The Sky Pilot in No Mans Land | Page 6

greatness,--not these things that you can see, these material
things," he said, sweeping his hand contemptuously toward the horizon,
"but in such things as educational standards, in administration of justice,
in the customs of a liberty loving people, in religious privileges, in
everything that goes to make character and morale, Canada has already
laid the foundations of a great nation."

He stopped short, abashed, the glow fading from his face, the light
from his eyes.
"Forgive me," he said, with a little laugh. "I am a first class ass. I fear I
was blowing like a fog horn. But when you touch Canada you release
something in me."
While he was speaking her eyes never left his face. "Go on!" she said,
in a voice of suppressed emotion, "go on. I love to hear you."
Her wonted poise was gone; she was obviously stirred with deep
emotion.
"Go on!" she commanded, laying her hand upon his arm. "Don't stop.
Tell me more about--about Canada, about anything," she added
impatiently.
A warm, eager light filled her eyes. She was biting her lips to still their
tremor.
"There's plenty to tell about Canada," he said, "but not now. What
started me? Oh, democracy. Yes, it was you that began it. Democracy?
After all, it is worth while that the people who are one day to fill this
wide land should be truly democratic, truly free, and truly great."
Once more the light began to burn in his eyes and in his face.
"Ah, to have a hand in that!"
"And you," she said in a low voice, "you with all that in you, are only a
preacher."
"A missionary," he corrected.
"Well, a missionary. Only a missionary."
Disappointment and scorn were all too evident in her voice.
"ONLY a missionary. Ah, if I could only be one. A missionary! With a

mission and a message to my people! If only I had the gift of tongues,
of flaming, burning, illuminating speech, of heart-compelling speech!
To tell my people how to make this country truly great and truly free,
how to keep it free from the sordid things, the cruel things, the unjust,
the unclean, the loathsome things that have debased and degraded the
older nations, that are debasing and degrading even your young, great
nation. Ah, to be a missionary with a tongue of fire, with a message of
light! A missionary to my people to help them to high and worthy
living, to help them to God! ONLY a missionary! What would you
have me? A money-maker?"
He turned swiftly upon her, a magnetic, compelling personality. From
the furious scorn in his voice and in his flaming face she visibly shrank,
almost as if he had struck her.
"No!" she breathed. "Nothing else. Only a missionary."
Silent she stood, as if still under the spell of his words, her eyes
devouring his face.
"How your mother would have loved you, would have been proud of
you," she said in a low tone. "Is--is there no one else to--to rejoice in
you?" she asked shyly, but eagerly.
He laughed aloud. "There's dad, dear old dad."
"And no one else?" Still with shy, eager eyes she held him.
"Oh, heaps," he cried, still laughing.
She smiled upon him, a slightly uncertain smile, and yet as if his
answer somehow satisfied her.
"Good-bye," she said impulsively, offering her hand.
"But you are not going! You're staying a few days!" he gasped.
"No, we're going. We're going right away. Goodbye," she said. "I don't
want those others to see. Goodbye. Oh, it's been a wonderful morning!

And,--and--a friend is a wonderful discovery."
Her hand held his in a strong, warm grasp, but her eyes searched his
face as if seeking something she greatly desired.
"Good-bye. I am sorry you are going," he said, simply. "I want to know
you better."
"Do you?" she cried, with a sudden eagerness in her voice and manner.
Then, "No. You would be disappointed. I am not of your world. But
you shall see me again," she added, as if taking a new resolve. "We are
coming back on a big hunt, and you and your father are to join us.
Won't you?"
"Dad said we should," said the youth, smiling at the remembrance.
"And you?" she said, with a touch of impatience.
"If things can so arrange themselves--my work, I mean, and dad's."
"But, do you want to? Do you really want to?" she asked. "I wish I
knew. I hate not to understand people. You are hard to know. I don't
know you. But you will come?"
"I think so," said the young man. "Of course a fellow's work comes first,
you know."
"Work?" she cried. "Your work? Oh, your missionary work. Oh, yes,
yes. I should like to see you