Ontario, and that you, their
youngest child, were the last to leave the old home?"

"Yes."

"Joe," Keith spoke quietly, but with intense earnestness, "they are
poor and lonely. Day by day they toil long and hard. What comforts
have they in life? They sit alone, side by side, during the winter
evenings. They talk of you, think of you, pray for you, and wait some
word from you. You, the youngest, the last upon which they bestowed
their affection, are much in their thoughts. Isn't that a true
picture?"

"My God, it's too true!" broke from the young man's lips.

"Well, then, which will you do, add more trouble to their lives, bow
down their poor backs more than ever, and cause them to sit so still
through the long evenings, and just wait from day to day for the Master
to call; or will you win out here, bear the battle's brunt of gloom and
despair, then in the spring make a strike, to go back home rich, to
bring joy and comfort to your parents' declining years?"

For a time Joe did not speak. He was struggling hard, for the words
were telling upon him. "I never thought of it in that way," he said,
at length. "But you have cheered me up a bit, and if I can only stand
this winter I think I can win out. It is very lonely in this camp, and
a fellow gets so discouraged."

"How would this place do?" asked Keith. "How would you like to spend
your evenings here?"

Joe's eyes opened in surprise. "Come here! for what?"

"To read, play games, sing, chat, smoke, and perhaps debate subjects
with the rest of the men."

"To read! read what?" and Joe looked around in a puzzled manner.

"Books, magazines and papers, of course; what else would people read?"

"Say, parson, you're only joking, aren't you? Books, magazines, here
in this desolate hole! over a thousand miles from anywhere! Why we've
not had a letter or one word from the outside since last summer, and
now you talk about books, magazines and papers!"

"Well, suppose such a thing did happen," laughed Keith at Joe's
incredulity, "do you think the men would like it?"

"Like it? Well, I guess they'd like it. Some would, anyway, for they
are hungry, starving for reading matter. Didn't you see the way they
crowded into the cabin while you read to me? You should see the only
book we have in camp. It's a cheap copy of 'David Copperfield,' which
one of the boys got from a mission station over on the Mackenzie River
side, when he came in by way of the Peel.