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Updated: April 30, 2025
I could not in a moment rid myself of a rooted custom; I wished the woman were there to see. French and Indians sat side by side, so that blankets rubbed uniforms. They were packed in close bending ranks, their bodies crouching to the paddles, their eyes upon the shore. There were ferret-sharp black eyes and peasant-dull blue ones, but all were glittering.
I was so pleased at the mimicry, that I gave way to witless laughter. "Now!" I cried triumphantly. "Now, are you satisfied?" But the priest did not reply. He stared, and his eyes grew ferret-sharp. Then he shifted his position, and stared again. It beat into my brain that he had lived thirty years among the Indians, and that his eyes were trained. He could see meanings, where I saw a blank wall.
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