“Well,” urged the Devil, “is it not prudence in this case to rig the vessel?” “It would be prudence if we could not attain our end in any other way.” “Is your vessel then so very speedy?” “It is as speedy as God pleases.” “What do you know about it? It goes like Abbot Budoc’s mule. It is a regular old tub. Are you forbidden to make it speedier?” “My son, clearness adorns your words, but they are unduly over-confident. Remember that this vessel is miraculous.” “It is, father. A granite trough that floats on the water like a cork is a miraculous trough. There is not the slightest doubt about it. What conclusion do you draw from that?” “I am greatly perplexed. Is it right to perfect so miraculous a machine by human and natural means?” “Father, if you lost your right foot and God restored it to you, would not that foot be miraculous?” “Without doubt, my son.” “Would you put a shoe on it?” “Assuredly.” “Well, then, if you believe that one may cover a miraculous foot with a natural shoe, you should also believe that we can put natural rigging on a miraculous boat. That is clear. Alas! Why must the holiest persons have their moments of weakness and despondency? The most illustrious of the apostles of Brittany could accomplish works worthy of eternal glory . . . But his spirit is tardy and his hand is slothful. Farewell then, father! Travel by short and slow stages and when at last you approach the coast of Hœdic you will see the smoking ruins of the chapel that was built and consecrated by your own hands. The pagans will have burned it and with it the deacon you left there. He will be as thoroughly roasted as a black pudding.” “My trouble is extreme,” said the servant of God, drying with his sleeve the sweat that gathered upon his brow. “But tell me, Samson, my son, would not rigging this stone trough be a difficult piece of work? And if we undertook it might we not lose time instead of gaining it?” “Ah! father,” exclaimed the Devil, “in one turning of the hour-glass the thing would be done. We shall find the necessary rigging in this shed that you have formerly built here on the coast and in those store-houses abundantly stocked through your care. I will myself regulate all the ship’s fittings. Before being a monk I was a sailor and a carpenter and I have worked at many other trades as well. Let us to work.” Immediately he drew the holy man into an outhouse filled with all things needful for fitting out a boat. “That for you, father!” And he placed on his shoulders the sail, the mast, the gaff, and the boom. Then, himself bearing a stem and a rudder with its screw and tiller, and seizing a carpenter’s bag full of tools, he ran to the shore, dragging the holy man after him by his habit. The latter was bent, sweating, and breathless, under the burden of canvas and wood. IV. ST. MAËL’S NAVIGATION ON THE OCEAN OF ICE