Often I have been made ashamed of the littleness of my love by the devotion of these Indians and their love for the Bible. One of our Indians came with his son from the distant hunting-grounds to fish on the shores of our Great Lakes, gathering their supplies for the winter. "My son," said the father, "we leave for home to-morrow morning early; put the Book of Heaven in your pack." So the young man put it in, and after doing so, an uncle came and said, "Nephew, lend me the Book of Heaven that I may read a little. I have loaned mine." So the pack was opened and the Bible taken out, and the uncle put it on the blankets after finishing with it, instead of into the pack. The next morning the father and son strapped on their snow-shoes and walked thirty-five miles more, and made their home. That night the father said, "We are home now in our wigwam. Son, give me the Book of Heaven, that the mother and the rest may read the word and have prayers." They searched for the book, but it was not in the pack and the son told of his uncle's request to borrow it. The father was disappointed, but said little. The next morning he arose early, put a few cooked rabbits in his pack and started off. That day he walked seventy-five miles, found his precious book and returned the whole distance the following day, having walked in snow-shoes one hundred and fifty miles through the wild forest of the northwest to regain his copy of the Word of God!
Rev. Egerton R. Young says of the Canadian Indians among whom he worked:
Often I have been made ashamed of the littleness of my love by the devotion of these Indians and their love for the Bible. One of our Indians came with his son from the distant hunting-grounds to fish on the shores of our Great Lakes, gathering their supplies for the winter. "My son," said the father, "we leave for home to-morrow morning early; put the Book of Heaven in your pack." So the young man put it in, and after doing so, an uncle came and said, "Nephew, lend me the Book of Heaven that I may read a little. I have loaned mine." So the pack was opened and the Bible taken out, and the uncle put it on the blankets after finishing with it, instead of into the pack. The next morning the father and son strapped on their snow-shoes and walked thirty-five miles more, and made their home. That night the father said, "We are home now in our wigwam. Son, give me the Book of Heaven, that the mother and the rest may read the word and have prayers." They searched for the book, but it was not in the pack and the son told of his uncle's request to borrow it. The father was disappointed, but said little. The next morning he arose early, put a few cooked rabbits in his pack and started off. That day he walked seventy-five miles, found his precious book and returned the whole distance the following day, having walked in snow-shoes one hundred and fifty miles through the wild forest of the northwest to regain his copy of the Word of God!
Often I have been made ashamed of the littleness of my love by the devotion of these Indians and their love for the Bible. One of our Indians came with his son from the distant hunting-grounds to fish on the shores of our Great Lakes, gathering their supplies for the winter. "My son," said the father, "we leave for home to-morrow morning early; put the Book of Heaven in your pack." So the young man put it in, and after doing so, an uncle came and said, "Nephew, lend me the Book of Heaven that I may read a little. I have loaned mine." So the pack was opened and the Bible taken out, and the uncle put it on the blankets after finishing with it, instead of into the pack. The next morning the father and son strapped on their snow-shoes and walked thirty-five miles more, and made their home. That night the father said, "We are home now in our wigwam. Son, give me the Book of Heaven, that the mother and the rest may read the word and have prayers." They searched for the book, but it was not in the pack and the son told of his uncle's request to borrow it. The father was disappointed, but said little. The next morning he arose early, put a few cooked rabbits in his pack and started off. That day he walked seventy-five miles, found his precious book and returned the whole distance the following day, having walked in snow-shoes one hundred and fifty miles through the wild forest of the northwest to regain his copy of the Word of God!
