“What have you preached?” asked the other, walking on into the fast-gathering night, beyond the Post and the Indian lodges, into the wastes where frost and silence lived.
Pierre waved his hand towards space. “This,” he said suggestively.
“What’s this?” asked the other fretfully.
“The thing you feel round you here.”
“I feel the cold,” was the petulant reply.
“I feel the immense, the far off,” said Pierre slowly.
The other did not understand as yet. “You’ve learned big words,” he said disdainfully.
“No; big things,” rejoined Pierre sharply—“a few.”
“Let me hear you preach them,” half snarled Sherburne.
“You will not like to hear them—no.”