g my house, I would not go. And how can a loup-garou get over
that water? The St. Charles is blessed; I am certain it is blessed.
Yet he talked about fording it like any Christian."

The old habitant was not clear in his mind what should be done, except
that it was no business of his to meddle with one of Frontenac's great
officers and a noble of New France. But as a measure of safety for
himself he took down his bottle of holy water, hanging on the wall for
emergencies, and sprinkled every part of his dwelling.

Next morning, however, when the misty autumn light was on the hills,
promising a clear day and penetrating sunshine, as soon as he awoke he
felt ashamed of the barricade, and climbed out of bed to remove it.

"The time has at last come when I am obliged to go to the fort,"
thought Gaspard, groaning. "Governor Frontenac will not permit any
sorcery in his presence. The New England men might do me no harm, but
I cannot again face a loup-garou."

He dressed himself accordingly, and, taking his gathered coin from its
hiding-place, wrapped every piece separately in a bit of rag, slid it
into his deep pocket, and sewed the pocket up. Then he cut off enough
bacon to toast on the raked-out coals for his breakfast, and hid
the rest under the floor. There was no fastening on the outside of
Gaspard's house. He was obliged to latch the door, and leave it at the
mercy of the enemy.

Nothing was stirring in the frosted world. He could not yet see
the citadel clearly, or the heights of Levis; but the ascent to
Montmorenci bristled with naked trees, and in the stillness he could
hear the roar of the falls. Gaspard ambled along his belt of ground
to take a last look. It was like a patchwork quilt: a square of wheat
stubble showed here, and a few yards of brown prostrate peavines
showed there; his hayfield was less than a stone's throw long; and
his garden beds, in triangles and sections of all shapes, filled the
interstices of more ambitious crops.

He had nearly reached the limit of the farm, and entered his neck of
woods, when the breathing of a cow trying to nip some comfort from the
frosty sod delighted his ear. The pretty milker was there, with her
calf at her side. Gaspard stroked and patted them. Though the New
Englanders should seize them for beef, he could not regret they were
wending home again. That invisible cord binding him to his own place,
which had wrenched his vitals as it stretched, now drew him back like