me. It's jist because
somethin' warm an' cheerful has knocked out an' taken the place of
t'other.

"Now, that's jist what that lassie over yon has done fer me. I've had
a mighty bad season, an' felt like seven divils when I come back. Even
the old stove couldn't cheer me up completely, an' things looked purty
blue. Jist then that lassie an' her dad drifted inter this camp. We
call 'im 'Colonel,' because of his white hair, long beard, an' noble
bearin'. They was down to hard pan, if any one ever was, an' says I to
meself, says I, 'Pete, ye've got to do somethin'!' So in the doin'
that somethin', an' seein' the lassie's bright face an' sunny ways in
the midst of her hardships, knocked my own trouble clean outer my head.
She's a woman, through and through, if ever thar was one."

"She is," ejaculated Keith, looking meditatively at the stove.

"But come, laddie," said Pete, suddenly rising to his feet, "it's time
ye was in bed. Ye'll need a good rest afore the b'ys come to church."

"What! a service?" asked Keith eagerly. "Will the men come? And do
you think they will care for it?"

"It's not what they care fer, laddie; but, what's yer dooty? It's
Christmas Day, an' it'll remind us of old times. Some'll like it, an'
some won't. But yer Orders, as fer as I kin understand, is 'to preach
the Gospel,' an' here's an opportunity. They'll come, never ye fear
that."

"I'll have to hold the service just as I am," said Keith
apologetically. "I haven't my robes with me, and not even a decent
suit of clothes."

"Don't ye worry about yer robes an' clothes. The uniform's all right
on parade, an' starched collars, an' sich like, but the b'ys'll take it
better if they see ye in yer rough togs. They'll feel yer one of
themselves. I'll trim yer hair an' whiskers a bit, so ye won't look
too savage, an' frighten 'em away."

Keith gave a little laugh. "What you say is quite true," he replied,
"but it's been so long since I preached to white people that I'm afraid
I'll make a mess of it. My addresses to the Indians have always been
in their own language, and very simple."

"That's all right, laddie. Give us some of the old prayers from the
Prayer Book, sich as 'Lighten Our Darkness,' ye can't beat them. Then
about yer preachin': Give it to us red hot from the heart; that's what
we want here. Trimmin's, an' fixin's, an' flowers, an' poetry, are all
right, I suppose, fer some places, whar they live on sich things.