If Any Man Sin

by H. A. Cody

"No; stuck close at home. When the meeting was over several of the miners strolled by their tent and made some pretty pointed remarks, which The Twins must have heard and understood. It is evident that they can't stay hidden all the time, and they will certainly receive a bombardment when they do come out."

"Has Tom gone back up river?" Martin asked.

"Yes; on special business."

"Special business? Of what nature?"

"It concerns the building of a hospital. It will mean quite a cost in money and labour, and Tom and I have had several long serious talks over it of late. Before the miners dispersed this morning Tom sprang a surprise upon them as well as upon me. He told in a few plain words how very necessary it is that there should be a hospital built at Quaska for the sick and injured men. He referred to what you have been doing over here, and at that the miners gave a rousing cheer. I wish you could have heard them, it would have done you good. All agreed that Tom's suggestion was an excellent one, and they at once volunteered to help with the hospital as much as they could."

Dick did not tell Martin and Nance of the little speech he had made, in which he had promised to give his services free, and how a nurse was expected on one of the incoming steamers. All this appealed strongly to the miners, and they had expressed their approval in no uncertain manner.

Martin listened to all that Dick had to say about the hospital which was to be built, and his plans for the future. He noted the animated look upon the young man's face, and the old longing came back into his own heart to be up and doing at a similar undertaking. The missionary had much to live for, and the love which he had for his work was great. But what was there for him to do? he asked himself. Always a voice whispered in his ear, "Thou shalt not!" There was a barrier which separated him from that field of sacred work to which he had pledged himself years before.

As the days passed this longing instead of subsiding increased. The fire of anger and rebellion, which for years had burned so fiercely in Martin's heart, died down. No longer did he look upon the Church as his great enemy, and all clergymen as bound menials. He saw things in a different light, and realised as never before that the beam was in his own eyes which had distorted his vision. In the past he had the spirit of pride and anger to sustain him. These were the crutches upon which he had depended. Though wounded, he had held up his head and stood upon his feet. The Church then was the overbearing monster, and there was a certain grim satisfaction in the thought that he had cast it off forever, and that it could affect him no longer. But now that these props had been removed, upon what could he depend? If at times during the past years of his exile he had suffered, it was as nothing to what he now endured. He fled to the hills under the pretence of hunting the mountain-sheep, and there he wrestled with the spectres of his shame and despair, which were his constant companions. At night he would return to his home, creeping along the trail with head bent, and face drawn and haggard. But as he neared his house his form would always straighten, his step quicken, and his eyes brighten as Nance came forth to greet him. In her presence he always tried to be cheerful. But at times he would forget himself, and while at supper he would slip back into the old mood which had held him in thrall throughout the day. Then as he crouched there with the wan dejected look upon his face Nance would watch him with apprehension, and sometimes would speak to him, asking if he felt ill. This would always startle Martin from his reverie, and with an effort he would make some excuse for his strange behaviour. Although Nance pretended not to see anything amiss with her father, she was, nevertheless, much concerned. Why did he leave her so often? she asked herself, and why those strange spells of absent-mindedness, and the haggard expression upon his face?

After supper Martin would sit quietly by himself listening to the story of the hospital, for Dick came every evening, and he always had much to tell about his work during the day. Nance's eyes beamed with interest as he told of the cutting of the logs, floating them down the Quaska, and the struggle they had in dragging them up the bank to the right spot near the river where they were to erect the building.

Dick worked as hard, if not harder, in fact, than any one else. He not only chopped, hewed, tugged and lifted all day, but he did all the planning as well, besides encouraging his co-workers. The miners took turns at the work, and every day there were several new volunteers. How full of thankfulness was the missionary's heart when at length the exterior of the building was almost completed. Of course there was much work still ahead of him. There were the walls to be chinked with moss and mudded; there were doors and windows to be made; the floor to be built; partitions to be put up; cots, tables, shelves, and other things to be constructed, which would take weeks of steady work. All this he expected to do himself, except for the occasional assistance he was sure to receive from Tom, Dad, and a few others.