“To the Iroquois each argument is a ‘word.’”
“I have almost nothing else, not even clothing of value. Wait––here is a small coat of seal.”
“And you, Father?” asked Menard.
“I have a book with highly coloured pictures, M’sieu,––‘The Ceremonies of the Mass applied to the Passion of Our Lord.’”
“Splendid! Have you nothing else?”
“I fear not.”
Menard turned to the maid, who was still on her knees by the open bundle, looking up at them.
“I am afraid that we must take your coat and the comb,” he said. “I am sorry.”
She answered in a low tone, but firmly: “You know, M’sieu, that it would hurt me to do nothing. It hurts me to do so little.”
“Thank you, Mademoiselle. Well, Father, we must use our wits. It may be that four words will be enough, but I cannot use fewer. We have but three presents.” 211