"Yes, Gwen, I am quite sure!" Then, with quick inspiration, he got her mother's Bible and said: "Now, Gwen, try to see it as I read."But, before he read, with the true artist's instinct he created the proper atmosphere.By a few vivid words he made us feel the pathetic loneliness of the Man of Sorrows in His last sad days.
Then he read that masterpiece of all tragic picturing, the story of Gethsemane.And as he read we saw it all.The garden and the trees and the sorrow-stricken Man alone with His mysterious agony.
We heard the prayer so pathetically submissive and then, for answer, the rabble and the traitor.
Gwen was far too quick to need explanation, and The Pilot only said, "You see, Gwen, God gave nothing but the best--to His own Son only the best.""The best? They took Him away, didn't they?" She knew the story well.
"Yes, but listen." He turned the leaves rapidly and read: "'We see Jesus for the suffering of death crowned with glory and honor.'
That is how He got His Kingdom."
Gwen listened silent but unconvinced, and then said slowly:
"But how can this be best for me? I am no use to anyone.It can't be best to just lie here and make them all wait on me, and--and--Idid want to help daddy--and--oh--I know they will get tired of me!
They are getting tired already--I--I--can't help being hateful."She was by this time sobbing as I had never heard her before--deep, passionate sobs.Then again the Pilot had an inspiration.
"Now, Gwen," he said severely, "you know we're not as mean as that, and that you are just talking nonsense, every word.Now I'm going to smooth out your red hair and tell you a story.""It's NOT red," she cried, between her sobs.This was her sore point.
"It is red, as red can be; a beautiful, shining purple RED," said The Pilot emphatically, beginning to brush.
"Purple!" cried Gwen, scornfully.
"Yes, I've seen it in the sun, purple.Haven't you?" said The Pilot, appealing to me."And my story is about the canyon, our canyon, your canyon, down there.""Is it true?" asked Gwen, already soothed by the cool, quick-moving hands.
"True? It's as true as--as--" he glanced round the room, "as the Pilgrim's Progress." This was satisfactory, and the story went on.
"At first there were no canyons, but only the broad, open prairie.
