sed a gramophone. The Hudson's Bay man
had shown him a special "record" from England, the angel song in
Chopin's _Marche Funebre_. We had that first, the very song she used to
sing in this cabin, times when I reckoned it a shameful thing for any
man to cry.

It was Kate's voice.

Oh, tell God, mother, that I'm very grateful. I heard her voice filling
this place which used to be her home. Though my wife and I are parted
for all our years--love finds a way.

A week or more had passed, and I'd my strength again. The river had
frozen so that we could cross to the hunting grounds beyond, and when we
came back our camp was full of meat.

I was once rich, before my wealth of memories went bad and turned to
pain. I once had peace or thought so, till I found that there is none
for men who keep on growing. But wealth of memories, and peace of mind,
and humbleness of spirit are but emptiness, and life is a waste until it
is filled with love. Iron's kindness to me, the charity which sent me
Kate's voice, the love behind the gift which found me dying--these are
the things which saved my soul alive. My life must be filled with love,
my hours must be deeds of help for others, there must be no more self in
me at all. It would be better to be damned and doing good in hell, than
to squander love where it runs waste in Heaven.

The truth is scarce, being winnowed by many preachers, and my grains
when I try to eat them, are mostly husks. Iron calls me a coward. But
Polly only weighs ninety-eight pounds, and I two hundred, so that I
couldn't have managed to feel brave fighting her. Then Iron claims it's
not the little woman I ought to fight, but the big evil she did in
bringing all our settlers to death or ruin. A woman's whim is light as
thistle-down, but thistles choke the pasture unless you fight them, and
Christ himself fought to the death against the evils which grew rank
around him. I doubt I've been a cowardly sort of Christian.

Was I right to live alone? For if this world's a school, I've been a
truant. Can I live for self, while all things done for self are only
wasted? My place was in the world working for others.

I'd got so far in thinking my morals needed repairs, when a new thing
happened, pointing out the way. O'Flynn rode over burning the trail from
the Hundred. My wife is there! Although we may not meet, her love has
brought her from England to be near me.

O'Flynn has seen my son, he has spoken with Father Jared,