JOE RYAN 



and weather-beaten, with no expression that 

 could be denned. Indeed, his face was an un- 

 committing mask hiding the shrewd brain which 

 had fought with a full measure of the hardships 

 of a bushman's life in the early days of the 

 lumber trade ; and which had suffered in the 

 seeking of recompense and pleasure. His was a 

 life, in its naked ruggedness, which hardly con- 

 stitutes a school for saints. Ryan had gone 

 through the bitter mill of experience, and he 

 knew the full joy, and the full sorrow, of weeks 

 of debauch and devilry when off the Drive. 



But, now, at the age of forty-five — which is 

 beyond the prime of a lumber- jack's life — he had 

 learned that it was all wrong ; that, somehow or 

 other, he had made a mess of things. True, from 

 the beginning, he had known no other life. In 

 Town he had spent his pay, as the others did, 

 and been called " a good fellow." And so it 

 had been easy to go on, difficult to halt, and 

 impossible to go back. But of that he made no 

 excuse ; he was not built in that way. He had 

 failed. Yes, he knew he had failed ; but he 

 would carry out life to the end without a murmur 

 of complaint, without the slightest outward sign 

 of repentance or sorrow. 



And Joe Ryan had never married — what 

 burden he carried, he carried alone. And, when 

 judgment is passed by the Great Unseen on those 

 who have known the utter desolation of a love- 

 less life, will not the hand which points our 

 fate be touched with a special tenderness and 

 forgiveness ? 



For the rest, there was much in Ryan's life 



