"hope to visit your field wednesday, february nineteenth—arrive m—— station midnight, eighteenth. andrew ransom."
the western minister had been "house-cleaning" his study, and in separating the valued from the useless he ran across the above telegram, which had been buried away for several years. he handled it almost reverently and then put it away in his home mission folder for future reference. the story connected with it was told one night as the missioner sat after the evening's service in the quiet of the prairie manse, exchanging reminiscences of one of the greatest and best loved men that ever crossed the prairie provinces—andrew ransom, the great home missionary superintendent.
within fifteen minutes from the time the student missionary received the above message, the people in mclean's general store, in stevenson's boarding-house, and in mallagh's blacksmith's shop had heard the good news, and all knew that wednesday the nineteenth would be a great day for those whose homes the old doctor could visit, and for the people who could get into the little church at night.
1. a prairie shack. 2. a copper miner's shack. 3. a bachelor's shack. 4. a shack on the hillside. 5. a mountain-side shack.
1. a prairie shack. 2. a copper miner's shack.
3. a bachelor's shack.
4. a shack on the hillside. 5. a mountain-side shack.
those who had met and heard dr. ransom before, vied with each other in recalling events connected with his former visits. they remembered his appeal for their "fair share" of money to help build the little church. everybody said the amount could not be raised until dr. ransom came, but after he had painted his word-picture of their glorious heritage—after he had pleaded that that heritage should never become "the wild and woolly west"—after he had shown the gospel as the "antiseptic influence" in the life of the great westland—after he told them what they got their land for and what it was worth that day, and after that strong voice, with its downright sincerity, had been lifted in prayer, everybody in the dining-room of the boarding-house knew the amount was raised.
and then that hand-clasp, and that identification of himself with the poorest settler's problems, and sorrows—who could forget these things?
"d'ye mind," said dick mcnabb, "the time he was here just after alex. mclaren's son was killed on the railway? well, sir, i'll never forget seeing them two old men standing with hands clasped. the doctor looked as if it might 'a been his own boy what was killed. "mclaren," he said, "i'm sorry for you. i once lost a boy, and i know what it means;" then he whispered something, and alex. wiped away the tears as he still clung to the old doctor's hand, and i guess they stood that way for two or three minutes."
"well, sir, you bet grant sinclair won't miss wednesday night," put in dan mclean from behind the counter. "d'ye mind when dr. ransom was here, grant couldn't walk at all! say! will i ever forget that day in the fall when he fell off the fence on to the scythe he was carrying? the gash was a foot long, and there was no doctor within thirty miles, and the road wasn't as good as it is now, and it ain't anything to write home about even yet. bill grayson was the only one who had the grit to sew the gash up, and it was fourteen hours before the doctor got here. nobody thought grant would get over it; he lost so much blood. he'd been on his back about two months, i mind, when dr. ransom came. it was one of them dirty days when it don't know whether to snow or rain, but the old doctor had heard about grant and was bound to get out there. the folks said he did him more good than the regular doctor did. jim sinclair and the boys had rigged up a pair of crutches so's to get grant a-moving around, but they didn't make a very swell job of it. well, sir, about three weeks later the slickest pair of crutches you ever set eyes on come out here with some express of mine. they was addressed to grant and marked 'rush.' mind you, they come from toronto, and they fitted grant as if he'd been measured for them. jimmy said after they got the crutches he remembered the old doctor kind o' spanning the quilt along grant's side while he was talking, but he never paid no particular attention to it, but he says that's how he must 'a got the measure."
the days between the thirteenth and the nineteenth were spent by mr. stewart, the student missionary, in covering the district, so that all the scattered settlers should know of dr. ransom's visit. on tuesday morning he borrowed an extra robe, and, hitching up his team of bronchos, started on his journey to m—— station. the roads were heavy, and twenty-five miles was a hard journey through the unpacked snow. by mid-afternoon he reached the railway, and soon had his ponies comfortably stabled in a near-by barn.
about midnight he tramped through the deep snow to the dimly-lighted station. the night operator reported the train as an hour late, with the additional information that she would probably lose a little more time on the grade which lay about ten miles away.
shortly before two o'clock the welcome whistle was heard, and in a minute or two the midnight express slowed down for m——. the tall figure of the superintendent was behind the brakeman, on the steps of the day-coach, and there was a wave of recognition before the cordial hand-clasp and words of greeting could be given. "we'll just wait till she pulls out," said the superintendent, as mr. stewart started to move away after the exchange of greetings. "yon operator has the tongue." his duties performed at the baggage car, the operator returned to the office dragging a heavy trunk along the plank platform. "man! but that's a great muscle you have," said the doctor genially, and in less than a five-minute conversation he knew the man's name, old land home, length of time in canada, and church relationship. as he gripped the hand in bidding good-night, he got in a message that the operator has never forgotten. in recalling the visit to the writer many months later, he said, "he's a gran' man that: he'd be a wechty man gin he lived in edinburgh. he mak's you think."
"well, doctor," said mr. stewart as they neared the place where a bed had been prepared, "you'll be glad enough to get right to rest."
"how far are we from your field, mr. stewart?"
"about twenty-five miles," was the reply.
"well, then, if your team is fit, i think we'll not bother about bed just now, but get out there." despite the protests that were made in the doctor's interests, there was a kindly insistence that resulted in the bronchos being immediately harnessed for the return journey. in the month of february, with deep snow and zero weather, a twenty-five mile drive between 3 and 8 a.m. is by no means a pleasure trip. as the little animals ploughed their way through the drifts, the superintendent every now and again raised his mouth above his coat collar to express his admiration. "a gr-reat team that—a gr-reat team."
the day was dawning as on wednesday the 10th the student missionary and the eagerly-looked-for visitor, frost-covered and shivering, drove up to mackenzie's barn. mackenzie and his wife were just getting on the fires, and were not a little surprised at the early arrival of their distinguished guest. embarrassment could not, however, remain long in any home where dr. ransom entered. everybody but the indolent admired and loved him, and there seemed to be no circumstance or combination of circumstances but he could adapt himself to.
after breakfast mr. stewart was ready enough to get a few hours' rest, and having conferred with mrs. mackenzie regarding the readiness of the spare room for the superintendent, he invited the latter to retire. "did you think i came out here to get a sleep, my boy? when would we visit the field? no! no! thank you." protests were again futile. "i have to meet two committees on saturday, in winnipeg, and you must get me back to m—— station in time for the 11.30 to-morrow morning. what about a horse? can we get right away?"
"ain't the old doctor a horse to work," said mackenzie to stewart while hitching up his best driver.
hurried but helpful and purposeful calls were made until it was time to return for the evening service. the visit that stands out most clearly in the missionary's memory was one made at the noon-hour. alex. mcdonald's place was the one spot in the whole district where no man who had any respect for his stomach would ever dream of dining. few, indeed, cared even to enter the dirty little shack. and so it was not to be wondered at that the missionary was planning to pass mcdonald's on the up trip, and to reach one of those bright, clean centres of hospitality that are usually to be found in even the most isolated district. but "the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley."
"who lives in the shack on the hillside?" asked the superintendent.
"a family named mcdonald," was the reply, "but they never enter a church—-they live like pigs, and i think we had better leave calling there until we see how our time holds out."
"we'll go there for dinner," was the almost brusque response of the superintendent. stewart laughed incredulously.
"i don't think you could swallow a homoeopathic pill in that shack, doctor."
"we'll go there for dinner, mr. stewart. it'll do them good."
"no finer missionary stands in shoe-leather than caven stewart" was a testimony that all who knew him heartily agreed with, but stewart had an absolute horror of dirt, and it was with feelings of distressful anticipation that he dragged open mcdonald's rickety apology for a gate, and drove across the rough swamp to the dilapidated shack on the hillside.
the barking of the dog brought faces to the little four-paned window. "drive slowly! give them time, give them time," said the superintendent, as the faces quickly disappeared. a few fowls fluttered from within the shack, and a family pet in the shape of a pig grunted disapproval at being forced to take an outside berth. for fully three minutes there was such a house-cleaning as the old shack had not known for many a month.
alex. mcdonald, pulling a dirty corduroy coat around him, sauntered over to where the visitors were getting out of the cutter. he "guessed" that the superintendent and the student could find accommodation for their horse, and a bite for themselves during the noon hour. "we ha'ena got much of a place," he said, as the superintendent lowered his head to enter the miserable shack.
each member of the family received a cheery greeting from the magnetic superintendent, who never seemed at a loss to say the fitting word. mrs. mcdonald was profuse in explanations and apologies. "we wesna expectin' onybody, and these dark mornings it seems to be noon afore you can get turned round." the visitors entered sympathetically into the various reasons why things "wesna just straight."
to this day caven stewart remembers the deepened convictions that came to him of the superintendent's possibilities, as he watched him enjoy his dinner. by various excuses stewart had reduced his own portion to the minimum when the pork and potatoes were dished up, and even then more food went to his pocket than to his mouth. but not so with the superintendent. not only did he have a liberal first supply, but actually passed back his plate for more, meantime complimenting mcdonald on the gr-reat potatoes he grew and the fine pork he raised, and incidentally remarking that the best potatoes and the finest pork were easily spoiled in the hands of an incompetent cook. when he told mrs. mcdonald that the dinner was just as he liked it—well-cooked and plain—his place in her highest esteem was fixed. that he was a man of excellent judgment she had no doubt.
mcdonald's old land home was well-known to the superintendent, and as scenes familiar to both were recalled, geniality prevailed.
at the close of the meal the doctor asked for "the book." anxious looks were exchanged by the occupants of the shack, and ere long three members of the family were uniting in the search. when at last, to the great relief of the searchers, a dusty but unworn bible was produced, the superintendent held it reverently in his outstretched hand. looking squarely at the head of the home, he said with a yearning that no man could miss, "eh, mon, but i'm sorry—sorry it's not worn more. it's the best piece of furniture you have in the house. if any man ought to have a well-worn bible it's a highland scotsman." a few verses were impressively read, and then for the first time in its history the miserable shack contained a group kneeling in the attitude of prayer.
there were no meaningless pleasantries when the little company arose. it seemed as though the place was hallowed ground. a man and his maker had been in communion. the invitation to "cast thy burden upon the lord" had been heeded, and with an exquisite tenderness the anxieties, the problems, the hopes and the fears of the little home were brought to the great burden bearer.
the parting was little short of affectionate. the last hand-clasp was mcdonald's. "mcdonald, i can scarcely believe you've never darkened the kirk door, and you an aberfeldy man. i want you to give me your word for it that next sabbath morning you and the good wife and the bairns will make a new start and be found worshipping god. six months from now i expect to hear from mr. stewart that you've been regular in attendance at the house of god. mcdonald! give me your word that you'll not disappoint me—nor him!"
no words came from mcdonald's lips, but there were moistened eyes and a lingering hand-clasp that made the superintendent's heart glad.
when, nine months later, stewart was leaving the field for college, and was reporting conditions to the superintendent, he wrote as follows: "you will remember the visit i did not want to make at the mcdonalds. may god forgive me for my lack of interest and of faith! since last february mcdonald, with some of his children, has never missed a service. at the communion in june, rev. mr. rowatt came over from the fort and welcomed seven new members, john mcdonald, his wife, and their son bruce being among the number. the bible you helped them to resurrect has been much 'thumbed' since then. i am thankful i stayed the year on this field. to have seen the change that has taken place in the shack on the hillside has done more for me than the whole year's course in apologetics."
