to turn in that night after the funeral, when Effie said:
"'We need to halt by the springs more than ever.'
"I knew she was right, so with a sad heart I opened the Book. I never knowed just how it was, perhaps the Lord himself guided my hands, but we come to a little halt at the 14th chapter of John. It was the Spring of Comfort and Peace, we so much needed. It was the place where so many have camped before in their night of sorrow and gone forth strengthened and rejoicing in the morning. We were very thirsty and it was real water, the water of life and we drank as we never had drank before. He spoke to us and said: 'Let not your heart be troubled!'
"I won't repeat that chapter, but it has never lost its power, to refresh and comfort since the day He first uttered the words. If you ever have to go again thru the valley yourself; halt there. It will be the wisest thing you ever did.
"After that I was able to think clear again. I said to myself. I trusted the Father before and He never did me wrong. I can't just see, but I can trust and it will grow brighter and so it has, though sometimes I don't see quite plain, even yet. I know that He must have a place for the little fellow and He must know what Peter needs. He'll know how to pick the best teachers and all the experiences he needs. My Father is looking out for him. He can do no wrong."
For a little while all was quiet but for the chattering of the river as it hurried on down to sea. The wind freshened in the trees. Messages were passing above us. Jim brought a bundle of fresh wood and the fire leaped into a cheerful blaze. There was not any more that needed to be said. We both made an effort to shake off the sadness and fell to talking of the weight of the day's salmon catch, as we undressed. We carried but one little tent and slept together. Some hour after we had gone to bed, I imagined Jim was trying to find out if I was asleep without disturbing me. At last he decided that I was awake and said:
"I'm sure it's all right about little Peter. We're out of the valley now and are finding again the sunny plain."