“And what is that?”

“It is but to remember that I have left with Father Lamberville at Onondaga the dictionary which I have made of the Iroquois and French languages.  There also is my account of the copper mines of the Great Lakes which I visited two years ago, and also an orrery which I have made to show the northern heavens with the stars of each month as they are seen from this meridian.  If aught were to go amiss with Father Lamberville or with me, and we do not live very long on the Iroquois mission, it would be well that some one else should profit from my work.”

“I will tell my friend to-night.  But what are these great pictures, father, and why do you bear them through the wood?” He turned them over as he spoke, and the whole party gathered round them, staring in amazement.

They were very rough daubs, crudely coloured and gaudy.  In the first, a red man was reposing serenely upon what appeared to be a range of mountains, with a musical instrument in his hand, a crown upon his head, and a smile upon his face.  In the second, a similar man was screaming at the pitch of his lungs, while half-a-dozen black creatures were battering him with poles and prodding him with lances.

“It is a damned soul and a saved soul,” said Father Ignatius Morat, looking at his pictures with some satisfaction.  “These are clouds upon which the blessed spirit reclines, basking in all the joys of paradise.  It is well done this picture, but it has had no good effect, because there are no beaver in it, and they have not painted in a tobacco-pipe.  You see they have little reason, these poor folk, and so we have to teach them as best we can through their eyes and their foolish senses.  This other is better.  It has converted several squaws and more than one Indian.  I shall not bring back the saved soul when I come in the spring, but I shall bring five damned souls, which will be one for each nation.  We must fight Satan with such weapons as we can get, you see.  And now, my children, if you must go, let me first call down a blessing upon you!”

And then occurred a strange thing, for the beauty of this man’s soul shone through all the wretched clouds of sect, and, as he raised his hand to bless them, down went those Protestant knees to earth, and even old Ephraim found himself with a softened heart and a bent head listening to the half-understood words of this crippled, half-blinded, little stranger.

“Farewell, then,” said he, when they had risen.  “May the sunshine of Saint Eulalie be upon you, and may Saint Anne of Beaupre shield you at the moment of your danger.”

And so they left him, a grotesque and yet heroic figure, staggering along through the woods with his tent, his pictures, and his mutilation.  If the Church of Rome should ever be wrecked it may come from her weakness in high places, where all Churches are at their weakest, or it may be because with what is very narrow she tries to explain that which is very broad, but assuredly it will never be through the fault of her rank and file, for never upon earth have men and women spent themselves more lavishly and more splendidly than in her service.