The Sky Pilot: A Tale of the Foothills

by Ralph Connor

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE CANYON FLOWERS

  The Pilot's first visit to Gwen had been a triumph. But none knew betterthan he that the fight was still to come, for deep in Gwen's heart werethoughts whose pain made her forget all other.

  "Was it God let me fall?" she asked abruptly one day, and The Pilotknew the fight was on; but he only answered, looking fearlessly into hereyes:

  "Yes, Gwen dear."

  "Why did He let me fall?" and her voice was very deliberate.

  "I don't know, Gwen dear," said The Pilot steadily. "He knows."

  "And does He know I shall never ride again? Does He know how long thedays are, and the nights when I can't sleep? Does He know?"

  "Yes, Gwen dear," said The Pilot, and the tears were standing in hiseyes, though his voice was still steady enough.

  "Are you sure He knows?" The voice was painfully intense.

  "Listen to me, Gwen," began The Pilot, in great distress, but she cuthim short.

  "Are you quite sure He knows? Answer me!" she cried, with her oldimperiousness.

  "Yes, Gwen, He knows all about you."

  "Then what do you think of Him, just because He's big and strong,treating a little girl that way?" Then she added, viciously: "I hateHim! I don't care! I hate Him!"

  But The Pilot did not wince. I wondered how he would solve that problemthat was puzzling, not only Gwen, but her father and The Duke, and allof us--the WHY of human pain.

  "Gwen," said The Pilot, as if changing the subject, "did it hurt to puton the plaster jacket?"

  "You just bet!" said Gwen, lapsing in her English, as The Duke was notpresent; "it was worse than anything--awful! They had to straighten meout, you know," and she shuddered at the memory of that pain.

  "What a pity your father or The Duke was not here!" said The Pilot,earnestly.

  "Why, they were both here!"

  "What a cruel shame!" burst out The Pilot. "Don't they care for you anymore?"

  "Of course they do," said Gwen, indignantly.

  "Why didn't they stop the doctors from hurting you so cruelly?"

  "Why, they let the doctors. It is going to help me to sit up and perhapsto walk about a little," answered Gwen, with blue-gray eyes open wide.

  "Oh," said The Pilot, "it was very mean to stand by and see you hurtlike that."

  "Why, you silly," replied Owen, impatiently, "they want my back to getstraight and strong."

  "Oh, then they didn't do it just for fun or for nothing?" said ThePilot, innocently.

  Gwen gazed at him in amazed and speechless wrath, and he went on:

  "I mean they love you though they let you be hurt; or rather they letthe doctors hurt you BECAUSE they loved you and wanted to make youbetter."

  Gwen kept her eyes fixed with curious earnestness upon his face till thelight began to dawn.

  "Do you mean," she began slowly, "that though God let me fall, He lovesme?"

  The Pilot nodded; he could not trust his voice.

  "I wonder if that can be true," she said, as if to herself; and soonwe said good-by and came away--The Pilot, limp and voiceless, but Itriumphant, for I began to see a little light for Gwen.

  But the fight was by no means over; indeed, it was hardly well begun.For when the autumn came, with its misty, purple days, most glorious ofall days in the cattle country, the old restlessness came back and thefierce refusal of her lot. Then came the day of the round-up. Why shouldshe have to stay while all went after the cattle? The Duke wouldhave remained, but she impatiently sent him away. She was weary andheart-sick, and, worst of all, she began to feel that most terrible ofburdens, the burden of her life to others. I was much relieved when ThePilot came in fresh and bright, waving a bunch of wild-flowers in hishand.

  "I thought they were all gone," he cried. "Where do you think I foundthem? Right down by the big elm root," and, though he saw by thesettled gloom of her face that the storm was coming, he went bravely onpicturing the canyon in all the splendor of its autumn dress. But thespell would not work. Her heart was out on the sloping hills, where thecattle were bunching and crowding with tossing heads and rattling horns,and it was in a voice very bitter and impatient that she cried:

  "Oh, I am sick of all this! I want to ride! I want to see the cattleand the men and--and--and all the things outside." The Pilot was cowboyenough to know the longing that tugged at her heart for one wild raceafter the calves or steers, but he could only say:

  "Wait, Gwen. Try to be patient."

  "I am patient; at least I have been patient for two whole months, andit's no use, and I don't believe God cares one bit!"

  "Yes, He does, Gwen, more than any of us," replied The Pilot, earnestly.

  "No, He does not care," she answered, with angry emphasis, and The Pilotmade no reply.

  "Perhaps," she went on, hesitatingly, "He's angry because I said Ididn't care for Him, you remember? That was very wicked. But don't youthink I'm punished nearly enough now? You made me very angry, and Ididn't really mean it."

  Poor Gwen! God had grown to be very real to her during these weeksof pain, and very terrible. The Pilot looked down a moment into theblue-gray eyes, grown so big and so pitiful, and hurriedly dropping onhis knees beside the bed he said, in a very unsteady voice:

  "Oh, Gwen, Gwen, He's not like that. Don't you remember how Jesus waswith the poor sick people? That's what He's like."

  "Could Jesus make me well?"

  "Yes, Gwen."

  "Then why doesn't He?" she asked; and there was no impatience now, butonly trembling anxiety as she went on in a timid voice: "I asked Him to,over and over, and said I would wait two months, and now it's more thanthree. Are you quite sure He hears now?" She raised herself on her elbowand gazed searchingly into The Pilot's face. I was glad it was not intomine. As she uttered the words, "Are you quite sure?" one felt thatthings were in the balance. I could not help looking at The Pilot withintense anxiety. What would he answer? The Pilot gazed out of the windowupon the hills for a few moments. How long the silence seemed! Then,turning, looked into the eyes that searched his so steadily and answeredsimply:

  "Yes, Gwen, I am quite sure!" Then, with quick inspiration, he got hermother's Bible and said: "Now, Gwen, try to see it as I read." But,before he read, with the true artist's instinct he created the properatmosphere. By a few vivid words he made us feel the patheticloneliness of the Man of Sorrows in His last sad days. Then he read thatmasterpiece of all tragic picturing, the story of Gethsemane. And as heread we saw it all. The garden and the trees and the sorrow-strickenMan alone with His mysterious agony. We heard the prayer so patheticallysubmissive and then, for answer, the rabble and the traitor.

  Gwen was far too quick to need explanation, and The Pilot only said,"You see, Gwen, God gave nothing but the best--to His own Son only thebest."

  "The best? They took Him away, didn't they?" She knew the story well.

  "Yes, but listen." He turned the leaves rapidly and read: "'We see Jesusfor the suffering of death crowned with glory and honor.' That is how Hegot His Kingdom."

  Gwen listened silent but unconvinced, and then said slowly:

  "But how can this be best for me? I am no use to anyone. It can't bebest to just lie here and make them all wait on me, and--and--I didwant to help daddy--and--oh--I know they will get tired of me! They aregetting tired already--I--I--can't help being hateful."

  She was by this time sobbing as I had never heard her before--deep,passionate sobs. Then again the Pilot had an inspiration.

  "Now, Gwen," he said severely, "you know we're not as mean as that, andthat you are just talking nonsense, every word. Now I'm going to smoothout your red hair and tell you a story."

  "It's NOT red," she cried, between her sobs. This was her sore point.

  "It is red, as red can be; a beautiful, shining purple RED," said ThePilot emphatically, beginning to brush.

  "Purple!" cried Gwen, scornfully.

  "Yes, I've seen it in the sun, purple. Haven't you?" said The Pilot,appealing to me.
"And my story is about the canyon, our canyon, yourcanyon, down there."

  "Is it true?" asked Gwen, already soothed by the cool, quick-movinghands.

  "True? It's as true as--as--" he glanced round the room, "as thePilgrim's Progress." This was satisfactory, and the story went on.

  "At first there were no canyons, but only the broad, open prairie. Oneday the Master of the Prairie, walking out over his great lawns, wherewere only grasses, asked the Prairie, 'Where are your flowers?' and thePrairie said, 'Master, I have no seeds.' Then he spoke to the birds,and they carried seeds of every kind of flower and strewed them far andwide, and soon the Prairie bloomed with crocuses and roses and buffalobeans and the yellow crowfoot and the wild sunflowers and the red liliesall the summer long. Then the Master came and was well pleased; but hemissed the flowers he loved best of all, and he said to the Prairie:'Where are the clematis and the columbine, the sweet violets and windflowers, and all the ferns and flowering shrubs?' And again he spoke tothe birds, and again they carried all the seeds and strewed them far andwide. But, again, when the Master came, he could not find the flowers heloved best of all, and he said: 'Where are those, my sweetest flowers?'and the Prairie cried sorrowfully: 'Oh, Master, I cannot keep theflowers, for the winds sweep fiercely, and the sun beats upon mybreast, and they wither up and fly away.' Then the Master spoke to theLightning, and with one swift blow the Lightning cleft the Prairie tothe heart. And the Prairie rocked and groaned in agony, and for many aday moaned bitterly over its black, jagged, gaping wound. But the LittleSwan poured its waters through the cleft, and carried down deep blackmould, and once more the birds carried seeds and strewed them in thecanyon. And after a long time the rough rocks were decked out with softmosses and trailing vines, and all the nooks were hung with clematisand columbine, and great elms lifted their huge tops high up intothe sunlight, and down about their feet clustered the low cedars andbalsams, and everywhere the violets and wind-flower and maiden-hair grewand bloomed, till the canyon became the Masters place for rest and peaceand joy."

  The quaint tale was ended, and Gwen lay quiet for some moments, thensaid gently:

  "Yes! The canyon flowers are much the best. Tell me what it means."

  Then The Pilot read to her: "The fruits--I'll read 'flowers'--of theSpirit are love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness,faith, meekness, self-control, and some of these grow only in thecanyon."

  "Which are the canyon flowers?" asked Gwen softly, and The Pilotanswered:

  "Gentleness, meekness, self-control; but though the others, love, joy,peace, bloom in the open, yet never with so rich a bloom and so sweet aperfume as in the canyon."

  For a long time Gwen lay quite still, and then said wistfully, while herlip trembled:

  "There are no flowers in my canyon, but only ragged rocks."

  "Some day they will bloom, Gwen dear; He will find them, and we, too,shall see them."

  Then he said good-by and took me away. He had done his work that day.

  We rode through the big gate, down the sloping hill, past the smiling,twinkling little lake, and down again out of the broad sunshine intothe shadows and soft lights of the canyon. As we followed the trailthat wound among the elms and cedars, the very air was full of gentlestillness; and as we moved we seemed to feel the touch of loving handsthat lingered while they left us, and every flower and tree and vineand shrub and the soft mosses and the deep-bedded ferns whispered, as wepassed, of love and peace and joy.

  To The Duke it was all a wonder, for as the days shortened outside theybrightened inside; and every day, and more and more Gwen's room becamethe brightest spot in all the house, and when he asked The Pilot:

  "What did you do to the Little Princess, and what's all this about thecanyon and its flowers?" The Pilot said, looking wistfully into TheDuke's eyes:

  "The fruits of the Spirit are love, peace, long-suffering, gentleness,goodness, faith, meekness, self-control, and some of these are foundonly in the canyon," and The Duke, standing up straight, handsome andstrong, looked back at The Pilot and said, putting out his hand:

  "Do you know, I believe you're right."

  "Yes, I'm quite sure," answered The Pilot, simply. Then, holding TheDuke's hand as long as one man dare hold another's, he added: "When youcome to your canyon, remember."

  "When I come!" said The Duke, and a quick spasm of pain passed over hishandsome face--"God help me, it's not too far away now." Then he smiledagain his old, sweet smile, and said:

  "Yes, you are all right, for, of all flowers I have seen, none arefairer or sweeter than those that are waving in Gwen's Canyon."