st of a smile played at his lips
as he recalled the surprise of the old _habitants_ and of Father Roche
when he was chosen for this responsible post; for to run a great
lumber-camp well, hundreds of miles from civilisation, where there is no
visible law, no restraints of ordinary organized life, and where men, for
seven months together, never saw a woman or a child, and ate pork and
beans, and drank white whiskey, was a task of administration as difficult
as managing a small republic new-created out of violent elements of
society. But Michelin was right, and the old Seigneur, Sir Henri
Robitaille, who was a judge of men, knew he was right, as did also
Hennepin the school-master, whose despair Jacques had been, for he never
worked at his lessons as a boy, and yet he absorbed Latin and mathematics
by some sure but unexplainable process. "Ah, if you would but work,
Jacques, you _vaurien_, I would make a great man of you," Hennepin had
said to him more than once; but this had made no impression on Jacques. It
was more to the point that the ground-hogs and black squirrels and pigeons
were plentiful in Casanac Woods.

And so he thought as he stood at the door of the Church of St. Francis on
that day before going "out back" to the lumber-camp. He had reached the
summit of greatness--to command men. That was more than wealth or
learning, and as he spoke to the old Seigneur going in to Mass, he still
thought so, for the Seigneur's big house and the servants and the great
gardens had no charm for him. The horses--that was another thing; but
there would be plenty of horses in the lumber-camp; and, on the whole, he
felt himself rather superior to the old Seigneur, who now was
Lieutenant-Governor of the province in which lay Bindon Jail.

At the door of the Church of St. Francis he had stretched himself up with
good-natured pride, for he was by nature gregarious and friendly, but with
a temper quick and strong, and even savage when roused; though Michelin
the lumber-king did not know that when he engaged him as boss, having seen
him only at the one critical time when his superior brain and will saw its
chance to command and had no personal interest in the strife. He had been
a miracle of coolness then, and his six-foot-two of pride and muscle was
taking natural tribute at the door of the Church of St. Francis, where he
waited till nearly every one had entered, and Father Roche's voice could
be heard in the Mass.

[Illustration: TH