Philippe shrugged his shoulders. "Oh--as for a _grandpère_! But not the
_grandpère à present_, he who keeps the grocery shop in St. Raymond.
Certainly not that grandfather. It is to say the _grandpère_ of that
_grandpère_. Perhaps another yet, or even two or three more. What does
it matter? One goes back a few times of grandfathers and behold one
arrives at him who was armorer for the Maid--to whom she gave the silver
stirrup."

"The silver stirrup." My Leonard rod bumped along the bow; my flies
tangled again in the current. I squirmed about till I faced the guide
in the stern. "Philippe, what in hell do you mean by this drool of
grandfathers and silver stirrups?"

The boy, perfectly respectful, not forgetting for a second his affair of
keeping the canoe away from the fish-hole, looked at me squarely, and
his uncommon light eyes gleamed out of his face like the eyes of a
prophet. "M'sieur, it is a tale doubtless which seems strange to you,
but to us others it is not strange. M'sieur lives in New York, and there
are automobiles and trolley-cars and large buildings _en masse_, and to
M'sieur the world is made of such things. But there are other things. We
who live in quiet places, know. One has not too much of excitement, we
others, so that one remembers a great event which has happened to one's
family many years. Yes, indeed, M'sieur, centuries. If one has not much
one guards as a souvenir the tale of the silver stirrup of Jeanne. Yes,
for several generations."

The boy was apparently unconscious that his remarks were peculiar.
"Philippe, will you tell me what you mean by a silver stirrup which
Jeanne d'Arc gave to your ancestors?"