This unlearned, simple people with whom he had cast his lot, had
their faults, but to the refreshment of his soul, they had no card or
dancing parties, theatre or opera to steal the soul from Christ after
the manner of more cultured Christians. The church was the apple of
their eye. They made sacrifices for it, and travelled weary miles in
the worst of weather, rather than lose a "meeting."

The young gifted pastor of St. Paul's Church was never more
appreciated than now by these hardworking, warm-hearted pioneers. It
was their daily wonder and thanksgiving that such a man should ever
have been sent to them. Nothing that they could do for him was too
much, and their loving devotion was like balm to his weary soul. His
people were scattered for miles away, but the pastoral calls were as
faithfully made as when they were comprehended within the limits of a
few squares. The mild winter climate of that region was like one long
autumn of the Eastern States. Mounted on his faithful pony, he spent
a large part of every day riding over the prairies. The blue skies
and the bright sunshine were tonics to the heart as well as to the
body. Sometimes his route lay for miles through the woods, where
perfect solitude reigned but for the chatter of birds that circled
about him. In these long rides his heart went back over the past,
reviving the memory of those first precious days with Vida. They
seemed far away, and their recollection, like the perfume of wilted
flowers plucked from the grave of a dear one. If he could not have
prayed for her then, hourly, his heart would have broken.

Mrs. Irving changed her residence, putting many hundred miles between
her new and the old home, so that Vida might begin life anew, as she
phrased it, without embarrassment. In a large hotel in the great