irst the Indian
medicine man had heaped ridicule on the white priest, and Pierre had
refused to interpret as much as a single prayer; but now the whole camp
was starving. Pierre happened to tell the other Indians that Christmas
was the day on which the white man's God had come to earth. In vain
the medicine man had pounded his tom-tom and shouted at the Indian gods
from the top of the wigwams and offered sacrifice of animals to be
slain. No game had come as the result of the medicine man's invocation.

Le Jeune gathered the people about him and through Pierre, the
interpreter, bade them try the white man's God. In the largest of the
wigwams a little altar was fitted up. Then the Indians repeated this
prayer after Le Jeune:

Jesus, Son of the Almighty . . . who died for us . . . who promised
that if we ask anything in Thy name, Thou wilt do it--I pray Thee with
all my heart, give food to these people . . . this people promises Thee
faithfully they will trust Thee entirely and obey Thee with all their
heart! My Lord, hear my prayer! I present Thee my life for this
people, most willing to die that they may live and know Thee.

"Take that back," grunted the chief. "We love you! We don't want you
to die."

"I only want to show that I am your friend," answered the priest.

Le Jeune then commanded them to go forth to the hunt, full of faith
that God would give them food.

{82} But alas for the poor father's hopes and the childlike Indian vow!
True, they found abundance of food,--a beaver dam full of beaver, a
moose, a porcupine taken by the Indian medicine man. Father Le Jeune,
with radiant face, met the hunters returning laden with game.

"We must thank your God for this," said the Indian chief, throwing down
his load.

"Bah," says Pierre, "you 'd have found it anyway."

"This is not the time to talk," sneered the medicine man. "Let the
hungry people eat."

And by the time the Indians had gorged themselves with ample measure
for their long fast, they were torpid with sleep. The sad priest was
fain to wander out under the stars. There, in the snow-padded silences
of the white-limned forest, far from the joyous peal of Christmas
bells, he knelt alone and worshiped God.

For five months he wandered with the Montaignais, and now in April the
hunters turned toward Quebec with their furs. At three in the morning
Le Jeune knocked on the door of the mission house at Quebec, and was
welcomed home by the p