Then the Colonel stepped up to the priest and took him likewise by the
hand.

"I have arranged for a house in town," said he. "Monsieur Rocheblave has
refused to dine with me there. Will you do me that honor, Father?"

"With all my heart, your Excellency," said Father Gibault. And turning
to the people, he translated what the Colonel had said. Then their cup
of happiness was indeed full, and some ran to Clark and would have thrown
their arms about him had he been a man to embrace. Hurrying out of the
gate, they spread the news like wildfire, and presently the church bell
clanged in tones of unmistakable joy.

"Sure, Davy dear, it puts me in mind of the Saints' day at home," said
Terence, as he stood leaning against a picket fence that bordered the
street, "savin' the presence of the naygurs and thim red divils wid
blankets an' scowls as wud turrn the milk sour in the pail."

He had stopped beside two Kaskaskia warriors in scarlet blankets who
stood at the corner, watching with silent contempt the antics of the
French inhabitants. Now and again one or the other gave a grunt and
wrapped his blanket more tightly about him.

"Umrrhh!" said Terence. "Faith, I talk that langwidge mesilf when I have
throuble." The warriors stared at him with what might be called a
stoical surprise. "Umrrh! Does the holy father praych to ye wid thim
wurrds, ye haythens? Begorra, 'tis a wondher ye wuddent wash
yereselves," he added, making a face, "wid muddy wather to be had for the
askin'."