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The Baptist colporteur peppered his potatoes until they and the plate were black; the Presbyterian doctor, who was the champion of the Protestant party on the island, wished to know if I was acquainted with the latest devices of the Scarlet Woman in relation to the county school-fund. 'But my friends, I replied, 'Father Piret and I both belong to the past.
"Thet's a thing what's puzzled us fer years, miss. Some thinks Wegg were a piret; some thinks he kidnaped thet pretty wife o' his'n an' took her money; some thinks he tried to rob ol' Will Thompson, an' Will killed him an' then went crazy hisself. There's all sorts o' thinks goin' 'round; but who knows?" "Don't you, Mr. McNutt?" The agent was flattered by the question.
'I buried him, as he wished, continued Father Piret, 'in his old uniform, with the picture of Napoleon laid on his breast, the sabre by his side, and the withered sprig in his lifeless hand.
'Yes, replied Father Piret, coming out of his abstraction, 'and this wing is haunted by my old French friend. As time passed and the spring came, he fitted up in his fashion the whole suite of five rooms. He had his parlor, sleeping room, kitchen and store-room, the whole furnished only with the articles I have already described, save that the bed was of fresh green boughs instead of straw.
Small respect had they for the little Roman Catholic church beyond the old Agency garden; its German priest they refused to honor; but, when stately old Father Piret came over to the island from his hermitage in the Chenaux, they ran to meet him, young and old, and paid him reverence with affectionate respect.
"Plus pres du feu file, ma cherie; La nuit vient de refroidir le temps" "Adrien, m'a-t-on dit, ma mere, Gemit dans des cachots flottants. On repousse la main fletrie Qu'il etend vers an pain grossier." Jeannette repeated these lines with a pathos so real that I felt a moisture rising in my eyes. 'Where did you learn that, child? I asked. 'Father Piret, madame. 'What is it? 'Je n'sais.
'When I was living at the fort, fifteen years ago, I heard occasionally of Father Piret, I said, 'but he seemed to be almost a mythic personage. What is his history? 'No one knows. He came here fifty years ago, and after officiating on the island a few years, he retired to a little Indian farm in the Chenaux, where he has lived ever since.
In the old days, when I was living at the little white fort, I had known Father Piret by reputation, and he had heard of me from the French half-breeds around the point. We landed. The summer hotels were closed, and I was directed to the old Agency, where occasionally a boarder was received by the family then in possession.
Occasionally he holds a service for the half-breeds at Point St. Ignace, but the parish of Mackinac proper has its regular priest, and Father Piret apparently does not hold even the appointment of missionary. Why he remains here a man educated, refined, and even aristocratic is a mystery.
I wandered abroad through the gay forest to the Arch, the Lovers' Leap, and old Fort Holmes, whose British walls had been battered down, for pastime, so that only a caved-in British cellar remained to mark the spot. Returning to the Agency, I learned that Father Piret had called to see me. 'I am sorry that I missed him, I said; 'he is a remarkable old man.
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