30 DEEP FURROWS 



he spoke to a solitary Indian, standing motionless 

 before a camp fire. The appetizing odor of roasting 

 wild fowl reminded him that he was more than ready 

 for the " bite to eat " which he would enjoy with the 

 good Father Hugonard at the Indian Mission he of 

 the dark, gentle eyes, the quick understanding, the 

 quiet tones. There would be much to talk about. 



So it proved. The hour was growing late when 

 finally he bade good-bye to his pleasant host and 

 resumed his journey in the starlight, refreshed and 

 encouraged. For here in the seclusion of this peaceful 

 valley, since the days of the great buffalo herds, Father 

 Hugonard had ministered to the Indians, starved with 

 them, worked patiently with them through many sea- 

 sons of flowers and snows. Nevertheless, out of many 

 discouragements and privations had this sterling man 

 retained an abiding faith in the triumph of righteous- 

 ness in all things. 



In the quiet beauty of the wonderful October night 

 was little place for the anxious thoughts of the day. 

 Bitterness of spirit, the bickerings of men, commercial 

 opDression and injustice these were things far re- 

 moved from the planets of the Ages that sparkled like 

 jewels in the vault of Night. A vagrant breeze 

 whispered in the valley sedges to the placid lake. High 

 in the air, invisible, migrating wavies winged into the 

 south, the distant gabble of their passing falling 

 weirdly earthward. 



The trail began to ascend sharply. Off to the right 

 the sky was growing rapidly lighter behind a distant 

 hill and presently a lop of yellow moon crept slowly over 

 the edge and rose into the air like a broken chalice, 

 chasing the shadows to their retreats. 



