f you who have made this thing possible. 'Ye who are strong
ought to bear the infirmity of the weak.' I do not know how it will
be with this man when he comes to give an account of himself to God,
but I do know that God is a loving, tender Father, who deals justly
and loves mercy, and in that thought to-day we rest and hope. Let us
pray."

"Impress this scene on our heart, to-day, dear Lord," he prayed;
"this man cut down in his prime; this woman old with sorrow, not with
years; this child, cheated of her father's love. Let us ask ourselves
how long will we sit idly by, not caring. And oh, God, we pray Thee
to bless the one man who, among us all, has said that as far as he is
responsible this traffic shall cease; bless him abundantly, and may
his troubled heart find peace. May he never forget that there is a
fountain where all sin and uncleanness may be washed away. Remind our
hearts this day of how He died to save us from the sins of
selfishness and greed, and ever lives to cheer and guide us. Let us
hear the call that comes to us to-day to do a man's part in
protecting the weak, the helpless, and the young. Let the love of
this woman for her husband call to our remembrance Thy unchanging
love for us, and if it be in keeping with Thy divine laws, may the
precious coin of her unfaltering devotion purchase for him a holding
in the heavenly country. For the sake of Thy dear Son we ask it."

The funeral went slowly along the well-beaten road that skirts the
sand-hills of the Assiniboine, and crawled like a long black snake
through the winding valley of Oak Creek, whose banks were hanging
with wild roses and columbine, while down in the shady aisles of the
creek bed, under the stunted oak that gives it its name, pink and
yellow lady's slippers gave out their honeyed fragrance.

"It is hard to die and leave all this behind," Thomas Perkins said;
looking down the valley, where the breezes rippled the leaves. "I
always think it must be hard to snuff out in June or July and have to
pass out without knowin' how the crop'll turn out; but I guess now,
from what I've heard, when the clock strikes quittin'time, a fellow
won't be worryin' about the crops."

On the quiet hill, dotted with spruce, that looks down on the Souris,
they laid Bill Cavers away. Very gently the coffin was lowered into
its sandy bed as the minister read the beautiful words of the burial
service and the neighbours and friends stood silent in the presence,