Father Jogues trod on gently. He knew he could not travel with any
benighted soul and not try to convert it. These poor Etchemins appealed
to his conscience; but so did the gracious lady of the fort.

"If I could mend the rents in her faith," he sighed, "as she hath mended
the rents in my cassock!"

Two of the soldiers turned aside with their spades to a slope behind the
fortress, where there was a stable for the ponies and horned cattle, and
where last year's garden beds lay blackened under last year's refuse
growth. Having planted the immortal seed, their next duty was to
prepare for the trivial resurrections of the summer. Frenchmen love
green messes in their soup. The garden might be trampled by besiegers,
but there were other chances that it would yield something. Zélie's
husband climbed the height to escort the priest and report to his lady,
but he had his wife to chatter beside him. Father Jogues' donné walked
behind Van Corlaer, and he alone overheard the Dutchman's talk.

"This lady of Fort St. John, Father Jogues, so housed, and so ground
between the millstones of La Tour and D'Aulnay--she hath wrought up my
mind until I could not forbear this journey. It is well known through
the colonies that La Tour can no longer get help, and is outlawed by his
king. This fortress will be sacked. La Tour would best stay at home to
defend his own. But what can any other man do? I am here to defend my
own, and I will take it and defend it."

Van Corlaer looked up at the walls, and his chest swelled with a large
breath of regret.

"God He knoweth why so sweet a lady is set here to bear the brunts of a