him--'you go
in your own self. You make one leetle prayer. You say, "Le bon Fadder,
oh! I want come back, I so tire, so hongree, so sorree"? He, say, "Come
right 'long." Ah! das fuss-rate. Nelson, you make one leetle prayer for
Sandy and me.'

And Nelson lifted up his face and said: 'Father, we're all gone far
away; we have spent all, we are poor, we are tired of it all; we want
to feel different, to be different; we want to come back. Jesus came to
save us from our sins; and he said if we came He wouldn't cast us
out, no matter how bad we were, if we only came to Him. Oh, Jesus
Christ'--and his old, iron face began to work, and two big tears slowly
came from under his eyelids--'we are a poor lot, and I'm the worst of
the lot, and we are trying to find the way. Show us how to get back.
Amen.'

'Bon!' said Baptiste. 'Das fetch Him sure!'

Graeme pulled me away, and without a word we went into the office and
drew up to the little stove. Graeme was greatly moved.

'Did you ever see anything like that?' he asked. 'Old Nelson! the
hardest, savagest, toughest old sinner in the camp, on his knees before
a lot of men!'

'Before God,' I could not help saying, for the thing seemed very real to
me. The old man evidently felt himself talking to some one.

'Yes, I suppose you're right,' said Graeme doubtfully; 'but there's a
lot of stuff I can't swallow.'

'When you take medicine you don't swallow the bottle,' I replied, for
his trouble was not mine.

'If I were sure of the medicine, I wouldn't mind the bottle, and yet it
acts well enough,' he went on. 'I don't mind Lachlan; he's a Highland
mystic, and has visions, and Sandy's almost as bad, and Baptiste is an
impulsive little chap. Those don't count much. But old man Nelson is a
cool-blooded, level-headed old fellow; has seen a lot of life, too.
And then there's Craig. He has a better head than I have, and is as
hot-blooded, and yet he is living and slaving away in that hole, and
really enjoys it. There must be something in it.'

'Oh, look here, Graeme,' I burst out impatiently; 'what's the use of
your talking like that? Of course there's something in it. I here's
everything in it. The trouble with me is I can't face the music. It
calls for a life where a fellow must go in for straight, steady work,
self-denial, and that sort of thing; and I'm too Bohemian for that, and
too lazy. But that fellow Craig makes one feel horribly uncomfortable.'

Graeme put his head on one