THROUGH THE VALLEY WITH THE LITTLE FELLOW

When we had eaten our fill of fried salmon and blue-berry duff, that no one could stir up and bake better than Jim, and the camp was tidied for the night, Jim went on with his story.

He had come to the hard part of the story, the saddest part of his life, and I was glad that it was dark; I knew it would be easier for him. I was glad, too, that the camp fire was dying down, for thus I would see less of suffering that might be revealed could I see his face in the brighter light.

"I had the Grenfell doctor come. I'd sent ahead to have him met at the Hospital Ship and a doctor, a great man from the States, on his vacation, they said, come over here to our place. He was giving his vacation because he loved Grenfell and the fishermen.

"Little Peter answered all of his questions and I was sheer proud of him. I could see the Doctor liked the little man. He said to Peter, when he had finished examining him:

"'I'll make you better, my little man, if I can. You take all the eggs and milk the hens and the cows will let you have and grow so fat your mother won't know you.'

"But to me, he said, when he walked down the road a piece with me:

"'You're Harbor Jim, they tell me, a man loved hereabouts for the fights you've made to reach the harbor in a night of storm. I am hating to tell you, Jim, but it's goin' to be a hard fight this time, the hardest fight you ever had. There's a chance; but one lung is all gone and the other's bad. I'll do my best, but if you have to go thru the valley with the little fellow, I'll only hope you won't forget to live up to your reputation.'

"Then he left me all manner of directions, about eggs and milk that was to give him ammunition for the fight. Told me to soak him in sunshine and so on. And I did just as he told me. I gave him his cod-liver oil, when I had to invent fairy stories to get him to swallow it. I wrapped him up in blankets and sat him in the sunshine. His mother did as much or more'n I did. I used to listen of a night to see if he breathed all right. I listened, when ever Effie was asleep, to see if I could tell if he breathed as strong as he did the night before.

"Those days my heart was sore all the while, but I couldn't let on for fear she'd know just how I felt."

Jim swallowed hard, but he had made up his mind to tell me the story of little Peter and he wasn't the man to back down. He had a knife and a piece of a birch and he was whittling away. The light would flare up a moment and I could see him looking straight ahead into the fire and whittling faster.

"Then I had to cover it up from him; for little Peter was sure that he was getting better. Seems though the worse he got, the surer he was he'd be better tomorrow. When he got so weak I had to carry him across the room, he began to talk more about spring and railroading again with his dad.

"Sometimes when I'd been off and was comin' home, I dreaded so seeing him, thus weak, that I'd rather a-gone thru the Narrows on the darkest night God ever made, than to face Peter with a jolly quip. So many times then, and so many times since, I have thought, if I only could have toted the load for him. If only my hand could a-held it up for him. He was so little and frail and I was big and strong. And it was the utter, awful helplessness of it that made it so hard to bear. We wanted to help so bad and there was so very little that either of us could do.

"We didn't have Clara then. She didn't come until afterward, and then Peter was all we had. It didn't seem that we could give him up. I reasoned with myself and I didn't one night forget the Book. But there were nights when we halted at the springs that our mouths were so dry and parched that even the Water of Life seemed not to be sufficient to quench them.

"We went deeper and deeper into the valley. He grew weaker and weaker. Just like a little flower that is fading away. One night he grew worse. It was February, and I put on my snow shoes and started for St. John's for a doctor. I walked away into the night and I got a doctor and was back afore dawn.

"The doctor took his pulse and said:

"'He'll be crossing at the dawn.'

"Little Peter often listened to the Book and he was beginning to love it, too; and just before the sun broke that cold, February morning, he whispered:

"'God is light; in Him is no darkness at all.'

"Then it was morning, but oh, it was night and the valley for us! The doctor left us and we sat alone, her hand in mine. Effie didn't say anything; I think if she had I couldn't a bore it. And there was no minister present. I was glad of that, too. I guess they all want to help, but a good many on'em that I have knowed want to argue and to tell you it's all right and you don't want to talk just then and arguments don't offer much comfort. The time had come when only one could comfort us and we had to find Him. Some do not find Him for days, some for weeks, some never find Him again.

"The words that kept saying themselves over to me were these: 'Be still and know that I am God.' I was some impatient, some bitter. I know I oughtn't to have been, but I was, and I answered the Lord: 'I am still; see me suffering here; is that all the message?'

"It was a good thing we had something to do. We had to see to the little wasted body. We had to arrange for the service. We had to tidy up the house. We shared it all, the new sorrow and the pain, just as we had shared the wallet and the joys. The minister come way from St. John's and I was grateful to him. I don't remember just what he said, but I am sure that Peter was worthy all the good he said of him; and I know that I needed all the prayer he made.

"But when it was all over and the house was so quiet, it was harder still. It didn't do no good to listen for his breathing. There was no need to think of eggs or milk for the little fellow's breakfast. He was gone!

"I was very tired and I was about to turn in that night after the funeral, when Effie said:

"'We need to halt by the springs more than ever.'

"I knew she was right, so with a sad heart I opened the Book. I never knowed just how it was, perhaps the Lord himself guided my hands, but we come to a little halt at the 14th chapter of John. It was the Spring of Comfort and Peace, we so much needed. It was the place where so many have camped before in their night of sorrow and gone forth strengthened and rejoicing in the morning. We were very thirsty and it was real water, the water of life and we drank as we never had drank before. He spoke to us and said: 'Let not your heart be troubled!'

"I won't repeat that chapter, but it has never lost its power, to refresh and comfort since the day He first uttered the words. If you ever have to go again thru the valley yourself; halt there. It will be the wisest thing you ever did.

"After that I was able to think clear again. I said to myself. I trusted the Father before and He never did me wrong. I can't just see, but I can trust and it will grow brighter and so it has, though sometimes I don't see quite plain, even yet. I know that He must have a place for the little fellow and He must know what Peter needs. He'll know how to pick the best teachers and all the experiences he needs. My Father is looking out for him. He can do no wrong."

For a little while all was quiet but for the chattering of the river as it hurried on down to sea. The wind freshened in the trees. Messages were passing above us. Jim brought a bundle of fresh wood and the fire leaped into a cheerful blaze. There was not any more that needed to be said. We both made an effort to shake off the sadness and fell to talking of the weight of the day's salmon catch, as we undressed. We carried but one little tent and slept together. Some hour after we had gone to bed, I imagined Jim was trying to find out if I was asleep without disturbing me. At last he decided that I was awake and said:

"I'm sure it's all right about little Peter. We're out of the valley now and are finding again the sunny plain."