The day was a hard one, and when I came back towards nightfall I was glad to stop with the officers of the stockade and share their mess.

“You looked fagged,” said one of them.

“The horse paths are heavy,” I answered, “and I have been as far as the Indian lands.”

I had been as far as that remote time when Eagle was not a Cloud-Mother.  To cross the river and see her smiling in meaningless happiness seemed more than I could do.

Yet she might notice my absence.  We had been housed together ever since she had discovered me.  Our walks and rides, our fireside talks and evening diversions were never separate.  At Pierre Grignon’s the family flocked in companies.  When the padlocked book sent me out of the house I forgot that she was used to my presence and might be disturbed by an absence no one could explain.

“The first sailing vessel is in from the straits,” said the lieutenant.

“Yes, I saw her come to anchor as I rode out this morning.”

“She brought a passenger.”

“Anybody of importance?”

“At first blush, no.  At second blush, yes.”

“Why ‘no’ at first blush?”

“Because he is only a priest.”

“Only a priest, haughty officer!  Are civilians and churchmen dirt under army feet?”

The lieutenant grinned.

“When you see a missionary priest landing to confess a lot of Canadians, he doesn’t seem quite so important, as a prelate from Ghent, for instance.”

“Is this passenger a prelate from Ghent?”

“That is where the second blush comes in.  He is.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw him, and talked with him.”

“What is he doing in Green Bay?”

“Looking at the country.  He was inquiring for you.”

“For me!”

“Yes.”

“What could a prelate from Ghent want with me?”

“Says he wants to make inquiries about the native tribes.”

“Oh!  Did you recommend me as an expert in native tribes?”

“Naturally.  But not until he asked if you were here.”

“He mentioned my name?”

“Yes.  He wanted to see you.  You’ll not have to step out of your way to gratify him.”

“From that I infer there is a new face at Pierre Grignon’s.”

“Your inference is correct.  The Grignons always lodge the priests, and a great man like this one will be certainly quartered with them.”

“What is he like?”

“A smooth and easy gentleman.”

“In a cassock?”

“Tell a poor post lieutenant what a cassock is.”

“The long-skirted black coat reaching to the heels.”

“Our missionary priests don’t wear it here.  He has the bands and broad hat and general appearance of a priest, but his coat isn’t very long.”

“Then he has laid aside the cassock while traveling through this country.”

The prelate from Ghent, no doubt a common priest, that the lieutenant undertook to dignify, slipped directly out of my mind.