228 



Tin: AMFAilCAN BEE-KEEPER, 



Atis^ust 



as keeper ut tile Iiiission store; ihat ^e'is 

 24 and wants u wile and is willing to ac- 

 cept the bi.shop's choice. Yet you come 

 across the sea to share his lot; to sacrifice 

 your inclinations and desires; to bury 

 yourself fur life in this wild land." 



"A sacrilice it may be, sir,'" she said. 

 "How great 1 did not feel when we set 

 Bail." 



A wave of hope and passionate longing 

 flooded the captain's heart. It shone from 

 his clear brown eyes as he turned to face 

 her. 



"It is too great a sacrifice," he said, with 

 warmth. "The pity of it, and there is one 

 would give" — 



She looked at him strangely and with- 

 drew her hand. 



"You fort,ct, sir!" she interrupted. "It 

 is the bishop's will. He holds my promise 

 made before ' he church. I did not know- 

 then all it niivuit to me, but I had time 

 for thought aiul was not urged. It is my 

 duty and my work in life." 



"The sense of such a duty is absurd" — 



"No, no!" she broke in hurriedly. 

 "You are a valued servant of our church. 

 Your Cliristian duty is to help me." 



"My duty as a man" — 



But she disapjjcared within the compan- 

 ion way, ana, vexed, he turned impatient- 

 ly to the louiiyiiig helmsman, severely re- 

 calling hini to his neglected post. 



* ****** 



In the solitude of her cabin she flung 

 herself upon the cushioned locker, the cap- 

 tain's words still ringing in her ears. He 

 loved her! Of that she felt assured. And 

 she — But, no! She mu.st not, dare not 

 think of that. 



Could it be a mistaken sense of duty? 

 She was the daughter of missionaries, gen- 

 eration upon generation, and follownng in 

 the very footsteps her mother traced a score 

 of years before. Although she had lived at 

 home but till the age of 7, she remembered 

 as though it were but yesterday the story 

 of her mothi r's early life, as she herself 

 had told it, and narrowly the girl compar- 

 ed that life with what her own had been, 

 seeking to find some jot of diiiference. 



She knew the harmony of her parents' 

 lives, each kind and tlioughtful of the oth- 

 er's weal, their only sorrow the parting 

 from their child, and this bhey both agreed 

 was wise and Ijest. How else could chil- 

 dren of the wilderness be fitted for useful 

 lives? It was a rule dictated by the church 

 to which they owed obedience as salva- 

 tion's price. 



These mission born children were edu- 

 cated by the t hurch in the belief that duty 

 to it was parauiount. The wishes of its 

 clergy were commands, the bishop's will 

 an edict fwjm on high. The boys were 

 trained to till tlieir^ fathers' places, the girls 



to make tbe niissionaTies'^wifes, the men 

 to take what wives the church bestowed, 

 the women to marry without choice such 

 husbands as the bishop might award. 



And that the church had wisdom on its 

 side was proved by the universal happiness 

 to which those thus united testified. 



And yet she could not reconcile herself. 

 Her innate modesty revolted at the gross 

 idea of surrendering to a perfect stranger's 

 will. How could she fail to hate him, to 

 despise this jnan, who, without one spark 

 fronithe flaming altar of true love, would 

 willingly forfeit all noble sentiments of 

 mind and heart and selfishly debase him- 

 self and her pure young womanhood? 



And she herself would make this union 

 possible! 



An overpowering loathing of herself 

 possessed her with the thought, a terror she 

 strove vainly to control, and the pent up 

 torrent of her dread burst forth, sweeping 

 her away upon its turbulent waves in 

 paroxysms of despairing tears. 



An atmosphere of feverish expectancy 

 pervaded the usually quiet surroundings 

 of The Post. People were hastily gather- 

 ing from all quarters upon the little 

 mound beside the church. The oil depot 

 and factory were deserted, and the wolfish 

 dogs might pass the unguarded door and 

 drink their fill from the uncovered vats of 

 oil. 



The missioi'ary's tidy children jostled 

 with the crowd of natives unnoticed by 

 their nurse. The baker and brewer stood 

 on the mission house porch, puffing vigor- 

 ously at his long Dutch pipe, while his lit- 

 tle frau beside him conversed excitedly 

 with the gartlener's wife, who leaned from 

 an open lattice. 



A rising hum of eager voices came from 

 the hillock, where the throng of dusky 

 Eskimos was .steadily increasing, and every 

 eye was strained upon the entrance to the 

 little bay. 



The cause of this unusual agitation had 

 been a signal gunshot from the hill, fii'ed 

 by the sentry stationed there to keep a 

 lookout for the long expected ship. It was 

 to bring them news from o'er the sea, the 

 history of the great world's doings for a 

 year — letters from relatives and friends, 

 presents and messages, supplies and 

 stores, their first intelligence for a long 

 13 months. What wonder, then, that they 

 looked forward, anxiously counting the 

 months and weeks and days and hours, 

 until the time the vessel might arrive. 



And one there was to whom it bi'ought a 

 bride. He wa.s the youngest white man at 

 the post. He had her picture, brought 

 through winier snows and stormy twi- 

 light by the native messenger, who jour- 

 ncved liver tlie frozen channels with hi? 



