The success of the service showed the necessity of a church building. There might come a time when the hospital could not be used, owing to the number of patients. Dick had often revolved this idea in his mind, and he believed that the time had now arrived for definite action. But it was not his intention to have a building which would be closed six days in the week and open only on Sunday for service. No, it was to be used every day, and during the evenings as well. It was to be a place where the evil influence of the saloon and the dance-hall could be counteracted. He sadly noted how soon the latter had been erected after the arrival of the women, and how well it was patronised. The church building must be cosy, and serve as a place where the miners could meet in genial intercourse, play games, smoke, and relate their experiences in the northland. It was to be a reading-room as well, for he knew that by the time the building was ready he would be able to have on hand a liberal supply of magazines from the mission station down river. They would be somewhat old, to be sure, but that would make little difference, as the miners were hungry for reading matter of any kind.

When Dick unfolded his plan to Tom and Dad they became at once very enthusiastic, and promised to do all in their power to assist. They in turn mentioned the idea to a number of miners, but with little success. A few agreed to help, but most of them were indifferent. This did not discourage the missionary, however, and his little staff of workers. They very well knew that a church building would not appeal to the miners half as much as a hospital. But if it could be built it would prove as great if not a greater benefit in the end. It was Nurse Marion's interest and encouragement which did so much to advance the scheme. Often in the evening the faithful band would gather at the hospital to talk over the whole matter and discuss plans for the building. Nance could not always be present, so the nurse would talk it all over with her when they were alone during the afternoons. Nance was thus enabled to carry the news to Martin, who listened with great interest to the new project which was now on foot.

And thus once again Dick plunged into the forest, axe in hand, to prepare the logs for the little church. Tom assisted him for a whole week, while Dad looked after the mines. Summer was passing all too rapidly, and the days were perceptibly shortening. It was a great sacrifice on Tom's part to leave the diggings just at this season. But he could not see the missionary stuck. "It may be," he quietly remarked to Dad, "that helpin' to build the church 'ill do me more good in the end than diggin' gold. What we dig out yon, Dad, 'ill perish, but in hewin' these sticks I'm feelin' that I'm layin' treasures up yon in the world to come."

Besides giving of their time and labour Tom and Dad contributed as much as they were able of their gold. In this way several idle men were hired to work upon the building. Others gave sparingly, and thus the undertaking steadily though slowly advanced. But wages were high, and at last the day came when Dick found himself alone, and with no gold to employ any one to assist him. It was impossible for his two faithful friends to be with him now. A long hard winter lay ahead, and as they had recently got their mine in good working order, it was necessary for them to keep at it almost day and night, if they were to take out enough gold to last them until spring.

The thought of winter had given Dick considerable worry ever since the arrival of the steamer. Many people had flocked into the region, and others would follow later, who had little money, and who had staked claims on creeks tributary to the Quaska, where there was very little gold. What they would do when the cold weather set in was a problem which he had discussed not only with Tom and Dad, but with Martin and Nance as well. Game was becoming scarce in the vicinity of Quaska, as the moose and caribou were retreating farther into the hills from the presence of the white men.

Dick was also troubled about the church, as he feared that he would not have it finished before winter. He was doing all he possibly could, and he worked hard every day. It was always a comfort for him to slip over in the evening to see Nance. Her presence cheered him when most depressed. She looked upon the bright side, and he always went back to his task the next morning with renewed courage.

Martin was often a silent listener as Dick talked about the church, and the fear which was tugging at his heart lest it would not be completed in time to be used that season.

"There are men on the creeks," the missionary explained one evening, "who would be glad of a job if I only had some money to give them." He was sitting gazing absently into the fire as he spoke, with Nance and Martin seated near. "They have had bad luck, and are about stranded. The stores will not trust them, so I understand, and what will become of them is hard to tell. It is a pity that they didn't go out on the last steamer. They were urged to do so, but they were determined to stay to make good."

"Won't the rest of the miners help them?" Nance asked. "The ones who have done well will surely not allow them to starve."

"Oh, no. I believe that they will share with them, or at least some will. But many of the men who are hard up will not ask for help. They will live in their lonely shacks far up on the creeks. They will roam the forest for game, and subsist on half a meal a day. They will brood and worry all through the winter, and when the long nights come their position will be about unbearable. I have heard of such cases before. Some will starve to death, while others will go out of their minds. I fear that we shall have many sad cases on our hands before spring."

"Are the stores well supplied with provisions?" Martin asked. "I have never been over to find out."

"Yes, I believe there is plenty to last all through the winter if it could be equally distributed among the miners. But those who are able to buy will get most of it, while others will get very little."

"Will the prices go up later, do you think?" Martin queried.

"I am sure they will. The storekeepers will wait until navigation closes, and then they will jump the prices. They always do that, so I understand. I call it a mean business."

Four days after this conversation Martin returned from a trip up the creeks. Nance, who was preparing supper as he entered the house, noted the buoyancy of his step, and the new expression which shone in his eyes. He appeared to her like a man who had been groping for something for a long time and at last had found it. A smile even spread over his face as Nance greeted him with cheerful words of welcome.

"My, that supper smells good!" he exclaimed, as he laid his rifle aside. "I am almost starved."

"Have you travelled far to-day, daddy?"

"Yes. I have been over several of the creeks. I wanted to find out how much Dick knows about the condition of the miners out there."

"And did you?"

"Partly. I've not been over all the creeks yet, but so far I have learned that he is right. There will certainly be much suffering this winter."

Martin said nothing more about his visit to the creeks, but that evening, much to Nance's surprise, he brought forth his violin, and asked her to accompany him. It was the first time that he had done such a thing since the arrival of the miners.

"What shall we play, daddy?" Nance queried as she tuned up her violin.

"Something sweet to-night, little one. Anything that strikes the fancy."

He then began to play the air of "Ninety and Nine." "Sing it, Nance," he commanded. "Do you know the words?"

"I have them here in this book which Nurse Marion let me have," was the reply. "But, oh, I wish you could have heard her sing it last Sunday at service. It was wonderful, and the men were so still when she got through, except one person near the door."

"And what did he do?" Martin inquired.

"He made a strange noise, something between a sob and a cry."

"Did any one know who it was?"

"No. We were talking about it afterwards, and Tom said that the words of the hymn must have struck some poor chap pretty hard to make him cry out like that."

Martin made no reply, but played the tune over softly, while Nance, with the book open before her, sang the words in a clear, sweet voice.

The former sat for a while when the hymn was ended, with the violin resting upon his knees.

"I can't play any more to-night, Nance," he at length remarked. "Put this away, please," and he handed the instrument to her.

That night after Nance had gone to bed Martin sat for a long time before the dying coals of the fire. He held in his hand a sheet of note paper, on which he had traced with a lead pencil the Quaska River and the various creeks running into it. On these latter he had made certain marks, which indicated where the cabins of the miners were situated. Several were close together, but most of them were far apart. On a number of the creeks he had made no marks at all. "I must visit them as soon as I can," he mused. "I learned to-day that one man is a long way off, living in a cabin all by himself, without even a dog for a companion."

It was after midnight when Martin at length folded, up the paper, put it into his pocket, and rose to his feet. He listened attentively, until satisfied from her regular breathing that Nance was asleep. Then taking the candle in his hand, he went at once to the strong-room at the back of the house. Unbarring the door, he opened it, entered, and closed it carefully behind him. Crossing to the middle of the room, he lifted the trap-door and, holding the light in his left hand, peered down upon the treasure which he had not looked upon for years. It was all there just as he had left it, with not a gleaming grain molested. Near by was a tin can which he had used in bringing the gold from up river. Seizing this, he placed it near the hole and, scooping up the gold with his hand, he soon had the can filled to the brim. This accomplished, he replaced the trap-door and, passing out of the room, shut to and barred the door as it was before.

Picking up a piece of paper lying on a shelf, he scrawled a few words with his lead pencil. Folding up the paper, he pressed it down on the inside of the can so that only a small portion was left in sight. Picking up the can, and blowing out the candle, he passed out of the house, shut the door, and hurried down to the shore, where his canoe was lying. It did not take him long to cross to the opposite bank, where he landed, as he did the previous Sunday night, just below the hospital.

Carrying the tin of gold in his hands, he moved cautiously up among the trees. The night was quite dark, but he was able to see the building rising up black before him. He did not stop now at the front of the hospital, but moved around to the side, where he knew there was a separate door leading into Beryl's room. His steps were more wary than ever now, for he was afraid lest the least noise should betray him.

Reaching at length the door, he placed the can upon the sill so that it could without any doubt be seen when Beryl opened the door in the morning. His errand completed, Martin breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped back among the trees. He did not leave at once, but stood there for some time, with eyes fixed upon the room in which he knew Beryl was sleeping. He looked toward the door. It was there where she passed in and out, and her feet had often touched that sill. He started suddenly forward several paces, and, stooping, he impulsively pressed his lips to the hard board sill. Then he sprang hurriedly back, surprised at his own action, and, delaying no longer, plunged among the trees, and hastened to the river.

After breakfast the next morning Martin again went into the strong-room and, opening the trap-door, picked up a number of fine nuggets, and placed them in his pocket. He then went back to the living-room and informed Nance that he was going over the river and might not be back for several hours. Nance was somewhat surprised at this, for Martin had always persistently refused to go with her to the town. She watched him as he paddled his canoe down the river, and then along the edge of the shore until he came to the steamboat landing, where he ran ashore. Beyond this she could not follow his movements. Her curiosity was now much aroused, which was by no means lessened when she saw him returning about two hours later with the canoe loaded with supplies from the store. She ran down to the shore to meet him, and was greatly excited when she saw the quantity of provisions he had on board.

"Why, daddy!" she exclaimed, "have you cleared the store all out?"

"Not at all," was the laughing reply. "I had no idea that the stores were so well stocked with provisions. They will hardly miss what I have brought away. They thought that I was a miner."

"But what are you going to do with it all, daddy? We couldn't use so much flour, rice, bacon, beans, tea, and sugar in two years."

"Couldn't we, dearie? Are you sure of that?" and Martin's eyes twinkled as he looked into Nance's puzzled face. "We'll store it away in the strong-room, and this winter you will see how we can use it. There will be five times as much before I am through, or else I am greatly mistaken. You need not mention to any one at the hospital what I am doing. It is just as well for people not to know too much, see?"

Nance helped her father to carry up the supplies and store them carefully away. She longed to know what he intended to do with such a quantity of provisions, but somehow she did not dare to question him any further.

Martin sat for a long time before the fire that night after Nance had gone to bed. He held a book in his hand, though he read but little. His thoughts were elsewhere, and an occasional sigh escaped his lips. At length he arose and crossed the room to his cot, and drew forth from beneath it a small box. This he opened and took out a little package, carefully wrapped in an old piece of faded brown paper. Carrying this back to the fire, he sat down. His hand trembled slightly as he undid the covering and looked upon the newspaper clipping which was exposed to view. Long years had passed since he had last read the story of his shame and disgrace. He had never desired to do so since Nance had come into his life. But now he wished to read that account once again. With the new impulse that had come to him he believed that he could do so without any of the old feeling rising in his heart to torture him as formerly.

Carefully he read every word, and then laid the clipping upon the book lying on the table by his side, and gave himself up to thought. His whole past life rose before him with wonderful clearness. Nothing was omitted. He wished to view everything before shutting it out from his mind, as he believed, forever. A new man was rising within him, which was to cast off the old.

It was late when he rose from the chair, closed the book, placed it upon the shelf, and then threw himself upon his cot.