Tole squatted on the beach.  There is an established ritual of politeness in the North, and he was punctilious.

“You are well?” he asked gravely.  Ambrose set about making his fire.  “I am well,” he said.

“Your partner, he is well?”

“Peter Minot is well.”

“You do good trade at Lake Miwasa?”

“Yes.  Marten is plentiful.”

“Good fur here, too.  Not much marten; plenty link.”

“Your father is well?” asked Ambrose in turn.

“My fat’er is well,” said Tole.  “My four brot’ers well, too.”

“I am glad,” said Ambrose.

More polite conversation was exchanged while Ambrose waited for his guest to declare the object of his visit.  It came at last.

“Often I talk wit’ my fat’er,” said Tole.  “I say there is not’ing for me here.  Old man Gaviller all tam mad at us.  We don’t get along.  I say I fink I go east to Lake Miwasa.  There is free trade there.  Maybe I get work in the summer.  When they tell me Ambrose Doane is come, I say this is lucky.  I will talk wit’ him.”

“Good,” said Ambrose.

“Wat you t’ink?” asked Tole, masking anxiety under a careless air.  “Is there work at Moultrie in the summer?”

Ambrose instinctively liked and trusted his man.  “Sure,” he said.  “There is room for good men.”

“Good,” said Tole calmly.  “I go back wit’ you.”

Ambrose had a strong curiosity to learn of the situation at Fort Enterprise.  “What do you mean by saying old man Gaviller is mad at you?” he asked.

“I tell you,” said Tole.  He filled his pipe and got it going well before he launched on his tale.

“My fat’er, Simon Grampierre, he is educate’,” he began.  “He read in books, he write, he spik Angleys, he spik French, he spik the Cree.  We are Cree half-breed.  My fat’er’s fat’er, my mot’er’s fat’er, they white men.  We are proud people.  We own plenty land.  We live in a good house.  We are workers.

“All the people on ot’er side the river call my fat’er head man.  When there is trouble all come to our house to talk to my fat’er because he is educate’.  He got good sense.

“Before, I tell you there is good fur here.  It is the truth.  But the people are poor.  Every year they are more poor as last year.  The people say:  ‘Bam-by old man Gaviller tak’ our shirts!  He got everyt’ing else.’  They ask my fat’er w’at to do.”

Tole went on:  “Always my fat’er say:  ‘Wait,’ he say.  ’We got get white man on our side.  We got get white man who knows all outside ways.  He bring an outfit in and trade wit’ us.’  The people don’t want to wait.  ‘We starve!’ they say.

“My fat’er say:  ’Non!  Gaviller not let you starve.  For why, because you not bring him any fur if you dead.  He will keep you goin’ poor.  Be patient,’ my fat’er say.  ’This is rich country.  It is known outside.  Bam-by some white man come wit’ outfit and pay good prices.’