“But when she start it is thirty dollars for a man to go to the Crossing.  And fifty cents for every meal.  Nobody got so much money as that.

“It is the same to bring t’ings in.  Not’ing is cheaper.  Jean Bateese Gagnon, he get a big book from outside.  In that book there is all things to buy and pictures to show them.  The people outside will send you the t’ings.  You send money in a letter.”

“Mail order catalogue,” suggested Ambrose.

“That is the name of the book,” said Tole.  In describing its wonders he lost, for the first time, some of his imperturbable air.  “Wa!  Wa!  All is so cheap inside that book.  It is wonderful.  Three suits of clothes cost no more as one at the Company store.

“Everyt’ing is in that book.  A man can get shirts of silk.  A man can get a machine to milk a cow.  All the people want to send money for t’ings.  Gaviller say no.  Gaviller say steamboat only carry Company freight.  Gaviller say:  ’Come to me for what you want and I get it—­at regular prices.’”

“And this is supposed to be a free country,” said Ambrose.

“The men are mad,” continued Tole.  “They do not’ing.  Only Jean Bateese Gagnon.  He is the mos’ mad.  He say he don’ care.  He send the money for a plow las’ summer.  All wait to see w’at Gaviller will do.

“Gaviller let the steamboat bring it down.  He say the freight is fifteen dollars.  Jean Bateese say:  ‘Tak’ it back again.  I won’t pay.’  Gaviller say:  ‘You got to pay.’  He put it on the book against Gagnon.”

Tole related other incidents of a like character, Ambrose listened with ever mounting indignation.  There could be no mistaking the truthful ring of the simple details.

Not only was Ambrose’s sense of humanity up in arms, but the trader in him was angered that a competitor should profit by such unfair means.  With a list of grievances on one side and unqualified sympathy on the other, the two progressed in friendship.

They breakfasted together, Job making a third.  Ambrose found himself more and more strongly drawn to the young fellow.  He was reminded that he had no friend of his own age in the country.  Tole, he said to himself, was whiter than many a white man he had known.

Job, who as a rule drew the colorline sharply, was polite to Tole.  Job was pleased because Tole ignored him.  Uninvited overtures from strangers made Job self-conscious.

Tole and Ambrose, being young, drifted away from serious business after a while.  They discussed sport.  Tole lost some of his gravity in talking about hunting the moose.

Not until Tole was on the point of embarking did the real object of his visit transpire.  “My father say he want you come to his house,” he said diffidently.

“Sure I will,” said Ambrose.

Tole lingered by his dugout, affecting to test the elasticity of his paddle on the stones.  He glanced at Ambrose with a speculative eye.