"I see, I see," said the jovial Doctor. "Well, now wipe away your tears, and give God all glory. He has sent me, a poor weak mortal, simply as a messenger to administer that which will save you from a loathsome disease and death. All glory be unto Him."
He then began singing softly and reverently, the others joining:
"God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform,
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs.
And works his sovereign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head."
"And now, Mrs. Barton, you must come out and see the chariot in which the Lord sent us," cried Dr. Jones gayly.
The poor invalid stood in the door and looked up at the great globe that shimmered and glistened like burnished silver in the rays of the setting sun. How proudly and serenely it rode above their heads as if conscious of its own unparalleled beauty, and its blessed mission in this present instance. She gazed upon it a few moments in speechless rapture, her poor emaciated hands clasped upon her breast.
"This is too marvelous for me," she cried. "What am I that God should send deliverance to me in so glorious and majestic a ship of the skies! I am lost in wonder and praise. Glory be to His holy name forever and forever."
"Amen!" responded the listeners fervently.
The canoe party returned at four o'clock, P.M. All were tired and ready to sit about the generous fire; for evening was at hand, and the air was already sharp and frosty.
"And how did it happen, Mr. Barton, that you came to settle away up in this barren wilderness?" asked Professor Gray.
"I do not know that I know myself," returned Mr. Barton. "I was taken sick at a boarding-house in Montreal, and was sent to a hospital. I was at that time master of the bark Twilight, a Liverpool craft. Mrs. Barton was then a beautiful girl—don't blush so, Mrs. Barton. Jennie there is a perfect reproduction of you as I first saw you, and I should not be ashamed of our Jennie anywhere on earth. Well, as I was saying, Mrs. Barton, named at that time Miss Constance Schmidt, the daughter of a Moravian missionary, visited the hospital frequently as an angel of mercy. So far as I was concerned it was a case of love at first sight. She nursed me back to health; and, with the usual ingratitude of man, I married her for her pains. I then gave up the sea after a trip or two, and settled in Montreal. But I could not get used to, nor like the conventionalities of city life. So I made a trip into these wilds. I saw an opportunity to do a good business in furs; and so, with wife's consent, we settled on this spot. I built this house, which I named in honor of my wife—Constance. I have done fairly well financially, and I am sure that we have been quite happy and contented. Until Mrs. Barton's illness, I was without a care or worry in the world."