THE COMING OF THE PILOT
He was the first missionary ever seen in the country, and it was the Old Timer who named him.The Old Timer's advent to the Foothill country was prehistoric, and his influence was, in consequence, immense.No one ventured to disagree with him, for to disagree with the Old Timer was to write yourself down a tenderfoot, which no one, of course, cared to do.It was a misfortune which only time could repair to be a new-comer, and it was every new-comer's aim to assume with all possible speed the style and customs of the aristocratic Old Timers, and to forget as soon as possible the date of his own arrival.So it was as "The Sky Pilot," familiarly "The Pilot," that the missionary went for many a day in the Swan Creek country.
I had become schoolmaster of Swan Creek.For in the spring a kind Providence sent in the Muirs and the Bremans with housefuls of children, to the ranchers' disgust, for they foresaw ploughed fields and barbed-wire fences cramping their unlimited ranges.Aschool became necessary.A little log building was erected and Iwas appointed schoolmaster.It was as schoolmaster that I first came to touch The Pilot, for the letter which the Hudson Bay freighters brought me early one summer evening bore the inscription:
The Schoolmaster, Public School, Swan Creek, Alberta.
There was altogether a fine air about the letter; the writing was in fine, small hand, the tone was fine, and there was something fine in the signature--"Arthur Wellington Moore." He was glad to know that there was a school and a teacher in Swan Creek, for a school meant children, in whom his soul delighted; and in the teacher he would find a friend, and without a friend he could not live.He took me into his confidence, telling me that though he had volunteered for this far-away mission field he was not much of a preacher and he was not at all sure that he would succeed.But he meant to try, and he was charmed at the prospect of having one sympathizer at least.Would I be kind enough to put up in some conspicuous place the enclosed notice, filling in the blanks as Ithought best?
"Divine service will be held at Swan creek in ---- ----- at ---- o'clock.
All are cordially invited.
Arthur Wellington Moore."
On the whole I liked his letter.I liked its modest self-depreciation and I liked its cool assumption of my sympathy and co-operation.But I was perplexed.I remembered that Sunday was the day fixed for the great baseball match, when those from "Home," as they fondly called the land across the sea from which they had come, were to "wipe the earth" with all comers.Besides, "Divine service" was an innovation in Swan Creek and I felt sure that, like all innovations that suggested the approach of the East, it would be by no means welcome.
However, immediately under the notice of the "Grand Baseball Match for 'The Pain Killer' a week from Sunday, at 2:30, Home vs.the World," I pinned on the door of the Stopping Place the announcement:
"Divine service will be held at Swan Creek, in the Stopping Place Parlor, a week from Sunday, immediately upon the conclusion of the baseball match.
"Arthur Wellington Moore."
There was a strange incongruity in the two, and an unconscious challenge as well.
All next day, which was Saturday, and, indeed, during the following week, I stood guard over my notice, enjoying the excitement it produced and the comments it called forth.It was the advance wave of the great ocean of civilization which many of them had been glad to leave behind--some could have wished forever.
