"It is very early still," said Father Brachet, wrinkling up his face in a smile.
"Ah, but we have to make such an early start."
The Colonel went up to bed, leaving the Boy to go to Father Richmond's room to look at his Grammar of the Indian language.
The instant the door was shut, the priest set down the lamp, and laid his hands on the young man's shoulders.
"My son, you must not go on this mad journey."
"I must, you know."
"You must not. Sit there." He pushed him into a chair. "Let me tell you. I do not speak as the ignorant. I have in my day travelled many hundreds of miles on the ice; but I've done it in the season when the trail's at its best, with dogs, my son, and with tried native servants."
"I know it is pleasanter that way, but—"
"Pleasanter? It is the way to keep alive."
"But the Indians travel with hand-sleds."