by Ralph Connor
CHAPTER XXII
HOW THE SWAN CREEK CHURCH WAS OPENED
When, near the end of the year, The Pilot fell sick, Bill nursed himlike a mother and sent him off for a rest and change to Gwen, forbiddinghim to return till the church was finished and visiting him twice aweek. The love between the two was most beautiful, and, when I find myheart grow hard and unbelieving in men and things, I let my mind wanderback to a scene that I came upon in front of Gwen's house. These twowere standing alone in the clear moonlight, Bill with his hand upon ThePilot's shoulder, and The Pilot with his arm around Bill's neck.
"Dear old Bill," The Pilot was saying, "dear old Bill," and the voicewas breaking into a sob. And Bill, standing stiff and straight, lookedup at the stars, coughed and swallowed hard for some moments, and said,in a queer, croaky voice:
"Shouldn't wonder if a Chinook would blow up."
"Chinook?" laughed The Pilot, with a catch in his voice. "You dear oldhumbug," and he stood watching till the lank form swayed down into thecanyon.
The day of the church opening came, as all days, however long waitedfor, will come--a bright, beautiful Christmas Day. The air was still andfull of frosty light, as if arrested by a voice of command, waiting theword to move. The hills lay under their dazzling coverlets, asleep. Backof all, the great peaks lifted majestic heads out of the dark forestsand gazed with calm, steadfast faces upon the white, sunlit world.To-day, as the light filled up the cracks that wrinkled their hardfaces, they seemed to smile, as if the Christmas joy had somehow movedsomething in their old, stony hearts.
The people were all there--farmers, ranchers, cowboys, wives andchildren--all happy, all proud of their new church, and now allexpectant, waiting for The Pilot and the Old Timer, who were to drivedown if The Pilot was fit and were to bring Gwen if the day was fine. Asthe time passed on, Bill, as master of ceremonies, began to grow uneasy.Then Indian Joe appeared and handed a note to Bill. He read it, grewgray in the face and passed it to me. Looking, I saw in poor, waveringlines the words, "Dear Bill. Go on with the opening. Sing the Psalm,you know the one, and say a prayer, and oh, come to me quick, Bill. YourPilot."
Bill gradually pulled himself together, announced in a strange voice,"The Pilot can't come," handed me the Psalm, and said:
"Make them sing."
It was that grand Psalm for all hill peoples, "I to the hills will liftmine eyes," and with wondering faces they sang the strong, steadyingwords. After the Psalm was over the people sat and waited, Bill lookedat the Hon. Fred Ashley, then at Robbie Muir, then said to me in a lowvoice:
"Kin you make a prayer?"
I shook my head, ashamed as I did so of my cowardice.
Again Bill paused, then said:
"The Pilot says there's got to be a prayer. Kin anyone make one?"
Again dead, solemn silence.
Then Hi, who was near the back, said, coming to his partner's help:
"What's the matter with you trying, yourself, Bill?"
The red began to come up in Bill's white face.
"'Taint in my line. But The Pilot says there's got to be a prayer, andI'm going to stay with the game." Then, leaning on the pulpit, he said:
"Let's pray," and began:
"God Almighty, I ain't no good at this, and perhaps you'll understand ifI don't put things right." Then a pause followed, during which I heardsome of the women beginning to sob.
"What I want to say," Bill went on, "is, we're mighty glad about thischurch, which we know it's you and The Pilot that's worked it. And we'reall glad to chip in."
Then again he paused, and, looking up, I saw his hard, gray face workingand two tears stealing down his cheeks. Then he started again:
"But about The Pilot--I don't want to persoom--but if you don't mind,we'd like to have him stay--in fact, don't see how we kin do withouthim--look at all the boys here; he's just getting his work in and isbringin' 'em right along, and, God Almighty, if you take him away itmight be a good thing for himself, but for us--oh, God," the voicequivered and was silent "Amen."
Then someone, I think it must have been the Lady Charlotte, began: "OurFather," and all joined that could join, to the end. For a few momentsBill stood up, looking at them silently. Then, as if remembering hisduty, he said:
"This here church is open. Excuse me."
He stood at the door, gave a word of direction to Hi, who had followedhim out, and leaping on his bronco shook him out into a hard gallop.
The Swan Creek Church was opened. The form of service may not have beencorrect, but, if great love counts for anything and appealing faith,then all that was necessary was done.
