by Ralph Connor
CHAPTER X
GWEN'S FIRST PRAYERS
It was with hesitation, almost with fear, that I began with Gwen; buteven had I been able to foresee the endless series of exasperationsthrough which she was destined to conduct me, still would I haveundertaken my task. For the child, with all her wilfulness, her tempersand her pride, made me, as she did all others, her willing slave.
Her lessons went on, brilliantly or not at all, according to her sweetwill. She learned to read with extraordinary rapidity, for she was eagerto know more of that great world of which The Duke had told her suchthrilling tales. Writing she abhorred. She had no one to write to. Whyshould she cramp her fingers over these crooked little marks? But shemastered with hardly a struggle the mysteries of figures, for she wouldhave to sell her cattle, and "dad doesn't know when they are cheating."Her ideas of education were purely utilitarian, and what did not appearimmediately useful she refused to trifle with. And so all through thefollowing long winter she vexed my righteous soul with her wilfulnessand pride. An appeal to her father was idle. She would wind her long,thin arms about his neck and let her waving red hair float over himuntil the old man was quite helpless to exert authority. The Duke coulddo most with her. To please him she would struggle with her crookedletters for an hour at a time, but even his influence and authority hadits limits.
"Must I?" she said one day, in answer to a demand of his for morefaithful study; "must I?" And throwing up her proud little head, andshaking back with a trick she had her streaming red hair, she lookedstraight at him from her blue-gray eyes and asked the monosyllabicquestion, "Why?" And The Duke looked back at her with his slight smilefor a few moments and then said in cold, even tones:
"I really don't know why," and turned his back on her. Immediately shesprang at him, shook him by the arm, and, quivering with passion, cried:
"You are not to speak to me like that, and you are not to turn your backthat way!"
"What a little princess it is," he said admiringly, "and what a time shewill give herself some day!" Then he added, smiling sadly: "Was I rude,Gwen? Then I am sorry." Her rage was gone, and she looked as if shecould have held him by the feet. As it was, too proud to show herfeelings, she just looked at him with softening eyes, and then sat downto the work she had refused. This was after the advent of The Pilot atSwan Creek, and, as The Duke rode home with me that night, after longmusing he said with hesitation: "She ought to have some religion, poorchild; she will grow up a perfect little devil. The Pilot might be ofservice if you could bring him up. Women need that sort of thing; itrefines, you know."
"Would she have him?" I asked.
"Question," he replied, doubtfully. "You might suggest it."
Which I did, introducing somewhat clumsily, I fear, The Duke's name.
"The Duke says he is to make me good!" she cried. "I won't have him, Ihate him and you too!" And for that day she disdained all lessons, andwhen The Duke next appeared she greeted him with the exclamation, "Iwon't have your old Pilot, and I don't want to be good, and--and--youthink he's no good yourself," at which the Duke opened his eyes.
"How do you know? I never said so!"
"You laughed at him to dad one day."
"Did I?" said The Duke, gravely. "Then I hasten to assure, you that Ihave changed my mind. He is a good, brave man."
"He falls off his horse," she said, with contempt.
"I rather think he sticks on now," replied The Duke, repressing a smile.
"Besides," she went on, "he's just a kid; Bill said so."
"Well, he might be more ancient," acknowledged The Duke, "but in that heis steadily improving."
"Anyway," with an air of finality, "he is not to come here."
But he did come, and under her own escort, one threatening Augustevening.
"I found him in the creek," she announced, with defiant shamefacedness,marching in The Pilot half drowned.
"I think I could have crossed," he said, apologetically, "for Louis wasgetting on his feet again."
"No, you wouldn't," she protested. "You would have been down into thecanyon by now, and you ought to be thankful."
"So I am," he hastened to say, "very! But," he added, unwilling to giveup his contention, "I have crossed the Swan before."
"Not when it was in flood."
"Yes, when it was in flood, higher than now."
"Not where the banks are rocky."
"No-o!" he hesitated.
"There, then, you WOULD have been drowned but for my lariat!" she cried,triumphantly.
To this he doubtfully assented.
They were much alike, in high temper, in enthusiasm, in vividimagination, and in sensitive feeling. When the Old Timer came in Gwentriumphantly introduced The Pilot as having been rescued from a waterygrave by her lariat, and again they fought out the possibilitiesof drowning and of escape till Gwen almost lost her temper, and wasappeased only by the most profuse expressions of gratitude on the partof The Pilot for her timely assistance. The Old Timer was perplexed. Hewas afraid to offend Gwen and yet unwilling to be cordial to her guest.The Pilot was quick to feel this, and, soon after tea, rose to go.Gwen's disappointment showed in her face.
"Ask him to stay, dad," she said, in a whisper. But the half-heartedinvitation acted like a spur, and The Pilot was determined to set off.
"There's a bad storm coming," she said; "and besides," she added,triumphantly "you can't cross the Swan."
This settled it, and the most earnest prayers of the Old Timer could nothave held him back.
We all went down to see him cross, Gwen leading her pinto. The Swan wasfar over its banks, and in the middle running swift and strong.Louis snorted, refused and finally plunged. Bravely he swam, till theswift-running water struck him, and over he went on his side, throwinghis rider into the water. But The Pilot kept his head, and, holdingby the stirrups, paddled along by Louis' side. When they were half-wayacross Louis saw that he had no chance of making the landing; so, likea sensible horse, he turned and made for the shore. Here, too, the bankswere high, and the pony began to grow discouraged.
"Let him float down further!" shrieked Gwen, in anxious excitement; and,urging her pinto down the bank, she coaxed the struggling pony down thestream till opposite a shelf of rock level with the high water. Then shethrew her lariat, and, catching Louis about the neck and the horn ofhis saddle, she held taut, till, half drowned, he scrambled up the bank,dragging The Pilot with him.
"Oh, I'm so glad!" she said, almost tearfully. "You see, you couldn'tget across."
The Pilot staggered to his feet, took a step toward her, gasped out:
"I can!" and pitched headlong. With a little cry she flew to him, andturned him over on his back. In a few moments he revived, sat up, andlooked about stupidly.
"Where's Louis?" he said, with his face toward the swollen stream.
"Safe enough," she answered; "but you must come in, the rain is justgoing to pour."
But The Pilot seemed possessed.
"No, I'm going across," he said, rising.
Gwen was greatly distressed.
"But your poor horse," she said, cleverly changing her ground; "he isquite tired out."
The Old Timer now joined earnestly in urging him to stay till the stormwas past. So, with a final look at the stream, The Pilot turned towardthe house.
Of course I knew what would happen. Before the evening was over he hadcaptured the household. The moment he appeared with dry things on he ranto the organ, that had stood for ten years closed and silent, openedit and began to play. As he played and sang song after song, the OldTimer's eyes began to glisten under his shaggy brows. But when hedropped into the exquisite Irish melody, "Oft in the Stilly Night," theold man drew a hard breath and groaned out to me:
"It was her mother's song," and from that time The Pilot had him fast.It was easy to pass to the old hymn, "Nearer, My God, to Thee," and thenThe Pilot said simply, "May we have prayers?" He looked at Gwen, but shegazed blankly at him and then at her father.
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p; "What does he say, dad?"
It was pitiful to see the old man's face grow slowly red under the deeptan, as he said:
"You may, sir. There's been none here for many years, and the worse forus." He rose slowly, went into the inner room and returned with a Bible.
"It's her mother's," he said, in a voice deep with emotion. "I put itin her trunk the day I laid her out yonder under the pines." The Pilot,without looking at him, rose and reverently took the book in both hishands and said gently:
"It was a sad day for you, but for her--" He paused. "You did not grudgeit to her?"
"Not now, but then, yes! I wanted her, we needed her." The Old Timer'stears were flowing.
The Pilot put his hand caressingly upon the old man's shoulder as if hehad been his father, and said in his clear, sweet voice, "Some day youwill go to her."
Upon this scene poor Gwen gazed with eyes wide open with amazement anda kind of fear. She had never seen her father weep since the awful daythat she could never forget, when he had knelt in dumb agony beside thebed on which her mother lay white and still; nor would he heed her till,climbing up, she tried to make her mother waken and hear her cries. Thenhe had caught her up in his arms, pressing her with tears and great sobsto his heart. To-night she seemed to feel that something was wrong. Shewent and stood by her father, and, stroking his gray hair kindly, shesaid:
"What is he saying, daddy? Is he making you cry?" She looked at ThePilot defiantly.
"No, no, child," said the old man, hastily, "sit here and listen."
And while the storm raved outside we three sat listening to that ancientstory of love ineffable. And, as the words fell like sweet music uponour ears, the old man sat with eyes that looked far away, while thechild listened with devouring eagerness.
"Is it a fairy tale, daddy?" she asked, as The Pilot paused. "It isn'ttrue, is it?" and her voice had a pleading note hard for the old man tobear.
"Yes, yes, my child," said he, brokenly. "God forgive me!"
"Of course it's true," said The Pilot, quickly. "I'll read it all to youto-morrow. It's a beautiful story!"
"No," she said, imperiously, "to-night. Read it now! Go on!" she said,stamping her foot, "don't you hear me?"
The Pilot gazed in surprise at her, and then turning to the old man,said:
"Shall I?"
The Old Timer simply nodded and the reading went on. Those were not mybest days, and the faith of my childhood was not as it had been; but, asThe Pilot carried us through those matchless scenes of self-forgettinglove and service the rapt wonder in the child's face as she listened,the appeal in her voice as, now to her father, and now to me, shecried: "Is THAT true, too? Is it ALL true?" made it impossible for meto hesitate in my answer. And I was glad to find it easy to give my firmadherence to the truth of all that tale of wonder. And, as more and moreit grew upon The Pilot that the story he was reading, so old to him andto all he had ever met, was new to one in that listening group, his facebegan to glow and his eyes to blaze, and he saw and showed me thingsthat night I had never seen before, nor have I seen them since. Thegreat figure of the Gospels lived, moved before our eyes. We saw Himbend to touch the blind, we heard Him speak His marvellous teaching, wefelt the throbbing excitement of the crowds that pressed against Him.
Suddenly The Pilot stopped, turned over the leaves and began again: "AndHe led them out as far as to Bethany. And He lifted up His hands andblessed them. And it came to pass as He blessed them He was parted fromthem and a cloud received Him out of their sight." There was silence forsome minutes, then Gwen said:
"Where did He go?"
"Up into Heaven," answered The Pilot, simply.
"That's where mother is," she said to her father, who nodded in reply.
"Does He know?" she asked. The old man looked distressed.
"Of course He does," said The Pilot, "and she sees Him all the time."
"Oh, daddy!" she cried, "isn't that good?"
But the old man only hid his face in his hands and groaned.
"Yes," went on The Pilot, "and He sees us, too, and hears us speak, andknows our thoughts."
Again the look of wonder and fear came into her eyes, but she said noword. The experiences of the evening had made the world new to her. Itcould never be the same to her again. It gave me a queer feeling to seeher, when we three kneeled to pray, stand helplessly looking on, notknowing what to do, then sink beside her father, and, winding her armsabout his neck, cling to him as the words of prayer were spoken into theear of Him whom no man can see, but who we believe is near to all thatcall upon Him.
Those were Gwen's first "prayers," and in them Gwen's part was small,for fear and wonder filled her heart; but the day was to come, and alltoo soon, when she should have to pour out her soul with strong cryingand tears. That day came and passed, but the story of it is not to betold here.