onour, for it was only through my training
with him and this inspiration received from him that I was able to
carry to successful completion what he had so well planned.

My publishers inform me that five editions of our story have found
their way into the hearts and homes of those who cannot visit the great
northern wilds, but who love to hear about them. I shall avail myself
of this opportunity to thank these readers for the kindly manner in
which they have received the book. This reception of it has been
especially gratifying to me because of the lack of confidence I had in
my ability to tell the story of Hubbard's life and glorious death as I
felt it should be told.

The writing of the story was a work of love. I wished not only to
fulfil my last promise to my friend to write the narrative of his
expedition, but I wished also to create a sort of memorial to him. I
wanted the world to know Hubbard as he was, his noble character, his
devotion to duty, and his faith, so strong that not even the severe
hardships he endured in the desolate north, ending only with death,
could make him for a moment forget the simple truths that he learned
from his mother on the farm in old Michigan. I wanted the young men to
know these things, for they could not fail to be the better for having
learned them; and I wanted the mothers to know what men mothers can
make of their sons.

An unknown friend writes me, "To dare and die so divinely and leave
such a record is to be transfigured on a mountain top, a master symbol
to all men of cloud-robed human victory, angel-attended by reverence
and peace...a gospel of nobleness and faith." And another, "How truly
'God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.' Mr. Hubbard
went to find Lake Michikamau; he failed, but God spelled 'Success' of
'Failure,' and you brought back a message which should be an
inspiration to every soul to whom it comes. The life given up in the
wilds of Labrador was not in vain." Space will not permit me to quote
further from the many letters of this kind that have come to me from
all over the United States and Canada, but they tell me that others
have learned to know Hubbard as he was and as his friends knew him, and
that our book has not failed of its purpose.

The storms of two winters have held in their icy grasp the bleak land
in which he yielded up his life for a principle, and the flowers of two
summers have blossomed upon his grave, overlooking