ale of reasons
against his ever taking up his work again, with which Dick had made
himself so familiar during the past dark, dreary months, were one by
one removed, and when the Superintendent left the Old Stone Mill he had
secured his missionary for Windermere. It gave the Superintendent acute
satisfaction to remember the flash of his missionary's blue eyes as, in
answer to the warning, "You will have a hard fight of it, remember," the
reply came, "A hard fight? Thank God!"

Before the year was over it fell that the Windermere valley came to be
one of the mission fields that gladdened the hearts of the Home Mission
Committee of the Calgary Presbytery, and especially of its doughty
Convener. In the Convener's study, eight by ten, the report from the
Windermere field was discussed with the ubiquitous and indefatigable
Superintendent.

"An extremely gratifying record," said the Superintendent, "especially
when one considers its disorganized condition a year ago."

"Yes, it's a good report," assented the Convener. "We had practically no
support a year ago. Our strongest man--"

"Fink?"

"Yes. You know Hank, I see. Well, Hank's enthusiasm and devotion were
hardly of what you would call the purest type. But whatever his motive,
he stood by the missionary, and, do you know, it is a splendid testimony
of the power of the Gospel to see the change in that same shrewd old
sinner. Yes, sir, give the Gospel a chance and it will do its work." The
Convener, who hated all cant and canting phrases with a perfect hatred,
rarely allowed himself the luxury of an emotional outbreak. But the case
of Hank Fink seemed to reach the springs of feeling that he kept hidden
in the deep heart of him.

"So Boyle has done well?" said the Superintendent. "I am very glad of
it. Very glad of it, for his own sake, for his mother's, and for the
sake of another."

"Yes," replied the Convener, "Boyle has done a fine bit of work. He
lived all summer on his horse's back and in his canoe, followed the
prospectors up into the gulches and the miners to their mines, if you
can call them mines, left a magazine here, a book there, a New Testament
next place. And once he got his grip on a man, he never let him go. Hank
told me how he found a man sick in a camp away up in a gulch and how
he stayed with him for more than a week, then brought him down on his
horse's back to the Forks. Yes, it's a good record. A church built
at the north end of the field, anoth