"I have fought the fight," he read.The ring in his voice lifted up all our heads, and, as he pictured to us the life of that battered hero who had written these words, I saw Bill's eyes begin to gleam and his lank figure straighten out its lazy angles.Then he turned the leaves quickly and read again, "Let not your heart be troubled...in my father's house are many mansions." His voice took a lower, sweeter tone; he looked over our heads, and for a few moments spoke of the eternal hope.Then he came back to us, and, looking round into the faces turned so eagerly to him, talked to us of The Pilot--how at the first he had sent him to us with fear and trembling--he was so young--but how he had come to trust in him and to rejoice in his work, and to hope much from his life.Now it was all over; but he felt sure his young friend had not given his life in vain.He paused as he looked from one to the other, till his eyes rested on Gwen's face.I was startled, as I believe he was, too, at the smile that parted her lips, so evidently saying: "Yes, but how much better I know than you.""Yes," he went on, after a pause, answering her smile, "you all know better than I that his work among you will not pass away with his removal, but endure while you live," and the smile on Gwen's face grew brighter."And now you must not grudge him his reward and his rest...and his home." And Bill, nodding his head slowly, said under his breath, "That's so."Then they sang that hymn of the dawning glory of Immanuel's land,--Lady Charlotte playing the organ and The Duke leading with clear, steady voice verse after verse.When they came to the last verse the minister made a sign and, while they waited, he read the words:
"I've wrestled on towards heaven 'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide."And so on to that last victorious cry,--
"I hail the glory dawning In Immanuel's Land."For a moment it looked as if the singing could not go on, for tears were on the minister's face and the women were beginning to sob, but The Duke's clear, quiet voice caught up the song and steadied them all to the end.
After the prayer they all went in and looked at The Pilot's face and passed out, leaving behind only those that knew him best.The Duke and the Hon.Fred stood looking down upon the quiet face.
"The country has lost a good man, Duke," said the Hon.Fred.The Duke bowed silently.Then Lady Charlotte came and gazed a moment.
"Dear Pilot," she whispered, her tears falling fast."Dear, dear Pilot! Thank God for you! You have done much for me." Then she stooped and kissed him on his cold lips and on his forehead.
Then Gwen seemed to suddenly waken as from a dream.She turned and, looking up in a frightened way, said to Bill hurriedly:
"I want to see him again.Carry me!"
And Bill gathered her up in his arms and took her in.As they looked down upon the dead face with its look of proud peace and touched with the stateliness of death, Gwen's fear passed away.
But when The Duke made to cover the face, Gwen drew a sharp breath and, clinging to Bill, said, with a sudden gasp:
"Oh, Bill, I can't bear it alone.I'm afraid alone."She was thinking of the long, weary days of pain before her that she must face now without The Pilot's touch and smile and voice.
"Me, too," said Bill, thinking of the days before him.He could have said nothing better.Gwen looked in his face a moment, then said:
"We'll help each other," and Bill, swallowing hard, could only nod his head in reply.Once more they looked upon The Pilot, leaning down and lingering over him, and then Gwen said quietly:
"Take me away, Bill," and Bill carried her into the outer room.
Turning back I caught a look on The Duke's face so full of grief that I could not help showing my amazement.He noticed and said:
"The best man I ever knew, Connor.He has done something for me too....I'd give the world to die like that."Then he covered the face.
We sat Gwen's window, Bill, with Gwen in his arms, and I watching.
Down the sloping, snow-covered hill wound the procession of sleighs and horsemen, without sound of voice or jingle of bell till, one by one, they passed out of our sight and dipped down into the canyon.
But we knew every step of the winding trail and followed them in fancy through that fairy scene of mystic wonderland.We knew how the great elms and the poplars and the birches clinging to the snowy sides interlaced their bare boughs into a network of bewildering complexity, and how the cedars and balsams and spruces stood in the bottom, their dark boughs weighted down with heavy white mantles of snow, and how every stump and fallen log and rotting stick was made a thing of beauty by the snow that had fallen so gently on them in that quiet spot.And we could see the rocks of the canyon sides gleam out black from under overhanging snow-banks, and we could hear the song of the Swan in its many tones, now under an icy sheet, cooing comfortably, and then bursting out into sunlit laughter and leaping into a foaming pool, to glide away smoothly murmuring its delight to the white banks that curved to kiss the dark water as it fled.And where the flowers had been, the violets and the wind-flowers and the clematis and the columbine and all the ferns and flowering shrubs, there lay the snow.Everywhere the snow, pure, white, and myriad-gemmed, but every flake a flower's shroud.
Out where the canyon opened to the sunny, sloping prairie, there they would lay The Pilot to sleep, within touch of the canyon he loved, with all its sleeping things.And there he lies to this time.But Spring has come many times to the canyon since that winter day, and has called to the sleeping flowers, summoning them forth in merry troops, and ever more and more till the canyon ripples with them.And lives are like flowers.In dying they abide not alone, but sow themselves and bloom again with each returning spring, and ever more and more.
For often during the following years, as here and there I came upon one of those that companied with us in those Foothill days, I would catch a glimpse in word and deed and look of him we called, first in jest, but afterwards with true and tender feeling we were not ashamed to own, our Sky Pilot.
End
