"It seems to me," said he, with a conviction which caught sharply at my heart even though I bore in mind his youth and inexperience, "that rather will the Flag of the Lilies be cast down even from the strong walls of Quebec. But may that day be far off! As for our people here in Acadie, during the last twelvemonth it has been made very clear to me that evil days are ahead. The Black Abbe is preparing many sorrows for us here in Acadie." "I suppose you mean La Garne!" said I. "He's a diligent servant to France; but I hate a bad priest. He's a dangerous man to cross, Marc! Don't go out of your way to make an enemy of the Black Abbe!" Again that ghost of a smile glimmered on Marc's lips. "I fear you speak too late, Father!" said he, quietly. "The reverend Abbe has already marked me. He so far honours me as to think that I am an obstacle in his path. There be some whose eyes I have opened to his villany, so that he has lost much credit in certain of the parishes. I doubt not that he will contrive some shrewd stroke for vengeance." My face fell somewhat, for I am not ashamed to confess that I fear a bad priest, the more so in that I yield to none in my reverence for a good one. I turned my iron sharply in the coals, and then exclaimed: "Oh, well, we need not greatly trouble ourselves. There are others, methinks, as strong as the Black Abbe, evil though he be!" But I spoke, as I have often found it expedient to do, with more confidence than I felt. Even at this moment, shrill and clear from the leafage at one end of the forge, came the call of the big yellow-winged woodpecker. I pricked up my ears and stiffened my muscles, expectant of I knew not what. Marc looked at me with some surprise. "It's only a woodpecker!" said he. "But it's only in the spring," I protested, "that he has a cry like that!" "He cries untimely, as an omen of the ills to come!" said Marc, half meaning it and half in jest. Had it been anywhere on the perilous frontier,--on the Richelieu or in the West, or nigh the bloody Massachusetts line, my suspicions would have sprung up wide awake. But in this quiet land between the Habitants and the Canard I was off my guard,--and what a relief it was, indeed, to let myself be careless for a little! I thought no more of the woodpecker, but remembered that sister with the red hair. I came back to her by indirection, however. "And how did you manage, lad, to be seeing Mistress Prudence, and her sister, and the child, and yet no others of the English? A matter of dark nights and back windows? Eh? But come to think of it, there was a clear moon this day four weeks back, when you were at Annapolis."