than I am--about the same age, I
should suppose, as my old friend Whitewing."

"Yes, that's so," said the hunter; "they're both about five-an'-forty or
there-away, though I doubt if either o' them is quite sure about his
age. An' they're both beginning to be grizzled about the scalp-locks."

"Your father, although somewhat reckless in his disposition," continued
the preacher, after a pause, "was a man of earnest mind."

"That's a fact, an' no mistake," returned Big Tim, examining a pot of
soup which his bride had put on the fire to warm up for their visitor.
"I doubt if ever I saw a more arnest-minded man than daddy, especially
when he tackles his victuals or gets on the track of a grizzly b'ar."

The missionary smiled, in spite of himself, as he explained that the
earnestness he referred to was connected rather with the soul and the
spiritual world than with this sublunary sphere.

"Well, he is arnest about that too," returned the hunter. "He has often
told me that he didn't use to trouble his head about such matters long
ago, but after that time when he met you on the prairies he had been led
to think a deal more about 'em. He's a queer man is daddy, an' putts
things to ye in a queer way sometimes. `Timmy,' says he to me once--he
calls me Timmy out o' fondness, you know--`Timmy,' says he, `if you
comed up to a great thick glass wall, not very easy to see through, wi'
a door in it, an' you was told that some day that door would open, an'
you'd have to go through an' live on the other side o' that glass wall,
you'd be koorious to know the lie o' the land on the other side o' that
wall, wouldn't you, and what sort o' customers you'd have to consort wi'
there, eh?'

"`Yes, daddy,' says I, `you say right, an' I'd be a great fool if I
didn't take a good long squint now an' again.'

"`Well, Timmy,' says he, `this world is that glass wall, an' death is
the door through it, an' the Bible that the preacher gave me long ago is
the Book that helps to clear up the glass an' enable us to see through
it a little better; an' a Blackfoot bullet or arrow may open the door to
you an' me any day, so I'd advise you, lad, to take a good squint now
an' again.' An' I've done it, too, Preacher, I've done it, but there's
a deal on it that I don't rightly understand."

"That I do not wonder at, my young friend; and I hope that if God spares
me I may be able to help you a little in this matter. But what of
Whitewing? Has he never