You'd hardly know it was a
book at all, with the covers off and the leaves all loose. I've read
it through three times this winter already, and some of the boys have
read it more than that."

A lump came into Keith's throat as he listened to this simple story,
and laying down his hammer he seized his cap and mittens. "Come, Joe,"
he said, "I want to show you something."

Together they made their way to the store room, behind the mission
house, which, when they had entered, Keith silently pointed to several
piles of magazines and papers stacked in one corner. Joe's eyes bulged
with amazement. He rubbed them, to make sure he was not dreaming.

"Gee-whiz!" he exclaimed. "Who'd have thought it!"

Then he began to examine the treasure. "'Illustrated London News!'
well I'll be jiggered! 'Corn Hill,' 'The Century,' 'Leisure Hour,'
'The Canadian Magazine,' and lots more, whole stacks of them; my, what
a treat! Say, parson, where did you get them?"

"They came with the mission supplies," was the response. "For years
they have been gathering there, and not long ago I was tempted to have
a big bonfire, and burn the oldest ones, as they were taking up so much
room. But now I'm glad I didn't."

"So am I," assented Joe. "But say," he continued, looking round the
room, "what's all that stuff for?"

"Oh, they're mission supplies for the Indians."

"And you sell the stuff?"

"Yes."

"Oh, then, that's what Pritchen and Perdue meant. I didn't understand
them at the time."

"Why, what did they say?" asked Keith.

"They said a lot; told what a grafter you are, that you supply the
Indians with all sorts of things, take their furs in return, and are
making a fortune out of them, all under the cloak of religion."

"And did they say that?" The missionary's tone was one of
astonishment, and an expression of pain crossed his face.

"Yes, but that's only a part of the stories. They're stirring up the
boys against you with all kinds of yarns."

"And what else did they say? Tell me, Joe."

The latter looked cautiously around, and in a low tone whispered
something into Keith's ear, which caused him to start back as if from a
blow.

"God help me!" he cried, placing his hands to his forehead. "Is it
possible! Is it possible!"

"Yes, Pritchen told it over and over again, so I heard last night.
Then he said that you killed the woman in a lonely place."

"Killed her! That I killed her?"

"Yes, and when he hap