Madockawando, on his part, smoked the matter fairly out. He put an arm
on the sagamore's shoulder, and lamented the extreme devotion of his
daughter. It was a good religion which the black-robed father had
brought among the Abenaquis, but who had ever heard of a woman's
refusing to look at men before that religion came? His own child, when
she was at home with the tribe, lived as separate from the family and
as independently as a war-chief. In his time, the women dressed game
and carried the children and drew sledges. What would happen if his
daughter began to teach them, in a house by themselves, to do nothing
but pray? Madockawando repeated that his son, the sagamore, and
his father, the priest, had a good religion, but they might see for
themselves what the Abenaqui tribe would come to when the women all
set up for medicine squaws. Then there was his daughter's hiding in
winter to make what she called her retreats, and her proposing to take
a new name from some of the priest's okies or saint-spirits, and to be
called "Sister."

"I will never call my own child 'Sister,'" vowed Madockawando. "I
could be a better Christian myself, if Father Petit had not put spells
on her."

The two conspirators against Father Petit's proposed nunnery felt
grave and wicked, but they encouraged one another in iniquity.
Madockawando smiled in bronze wrinkles when Saint-Castin told him
about the proposal in the woods. The proper time for courtship was
evening, as any Frenchman who had lived a year with the tribe ought to
know; but when one considered the task he had undertaken, any time
was suitable; and the chief encouraged him with full consent. A French
marriage contract was no better than an Abenaqui marriage contract in
Madockawando's eyes; but if Saint-Castin could bind up his daughter