s were most convenient for hanging
things on. The furniture though chiefly interesting as an illustration
of the evolution of the packing box, was none the less serviceable and
comfortable. The floors were as yet uncarpeted, but now that April was
come the carpets were hardly missed. Then, too, the few choice pictures
upon the walls, the ingenious bookcase and the more ingenious plate and
cup-rack displaying honest delf and some bits of choice china, the
draping curtains of muslin and cretonne, all spoke of cultivated minds
and refined tastes. Staring wants there were, and many discrepancies
and incongruities, but no vulgarities nor coarseness nor tawdriness.
What they had was fitting. What was fitting but beyond their means
these brave home-makers did without, and all things unfitting, however
cheap, they scorned. And Shock, though he knew nothing of the genesis
and evolution of this home and its furnishings, was sensible of its
atmosphere of quiet comfort and refinement. The welcome of the
McIntyres was radiant with good cheer and hearty hospitality.

It was partly the sea-rover in his blood, making impossible the
familiar paths trodden bare of any experience that could stir the heart
or thrill the imagination, but more that high ambition that dwells in
noble youth, making it responsive to the call of duty where duty is
difficult and dangerous, that sent David McIntyre out from his quiet
country home in Nova Scotia to the far West. A brilliant course in
Pictou Academy, that nursing mother of genius for that Province by the
sea, a still more brilliant course in Dalhousie, and afterwards in Pine
Hill, promised young McIntyre anything he might desire in the way of
scholastic distinction. The remonstrance of one of his professors, when
he learned of the intention of his brilliant and most promising student
to give his life to Western mission work, was characteristic of the
attitude of almost the whole Canadian Church of that day.

"Oh, Mr. McIntyre!" said the Professor, "there is no need for such a
man as you to go to the West."

Equally characteristic of the man was McIntyre's reply.

"But, Professor, someone must go; and besides that seems to me great
work, and I'd like to have a hand in it."

It was the necessity, the difficulty, and the promise of the work that
summoned young McIntyre from all the openings, vacancies, positions,
and appointments his friends were so eagerly waving before his eyes and
set him among