ng will be done.
The men have all been dry here for some time, you know, and are as
thirsty as sand. They are making ready to enjoy themselves down at the
river house."

"Ah, the poor souls!" sighed Father Beret, speaking as one whose
thoughts were wandering far away.

"Why don't you read your letter, Father?" Rene added.

The priest started, turned the soiled square of paper over in his hand,
then thrust it inside his robe.

"It can wait," he said. Then, changing his voice; "the squirrels you
gave me were excellent, my son. It was good of you to think of me," he
added, laying his hand on Rene's arm.

"Oh, I'm glad if I have pleased you, Father Beret, for you are so kind
to me always, and to everybody. When I killed the squirrels I said to
myself: 'These are young, juicy and tender, Father Beret must have
these,' so I brought them along."

The young man rose to go; for he was somehow impressed that Father
Beret must wish opportunity to read his letter, and would prefer to be
left alone with it. But the priest pulled him down again.

"Stay a while," he said, "I have not had a talk with you for some time."

Rene looked a trifle uneasy.

"You will not drink any to-night, my son," Father Beret added. "You
must not; do you hear?"

The young man's eyes and mouth at once began to have a sullen
expression; evidently he was not pleased and felt rebellious; but it
was hard for him to resist Father Beret, whom he loved, as did every
soul in the post. The priest's voice was sweet and gentle, yet positive
to a degree. Rene did not say a word.

"Promise me that you will not taste liquor this night," Father Beret
went on, grasping the young man's arm more firmly; "promise me, my son,
promise me."

Still Rene was silent. The men did not look at each other, but gazed
away across the country beyond the Wabash to where a glory from the
western sun flamed on the upper rim of a great cloud fragment creeping
along the horizon. Warm as the day had been, a delicious coolness now
began to temper the air; for the wind had shifted into the northwest. A
meadowlark sang dreamingly in the wild grass of the low lands hard by,
over which two or three prairie hawks hovered with wings that beat
rapidly.

"Eh bien, I must go," said Rene presently, getting to his feet nimbly
and evading Father Beret's hand which would have held him.

"Not to the river house, my son?" said the priest appealingly.

"No, not there; I have another letter;