ieved in more, if less liked,
than himself. Pierre would work now with all the latent devilry of his
nature to unseat the man from his saddle.

"You have missed the great thing, alors, though you have been up here
two years," he said. "You do not feel, you do not know. What good have
you done? Who has got on his knees and changed his life because of you?
Who has told his beads or longed for the Mass because of you? Tell me,
who has ever said, 'You have showed me how to live'? Even the women,
though they cry sometimes when you sing-song the prayers, go on just
the same when the little 'bless-you' is over. Why? Most of them know a
better thing than you tell them. Here is the truth: you are little--eh,
so very little. You never lied--direct; you never stole the waters that
are sweet; you never knew the big dreams that come with wine in the dead
of night; you never swore at your own soul and heard it laugh back at
you; you never put your face in the breast of a woman--do not look so
wild at me!--you never had a child; you never saw the world and yourself
through the doors of real life. You never have said, 'I am tired; I
am sick of all; I have seen all.' You have never felt what came
after--understanding. Chut, your talk is for children--and missionaries.
You are a prophet without a call, you are a leader without a man to
lead, you are less than a child up here. For here the children feel a
peace in their blood when the stars come out, and a joy in their brains
when the dawn comes up and reaches a yellow hand to the Pole, and the
west wind shouts at them. Holy Mother! we in the far north, we feel
things, for all the great souls of the dead are up there at the Pole in
the pleasant land, and we have seen the Scarlet Hunter and the Kimash
Hills. You have seen nothing. You have only heard, and because, like a
child, you have never sinned, you come and preach to us!"

The night was folding down fast, all the stars were shooting out into
their places, and in the north the white lights of the aurora were
flying to and fro. Pierre had spoken with a slow force and precision,
yet, as he went on, his eyes almost became fixed on those shifting
flames, and a deep look came into them, as he was moved by his own
eloquence. Never in his life had he made so long a speech at once. He
paused, and then said suddenly: "Come, let us run."

He broke into a long, sliding trot, and Sherburne did the same. With
their arms gathered to their sides t