Fully to describe Higgins's altercations with lumber-jacks and tin-horn gamblers and the like in pursuit of clean opportunity for other men would be to pain him. It is a phase of ministry he would conceal. Perhaps he fears that unknowing folk might mistake him for a quarrelsome fellow. He is nothing of the sort, however; he is a wise and efficient minister of the gospel--but fights well, upon good occasion, notwithstanding his forty-odd years. In the Minnesota woods fighting is as necessary as praying--just as tender a profession of Christ. Higgins regrets that he knows little enough of boxing; he shamefacedly feels that his preparation for the ministry has in this respect been inadequate. Once, when they examined him before the Presbytery for ordination, a new-made seminary graduate from the East, rising, quizzed thus: "Will the candidate not tell us who was Cæsar of Rome when Paul preached?" It stumped Higgins; but--he told us on the road from Six to Four--"I was confused, you see. The only Cæsar I could think of was Julius, and I knew that _that_ wasn't right. If he'd only said _Emperor_ of Rome, I could have told him, of _course!_ Anyhow, it didn't matter much." Boxing, according to the experience of Higgins, was an imperative preparation for preaching in his field; a little haziness concerning an Emperor of Rome really didn't matter so very much. At any rate, the boys wouldn't care. Higgins's ministry, however, knows a gentler service than that which a strong arm can accomplish in a bar-room. When Alex McKenzie lay dying in the hospital at Bemidji--a screen around his cot in the ward--the Pilot sat with him, as he sits with all dying lumber-jacks. It was the Pilot who told him that the end was near. "Nearing the landing, Pilot?" "Almost there, Alex." "I've a heavy load, Pilot--a heavy load!" McKenzie was a four-horse teamster, used to hauling logs from the woods to the landing at the lake--forty thousand pounds of new-cut timber to be humored over the logging-roads. "Pilot," he asked, presently, "do you think I can make the grade?" "With help, Alex." McKenzie said nothing for a moment. Then he looked up. "You mean," said he, "that I need another team of leaders?" "The Great Leader, Alex." "Oh, I know what you mean," said McKenzie: "you mean that I need the help of Jesus Christ." No need to tell what Higgins said then--what he repeated about repentance and faith and the infinite love of God and the power of Christ for salvation. Alex McKenzie had heard it all before--long before, being Scottish born, and a Highlander--and had not utterly forgotten, prodigal though he was. It was all recalled to him, now, by a man whose life and love and uplifted heart were well known to him--his minister. "Pray for me," said he, like a child.