Thompson had to shave, wash up, brush his hair, put on a tie and collar,
which article of dress he donned without a thought that the North was
utterly devoid of laundries, that he would soon be reduced to flannel
shirts which he must wash himself. His preparations gave the breeds
another trick of his to grin slyly over. But Thompson was preparing
himself to face the units of his future congregation, and he went about
it precisely as he would have gone about getting ready for a Conference,
or a cup of tea with a meeting of the Ladies' Aid. Eventually, however,
the three set out across the trunk-littered clearing.
The thin place in the belt of timber to the northward proved barely a
hundred yards deep. On the farther side the brushy edge of the woods
gave on the open meadow around which the Lone Moose villagers had built
their cabins. Thompson swept the crescent with a glance, taking in the
dozen or so dwellings huddling as it were under the protecting wings of
the forest, and his gaze came to rest on the more impressive habitation
of Sam Carr.
"Dat's white man married hon Enjun woman," Breyette responded to
Thompson's inquiry. "Ah don' never see heem maself. Lachlan she's leev
over there.
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