t once
desirable and possible to achieve. But few were found to agree with him.

Little Mrs. Muir was of the few, and she was not to be despised, but her
influence was neutralized by the solid immobility of her husband. He had
never done anything sudden in his life. Every resolve was the result of
a long process of mind, and every act of importance had to be previewed
from all possible points. An honest man, strongly religious, and a great
admirer of The Pilot, but slow-moving as a glacier, although with plenty
of fire in him deep down.

"He's soond at the hairt, ma man Robbie," his wife said to The Pilot,
who was fuming and fretting at the blocking of his plans, "but he's
terrible deleeberate. Bide ye a bit, laddie. He'll come tae."

"But meantime the summer's going and nothing will be done," was The
Pilot's distressed and impatient answer.

So a meeting was called to discuss the question of building a church,
with the result that the five men and three women present decided that
for the present nothing could be done. This was really Robbie's opinion,
though he refused to do or say anything but grunt, as The Pilot said
to me afterwards, in a rage. It is true, Williams, the storekeeper just
come from "across the line," did all the talking, but no one paid
much attention to his fluent fatuities except as they represented the
unexpressed mind of the dour, exasperating little Scotchman, who sat
silent but for an "ay" now and then, so expressive and conclusive that
everyone knew what he meant, and that discussion was at an end. The
schoolhouse was quite sufficient for the present; the people were too
few and too poor and they were getting on well under the leadership of
their present minister. These were the arguments which Robbie's "ay"
stamped as quite unanswerable.

It was a sore blow to The Pilot, who had set his heart upon a church,
and neither Mrs. Muir's "hoots" at her husband's slowness nor her
promises that she "wad mak him hear it" could bring comfort or relieve
his gloom.

In this state of mind he rode up with me to pay our weekly visit to the
little girl shut up in her lonely house among the hills.

It had become The Pilot's custom during these weeks to turn for cheer to
that little room, and seldom was he disappointed. She was so bright, so
brave, so cheery, and so full of fun, that gloom faded from her presence
as mist before the sun, and impatience was shamed into content.

Gwen's bright face--it was