o not run crossways, my children."

The walls rose steadily, straight as a steamboat pipe--ten, twenty,
thirty, forty feet; it was time to put in the two cross-girders, lay
the floor of the belfry, finish off the stonework, and begin the pointed
wooden spire. The cure had gone to Quebec that very day to buy the
shining plates of tin for the roof, and a beautiful cross of gilt for
the pinnacle.

Leclere was in front of the tower putting on his overalls. Vaillantcoeur
came up, swearing mad. Three or four other workmen were standing about.

"Look here, you Leclere," said he, "I tried one of the cross-girders
yesterday afternoon and it wouldn't go. The templet on the north is
crooked--crooked as your teeth. We had to let the girder down again. I
suppose we must trim it off some way, to get a level bearing, and make
the tower weak, just to match your sacre bad work, eh?"

"Well," said Prosper, pleasant and quiet enough, "I'm sorry for that,
Raoul. Perhaps I could put that templet straight, or perhaps the girder
might be a little warped and twisted, eh? What? Suppose we measure it."

Sure enough, they found the long timber was not half seasoned and had
corkscrewed itself out of shape at least three inches. Vaillantcoeur sat
on the sill of the doorway and did not even look at them while they were
measuring. When they called out to him what they had found, he strode
over to them.

"It's a dam' lie," he said, sullenly. "Prosper Leclere, you slipped the
string. None of your sacre cheating! I have enough of it already. Will
you fight, you cursed sneak?"

Prosper's face went gray, like the mortar in the trough. His fists
clenched and the cords on his neck stood out as if they were ropes. He
breathed hard. But he only said three words:

"No! Not here."

"Not here? Why not? There is room. The cure is away. Why not here?"

"It is the house of LE BON DIEU. Can we build it in hate?"

"POLISSON! You make an excuse. Then come to Girard's, and fight there."

Again Prosper held in for a moment, and spoke three words:

"No! Not now."

"Not now? But when, you heart of a hare? Will you sneak out of it until
you turn gray and die? When will you fight, little musk-rat?"

"When I have forgotten. When I am no more your friend."

Prosper picked up his trowel and went into the tower. Raoul bad-worded
him and every stone of his building from foundation to cornice, and then
went down the road to get a bottle of cognac.

An hour lat