Glen of the High North | Page 8

steamers always pick them up?"
"Sure; they wouldn't go by without takin' 'em on board, no matter who
they are. It's the great Brotherhood of man, ye see, back of it all, an'
ye'll find that spirit stronger the farther north ye go. It's different here
from what it is in the big cities, an' the more ye preach of that the
better."
"Preach! What do you mean?" Reynolds asked in amazement.
"You be one of them missionary chaps, ain't ye?"
Reynolds laughed. "What makes you think so?"
"Dunno, 'cept yer solemncoly face, an' the way yer dressed.
Missionaries ginerally come north lookin' about as you do, to turn the
sinner from the error of his way, an' to convart the heathen Injun.

They're not overly pop'lar up thar."
"Why not?"
"Oh, they've too high an' mighty notions about the way men should live;
that's the trouble."
"And so you think they should make themselves popular with the men,
eh? In what way?"
"By bein' one of 'em, an' not bein' too hard on what they do."
"Do you think that their great Master ever said that they would be
popular, and that they were to please all men?" Reynolds defensively
asked.
"I dunno. Guess I can't recall anything He ever said about the matter,"
and the old man scratched his head in perplexity.
"Didn't He tell His first disciples that they would be hated of all men
for His name's sake when He sent them forth to do His work?"
"I believe He did," was the reluctant assent. "But that was a long time
ago. Things are different now."
"Only outwardly, remember. The heart is the same in all ages; you can't
change that. If it is evil and full of vileness, it is bound to hate the good.
Surely you know that."
"Then you really are one of them missionary chaps?" and the old man
eyed Reynolds curiously.
"No, I am not," was the emphatic reply.
"But ye quote Scripter like a parson, though. I thought mebbe ye was."
"Is it necessary to be a parson to know something about the Bible? Isn't
this a Christian land? Why shouldn't I know something about the
greatest Book in the world? My mother taught it to me when I was a

child, and I learned a great deal about it when I went to Sunday school.
I did not value it so much then, but when over in France, with death on
all sides, much of it came back to me, and I honestly confess it was a
great comfort."
"An' so ye was over thar, young man? Wall, that's sartinly interestin'.
Fer how long?"
"Nearly four years. I enlisted at the beginning of the war."
"An' come through all right?"
"Look," and Reynolds bared his left arm, showing a great scar. "I have
several more on my body, some worse than that."
"Ye don't tell! My, I'm glad I've met ye. Got some medals, I s'pose."
Reynolds made no reply, as he already felt ashamed of himself for
having told this much. It was not his nature to speak about himself,
especially to a stranger, and he was determined to say nothing about the
medals he had received for conspicuous bravery, and which he carried
in his breast pocket.
"Do you smoke?" he suddenly asked.
"Yes; an old hand at it. Good fer the nerves."
"Well, suppose we go and have a smoke now. I am just in the mood for
one myself."
Together they made their way to the smoking-room, which was situated
well aft. It was partly filled with men, smoking, chatting, and playing
cards. The air was dense with various brands of tobacco, making it
impossible to see clearly across the room. No one paid any heed to the
two as they entered, sat down in one corner of the room, filled and
lighted their pipes. Reynolds noted that his companion became
suddenly silent, and seemed to be deeply interested in four men playing
cards at a small table a short distance from where they were sitting.

"Do you play?" Reynolds asked, thinking that the old man might be
fond of cards.
"No," was the brief and absent-minded reply.
Reynolds said no more, but watched the four men. His attention was
chiefly centered upon one who was facing him, and who was doing
most of the talking. He was a young man, with a dark moustache and
black curly hair. He played with keen interest and in a lofty dominating
manner. Reynolds did not like his appearance, and the more he studied
him the stronger became his repugnance. It was not only the low brutal
face that compelled this feeling, but the coarse language that reeked
from his lips. This so disgusted Reynolds that he was about to leave