"Dat was beeg storm, dat night when I come to Bytown. You remember
dat?"

Yes, Hose remembered it very well. It was a real old-fashioned
storm.

"Ah, but befo dose taim', dere was wuss taim' dan dat--in Canada.
Nobody don' know 'bout dat. I lak to tell you, 'Ose, but I can't.
No, it is not possible to tell dat, nevair!"

It came into Hose's mind that the case was serious. Jack was going
to die. He never went to church, but perhaps the Sunday-school
might count for something. He was only a Frenchman, after all, and
Frenchmen had their own ways of doing things. He certainly ought to
see some kind of a preacher before he went out of the wilderness.
There was a Canadian priest in town that week, who had come down to
see about getting up a church for the French people who worked in
the mills. Perhaps Jack would like to talk with him.

His face lighted up at the proposal. He asked to have the room
tidied up, and a clean shirt put on him, and the violin laid open in
its case on a table beside the bed, and a few other preparations
made for the visit. Then the visitor came, a tall, friendly, quiet-
looking man about Jacques's age, with a smooth face and a long black
cassock. The door was shut, and they were left alone together.

"I am comforted that you are come, mon pere," said the sick man,
"for I have the heavy heart. There is a secret that I have kept for
many years. Sometimes I had almost forgotten that it must be told
at the last; but now it is the time to speak. I have a sin to