  THREE Indians padded softly along through the tall dark pines. Their errand seemed peaceful, since their number was so small and they came so openly. Soon the path widened out, and finally led to a small glade in which stood a rough cabin. The Indians stopped to observe cautiously before making themselves known. What they saw filled them with curiosity and awe, for standing before the cabin was a white man praying, his deep voice echoing through the wild stillness of the forest. Beside him stood a younger man, whose attention, while respectful, was not undivided, for he had spied the Indians and waited restlessly for the “father” to finish his devotions. These done, he called his superior’s attention to the savages lurking on the outskirts of the glade and beckoned to them to come forward. Both white men were eager to learn what the Indians might tell them, and the elder, who spoke the Indian tongue, talked glibly with the redskins. They, in turn, were curious about several things. First, the strange contrivance that hung from Father Hennepin’s belt. He explained that it was to help him find his way through the uncharted country. Save for the compass he would quickly be lost. “Hugh,” grunted one of the braves, “that no good. I lead you,” surprising the Jesuit by his use of English. “Good,” answered the priest. The two white men went into the cabin, gathered their scanty baggage, and reappeared at the door. By this time the other Indians had disappeared down the path by which they had come. In the opposite direction, without a backward glance, the party of three men, the Jesuit, his companion, and the Indian guide, set out to find new thoroughfares. Now from morning to night traffic rolls along the same trail. The narrow path that once found its way through the forest with many turnings and twistings is now a wide, paved avenue. Over it go street cars carrying busy people, trucks laden with gravel or coal, the ever-present automobiles of people bent on pleasure. The street is lined on either side with tall buildings: stores, offices, houses, churches, museums. As we go down the avenue, we come to what was once a clearing in the forest. Instead of the simple cabin, there are now a variety of buildings: a small store whose owner, a French Canadian, carries on a thriving business; opposite, a restaurant owned by two yellow Chinese, who specialize in chow-mein; next door, the establishment of a husky Yankee, who plies his trade by greasing automobiles and supplying gasoline to motorists demanding that necessity. A thriving community now, what will this one time forest clearing be two hundred years hence? |
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