presently died weakly of inattention. When he gave over trying to inject
a theological motif into the conversation, he found MacLeod responsive
enough. The factor touched upon native customs, upon the fur trade, upon
the vast and unexploited resources of the North, all of which was more
or less hazy to Thompson.

His men had intimated an early start. Their journey down the Athabasca
had impressed Thompson with the wisdom of that. Only so could they
escape the brazen heat of the sun, and still accomplish a fair day's
travel. So he rose immediately from the breakfast table, when he saw
Breyette and MacDonald standing by the canoe waiting for him. MacLeod
halted him on the verandah steps to give a brusque last word of counsel.

"Look ye, Mr. Thompson," he said. "An honest bit of advice will do ye no
harm. Ye're startin' out wi' a brave vision o' doin' a great good; of
lettin' a flood o' light into dark places. Speakin' out my ain
first-hand experience ye'll be fairly disappointed, because ye'll
accomplish nought that's in yer mind. Ye'll have no trouble wi' the
Crees. If ye remain among them long enough to mak' them understand yer
talk an' objects they'll listen or not as they feel inclined. They're a
simple, law-abidin' folk. But there's a white man at Lone Moose that
ye'll do well to cultivate wi' discretion. He's a man o' positive
character, and scholarly beyond what ye'd imagine. When ye meet him,
dinna be sanctimonious. His philosophy'll no gibe wi' your religion, an'
if ye attempt to impose a meenesterial attitude on him, it's no beyond
possibility he'd flare up an' do ye bodily damage. I know him. If ye
meet him man to man, ye'll find he'll meet ye half-way in everything but
theology. He'll be the sort of friend ye'll need at Lone Moose. But
dinna wave the Cloth in his face. For some reason that's to him like the
proverbial red rag tae a bull. The last missionary tae Long Moose cam'