I noticed a lot of new fence-rails around the fields on the Canada side, and remarked that the people were industrious. "Oh, yes," said our brother; "because they burnt their fences last winter for firing." Sure enough; what is the use of a fence in winter except to burn? And then the wood is well seasoned. One church over there bought nearly all the members of the other with flour and pork; and if you ask an Indian in that region to-day to unite with your church, he says, "How much flour you give me to join?" That's business.
But it was getting late, and we had four miles' rowing yet before us. After a good hour's pull at the oars we reached the parsonage, just as the sun was setting in purple and gold behind the blue hills of Algoma. And there, as we sat watching the deepening twilight, brother Scurr told me some of the trials of missionary life in that region.
Often walking miles through the wet grass and low places, in the spring and fall, standing in his wet shoes while preaching, and then returning—in the winter on snow-shoes, following the trail (for there are no roads); in the summer, when the weather permits, by boat. When the snow was deep, and the wind was howling around his house, he had to leave his sick wife to keep his appointments miles away, and was almost afraid to enter the house on his return, for fear she had left him alone with his little ones in the wilderness. It was twelve miles to the nearest doctor on the mainland; and the only congenial companion for his wife was the missionary's wife on the Canadian side, a mile and a half away. This good sister knew something of the shady side of a missionary wife's life, as she lay for weeks hovering between life and death.
One touching little incident brother Scurr told me that deeply affected me. One dark night Deacon John Sebastian came and told him his daughter, a fine girl of some sixteen years of age, was dying, and wished to see him. The mother was a Roman Catholic; but the daughter, who attended our church with her father, had accepted Christ for her Saviour, and now desired to partake of the Lord's Supper with us ere she departed. There in the farmhouse at midnight the little company, with the mother joining, partook of the sacrament. All church distinctions were forgotten, as the Protestant father and Catholic mother sat with clasped hands, and with tear-bedimmed eyes saw their loved one go into the silent land. I left the next morning, promising to call again as soon as I could, and some time to hold meetings with them when the men were at home from fishing in the winter.
I attended the dedication of a new church at Alba costing a little over $1,000, all paid or provided for, $137 being raised on the night of dedication, in sums from two cents, given by a little girl, up to ten dollars, the highest sum given that night by one person. All our people in the rural districts are very poor, but often generous and self-denying. I know of one good mother in Israel who went without her new print dress for the summer in order to give the dollar to the minister at Conference. Think of that dollar dress, my good sisters, when you are perplexed about whether you shall have yours cut bias, or gored, or Mother Hubbard style, or—well, I don't know much about styles; but "think on these things."
XIX.
THE NEEDS OF THE MINUTE-MAN.
The needs of the minute-man are as great as his field. If the army sent its minute-men to the front as poorly equipped for battle as our army of minute-men often are, it would be defeated. The man needs, besides a home, a library and good literature up to date. Religious papers a year or two old make good reading, and biographies of good men are very stimulating. A full set of Parkman's works would be of inestimable value in keeping up his courage and helping his faith. The smaller the field, the greater the need of good reading; for on the frontier you miss the society of the city, and its ministers' meetings, and the great dailies, and all the rush of modern life that is so stimulating. And yet you find men of all conditions and mental stature. A man who can get up two good sermons a week that will feed the varied types that he will meet at church needs to be a genius.