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when the time seems long." He glanced at the title. "The Pilgrim's Progress," he said, giving a sly wink at one of his friends. "Shure an I'll be purty hard up for somethin' to do when I rea


d the like o' that." "It is not so bad as it looks, Andrew," she said, good-naturedly, as she shook hands with him on leaving. Soon the messenger of mercy and healing was flying along the ro


ad to Paul Mousseau's shanty, where she found poor old Paul at the gate in tears. "What is the matter, Mousseau?" she said, as she tied her pony to a tree. "Le charbon, Madame, le charbon; m


a bonne femme, I fear she no get well again." The charbon was a disease which afflicted many of the French settlers in Canada at that time. A small black spot would appear on the body, resemb


ling a piece of charcoal, which soon spread until the whole body was affected. The only remedy known was to cut out the affected part as soon as it appeared. It was supposed that it was contra

cted through skinning an

  • d eating the flesh of cadaverous animals. Paul's shanty contained one large, low, common room or kitchen with two windows, a fireplace at one side, one bedroom for the family, with a loft above, where the older boys s

    • nt while I
  • lept among all sorts of provender and farm tools, and which was reached by a ladder. The walls of the room in which the sick woman lay were adorned with rude religious pictures, with an earthenware crucifix, which had

    • y and st
  • attached to it a receptacle for holy water. Mrs. Wright shook her head sadly as she examined the poor woman, and said: "I fear, Paul, that it has gone too far." The poor old man fell on his knees, made the sign of

    • h, but y


the cross, and gave way to a paroxysm of tears. "Ma bonne Katrine!" he cried; "Ma bonne Katrine! Ah! Sainte Vierge—no preese—no messe—ma pauvre femme—ma pauvre femme." "Paul," said Mrs. Wright, "thou

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gh you have no priest and no church you are not shut out from the Great High Priest—the Lord Himself. Pour out your sorrows to Him and He will hear and comfo

  • rt you and save Katrine." The old man kissed her hand as she took leave of him, and assisted her to mount her impatient pony, which needed no urging to hasten home, for darkness had come on,


    d she was alone in the forest. They were not

    long in covering the distance to the Wigwam, where the children were anxiously awaiting her return. "Where is Chrissy?" asked Phil, who was cleaning his gun and was evidently having great di


    iculty in the effort to extricate the ramrod

    from the barrel. "She is going to sit up to-night with poor Mrs. Murphy," said his mother, "who will probably not live through the night." "Jee-roo-salem!" exclaimed Phil, "and what can a g


    l like Chrissy do for a dying woman?" "She

  • could read a verse of Scripture or one of the beautiful prayers of the Prayer Book," said his mother, softly. "It's all rot," he said, "the whole Bible is utter foolishness from cover to cove


    " "Exactly what the Bible says of itself,"

    said his mother. "It says that 'The preaching of the Cross is to them that perish foolishness,' and if it is foolishness to you, my dear boy, it is because you are perishing. St. Paul told the


    ruth when he said, 'The natural man receivet

    h not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, neither can he know them, for they are spiritually discerned.' You have not a nature capable of grasping the spiritual.


    ou must be born again.'" "Don't quote Scrip

had care

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ture at me, for I tell you that I don't believe one word of it," said Phil. "If you could have seen what I have seen this day you would not be such a trifler, my boy." "I'm not trifling, mother," he said. "I am q


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