“Ay, but yon word was said eighteen hundred years past,” MacLeod interrupted.  “Since which day there’s been a fair rate o’ progress in man’s knowledge of himself an’ his needs.  The Biblical meeracles in the way o’ provender dinna happen nowadays—­although some ither modern commonplaces would partake o’ the meeraculous if we didna have a rational knowledge of their process.  Men are no fed wi’ loaves and fishes until they themselves ha’ first gotten the loaves an’ the fish.  At least, it disna so happen i’ the Pachugan deestreect.  It’s much the same the world over, but up here especially ye’ll find that the problem o’ subsistence is first an’ foremost, an’ excludes a’ else till it’s solved.”

With this MacLeod, weary of an unprofitable controversy, arose, took up a candle and showed his scandalized guest the way to bed.

Thompson was full of a willingness to revive the argument when he was roused for breakfast at sunrise.  But MacLeod had said his say.  He abhorred vain repetition.  Since it takes two to keep an argument going, Thompson’s beginning was but the beginning of a monologue which presently died weakly of inattention.  When he gave over trying to inject a theological motif into the conversation, he found MacLeod responsive enough.  The factor touched upon native customs, upon the fur trade, upon the vast and unexploited resources of the North, all of which was more or less hazy to Thompson.

His men had intimated an early start.  Their journey down the Athabasca had impressed Thompson with the wisdom of that.  Only so could they escape the brazen heat of the sun, and still accomplish a fair day’s travel.  So he rose immediately from the breakfast table, when he saw Breyette and MacDonald standing by the canoe waiting for him.  MacLeod halted him on the verandah steps to give a brusque last word of counsel.

“Look ye, Mr. Thompson,” he said.  “An honest bit of advice will do ye no harm.  Ye’re startin’ out wi’ a brave vision o’ doin’ a great good; of lettin’ a flood o’ light into dark places.  Speakin’ out my ain first-hand experience ye’ll be fairly disappointed, because ye’ll accomplish nought that’s in yer mind.  Ye’ll have no trouble wi’ the Crees.  If ye remain among them long enough to mak’ them understand yer talk an’ objects they’ll listen or not as they feel inclined.  They’re a simple, law-abidin’ folk.  But there’s a white man at Lone Moose that ye’ll do well to cultivate wi’ discretion.  He’s a man o’ positive character, and scholarly beyond what ye’d imagine.  When ye meet him, dinna be sanctimonious.  His philosophy’ll no gibe wi’ your religion, an’ if ye attempt to impose a meenesterial attitude on him, it’s no beyond possibility he’d flare up an’ do ye bodily damage.  I know him.  If ye meet him man to man, ye’ll find he’ll meet ye half-way in everything but theology.  He’ll be the sort of friend ye’ll need at Lone Moose.  But dinna wave the Cloth in his face.  For some reason that’s to him like the proverbial red rag tae a bull.  The last missionary tae Long Moose cam’ awa wi’ a lovely pair o’ black eyes Sam Carr bestowed on him.  I’m forewarnin’ ye for yer ain good.  Ye can decry material benefits a’ ye like, but it’ll be a decided benefit if ye ha’ Sam Carr for a friendly neighbor at Lone Moose.”