If Any Man Sin

'TIS HARD TO FORGET

The following weeks were busy ones for Martin. Winter was fast closing in and he had many things to attend to. First of all it was necessary to lay in a sufficient supply of food to last them until spring. Of fish he had plenty, and these were accordingly cached high up between three large trees, safe from prowling dogs or other animals.

He next turned his attention to the hills and forest. It was an exciting and memorable day when he brought down his first moose. He was a big fellow, with great branching antlers. Martin, in company with an Indian, had come upon him as he was quietly browsing in a wild meadow, several miles back from the lake. To Martin it seemed a most contemptible thing to creep up and shoot the unsuspecting creature. But such a feeling had to be overcome if he and Nance were to live through the winter.

At the first shot the moose gave a tremendous leap into the air, and dropped upon his knees. In his excitement Martin rushed from cover, and exposed himself to view. The wounded animal saw him, and in its dying rage charged suddenly upon his assailant. His antlers were but a few yards away and in another instant they would have hurled Martin to the earth. But again the rifle spoke, and the monarch of the forest went down with a thundering crash, never to rise again.

Skinning the moose, cutting it up, and packing it down to the lake was a task of considerable magnitude, and several days passed before all was completed.

Martin was now thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the chase, and he spent much of his time in the woods. Instructed and assisted by his Indian friends, he built a long circular line of traps, consisting chiefly of snares and dead-falls. He soon came to know the ways of the shy denizens of the forest, and took much pride in matching his skill against their cunning. At first meagre success rewarded his labours. The lynx, fox, martin, wolverine, and other animals for a time gave a wide berth to his carefully laid traps. But after a while a change took place, and each day he was able to bear home several furry prizes. These were promptly skinned, and placed upon stretchers, which the Indians had taught him how to make.

During Martin's absence from his cabin Quabee, the young Indian woman, stayed with Nance, and they thus became firm friends. But the child would always watch most anxiously for the return of her daddy, as she now called him, and never once did she forget to ask him if he had found her mamma and her "real daddy."

Through the evenings, which were now very long, Martin worked upon the interior of his house. With considerable difficulty he fashioned a table, and a wonderful easy-chair. He also constructed a couch to the left of the fire-place. Upon this he placed a liberal supply of fir boughs, over which he spread a large well-dressed moose skin which he had obtained from the natives. The cabin was thus made fairly comfortable, and when lighted by the blazing fire it presented a most cosy appearance.

Martin was not satisfied, however. He longed for more cooking utensils, as well as some pictures to adorn the bare walls. He needed, too, different food for Nance. Her principal diet consisted of meat and fish, and much of this was not good for a white child. Dried berries, and bulbous roots, supplied by the Indians, afforded a pleasing change. These had been procured during the summer, and through native skill had been dried and compressed into cakes. Such delicacies had to be doled out very sparingly, although the women gave what they could to the little pale-face maid of whom they were becoming very fond.

Every night Nance played upon the floor by Martin's side with a funny doll he had made for her. She was delighted with it, and could never have it out of her sight for any length of time. The wilderness life agreed with her, and living so much in the open her face was well browned, and her cheeks like twin roses. Martin was very particular about her appearance, and as he could not always attend to Nance himself he had instructed Quabee in the art of caring for a white child. At first the Indian woman was much puzzled, but through patience she at length learned what was desired of her. Cleanliness Martin insisted upon, and this was something that Quabee could not at first understand.

With much labour Martin had hewn a fair-sized bathtub out of the butt of a large pine tree. It had taken him days to perform this, but when it was finished he was quite proud of his accomplishment. This was accordingly installed in the cabin, and Quabee soon learned what it was for. In this she gave Nance her bath every morning near the fire.

Other Indians came at times to the cabin, but Quabee and her husband were there every day. The Indian woman was quick, intelligent, and most anxious to learn the ways of the white people. Having no children of her own, she placed her affection upon Nance, and the idea of receiving pay for her services never once entered her mind. She was a superior woman in many ways, tall, straight, and comely in appearance. She was never so happy as when with Nance. She would play with her, and the child soon began to learn a number of Indian words, while Quabee added daily to her knowledge of the English language. The Indian woman also made neat little dresses of the finest of dressed deer-skin for the white child, trimming the borders with beads, and coloured fringes. Little moccasins she made as well, and when Nance was fully attired in this native costume Martin thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight.

This constant association with Nance and the instruction she received from Martin ere long exerted an influence upon the Indian woman. She became somewhat neater in appearance, and she daily endeavoured to act more like the white people. She and her husband were greatly pleased with the log cabin, and they decided to have one just like it.

One cold night, three weeks before Christmas, Martin was sitting before the fire lost in deep thought. Nance was playing quietly by his side with her much-worn doll. On the floor at his left was a pile of furs, consisting principally of fox, lynx, wolverine, and beaver. He had counted them over several times, and had them all marked down upon a piece of bark of the birch tree. His only pencil was a small sharpened stick, which he blackened from a dead coal lying upon the table.

Martin had never lost track of the days and months, for one of the few things he had brought with him into the wilderness was a tiny calendar. He had carefully observed Sunday, and abstained from all unnecessary work on this day. He told himself that it was not only for his bodily welfare that he should do so, but it was the divine command. It had nothing to do with the Church, so he reasoned, and although he had been separated from the latter, he still believed that the Great God was his Father, and that His Son had died for mankind. He was by no means an unbeliever, except in his attitude toward the Church. In fact he had always been most careful about Nance repeating her little prayer every night at his knee, although he himself had abandoned the practice since he had become an outcast.

With much care he traced with his rude pencil the things he needed to make the cabin more comfortable, as well as the food and clothing necessary for Nance. Indian hunters were to start in the morning for the trading post across the mountains, and they would take his skins, and bring back the articles he required. They were not many to be sure, but the Indians could easily bring them with their dog teams, and they were quite willing to do it for their white brother.

A delighted chuckle from Nance aroused him, causing him to glance quickly in her direction.

"What is it, little one?" he questioned, as the child sprang to her feet and came to his side.

"Look, see!" she cried. "We are playing Santa Claus. Mamma is fixing up a tree for me and dolly, oh, such a pretty tree."

"It is a beauty," and Martin opened his eyes wide, and stared hard at the imaginary tree. "What nice things you have upon it."

"Oh, no, there's nothing on it yet," and the child gave a chuckle of delight. "We're just fixing it up for Santa Claus. He's coming, you know, and will put such lovely things on it."

"Do you think that old Santa will find you here?" Martin inquired.

"He found me last Christmas, all right, and brought me such lovely things—a little woolly dolly, and candy. When will it be Christmas again?" and Nance climbed upon Martin's knee. The imaginary tree was well enough in play, but it could not take the place of the real one.

"Christmas will soon be here, Nance. It won't be long. What would you like Santa Claus to bring you this year?"

"Oh, so many things," and the child clasped her little hands together as she gazed thoughtfully into the fire. "I want a new dolly, that will shut her eyes and go to sleep. I want candy—and something for Quabee, and the little Indian children. And I want——"

"And what?" Martin asked as she hesitated.

"I want my daddy and my mamma. Oh, why don't they come! Do you think they will come this Christmas?"

"Not this Christmas, Nance. You must wait, and some day you will understand why they cannot come to you now. But we'll fix up a tree, a little one, won't we?" he suggested in order to divert her attention. "We'll find a nice one and put it right by your bed, and we'll play that your daddy and mamma are here."

"Oh, yes," and Nance clapped her hands with delight. "And we'll let the Indian children see it, won't we? Oh, that will be lovely!"

After Nance had been tucked into bed, and was fast asleep, Martin picked up another strip of birch bark, and scrawled a note to the trader at Fort O' Rest. "They may have something suitable for a child," he mused, as he gazed thoughtfully upon what he had written. "Nance will be terribly disappointed if she doesn't get something. They will have sugar, at least, and that will be better than nothing."

As Christmas approached Martin became uneasy. The tree had been found, and was standing at the foot of Nance's cot. Every day he expected the arrival of the Indians from the fort, bringing with them the long-looked-for supplies and presents. They were much later than usual, so Quabee informed him, as it generally took them twelve sleeps to go and return.

The day before Christmas Martin's anxiety increased. Nance talked almost incessantly about what Santa Claus would bring her, and asked all kinds of questions. Martin went often to the door, and looked far off towards the woods whither the trail led, hoping to hear the jingle of bells, the shouts of the Indians, and the joyful yelps of the dogs. But no sound could he hear. The great forest, silent and grim, revealed nothing to the anxious watcher. When night, cold and dreary, shut down Martin's last hope vanished. He now no longer expected the return of the Indians. It was with a heavy heart that he played with Nance, told her several stories about Santa Claus, and the Christmas trees he had when he was a little boy.

"And just think!" the child exclaimed with delight, "when I wake in the morning there will be such nice things upon my tree."

Martin did not reply; how could he? He merely held her close, and stared straight before him into the fire. He pictured her bitter disappointment when she opened her eyes and found the tree as bare as it was the night before. What could he say to her, and how would he be able to soothe her sorrow? When at last she was snugly tucked into her little cot she put her arms around Martin's neck, and gave him a good-night kiss.

"Be sure and call me early in the morning, daddy," she said. "And you'll help me take my presents off the tree, won't you? Oh, I'm so happy!"

Holding fast to her queer battered doll, she was soon in slumber deep. Martin stood watching her sweet chubby face lying on the rough pillow, and in spite of himself tears came into his eyes. He threw himself upon the chair before the fire. If anyone had told him one year ago that a mere child could so capture his heart and weave such a wonderful spell about him he would have scorned the idea. But now that little being lying there was far dearer to him than life, and to think that such a sorrow should come to her in the morning!

Time and time again he replenished the fire from a liberal supply of wood in the corner. He felt that it would be useless to go to bed, for he knew that he could not sleep. How long he sat thus he could not tell, but he was at length aroused by the faint jingle of bells, and a noise outside. He sprang to his feet and listened eagerly. Yes, it must be the Indians! Hurrying to the door, he threw it open, and peered forth. There before him were the forms of men and dogs. The former were busily unfastening something from their sleds. His greetings to the natives were answered by several grunts. They were too anxious to get to their own lodges to waste any time in talk just now. Presently several parcels were handed to him, and Martin was much surprised at their number. He placed them upon the floor, and when the Indians had departed he closed the door, and carried the bundles over to the fire.

With much satisfaction Martin now examined each parcel. Yes, there was everything he had ordered—rice, sugar, beans, tea, tobacco, pencils, paper, and several other things. Then his face grew grave, for he could not find the presents he had ordered for Nance. With a sinking heart he placed the goods against the wall, and was standing looking down upon them when a noise was heard at the door. It opened, and an Indian stepped into the room. He was carrying a parcel in his hands.

"Injun no savvey," he quietly remarked. "Injun all sam' lose 'um." Saying which he held forth the bundle, and, turning, left the building.

Martin seized the parcel, and hastily tore off the paper wrapping. Then he gave vent to an exclamation of joy, for lying before him were the presents for Nance. He did not touch them at first, but crossing the room stood for a while gazing upon the sleeping child. A new feeling now possessed his heart, and he was anxious for morning to come that he might watch the joy in her sparkling eyes.

Going back to the presents, he examined them, and was greatly surprised at the number. He had no idea before that they kept so many things at the trading-post. There were several picture-books as well, and such a pretty little dress, and candy in coloured bags, all neatly made.

As he turned the various things over a piece of paper caught his eye. Picking it up, he read the words written thereon. As he did so his face grew dark, and the light of joy died out of his eyes. It was from the trader at Fort O' Rest. He did not keep toys, so he wrote, but a mission post had been established there the previous summer, and he had shown the missionary and his wife the birch-bark letter. They accordingly became much interested in the little girl away in the wilderness, and had made up the parcel of presents for her.

This was the substance of the letter, and every word burnt itself into Martin's soul. He sank into his chair, holding the paper in his hand, which trembled from the vehemence of his emotion. So these presents were the gift of the Church. He knew very well that they had been sent in a bale to the mission by some society of the Church to which he had once belonged. The words of his old bishop flashed into his mind: "Do you imagine that you can cut yourself off from the influence of the Church of your childhood? I tell you that you are mistaken, for such a thing is utterly impossible. The Church and her influence will follow you to the grave no matter to what part of the world you go." Martin groaned as he realised how true were these words. He had laughed at them when first spoken, fool that he was. How little he knew and understood the power of the Church.

He rose abruptly to his feet. He seized several of the presents in his hands and carried them to the fire. He would not take them from the Church, no, not for the sake of the child he loved. He could endure her sorrow rather than the bitter remorse which was sure to follow him.

As he stood there, hesitating for an instant, Nance stirred in her sleep. "Daddy, Santa Claus," she murmured. That was all, but it was enough to cause Martin to draw back. The perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead, not caused by the fire alone. He paced rapidly up and down the room, pausing at times to look upon the child. It was a stern battle he was fighting. How could he accept those presents from the Church? And yet how could he disappoint Nance? He wavered to and fro. It was his own battle, and there was no one to help him. He went to the door, and looked out. He knew that it was past midnight by the position of the stars. All was still and cold. The sharp air cooled his hot face, and somewhat calmed his excited mind. He closed the door and sat down. It was Christmas morning, the day which had always brought such a peace into his soul until his fall. He thought of it now and of the days of youth when he had gone with his parents to the little parish church. He saw the choir singing the familiar words of "Hark! the Herald Angels Sing," and "O Come, All Ye Faithful." He knew that in a few hours they would be singing them again in the same parish from which he had been driven out. Try as he might he could not banish the vision of the past which came to him this night. A spirit of peace seemed suddenly to surround him, while the old feeling of bitterness and animosity was for a time forgotten. He could not explain it, neither did he try to do so.

How long he remained there he could not tell. Whether he fell asleep and dreamed all the things he saw he did not know. But when he at length aroused himself the fire was burning low, and the dawn of a new Christmas day was stealing over the land. He threw several sticks upon the fire, and then, picking up the presents, he hung them all upon the tree. The strife for the present was over. Nance would be happy when she awoke, and that was all-sufficient.

THE CEASELESS THROB

After the Christmas excitement life settled down to a quiet monotony in the little cabin at the mouth of the Quaska River. Nance played day after day with her doll and other toys, and never seemed to grow weary of them. Martin visited his traps each day, and during the long evenings remained at home. There was no work he could do upon the interior of the building, so he had very little to occupy his time. Nance always went to bed early, after she had several stories told to her. Silence then brooded over the place, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the sound of the violin, upon which Martin would play when the mood was upon him. There was nothing else for him to do but sit and smoke, alone with his own thoughts.

For a while he was contented with this quietness and solitude. But Martin was a man, not a beast of the pen, and he possessed something besides a mere body. There was a power within him which refused to be still. It was ever active, like the ceaseless throb of the engine concealed within the ship. He had known other things. He knew what it was to study, to think, and to aspire. His training had made him so, and he could not endure a life of inactivity.

For the first time since entering the wilderness an insatiable longing came upon him for books, or reading matter of some kind. He thought of his well-filled shelves in his old parish. What a pride he had taken in his library, and what joy had always been his when he could be alone for a while with his favourite authors. But now he had nothing, not even a scrap of a newspaper. He looked around the barren room, and a tremor shook his body as he realised what little chance there was of ever having those rude walls adorned with books. And what an opportunity for reading, he mused, by the bright light of the open fire.

He was thinking thus one evening when the door softly opened and Taku and Quabee glided into the room, and squatted upon the floor to his left. Martin was pleased that they had come, as he was beginning to be quite fond of these two well-behaved natives. The only difficulty he had was in talking with them. He did not understand their language, while their knowledge of the English tongue was most meagre. Otherwise they would have proven most congenial company.

By their manner he knew that they had come for some special purpose, for they were unusually silent, and sat for a time without saying a word. Martin offered Taku a plug of tobacco, which the latter took, filled his pipe, and then handed it over to his wife. Soon large volumes of smoke were filling the room, while expressions of satisfaction rested upon the faces of the visitors.

"Good!" Taku ejaculated, looking at Martin. "Fine squaw, eh?" and he motioned towards Quabee.

Martin nodded.

"You teach 'um all sam' white man, eh?" Taku continued.

"What's that?" Martin inquired. "Me no savvey."

"You mak' 'um spik all sam' white man?"

"Oh, I see. You want to speak white man's tongue? you want to talk as I do?"

"Ah, ah, all sam'."

"Maybe so," was the slow reply. "I'll think it over. You come in the morning."

"You mak' Injun sling, eh?"

"Do what?"

"Sling, all sam' dis," and Taku began to hum the air of a tune he had learned.

"Where did you hear that?" Martin asked somewhat sharply.

"At post. White squaw mak' beeg box sling all sam' dis," and the Indian tapped upon the floor with his fingers, imitating some one playing an organ.

"And did she sing, too?" Martin questioned.

"Ah, ah."

"And you savvey it, eh?"

"Ah, ah. Me sling all sam' white squaw. Me no savvey talk," and he shook his head in a disconsolate manner.

"You want to savvey the words, do you?"

"Ah, ah."

"Well, then, I shall think about it. You come to me in the morning. Savvey?"

"Ah, ah. Me savvey."

When the Indians had departed Martin sat for a long time in deep meditation. An uneasy feeling possessed him. He knew very well now that the hunters who had gone to the post for supplies had come in contact with the missionaries there, and had attended service. They would go back again, and each time they would hear and learn more about the teaching of the Church. Soon they would hold service among themselves, and sing the hymns as well.

Presently an idea flashed into his mind, which somewhat startled him. It was not unlikely that the missionary, knowing of these Indians, would visit them from time to time and hold service among them. Again the bishop's warning came to him. He was surely learning now how true were those words. He paced rapidly up and down the room. What should he do? Must he leave this place, and the cabin upon which he had expended so much labour, and depart? If he did so where could he go from the influence of the Church?

A sudden thought stabbed his mind, which caused him to pause in the middle of the room. Why had not the idea come to him before? he asked himself. He crossed at once to the chair he had recently left, and sat down. He wished to think it all out very carefully. The Church had cast him off, and he had fled from its influence. He had been always on the defensive. Why not change his position and assume the aggressive? The Church was nothing to him now except the great disturber of his peace of mind. Although he was only one, yet why should he not show that he could retaliate? Why run away like a cur? Would it not be better for him to use his influence and oppose the onward march of the Church into the valley of the Quaska? He would teach the Indians the English language, and when they could understand him intelligently he would speak to them about the Church, and it would not be to its advantage, either.

The conclusion Martin arrived at this night did not trouble him in the least. He believed that he was justified in the course he was about to pursue. He wondered why he had not done this before. More than once the idea came to his mind that he would like to go back to the ways of civilisation and expose the Church. He knew many things about it which were not generally known, for he had been within the inner circle. He had seen much sham, hypocrisy, and even downright sin in the fold. He could tell of the strife, and division which often existed; of the incessant struggle for high positions; of the jealousy and envy which were so common. Oh, yes, he would unfold a tale which would startle the world. He thought of all these things as he lay that night in his bunk. Not once did there come to him a realisation of his own misdeeds, but only those of others.

Early in the morning Taku and Quabee came to the cabin, bringing with them so many other Indians that the room could hardly hold them all. Martin looked upon them with something akin to despair, although he determined to do the best he could to instruct them. He chose the simplest words at first, using the common articles with which they were familiar as illustrations. The natives were most anxious to learn, and repeated the words over and over again with remarkable patience. Time was nothing to them, and in fact they would have remained all day if Martin had been willing to instruct them. But a lesson of two hours was all that he could endure, especially as the atmosphere in the room had become almost unbearable. When he stopped, and signified that there would be no more teaching that day his scholars made no movement to depart. They remained squatted upon the floor with an expression of expectation upon their faces, which Martin could not understand.

At length Taku rose slowly to his feet, and stood before the white man.

"Injun wait," he began. "Injun lak' sling all sam' white squaw," and he jerked his thumb toward the east.

These words were received with much approval by the assembled natives. Martin well understood what they meant, and his heart beat rapidly. What should he do? Should he teach these Indians to sing the hymns of the Church which had cast him out, or should he poison their minds by telling them that such things were all nonsense? The Indians were observing him closely, and it seemed as if they were watching the struggle which was going on in his mind. Their eyes appeared to reproach him, and for relief he lifted the violin from its case, and began to tune up the instrument.

While he thus stood in the valley of decision Martin glanced towards Nance, sitting quietly by Quabee's side. Her sweet innocent face was turned towards him, and her bright eyes were following his every movement. He glanced towards the expectant natives. They were Nance's companions, and would be for years to come. Suppose he denied them their request now, and turned their minds against religious teaching, what would be the outcome? What had he to offer them instead? By influencing them for good it would be a benefit to Nance as well.

His hands trembled as he continued to thrum upon the strings. How could he turn against the Church? He thought of his parents, and remembered what noble lives they had led, and the peace and comfort they had received through that very Church which he was now on the verge of opposing. Then his mind flashed to Beryl. Beryl! What a vision rose before him. How could he deny the Church of which she was such a devoted member? What did all the sham and pretence amount to in comparison with her! A Church which could produce such characters as his parents and Beryl, how could he fight against it?

By this time the Indians were becoming restless. They were talking among themselves, and although Martin could not understand what they were saying, it was not hard for him to detect a distinct note of anger. This brought him to himself, and put an end to his indecision. He thought of the Bishop's words, and a scornful laugh broke from his lips, as he rose from the stool on which he had been sitting, and laid the violin upon the table. What a fool he had been, he told himself, for having wavered even for an instant. Why should he teach these natives the hymns of the Church? If he began now there would be no end. They would come every day, demanding more. No, it should not be. It was far better not to begin, no matter how angry the Indians might be.

When the natives understood that the white man would not play for them, and that the instructions for the day were ended, they departed surly and dejected. But Martin did not care what they said or thought. He had made up his mind to oppose the Church, and he was not to be turned aside any more. Twice, at least, during the past year he had been weak, and had given way, but it must never happen again.

That night after the simple supper was over, the few dishes washed and put away, Nance climbed upon Martin's knee.

"Tell me about the beautiful flower, please," she pleaded, laying her head contentedly against his shoulder.

"What flower, dear? Heart's Ease?"

"No, not that one now. The other one, you know, which could sing so lovely."

"Oh!" Martin caught his breath. He was surprised that Nance should make such a request when he had been thinking so much about Beryl all through the day.

"Why do you wish to hear about her, little one?" he asked after a pause.

"'Cause I like her. I think about her so much, and how pretty she must be."

"Yes, she is pretty, Nance, and so very, very good."

"What's her name, daddy?"

"Beryl."

"Oh, isn't that a funny name for a flower!"

"It is. But you see this flower is a woman."

"A woman!" Nance sat up straight, and looked full into Martin's face. "I'm so glad. It's much nicer than being just a flower. You called her that in play, didn't you?"

"Yes, Nance, just in play."

"And is she a really real woman?"

"A real woman, Nance; the most beautiful I ever saw."

"More beautiful than my own mamma?"

Martin started at this unexpected question. A picture rose before him of the white face of a dead woman, lying in the Indian lodge on the bank of the great river beyond the mountains. How could he answer the child?

"I never knew your dear mamma, little one," he at length replied. "I never talked to her. But I know Beryl, and have heard her sing."

"Does she love little girls?"

"Yes. She loves everything that is good and beautiful."

"Does she love you, daddy?"

"I—I am not sure," Martin stammered, while a flush came into his face. "I am not beautiful, neither am I good."

"Yes, you are," and Nance twined her little arms around his neck. "You are so beautiful and good that anybody would love you. I do, anyway."

Martin could say no more. A lump rose in his throat, and a strange feeling took possession of him. The simplicity and innocent prattle of this child were unnerving him. He told her that it was getting late, and that she must go to bed. As he bent over her and gave her the usual good-night kiss she looked up earnestly into his face.

"When I am a big woman," she said, "I want to be just like Beryl. Do you think I will, daddy?"

"I trust so," was the quiet reply. "But go to sleep now, and we'll talk about it to-morrow."

THE DISCOVERY

The more Martin considered the idea that the missionary might cross the mountains and visit the Tasko Indians the more uneasy he became. He called himself a coward and asked why he should run away. But he well knew that he could not bear to meet the missionary. It would be better for him to be on the watch and slip away with Nance somewhere out of sight if necessary. He could come back again, for the missionary would not be likely to make more than one visit a year if he came at all. Then, if the Indians became Christians, he could remove to some place farther away, erect another cabin, and cut himself off entirely from all contact with the natives.

In order, however, to move around easily and at will, it was important that he should have a canoe of his own. By means of this he could traverse the river leading from the lake, and explore the region lying westward. He had spoken to Taku about the country beyond, but the Indian knew very little. It was a land of mystery, so he was informed. The River Heena, which drained the lake, flowed on and on until it came to a mighty river called by the Indians the "Ayan."

After careful consideration, Martin determined to fashion a canoe out of one of the trees standing near the shore of the lake. He would need the craft, so he told himself, for fishing purposes, and it would be pleasant to take Nance out upon the water on many an enjoyable trip.

As the days were now lengthening, and the spirit of spring was breathing over the land, it was possible to work out of doors in comfort. Martin had met with much success in trapping during the winter, and had sent numerous fine skins with the Indians when they had again crossed the mountains to the trading post. In addition to more provisions he had been able to obtain a good new axe, which was a great improvement upon the poor one belonging to the natives. He could now do much better work in less time with the axe the trader had sent to him from the post.

Instructed by Taku, Martin chose a large tree which would suit his purpose. It was a tedious task, and weeks glided speedily by as he hewed the tree into the desired shape, and dug out the interior. As the work progressed Taku was always on hand, and sometimes he would bring his own axe and hew away for hours. He was very particular about the thickness of the shell, and would often pause and feel the sides to be sure that they were not too thick or too thin.

At length the day arrived when the axes were laid aside. The canoe was then filled with water, and a fire built all around it, far enough away so as to heat but not to scorch the wood. Stones were made red hot and placed into the craft, and these soon brought the water to the boiling point. This was kept up for a whole day, thus making the wood of the canoe pliable and capable of expansion. By means of narrow strips of wood hewn smooth and flat the canoe was expanded in the middle to the desired width. When the water had been taken out, and the shell allowed to cool, the sides of the canoe were thus rigid and curved in a uniform and graceful fashion. Martin was much delighted with the craft, and thanked Taku most heartily. He was anxious now for the ice to break up so he could launch the canoe, and take Nance for a spin upon the lake.

During the whole of this time Nance stayed close by Martin. She played among the chips, building little houses for her doll. Often she would sit and watch the canoe which was a wonderful thing in her eyes. When she was told that it would carry her over the lake she became much excited, and could hardly wait for the ice to disappear. But one morning when they woke the lake was clear, the ice having all run out during the night. Then Martin and Taku launched the canoe, which floated gracefully upon the glassy surface of the water. Nance and Quabee sat in the bottom, while Martin and Taku used the paddles. Over the lake they sped, exploring every cove, and returned after a couple of hours well satisfied with the craft.

That night Nance could talk of nothing but the canoe, where they would go, and what they would do.

"What shall we call it, Nance?" Martin asked. "We haven't given our canoe a name yet, you know."

"Let's call it Beryl," was the reply. "Won't that be a nice name?"

"Very well, little one," Martin assented. "It shall be as you say."

Almost every day after this Martin took Nance out upon the water. The fishing was good, and many were the fine salmon they brought to land. But when not fishing Martin would paddle slowly over the lake far away from the cabin. Often the water was perfectly calm like a huge mirror, reflecting the trees and rocks along the shore, as well as the great fleecy clouds which floated lazily overhead. At such times a complete silence brooded over the lake. No discords from the far-off throbbing world of commerce disturbed the quiet scene. It was as serene and beautiful as when it came fresh from the hand of its Creator. Here there was no mad rush for wealth, position, or fame. Here no huge industries vomited forth their volumes of poisonous smoke, nor crushed out the very life-blood of countless men, women, and children. Here there was abundance for all in forest and in stream. Martin thought of all this as he paddled slowly over the lake. They were happy hours for him. Nance was near and often he would look upon her with love and pride. Her chief enjoyment consisted in trailing one little hand through the water by the side of the canoe. Often her joyous laugh would ring out over the silent reaches, and then she would listen entranced to its echo far away in the distance.

One bright afternoon Martin turned the prow of his canoe up the Quaska River. Hitherto he had not paddled up this stream but had been content to spend his time upon the lake. For some distance as he advanced the shores were lined with fir and jack-pines right to the water's edge. At length he came to a large wild meadow where the stream sulked along, and paddling was much easier. Beyond this the trees were small and straggling, showing evidence of fires which had devastated the land. The water here was shallow, and at times the canoe grated upon the gravel. Ere long he reached the mouth of a small stream flowing into the Quaska. Here he ran the craft ashore, and making it fast to a tree he took Nance by the hand, and walked slowly up the creek. It was a quiet sun-lit place, where cottonwood trees and jack-pines lined the sloping hills. An Indian trail led along the bank, and this they followed for some distance. Coming at last to a fair-sized tree, a patriarch among its fellows, they paused.

"We'll have something to eat now," Martin remarked, as he seated himself upon the ground beneath the shade of the outspreading branches.

"Oh, this is nice!" Nance sighed, as she took her place at his feet, and watched him unfold the parcel which contained their food. "Wouldn't it be nice to stay here all the time?"

"Not at night, Nance," and Martin laughed. "It would be cold then, and there might be bears around."

"Would there?" and the child drew closer to her guardian. "Will they come here now, do you think?"

"Don't be afraid," was the reassuring reply. "They'll not trouble us in the day-time."

Their repast was soon over, and then Martin filled and lighted his pipe and leaned back against the old tree. Nance played close to the water, and made little mounds out of the black sand along the shore. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees, and the hot sun slanting down through the forest caused the water to gleam like burnished silver. Birds flitted here and there, while squirrels chased one another along the ground, and ran chattering up among the boughs overhead.

Martin's eyes were fixed upon Nance, but his thoughts were far away. Such a scene of peace and quietness always brought Beryl to his mind. He recalled one such afternoon when they had wandered among the trees, fields, and flowers. Her bright, happy face rose before him. He remembered her words as they sat under a large tree to rest. "I often wonder," she had said, "why such happiness is mine. It seems almost too good to be true, and I fear lest something may happen to spoil it all." How little did she then know that in less than a year her fairy castle would be shattered, and all her fond hopes destroyed. Martin's hands clenched hard as all this came to him now. He rose abruptly from his reclining position, and moved to the bank of the stream.

"What are you doing, Nance?" he asked, not knowing what else to say.

"Oh, just digging in the sand, and making houses," was the reply. "Come and help me, daddy."

In an instant Martin was by her side, helping her to shape queer little mounds with the sand which was so fine and black. Presently he noticed little golden specks, which gleamed whenever a ray of sunshine touched them. He examined them closely, and found that where the sand had not been disturbed a thin layer of such specks was lying upon the surface. Instinctively he knew that it was gold, which had been washed down with the water and deposited along the shore. Much interested, he examined the sand for several rods up and down the stream, and everywhere he found signs of gold.

He next turned his attention to the gravel lying beneath the water. Scooping up a quantity of this with his hands he found golden specks all through it as well as a number of small nuggets each about the size of rice. This discovery caused his heart to beat rapidly, and he sat down upon the bank in order to think. Gold! Had he made a rich discovery? The earth must be full of it, and perhaps beneath his feet the treasure was lying hidden. The glorious day, and the glamour of his surroundings appealed to him no longer. The idea of the great riches so near possessed his mind. The whole valley stretching between the high walls was his. It was full of gold beyond measure.

Ere long another feeling came upon him. Suppose he did get gold what should he do with it? Gold was useful only out in the world of civilisation. But here it was of no more value than the common stones lying in the river's bed. The Indians knew nothing about it. To them the skins of the animals roaming in the forest were more precious than heaps of the gleaming ore. He well knew that if his discovery became known beyond the mountains a flood of miners would pour into the region, and instead of peace and quietness there would be the wild commotion of a mining town. No, such a thing should not occur. It should be kept a secret. He would say nothing of his find to the Indians. In fact if they did learn of it they would not give themselves the trouble of visiting the place, he was sure of that.

When at length he unfastened the canoe, and started with Nance down to the lake, his mind was so full of the discovery he had made that he paid little or no heed to the prattle of the child.

THE GOLDEN LURE

Martin slept but little that night, as his mind was much disturbed. There were many things to think about since his discovery of the previous day. He did not feel quite sure of himself now. He had imagined that he had severed all connection with the outside world and that never again could he endure the trammels of conventional social life. He was so satisfied with the quiet ways of the wilderness that the awakening came as a severe shock. It was the gold which had made the change. He could not enjoy it here, but out there what magic it would work. What doors hitherto closed would instantly be opened, and great would be his influence. What a surprise it would be to the Church which had cast him off, he mused, when he arose from seclusion and oblivion, and startled the world with his vast wealth. A grim smile of contempt curled his lips as he pictured how the church dignitaries, and others, would condone his past sin, and fawn upon him because of his money. How gratifying it would be to hear the very men who had condemned him most severely lift up their voices in praise of his contributions to the building of churches or charitable institutions. And would not the newspapers, which had devoted big headlines to his fall, be as eager to laud him for his munificence? Then he thought of Nance. How much the gold would do for her. She would be able to mingle with the most select people. He would take her to all parts of the world, and wherever they went they would gladly be received because of their riches.

It was little wonder, therefore, that sleep would not come to Martin with such visions whirling through his brain. He rose early, long before Nance was awake, and prepared breakfast. A new spirit possessed his soul. He drank in great draughts of the fresh morning air, and he felt like shouting with exultation. He had to give vent to his feelings, and the only way he could do so was upon his violin. How he did play! There was a triumphant jubilant note in his music. The Indians were surprised and startled to hear the strains of the violin at such an early hour, while the dogs set up loud barks and howls. The natives tumbled out of their lodges and hastened to the white man's cabin. They gathered in front of the building, and stood watching Martin as he sat upon a block before the door, playing fast and furiously upon his violin. His long beard swept his breast, for he had not touched a razor to his face since entering the wilderness. His chest was expanded, and his body was drawn up rigid and erect. His eyes, which looked straight ahead, glowed with a defiant, victorious light. His moccasined right foot beat time upon the ground to the music.

For a while the Indians stood watching this unusual sight, and then glided back to their lodges. With almost bated breath they discussed what they had seen and heard. They believed that the white man was possessed with some strange spirit, or why should he look and act in such a peculiar manner?

For some time Martin played after the natives had left, and only ceased when Nance came out of the house. She looked at him with astonishment in her eyes, and then ran to him for her customary morning kiss. Martin smiled as he laid aside the instrument, and turned his attention to the child. He felt much relieved, and viewed the whole situation in a calmer and more reasonable light. His dreams of wealth had been too fanciful, so he told himself. Perhaps he would not find the gold as easily as he had imagined. There might not be any in the valley, and what he had seen might have been washed from some source which he could not discover.

Martin was now anxious to hurry back up the river as soon as possible to make a careful examination of the ground. In an Indian lodge he had once seen a shovel and a small pick. They had been found years before, so he was informed, on a creek many miles away. Nearby were lying the skeletons of two men, prospectors no doubt, who had miserably perished in their search for gold. The natives regarded the pick and shovel with considerable interest, and had always taken good care of them. Provided with these, his axe, and his frying-pan, which would serve him in the stead of the prospector's regular gold-pan, Martin at length reached the spot where he had made the discovery the day before.

He knew something about mining operations on a small scale, as he had not only read much about it in days past, but in his journey northward he had watched prospectors at work on the bars of the river and along the water's edge. This knowledge was of considerable service to him now.

Leaving Nance to continue her play of the day before, Martin scooped up a quantity of gravel with his frying-pan. Washing this carefully, he was delighted to find some gold lying in the bottom of the pan. His excitement now became intense. Stripping off several pieces of the bark of the cottonwood tree, he spread them upon the ground. Upon these he deposited his treasure so that the sun would dry it, and turned once more to the panning of the gravel.

All the morning and afternoon he worked with feverish haste, stopping only long enough to eat his meal with Nance. The lure of the gold was upon him, and it was with great reluctance that he abandoned his task in the evening to go back to his cabin.

He now believed that all the ground up and down the creek was rich with gold. The magnitude of his discovery almost overwhelmed him. He dropped upon the bank and tried to think it all out. He longed to express himself to some one, in order to relieve his feelings. Gold! Gold! He was wealthy beyond his wildest dreams, and there was no one to interfere with him. Gathering up the gleaming ore, he placed it all in his cap.

"Look, Nance!" he cried, as he ran his fingers lovingly through his treasure, "this is gold! You will be the richest woman on earth when you grow up!"

"Pretty, pretty," the child replied, picking up several of the largest nuggets. "Let me play with them."

"Yes, Nance, when you get home. We will both play with them then, eh?"

That night outside the cabin door the gold was all carefully examined, and the little stones picked out. This they did each night, for every day the work of washing out the gold was continued. It was then placed in a strong moose-skin bag and hidden away in the cabin.

After he had been working for some time in the stream Martin turned his attention to the bank above. He believed that gold in large paying quantity could be found by digging down through the earth and if possible reaching bed-rock. This he accordingly began to do, and with pick and shovel he made good progress until he struck frozen earth. This needed to be thawed, so, gathering dry wood, he kept a fire burning all through the day. While this thawing process was going on he prepared other shafts over which fires were also built. Every day he dug out the softened earth and ere long had several excavations from six to ten feet in depth. The farther he descended the richer became the ground. At times he would wash out a pan full of earth to find a most gratifying amount of gold.

One afternoon he came to gravel which led him to believe that he was now not far from bed-rock. In this he was not mistaken, for, digging with feverish haste, he struck at last upon solid rock. He could see that the gravel was full of gold, and every shovelful he threw out sparkled with the golden ore.

The bed-rock, which was soon exposed, sloped downward, and as Martin continued his shovelling, he came to a crevice, and here he found gold which caused him to drop his shovel and to stare in amazement. Then he rubbed his eyes to be sure that he was not mistaken. He stooped for a better inspection. He sank upon his knees and tore at the treasure with his hands. Some of it was loose, but for the most part it was packed and wedged into the split of the bed-rock. How far this ran underground he could not tell. But right in sight was a fortune in itself. Compared with this new discovery his past efforts seemed ridiculous. He recalled how he had hoarded the smallest grains with the greatest care. But here it was as plentiful as dirt, nuggets large and small all jammed between the rocks.

Although this gold was of no more use to Martin than the gravel lying around, yet it filled him with intense excitement. There was the joy of discovery, and the happy feeling that so much wealth was his with none to dispute his claim. He understood now for the first time something of the fascination of the quest which lures men into the wilderness to endure untold hardships for the golden treasure. The mere finding the gold, looking upon it, and fondling it, form the great reward.

Nance was not with Martin the day of his great discovery. She had stayed at home with Quabee as she generally did now, for the trips up the river had lost their fascination for her. She had been left much to herself and had found no interest in the big holes which Martin had dug in the ground. Her sand houses were of more importance to her, and she had cried at times when Martin would not play with her. To her the gold was nothing more than so many pretty little stones. She did not know that to obtain such things men and women in the far-off world would be willing to sacrifice almost everything; that for those common things men were sweltering, fighting, and dying; or that if the richness of the Quaska valley became known a vast army of gold seekers would pour into the place and change peace into chaos.

Neither did the natives realise the great wealth lying so near their encampment. They knew nothing as yet of the magic power of gold, as all their trading hitherto with the white people had been with the skins of wild animals. The action of their white brother digging so earnestly up the river simply amused them. Ever since that morning when they had watched him playing at such an early hour before his cabin door they had serious doubts as to his sanity. They had often discussed the strange expression in his eyes, and the wildness of the sounds he had made upon the "stick with strings," the name they gave to the violin.

Martin was greatly pleased that the natives did not understand what he was doing. It would have given him no end of trouble if they realised the value of the discovery he had made. Therefore, when he returned to his cabin with the gold he had taken off of bed-rock there was no one to ask any questions, and no curious excited persons crowding around to examine the ore. There was only Nance, who was not even surprised, who merely ran to meet him to tell what she and Quabee had been doing during the day.

THE AWAKENING

All through the rest of the summer Martin carried on his mining operations, and steadily the pile of gold within the cabin increased. At length the cold nights and the short days warned him that winter was fast approaching. He accordingly began to wonder what he should do with his treasure. He did not care to have it lying about in the house, as it was hard to tell what might happen to it. At any time a white man might drift that way, and he well knew that dark deeds had been committed with a far lesser motive than the seizure of so much gold. It would prove a temptation to almost any man. He would often awake with a start in the dead of night thinking that some one was creeping stealthily across the floor. Formerly he would sit late before the fire with never a shadow of a fear upon his mind. But now he would turn apprehensively towards the window, thinking that faces were peering in upon him. He hardly liked to be away from home for any length of time lest something should happen to the gold during his absence.

His mind became so obsessed with this idea that he became nervous, and his peace of mind vanished. At last he determined to deposit the gold in a secure place. After careful consideration he dug a hole in the ground at the back of the cabin. At the bottom he placed a large flat stone, walled up the sides, and plastered them over with clay, such as he had used upon the fire-place and chimney.

When this had been finished to his satisfaction he erected over it a small, strong log building, the back of the cabin forming one of the sides, through which he cut a door. There was no other opening in the lean-to, not even a window, so the place would always be in darkness except when lighted by a candle. In the floor, and immediately over the excavation, he fastened a trap-door, fitting the flat-hewn pieces of timber in such an irregular manner that no one would ever suspect that there was any opening in the floor at all. Then when the roof was placed in position, and all finished, Martin brought the gold from the cabin and deposited it in his ground vault. When the trap-door was dropped back into place Martin viewed everything with great approval. He called this building his "Bank," and he often smiled to himself as he considered what a unique bank it really was. He alone was the president, shareholder, and depositor. There were no books to keep, and no regular hours in which to do business. There was no competition, and no anxious watching of the fluctuations in the money market. He had full control of everything, and to no one did he have to render any account.

Martin's mind thus became so filled with the lure of the gold that for weeks everything else was either neglected or forgotten. From morning till night, and often during the night, he thought of the wealth he was acquiring. The fear lest the missionary should visit the encampment troubled him very little. Nance, too, received but a small share of his attention. He found it difficult to play with her, or to tell her the stories for which she asked. She was left more and more to Quabee's tender care, and always ran to the Indian woman with her little troubles. Martin did not notice that the child was eating less of late, neither did he awaken to the fact that her happy joyous laugh was seldom heard. She would often sit quietly by herself, holding her doll in her arms, while her big open eyes gazed far off into space.

One morning when Nance did not get up at her usual time Martin went to her cot.

"What's the matter, little one?" he asked. "You are sleepy this morning."

A faint smile trembled about the corners of the child's mouth, but she made no reply.

As this was something unusual, Martin became anxious. He placed his hand to her forehead, and found that it was very hot.

"Nance, Nance! are you sick?" he cried, as he bent and looked searchingly into her eyes.

"Yes, daddy," was the low response. "I'm so tired and hot. I want Quabee."

As Martin listened to these words he was seized with a nameless dread. For the first time he noticed how very wan was her flushed face. What should he do? He was helpless in the presence of sickness. The Indian women might know what was the trouble.

"So you want Quabee, do you?" he questioned.

"Yes, I want Quabee," was the faint reply.

"Very well, then. I shall go for her at once. I won't be long."

As Martin hurried over to the Indian encampment he upbraided himself for his neglect of the child. "I've been a fool, a downright fool!" he muttered to himself. "I might have seen days ago that she was failing if I had not been so taken up with that cursed gold."

It did not take him long to tell Quabee and her mother, Naheesh, about the child's illness, and soon the three were hurrying towards the cabin.

Nance's face brightened as the young Indian woman bent over her. Martin saw the smile of greeting and it smote him sore. Knowing that the women could do all that was possible for the child, he left the building and sat upon the trunk of the old tree just outside the door. What if Nance should die? The thought was terrible. How could he live without her? He had neglected her so much that the first one she wanted was Quabee. A jealous feeling stole into his heart. And yet he knew that it was his own fault. Oh, why had he left her so much to herself? It was for her sake, he reasoned. He desired the gold for her, not for himself. But if Nance should be taken away what good would all the gold in the country amount to then?

Later when he crept softly back into the room Nance was asleep, and Quabee motioned to him to be silent. Naheesh had gone to prepare some medicine from native herbs and bark, and would return shortly. All that he could do, therefore, was to sit close by the cot and watch. Ere long Nance opened her eyes and asked for water. All through the day she tossed upon her little bed. Martin left her side hardly for a moment. She did not know him nor any one else in the room. She called often for her mother, and piteously asked why she did not come to her. The day passed and night came on, but Martin remained at his post with Quabee ever near. His eyes seldom left the child's face, and sometimes he would hold one of her little hot hands in his. How he longed for her to look up into his face, speak to him, and throw her arms about his neck. He recalled the last time she had run to him. It was when he was busy sorting the gold he had gathered that day. He had put her away somewhat abruptly, telling her that he was very busy, and that she must not bother him. She had looked surprised, her lips had quivered as she turned away towards Quabee. How forcibly the whole incident came to him now. What would he not give to have her put her arms around his neck and ask him to play with her as of old.

The second night of Nance's illness Martin was sitting alone by her side, as Quabee had gone back to her own lodge for a much-needed rest. The faithfulness and self-denial of the young Indian woman made a deep impression upon his mind. No mother could have been more attentive to her sick child than was Quabee to this motherless girl. Martin sat very still with his head bent low, but with ears keenly alert to Nance's heavy breathing. He tried to be brave and hope for the best. But as the hours dragged by he found it difficult to keep up his drooping spirits. The terrible fear was ever with him that he was to lose Nance. What should he do without her? he asked himself over and over again. With her gone, what was there for him to live for? There was no one else in the whole world who cared for him except this little child. Why should he lose her when she meant so much to him?

A vision of his past life rose suddenly before him. It came upon him with a startling intensity, and in a manner altogether different from anything he had hitherto experienced. The sin which had caused him to be an outcast upon the face of the earth loomed out of the darkness black and appalling. There was not one extenuating circumstance connected with the whole affair. He saw the woman, whose life he had ruined, left to bear her disgrace alone. Never before did he comprehend what a monster he really was. What chastisement could be severe enough to punish him for what he had done? Had he a right to expect anything else? He believed that he had suffered during the past years, but it was as nothing compared to what he was enduring this night. His very soul was being laid bare by some mysterious power which he could not fathom. Why should such thoughts arise within his bosom now? he asked himself. Was Nance to be taken away as a part of the punishment which truly belonged to him? He had often thought and preached about the miseries of the damned, but only now did he realise that a man who has sinned carries the tortures of hell within his own bosom.

Haggard and trembling, Martin staggered to his feet, and paced up and down the room. The veins stood out upon his forehead; his blood-shot eyes had the look of a hunted animal; the muscles of his body were firmly rigid, while his clenched hands had the grip of a drowning man clinging desperately for life to a few floating straws. How could he endure such agony of soul? Would it last through days, months, and years to come? He knew that such could not be the case, for if it continued much longer he would surely go raving mad.

A slight moan from Nance aroused him. Going at once to the cot, he looked down upon the face of the sleeping child. She was talking in her sleep, and listening attentively Martin could catch the words, "Mamma, Daddy." After a pause she began to repeat the words of a prayer she said every night.