If Any Man Sin

by H. A. Cody

Since Nance's illness Martin's mind had been much concerned as to the child's future. He had brought her into the wilderness, and was it right that she should grow up in ignorance? He began to realise his responsibility more and more. Some day, no doubt, she would go out into the world of civilisation, and should she go as a young savage? No, such should not be the case. He would teach her here in the little cabin. It would be the schoolhouse, he the teacher, and Nance the pupil. He would instruct her year after year, develop her mind, and lead her into many fields of knowledge. Although far away from the great centres of education she should have learning which should not make her ashamed if ever she should leave her forest home.

With his mind thus made up Martin at once outlined a course of studies for Nance. The instruction was very simple at first. Martin was a good teacher, the child an apt scholar, and so rapid progress was made. By the time Nance was able to read there came the great necessity for books. Martin had printed everything for her upon scraps of paper. But this was a laborious and a never-ending task. He, therefore, sent an order to the trading post, and after waiting for over a year the books at last arrived. Martin had written for children's books suitable for a little girl. This order the trader had forwarded to his company in England, and the selection was accordingly made there.

It was a great event for Nance when the books arrived. It was a cold night in midwinter when the Indians returned from their trip to the post. There were other things as well in the various packages, but the girl had no eyes for anything but the books. Martin, too, was much interested. The sight of a book was to him like a sparkling spring of water to a thirsty traveller. Although they were only books for children, yet he unwrapped the parcel with feverish haste and examined each volume. He and Nance were on the floor before the fire, and as the thick paper wrapping gave way, and the books were exposed to view, the maiden clapped her hands with delight.

"Oh, daddy, look at this!" and she picked up one of the treasures with a bright picture on the cover.

"You will like that, Nance," Martin replied. "It's 'Alice in Wonderland,' the story your mother used to tell you, and suppose we begin upon it first."

Thus sitting upon Martin's knee, with her head resting against his shoulder, Nance heard again that sweet, thrilling story of Alice's marvellous adventures. Never before had she listened to a tale from a real book, and often she would interrupt the reading that she might look upon the funny, and, to her, wonderful pictures.

That night after Nance was asleep Martin sat for a long time before the fire. The book he was reading was not new to him, but it had been years since he had first read "Little Women." It fascinated him now more than ever. He could enter into the ways of children, and in every incident Nance always rose up before him. How pure and innocent were the little folk mentioned in the book, and what a confiding trust they had in their elders.

After a while he laid the volume aside and began to muse upon what he had just been reading. Suppose that the children should have found out that the older ones, surrounding them with such love and care, were very wicked, and had committed evil deeds in the past. What a fearful and heart-breaking revelation it would have been to them. Then he thought of Nance. What if she in some way should learn that he himself was a bad man! What would she think? He knew that she looked upon him as her hero, and if she should find out the truth about his past life what a terrible grief it would bring to her.

Martin sat straight up in his chair as these thoughts swept upon him. Nance must never know. She must always think of him as a man true and pure. Neither must he give her any cause to believe otherwise.

Martin was not at all satisfied with himself. He longed to be worthy of Nance's trust. What would he not give to be able to look into her clear, confiding eyes, and to feel that he was just what she considered him to be. This was what gave him so much concern now. He wanted the child to believe in him, and at the same time he wished to be worthy of that belief.