Since Carman, the Church of England missionary, had perished in the winter's last blizzard on Lone Wolf Lake and the Company had failed as yet to get a minister in his place, the spiritual welfare of Oxford House was entirely in the hands of Father Brochet. Protestant and Catholic, disciple and pagan, zealot and scorner alike attended the kindly priest's services and sought his generous aid in many private matters.
With the bell's summons they came singly, in twos or threes, and in groups of varying size to take part in, or view the morning mass as well as to see the christening of Flora Macleod's child.
Bruce Dunvegan left his business in the trading room of the Hudson's Bay Store and stepped out into the dewy sunshine. The auroral flame which had licked the waters of Oxford Lake was gone. He saw the horizon as a sheet of molten gold floating the coppery disc of the sun. From wet rocks the writhing mists twisted and uncoiled, while the breeze which crooned over the outer reach of the lake and raised the crested swells beat in with little darts and lanceolate charges, puffing the fog-smoke like the muzzle-jets of rifles.
As the chief trader contemplated the magnificent splendor of the watery vista before him, he thrilled with the indefinable magic of the outland. He inhaled a huge breath and threw his arms wide, the action nearly upsetting the balance of Edwin Glyndon, the new clerk, who had emerged at his side.
"Ha! Your pardon!" exclaimed Dunvegan, laughing. "These northern sunrises get into my blood like wine. You'll feel it before you are very long here. Going over to the Mission?"
"I wouldn't mind," returned Glyndon. "It's all so new to me, and I wasn't at Norway long enough to see much. Do you attend?"
"We all drop in," the chief trader informed him. "Brochet's faith has many adherents, but of course you don't have to take part unless your inclinations run that way. You are a Church of England man, I suppose!"
"Oh, yes—quite an orthodox one," laughed Glyndon bitterly. "Didn't you know I drank myself and parents into disgrace at home? That's why they sent me out here—away from the evil ruts, you understand! And I fancy it might not be so hard to be a good Churchman in this wilderness. At any rate the chances are increased."
"This is the best opportunity that you will ever find," Dunvegan declared. "If you want to go straight and live clean, the way is easy. It seems to me these lake breezes, these pine woods, these outdoor days are a long way removed from temptation."
He swung his hands illustratively from the sheen of Oxford's surface to the dark green of the Black Forest, which loomed in somber mystery on Caribou Point, and looked into the clerk's soft eyes. But Edwin Glyndon was staring over the chief trader's shoulder at someone coming up the path to the store.