In the far north, on one of the old missions, Betty had been taught by an aged member of the Oblat Fathers, a missionary who had come many years before from the old land to teach the red men the way of peace. He lived with them, travelled with them, shared their hardships and their hunting expeditions, and when they stayed in one place for a time, taught the women and children who gathered around him to listen. In his youth he had been ambitious to gain a high position in the Church, but as he read Thomas à Kempis' "Imitation of Christ" his heart was touched, and he determined to give up his ambitious desires for self and follow Christ. He joined the Order, and was sent to the distant West, to where, to those who knew little of mission work, his culture and refinement would seem to be of little service to him. But these gifts enabled him to exert great power over the natives, and drew them to the wise man with a loving heart.
Betty had been thrown into many untoward circumstances since she had learned of him, but the sound of the old man's voice seemed ever in her ears; she never forgot the lessons she had learned from his lips and through his life. With her children gathered about her she knelt by the wheel of one of the carts, the prairie sod for a resting-place, the sky over head, and together they repeated the "Pater Noster," the "Our Father" of the Saviour of all men and of all creeds.
What a scene! One for the contemplation of angels who looked from heaven on the half-breed woman and her children as they besought God for protection, guidance and grace.
The men in the lodge had paused in their talk and smoked their pipes in silence while the petitions were ascending outside.
The prayer finished, the children returned to the lodge, and removing their outer garments, curled themselves up on the skins spread on the ground in the lodge, and were soon fast asleep.
Jim and Donald sat long narrating the various strange experiences of their lives, the half-breed exulting in his success as a hunter, and the white man rejoicing no less in the valor displayed among civilized people in times of danger, as well as in his superior knowledge of men and of the world.
"Them wur fine times," said the half-breed, his eyes glistening as he recalled the past. "We had lots of game, and we never wanted for grub. I could kill more buffalo with my old flint-lock in a day than we get now with a Winchester rifle."
"Had you ever any trouble with the Indians in those days?" asked Donald.
"Ye bet yer life we did. Many's the time we had to fight for our lives. They'd get behind our carts before we'd know they wur there: but ye see, we knew how to fight, and though some of our folks got killed, we allus had the best of it."
"You must have had some narrow escapes."