We paddled only till mid-afternoon. I was as eager to meet the western Indians as I had been anxious to avoid those we left behind, and now my object was to invite attention. It was the season for beaver and otter trapping, and I hoped to encounter hunting parties, so we landed, made camp in the open, and piled our fire till the smoke blurred the sky. The spirit of the afternoon was toward idleness. We fished some, but loitered more, and I had no word of reproof for the men for using hours of good daylight playing the dish game they had learned among the Ottawas. I heard them stake their patrimony in this world, and their hopes of the next, on the throw of the black and yellow balls, but I smoked my pipe, and let them brag and squabble. The bees were droning, the sun lay warm on my back, and the forest was at peace. Two years before, I remembered, I had worn lace and periwig on this day, and had stood in his majesty's antechamber. Now I was gaunt and rusty as a bear in spring. I looked at the secret forest, the uncharted water, and at my smoke-grimed men squatting like monkeys over a savage game, and I smote my knee with content. Truly it was a satisfying thing to live while the world afforded such contrasts! And if I played my present cards with skill, there might be a still greater contrast in store for me when next I stood in that ante-chamber and heard my name carried within. But that thought made me restless, and I went in search of the Englishman. The Englishman had sat apart from us since we landed, and now I found him with his back against a rock ledge looking at the water. I was in a mood when I had to wag my tongue to some one and ease myself of some spreading fancies. So I dropped down beside him. "Monsieur," I began by way of introduction to my theme, "are you indeed a yeoman?" He looked up with an excess of solemnity. "No, monsieur." This was not the answer I had expected,--though, in truth, I had given the matter little thought. "Then you are a gentleman?" I asked, deflected from my intended speech. He shook his head. "No, monsieur, no gentleman." I did not like his hidden play with words, although I understood it. "That is a farce!" I said unkindly. "It is folly to say that in your Colonies you will have no caste. You cannot change nature. Can you make a camel of a marmoset? I asked you what you were born?" He smiled. "I was born an English subject. Monsieur, I have answered three questions. You owe me three in turn. Did you ever know Robert Cavelier?" I stared. "The Seigneur de la Salle?" "The same." I stared again. "He has been dead for eight years. What do you, an Englishman, know of him?" He gave a wave of the hand. "It was my question," he reminded. "I asked if you knew him." I could not but be amused. How he liked to play at mystery! I would copy his brevity. "Yes," I replied.