He was gazing far away into space infinitely beyond the Foothills and the blue line of the mountains behind them. He turned to me as I drew near, with eyes alight and face glowing.
“It is glorious,” he almost panted. “You see this everyday!” Then, recalling himself, he came eagerly toward me, stretching out his hand. “You are the schoolmaster, I know. Do you know, it's a great thing? I wanted to be one, but I never could get the boys on. They always got me telling them tales. I was awfully disappointed. I am trying the next best thing. You see, I won't have to keep order, but I don't think I can preach very well. I am going to visit your school. Have you many scholars? Do you know, I think it's splendid? I wish I could do it.”
I had intended to be somewhat stiff with him, but his evident admiration of me made me quite forget this laudable intention, and, as he talked on without waiting for an answer, his enthusiasm, his deference to my opinion, his charm of manner, his beautiful face, his luminous eyes, made him perfectly irresistible; and before I was aware I was listening to his plans for working his mission with eager interest. So eager was my interest, indeed, that before I was aware I found myself asking him to tea with me in my shack. But he declined, saying:
“I'd like to, awfully; but do you know, I think Latour expects me.”
This consideration of Latour's feelings almost upset me.
“You come with me,” he added, and I went.
Latour welcomed us with his grim old face wreathed in unusual smiles. The pilot had been talking to him, too.
“I've got it, Latour!” he cried out as he entered; “here you are,” and he broke into the beautiful French-Canadian chanson, “A la Claire Fontaine,” to the old half-breed's almost tearful delight.
“Do you know,” he went on, “I heard that first down the Mattawa,” and away he went into a story of an experience with French-Canadian raftsmen, mixing up his French and English in so charming a manner that Latour; who in his younger days long ago had been a shantyman himself, hardly knew whether he was standing on his head or on his heels.
After tea I proposed a ride out to see the sunset from the nearest rising ground. Latour, with unexampled generosity, offered his own cayuse, “Louis.”