The great three-decked stove stood in the centre of the house; the sheet-iron stove-pipe, after mounting for some feet, turned at a right angle and was carried through the house to the outside, so that none of the precious warmth should be lost.  In a comer was the large wooden cupboard; close by, the table; a bench against the wall; on the other side of the door the sink and the pump.  A partition beginning at the opposite wall seemed designed to divide the house in two, but it stopped before reaching the stove and did not begin again beyond it, in such fashion that these divisions of the only room were each enclosed on three sides and looked like a stage setting-that conventional type of scene where the audience are invited to imagine that two distinct apartments exist although they look into both at once.

In one of these compartments the father and mother had their bed; Maria and Alma Rose in the other.  A steep stairway ascended from a comer to the loft where the boys slept in the summer-time; with the coming of winter they moved their bed down and enjoyed the warmth of the stove with the rest of the family.

Hanging upon the wall were the illustrated calendars of shopkeepers in Roberval and Chicoutimi; a picture of the infant Jesus in his mother’s arms-a rosy-faced Jesus with great blue eyes, holding out his chubby hands; a representation of some unidentified saint looking rapturously heavenward; the first page of the Christmas number of a Quebec newspaper, filled with stars big as moons and angels flying with folded wings.

“Were you a good girl while I was away, Alma Rose?”

It was the mother who replied:—­“Alma Rose was not too naughty; but Telesphore has been a perfect torment to me.  It is not so much that he does what is wrong; but the things he says!  One might suppose that the boy had not all his wits.”

Telesphore busied himself with the dog-harness and made believe not to hear.  Young Telesphore’s depravities supplied this household with its only domestic tragedy.  To satisfy her own mind and give him a proper conviction of besetting sin his mother had fashioned for herself a most involved kind of polytheism, had peopled the world with evil spirits and good who influenced him alternately to err or to repent.  The bay had come to regard himself as a mere battleground where devils who were very sly, and angels of excellent purpose but little experience, waged endless unequal warfare.

Gloomily would he mutter before the empty preserve jar:—­“It was the Demon of gluttony who tempted me.”

Returning from some escapade with torn and muddy clothes he would anticipate reproach with his explanation:—­“The Demon of disobedience lured me into that.  Beyond doubt it was he.”  With the same breath asserting indignation at being so misled, and protesting the blamelessness of his intentions.

“But he must not be allowed to come back, eh, mother!  He must not be allowed to come back, this bad spirit.  I will take father’s gun and I will shoot him ...”