these; and he could do infinitely better if he had more money to serve
his ends. They are not all drunkards and savage beasts, of course. It
would wrong them to say so. Many are self-respecting, clean-lived,
intelligent, sober; many have wives and children, to whom they return
with clean hands and mouths when the winter is over. They all--without
any large exception (and this includes the saloon-keepers and gamblers
of the towns)--respect the Pilot. It is related of him that he was once
taken sick in the woods. It was a case of exposure--occurring in cold
weather after months of bitter toil, with a pack on his back and in
deep trouble of spirit. There was a storm of snow blowing, at far below
zero, and Higgins was miles from any camp. He managed, however, after
hours of plodding through the snow, to reach the uncut timber, where he
was somewhat sheltered from the wind. He remembers that he was then
intent upon the sermon for the evening; but beyond--even trudging
through these tempered places--he has forgotten what occurred. The
lumber-jacks found him at last, lying in the snow near the cook-house;
and they carried him to the bunk-house, and put him to bed, and
consulted concerning him. "The Pilot's an almighty sick man," said
one. Another prescribed: "Got any whiskey in camp?" There was no
whiskey--there was no doctor within reach--there was no medicine of any
sort. And the Pilot, whom they had taken from the snow, was a very sick
man. They wondered what could be done for him. It seemed that nobody
knew. There was nothing to be done--nothing but keep him covered up and
warm.
"Boys," a lumber-jack proposed, "how's this for an idea?"
They listened.
"We can pray for the man," said he, "who's always praying for us."
They managed to do it somehow; and when Higgins heard that the boys were
praying for him--_praying_ for him!--he turned his face to the wall, and
covered up his head, and wept like a fevered boy.
THE END