"Francois wished to come here ... to me," and a fugitive joy
touched it as a swallow in flight ruffles the water with his wing.

"The shanty was not very far in the woods, only two days' journey
from the Transcontinental which passes La Tuque. Butastheluck was,
something had happened to the line and the trains were not running.
I heard all this through Johnny Niquette of St. Henri, who arrived
from La Tuque two days ago."

"Yes."

"When Francois found that he could not take the train he burst into
a laugh, and in that sort of a humour said that as it was a case of
walking he would walk all the way-reaching the lake by following the
rivers, first the Croche and then the Ouatchouan which falls in near
Roberval."

"That is so," said Chapdelaine. "It can be done. I have gone that
way."

"Not at this time of year, Mr. Chapdelaine, certainly not just at
this time. Everyone there told Francois that it would be foolhardy
to attempt such a trip in midwinter, about Christmas, with the cold
as great as it was, some four feet of snow lying in the woods, and
alone. But he only laughed and told them that he was used to the
woods and that a little difficulty was not going to frighten him,
because he was bound to get to the upper side of the lake for the
holidays, and that where the Indians were able to cross he could
make the crossing too. Only-you know it very well, Mr.
Chapdelaine-when the Indians take that journey it is in company, and