"Ah, old friends," he said, looking up at them, "if you could only comfort those men, as you have comforted me, what a help you would be now."
Then it was that the books spoke to him. They suggested an idea, which, flashing along the brain, flushed the thinker's cheek.
The dogs squatting around wondered what had come over their master. Yukon poked his nose into the listless hand, while Brisko, with pricked-up ears, awaited some word of greeting. Keith heeded them not, but sat long and quietly at the table working out his new plan.
"It will do!" he exclaimed at length. "Hey, Yukon, old boy! we'll beat Perdue and his bad whiskey yet, won't we? Now, let's off to bed."
Next morning bright and early the missionary made his way to a long low log building, standing by the side of the church, and not far from his own cabin. In this was a large stove, which was soon sending out its genial heat, and giving an air of comfort to the place. Keith looked round with much satisfaction.
"Just what we want," he said to himself. "The Indians will not need it until spring, and why should it remain here unused? A few more tables from that whip-sawn lumber, the benches repaired, and things will be quite presentable."
Then he set to work, and the manner in which he handled hammer, axe and saw proved him well skilled in such matters.
He had been working for some time when the door opened, and Joe Simkins entered. Simply greeting the missionary with "Hello!" he perched himself upon a small table and gazed around the room.
"Good morning," replied Keith, pausing in the act of nailing a leg to a rickety bench. "How's the neck?"
"First class; all healed up. My! it feels good in here, for it's mighty cold outside."