"It's a message from Grûl," said Marc, the instant that his eyes fell upon it.
"H'm; and how do you know that?" said I, turning it over curiously in my fingers.
"Well," replied Marc, "the peeled stick is Grill's sign manual. What does he say?"
"He seems to say that he is going to build a windmill," said I, with great seriousness; "but doubtless you will give this hieroglyphic quite a different interpretation."
Marc laughed,—yes, laughed audibly. And it is possible that his Penobscot grandmother turned in her grave. It was good to know that the lad could laugh, which I had begun to doubt; but it was puzzling to me to hear him laugh at the mere absurdity which I had just uttered, when my most polished witticisms, of which I had shot off many of late at Chignecto, and in conversation with good Father Fafard, had never availed to bring more than a phantom smile to his lips. However, I made no comment, but handed him "Grûl's sign manual," as he chose to call it.
"Why, Father," said he, "you understand it well enough, I know. This is plainly the sun at high noon. At high noon, therefore, we may surely expect to see Grûl. He has been here but a short time back; for see, the wood is not yet dry."
"Sapristi!" said I, "do you call that the sun, lad? It is very much like a windmill."
How Marc might have retorted upon me, I know not; for at the moment, though it yet wanted much of noon, the fantastic figure of the madman—if he were a madman—sped into the Forge. He stopped abruptly before us and scrutinized us for some few seconds in utter silence, his eyes glittering and piercing like sword points. His long white hair and beard were disordered with haste, the flowers and feathers in his pointed cap were for the most part broken, even as when we had last seen him, and his gaudy mantle was somewhat befouled with river mud. Yet such power was there in his look and in his gesture, that when he stretched out his little white staff toward me and said "Come," I had much ado to keep from obeying him without question. Yet this I would not permit myself, as was natural.
"Whither?" I questioned. "And for what purpose?"
By this time he was out at the door, but he stopped. Giving me a glance of scorn he turned to Marc, and stretched out his staff.