Father Claude came hurriedly toward the fire, looking for Menard. His eyes glowed with enthusiasm.
“M’sieu,” he said, in an eager voice, “come. I have found it.”
“What?”
“It has come to me,––about the canoe.”
Menard looked puzzled, but the priest caught his arm, and led him away.
“It came while we ate supper. The whole truth, the secret of the allegory, flashed upon me. I have worked hard, and now it is done. Instead of leaving out the canoe, I have put it back, and have placed in it six warriors, three paddling toward the chapel, and three away from it. Over them hovers an angel,––a mere suggestion, a faint, shining face, a diaphanous 115 form, and outspread hands. Thus we symbolize the conflict in the savage mind at the first entrance of the Holy Word into their lives, with the blessed assurance over all that the Faith must triumph in the end.”
At the last words, he stopped and drew Menard around to face the portrait of the Lily of the Onondagas, which was leaning against a stump.
“Is it too dark, M’sieu? See, I will bring it closer.” He lifted the picture, and held it close to Menard’s eyes. He was trembling with the excitement of his inspiration.
The Captain stepped back.
“I should like to know, Father, where you have had this picture.”