syllabic characters to teach the poor
wandering Esquimaux how to read, in his own uncouth Language, the Word
of God.

CHAPTER SIX.

THE STORY OF SANDY HARTE.

Among all of my appointments, the one which perhaps afforded me the
greatest pleasure and satisfaction, was that of Nelson River. At Oxford
house we had a larger number of converted Indians; but that mission had
been long organised, and devout and earnest men, like Reverend Messrs
Brooking, and Stringfellow, had given to it years of honest self-denying
toil. Nelson River, on the other hand, was a new and untried field,
where it was my privilege and joy to go as the first missionary.

Of the many grand converts there happily rescued from the darkness and
power of paganism, there is one beautiful character who is now the right
hand of the resident missionary. His name is Sandy Harte. My
introduction to him was a peculiar one. The day was one of rare beauty,
and I had spent the forenoon in teaching a number of adults and Indian
children how to read the Word of God printed in the syllabic characters.
During the noon hour of rest I entered the birch bark wigwam of one of
the principal Indians, and was naturally surprised to observe a fine
looking Indian lad stretched out on a bed of rabbit robes and blankets
while the other boys were engaged in various sports. Addressing him, I
said:

"Why are you lying here this beautiful day?"

With a sudden movement he jerked away the upper robe that was over him,
and, pointing to his shattered thigh, said in tones full of bitterness:

"Missionary, that is the reason why I am here, instead of being out in
the sunshine with the other boys."

The despairing tone, the emphatic utterance, at once aroused my
sympathies and caused me to be deeply interested in this wounded boy, so
helpless, not knowing the hour when, according to the prevailing custom,
he might be put to death. The heartless reasoning of these Indians in
such cases was like this: he will always be lame and helpless; why
should he be a burden on his friends? let us kill him at once; it will
be better for him and them. However, they had postponed the killing of
this lad because he was the son of the chief.

After I had examined his wound and had given some directions as to its
treatment, I sat down beside him and heard from his lips the sad story
of the misfortune which had crippled him for life. It seems, that he
and another boy were out shooting pa