injustice done the red man, and who keep on
pitying and exterminating him, made a federated whole with interests
apart from his.

Again when I looked back I saw the figure, but it was afoot, and I soon
lost it in a cove.

My house had been left undisturbed by hunters and Indians through the
winter. I tied the horse to a gallery post and unfastened the door. A
pile of refuse timbers offered wood for a fire, and I carried in several
loads of it, and lighted the virgin chimney. Then I brought water from
the spring and ate breakfast, sitting before the fire and thinking a
little wearily and bitterly of my prospect in life.

Having fed my horse, I covered the fire, leaving a good store of fuel by
the hearth, and rode away toward the Menominee and Winnebago lands.

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 Ghe