o
long denied myself. I will hereafter be myself. That man was
right--there is no law above the human will."

CHAPTER VII.

THE CHANCE WORD

"A man reforms his habits altogether or not at all."
--Bacon.

David was not mistaken in his vague impression that he had heard a sob
and footsteps outside the cabin door.

The little band of lumbermen abandoning their camp in the early light of
the morning for another clearing still farther in the wilderness, had
already covered several miles of their journey when their leader
suddenly discovered that he had forgotten his axe, and with a wild
volley of oaths turned back to get it.

Even in that region, where new types of men sprang up like new varieties
of plants after a fire has swept over a clearing, there was not to be
found a more unique and striking personality than Andy McFarlane. In
physique he was of gigantic proportions, his hair and beard as red as
fire, his voice loud and deep, his eyes blue and piercing. Clad in the
gay-colored woolen shirt, the rough fur cap, and the high-topped boots
of a lumberman, his appearance was bold and picturesque to the last
degree.

Nor were his mental powers inferior to his physical. Although unable to
read or write, he could both reason and command. His keen perceptions,
his ready wit, his forcible logic and his invincible will had made him
a leader among men and the idol of the rude people among whom he passed
his days.

Repelled and disgusted with those manifestations of the religious life
with which alone he was familiar, he was still an unconscious worshiper.
The woods, the hills, the rivers and the stars awoke within him a
response to the beautiful, the sublime and awe-inspiring in the natural
universe.

But because of ignorance, the mysteries of existence which ought to have
made him devout had only rendered him superstitious, though, all unknown
to himself, his bosom was full of inflammable materials of a deeply
religious life. A spark fell upon them that Sunday morning and kindled
them into a conflagration. Nothing else can so enrage a nature like his
as having to retrace its steps. He could have walked a hundred miles
straight forward without a feeling of fatigue or a sense of hardship;
but every backward step of his journey had put him more out of temper.
He reached the clearing in a towering passion and was bewildered at
hearing in what he supposed to