"I have never seen a great storm in a forest before," answered Charley,
and came nearer to the window through which the bright sun streamed.

"It always does me good," said Jo. "Every bird and beast is awake and
afraid and trying to hide, and the trees fall, and the roar of it like
the roar of the chasse-galerie on the Kimash River."

"The Kimash River--where is it?"

Jo shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows!"

"Is it a legend, then?"

"It is a river."

"And the chasse-galerie?"

"That is true, M'sieu', no matter what any one thinks. I know; I have
seen--I have seen with my own eyes." Jo was excited now.

"I am listening." He took a cup of tea from Portugais and drank eagerly.

"The Kimash River, M'sieu', that is the river in the air. On it is the
chasse-galerie. You sell your soul to the devil; you ask him to help
you; you deny God. You get into a canoe and call on the devil. You are
lifted up, canoe and all, and you rush on down rapids, over falls, on the
Kimash River in the air. The devil stands behind you and shouts, and you
sing, 'V'la! l'bon vent! V'la l'joli vent!' On and on you go, faster and
faster, and you forget the world, and you forget yourself, and the devil
is with you in the air--in the chasse-galerie on the Kimash River."