But his eyes shone as the Little Missioner greeted
him--shone so darkly and so full of fire that for a moment David was
fascinated by them. Then David was introduced.
"I am happy to meet you, m'sieu," said the Frenchman. His race was
softly polite, even in the forests, and Thoreau's voice, now mildly
subdued, came strangely from the bearded wildness of his face. The grip
of his hand was like Father Roland's--something David had never felt
among his friends back in the city. He winced in the darkness, and for a
long time afterward his fingers tingled.
It was then that David made his first break in the etiquette of the
forests; a fortunate one, as time proved. He did not know that shaking
hands with an Indian was a matter of some formality, and so when Father
Roland said, "This is Mukoki, who has been with me for many years,"
David thrust out his hand. Mukoki looked him straight in the eye for a
moment, and then his blanket-coat parted and his slim, dark hand reached
out. Having received his lesson from both the Missioner and the
Frenchman, David put into his grip all the strength that was in him--the
warmest hand-shake Mukoki had ever received in his life from a white
man, with the exception of his master, the Missioner.
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