“But,” said I, “it is only politeness to row the man over if he wishes it; you do not need to listen to him or follow his teaching, but you ought to be kind and help any man when you can.”
At last they were persuaded, and rowed across after the man, bringing him to our side. When the priest arrived on the bank of the river I said:
“Good-morning, sir, you seem to be travelling.”
“Yes,” said he, “I am going up to see a sick man at the village above.”
“Oh, indeed,” said I; “my little friend and I were just going to the same place.”
“Then,” said the man, in a mixture of French and English, “you better not go, he is my convert.”
“Yes,” said I, “but I have been to see the sick man before, and I thought of going again.”
“Then,” said he, “you people are all in the wrong way; it is no good you go.”
“Well,” said I, “which way are you in? Here is my chart,” holding up the Bible. At this he got angry, and said, “That book is no good.”
All this time David stood quietly by without saying a word, but when he saw the man getting angry he stepped up and said, “Mr. Crosby, I think you gentlemen speak too much your own words. Very good, I read some out of God’s Word.” So he read some striking verse out of his little Testament. This made the priest very angry, and he tried to snatch the book out of the boy’s hand, saying, “He can’t read; he is only a little Siwash” (Chinook for Indian). “It is only something he had committed to memory, the little Siwash.”