“Where are you going then?” asked Amos, who had listened in amazement to the man’s words.

“I am going to Quebec.  You see I am such a useless person that, until I have seen the bishop, I can really do no good at all.”

“You mean that you will resign your mission into the bishop’s hands?” said De Catinat.

“Oh, no.  That would be quite the sort of thing which I should do if I were left to myself, for it is incredible how cowardly I am.  You would not think it possible that a priest of God could be so frightened as I am sometimes.  The mere sight of a fire makes me shrink all into myself ever since I went through the ordeal of the lighted pine splinters, which have left all these ugly stains upon my face.  But then, of course, there is the Order to be thought of, and members of the Order do not leave their posts for trifling causes.  But it is against the rules of Holy Church that a maimed man should perform the rites, and so, until I have seen the bishop and had his dispensation, I shall be even more useless than ever.”

“And what will you do then?”

“Oh, then, of course, I will go back to my flock.”

“To the Iroquois!”

“That is where I am stationed.”

“Amos,” said De Catinat, “I have spent my life among brave men, but I think that this is the bravest man that I have ever met!”

“On my word,” said Amos, “I have seen some good men, too, but never one that I thought was better than this.  You are weary, father.  Have some of our cold goose, and there is still a drop of cognac in my flask.”

“Tut, tut, my son, if I take anything but the very simplest living it makes me so lazy that I become a snail indeed.”

“But you have no gun and no food.  How do you live?”

“Oh, the good God has placed plenty of food in these forests for a traveller who dare not eat very much.  I have had wild plums, and wild grapes, and nuts and cranberries, and a nice little dish of tripe-de-mere from the rocks.”

The woodsman made a wry face at the mention of this delicacy.

“I had as soon eat a pot of glue,” said he.  “But what is this which you carry on your back?”

“It is my church.  Ah, I have everything here, tent, altar, surplice, everything.  I cannot venture to celebrate service myself without the dispensation, but surely this venerable man is himself in orders and will solemnise the most blessed function.”

Amos, with a sly twinkle of the eyes, translated the proposal to Ephraim, who stood with his huge red hands clenched, mumbling about the saltless pottage of papacy.  De Catinat replied briefly, however, that they were all of the laity, and that if they were to reach their destination before nightfall, it was necessary that they should push on.

“You are right, my son,” said the little Jesuit.  “These poor people have already left their villages, and in a few days the woods will be full of them, though I do not think that any have crossed the Richelieu yet.  There is one thing, however, which I would have you do for me.”