“If you mean that you’d rather go back to the cookin’,” the Boy was saying, “I’m agreeable.”

“Well, you start in to-morrow, and see if you’re so agreeable.”

“All right.  I think I dote on one job just about as much as I do on t’other.”

But still the Colonel frowned.  He couldn’t remember that excellent thing he had been going to say about Romanists.  But he sniffed derisively, and flung over his shoulder: 

“To hear you goin’ on, anybody’d think the Jesuits were the only Christians.  As if there weren’t others, who—­”

“Oh, yes, Christians with gold shovels and Winchester rifles.  I know ’em.  But if gold hadn’t been found, how many of the army that’s invaded the North—­how many would be here, if it hadn’t been for the gold?  But all this Holy Cross business would be goin’ on just the same, as it has done for years and years.”

With a mighty tug the Colonel dragged out the rubber blanket, flung it down on the snow, and squared himself, back to the fire, to make short work of such views.

“I’d no notion you were such a sucker.  You can bet,” he said darkly, “those fellas aren’t making a bad thing out of that ’Holy Cross business,’ as you call it.”

“I didn’t mean business in that sense.”

“What else could they do if they didn’t do this?”

“Ask the same of any parson.”

But the Colonel didn’t care to.

“I suppose,” he said severely, “you could even make a hero out of that hang-dog Brother Etienne.”

“No, but he could do something else, for he’s served in the French army.”

“Then there’s that mad Brother Paul.  What good would he be at anything else?”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“Brachet and Wills are decent enough men, but where else would they have the power and the freedom they have at Holy Cross?  Why, they live there like feudal barons.”

“Father Richmond could have done anything he chose.”

“Ah, Father Richmond—­” The Colonel shut his mouth suddenly, turned about, and proceeded to crawl under his blankets, feet to the fire.

“Well?”

No answer.

“Well?” insisted the Boy.

“Oh, Father Richmond must have seen a ghost.”

“What!”

“Take my word for it. He got frightened somehow.  A man like Father Richmond has to be scared into a cassock.”

The Boy’s sudden laughter deepened the Colonel’s own impression that the instance chosen had not been fortunate.  One man of courage knows another man of courage when he sees him, and the Colonel knew he had damned his own argument.

“Wouldn’t care for the job myself,” the Boy was saying.

“What job?”

“Scarin’ Father Richmond.”

The Boy sat watching the slow wet snow-flakes fall and die in the fire.  His clothes were pretty damp, but he was warm after a chilly fashion, as warmth goes on the trail.