HOW THE SWAN CREEK CHURCH WAS OPENED When, near the end of the year, The Pilot fell sick, Bill nursed him like a mother and sent him off for a rest and change to Gwen, forbidding him to return till the church was finished and visiting him twice a week.

The love between the two was most beautiful, and, when I find my heart grow hard and unbelieving in men and things, I let my mind wander back to a scene that I came upon in front of Gwen's house.

These two were standing alone in the clear moonlight, Bill with his hand upon The Pilot's shoulder, and The Pilot with his arm around Bill's neck.
"Dear old Bill," The Pilot was saying, "dear old Bill," and the voice was breaking into a sob.

And Bill, standing stiff and straight, looked up at the stars, coughed and swallowed hard for some moments, and said, in a queer, croaky voice: "Shouldn't wonder if a Chinook would blow up." "Chinook ?" laughed The Pilot, with a catch in his voice.

"You dear old humbug," and he stood watching till the lank form swayed down into the canyon.
The day of the church opening came, as all days, however long waited for, will come--a bright, beautiful Christmas Day.