We know now. The Gikhi did all that for us. He gave us this book, and taught us how to read it. Here we find the Great Message of life and Eternal Hope, hope which we never had before. Our little ones have been taught to sing hymns, and you all remember what wonderful services we had in the church which the Gikhi built. We were very happy then, and all looked forward to coming back to The Gap to hear the Message from the Gikhi’s lips.”
Tom paused, while a sad expression overspread his face. He noted how intently all had listened to his words. He believed that he was making some impression upon them.
“A great change came,” he continued, “which broke up the Gikhi’s work. Gold was discovered, and the white men flocked into our country, and you know what they did. They brought in hootch which ruined our young men and women, and many of the older ones, too. Our girls were led astray, and the school broken up. The influence of the Gikhi was gone, for the Indians nearly all left him. His wife died, I believe through grief. She loved the Indians, and she was always a friend to them. The Gikhi was left alone, but every night he rang the little bell and held service in the church. He always prayed that the Indians would come back, and he said that he wanted to be there when they came. But now I am afraid it will be too late, and that the Indians will never see the Gikhi again.”
Again Tom paused, and for a few seconds he sat very still, his head bent forward. That he was in deep grief, the Indians were well aware.
“Has Tom bad news to give?” one of the natives asked. “Is the Gikhi sick?”
