She had thought of it all, and she had made
her choice. The easier course was the course for meaner souls, and she
had not one vein of thin blood nor a small idea in her whole nature. She
had a heart and mind for great issues. She believed that Jim had a great
brain, and would and could accomplish great things. She knew that he had
in him the strain of hereditary instinct--his mother's father had ended
a brief life in a drunken duel on the Mississippi, and Jim's boyhood had
never had discipline or direction, or any strenuous order. He might
never acquire order, and the power that order and habit and the daily
iteration of necessary thoughts and acts bring; but the prospect did not
appal her. She had taken the risk with her eyes wide open; had set her
own life and happiness in the hazard. But Jim must be saved, must be
what his talents, his genius, entitled him to be. And the long game must
have the long thought.
So, as they drew into the great Saskatchewan Valley, her hand in his,
and hope in his eyes, and such a look of confidence and pride in her as
brought back his old strong beauty of face, and smoothed the careworn
lines of self-indulgence, she gave him his course: as a private he must
join the North-West Mounted Police, the red-coated riders of the plains,
and work his way up through every stage of responsibility, beginning at
the foot of the ladder of humbleness and self-control.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101