Ignoring his remarks, which I took for what they were worth, I said to him, “I will have my horses taken in and fed, if you will.”
“All right. Take the Bishop’s horses and fix them,” he called out to a little fellow named Jim.
Dinner was soon ready, and my Indian and I sat down, one at each end of the little table, and Oregon Jack sat about midway on the side. While we enjoyed the bacon and beans, he kept up a running fire of questions.
“By the way, Bishop, I know you. You are the man that set the country on fire down there some time ago.”
“Country on fire?” We had great bush fires on the Lower Fraser in those days, and thousands of acres of magnificent timber were destroyed, and I thought Jack was about to fix one of those fires on me. “I set no country on fire,” I said. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I mean what you Methodists call a revival. You had a revival in Chilliwack not long ago; we heard all about it. The young fellow who was at the telegraph line used to be blessing the Lord every night that such a sinner was converted, and told us all the news along the line about your revival.”
“By the way,” he continued, “is that old fellow that had a bald head, who used to swear so that we thought the heavens would come down on us when he drove his ox team up here, has he got it?”
GROUP OF STUDENTS, COQUALEETZA INSTITUTE.