He was a skilful chopper， and indulged in some flourishes and ornaments in his art.  He cut his trees level and close to the ground， that the sprouts which came up afterward might be more vigorous and a sled might slide over the stumps； and instead of leaving a whole tree to support his corded wood， he would pare it away to a slender stake or splinter which you could break off with your hand at last.

　　He interested me because he was so quiet and solitary and so happy withal； a well of good humor and contentment which overflowed at his eyes.  His mirth was without alloy.  Sometimes I saw him at his work in the woods， felling trees， and he would greet me with a laugh of inexpressible satisfaction， and a salutation in Canadian French， though he spoke English as well.  When I approached him he would suspend his work， and with half-suppressed mirth lie along the trunk of a pine which he had felled， and， peeling off the inner bark， roll it up into a ball and chew it while he laughed and talked.  Such an exuberance of animal spirits had he that he sometimes tumbled down and rolled on the ground with laughter at anything which made him think and tickled him.  Looking round upon the trees he would exclaim  ―― "By George！  I can enjoy myself well enough here chopping； I want no better sport."  Sometimes， when at leisure， he amused himself all day in the woods with a pocket pistol， firing salutes to himself at regular intervals as he walked. In the winter he had a fire by which at noon he warmed his coffee in a kettle； and as he sat on a log to eat his dinner the chickadees would sometimes come round and alight on his arm and peck at the potato in his fingers； and he said that he "liked to have the little fellers about him."

　　In him the animal man chiefly was developed.  In physical endurance and contentment he was cousin to the pine and the rock.  I asked him once if he was not sometimes tired at night， after working all day； and he answered， with a sincere and serious look，"Gorrappit， I never was tired in my life."  But the intellectual and what is called spiritual man in him were slumbering as in an infant. He had been instructed only in that innocent and ineffectual way in which the Catholic priests teach the aborigines， by which the pupil is never educated to the degree of consciousness， but only to the degree of trust and reverence， and a child is not made a man， but kept a child.  When Nature made him， she gave him a strong body and contentment for his portion， and propped him on every side with reverence and reliance， that he might live out his threescore years and ten a child.  He was so genuine and unsophisticated that no introduction would serve to introduce him， more than if you introduced a woodchuck to your neighbor.  He had got to find him out as you did.  He would not play any part.  Men paid him wages for work， and so helped to feed and clothe him； but he never exchanged opinions with them.  He was so simply and naturally humble ―― if he can be called humble who never aspires ―― that humility was no distinct quality in him， nor could he conceive of it.  Wiser men were demigods to him.  If you told him that such a one was coming，he did as if he thought that anything so grand would expect nothing of himself， but take all the responsibility on itself， and let him be forgotten still.  He never heard the sound of praise.  He particularly reverenced the writer and the preacher.  Their performances were miracles.  When I told him that I wrote considerably， he thought for a long time that it was merely the handwriting which I meant， for he could write a remarkably good hand himself.  I sometimes found the name of his native parish handsomely written in the snow by the highway， with the proper French accent，and knew that he had passed.  I asked him if he ever wished to write his thoughts.  He said that he had read and written letters for those who could not， but he never tried to write thoughts ―― no， he could not， he could not tell what to put first， it would kill him，and then there was spelling to be attended to at the same time！

　　他是一個熟練的樵夫，他陶醉在這項藝術的技巧之中，他齊著地面把樹木伐下來，從根上再萌發的芽將來就格外強壯，而運木料的雪橇在平根上也可以滑得過去；而且，他不是用繩子來把砍過根部一半的大樹拉倒的，他把樹木砍削得成為細細的一根或者薄薄的一片，最后，你只消輕輕用手一推，就推倒了。

　　他使我發生興趣是因為他這樣安靜，這樣寂寞，而內心又這樣愉快；他的眼睛里溢出他高興而滿足的神情。他的歡樂并沒有攙雜其他的成分。有時候，我看到他在樹林中勞動、砍伐樹木，他帶著一陣無法描寫的滿意的笑聲迎接我，用加拿大腔的法文向我致意，其實他的英文也說得好。等我走近了他，他就停止工作，一半克制著自己的喜悅，躺倒在他砍下的一棵松樹旁邊，把樹枝里層的皮剝了下來，再把它卷成一個圓球，一邊笑著說話，一邊還咀嚼它。他有如此充溢的元氣，有時遇到使他運用思想的任何事情，碰著了他的癢處，他就大笑得倒在地上，打起滾來了。看看他四周的樹木，他會叫喊，――“真的呵！在這里伐木真夠勁；我不要更好的娛樂了。”有時候，他閑了下來，他帶著把小手槍在林中整天自得其樂，一邊走，一邊按時地向自己放槍致敬。冬天他生了火，到正午在一個壺里煮咖啡，當他坐在一根圓木上用膳的時候，小鳥偶爾會飛過來，停在他的胳膊上，啄他手里的土豆；他就說他“喜歡旁邊有些小把戲”。

　　在他身上，主要的是生氣勃發。論體力上的堅韌和滿足，他跟松樹和巖石稱得上是表兄弟。有一次問他整天做工，晚上累不累；他口答時，目光真誠而嚴肅，“天曉得，我一生中從沒有累過。”可是在他身上，智力，即一般所謂的靈性卻還是沉睡著的，跟嬰孩的靈性一樣。他所受的教育，只是以那天真的，無用的方式進行的，天主教神父就是用這種方式來教育土人，而用這種方式，學生總不能達到意識的境界，只達到了信任和崇敬的程度，像一個孩子并沒有被教育成人，他依然還是個孩子。當大自然創造他這人的時候，她給了他一副強壯的身體，并且讓他對自己的命運感到滿足，在他的四周用敬意和信任支撐著他，這樣他就從可以像一個孩子似的，一直活到七十歲。他是這樣單純，毫不虛偽，無須用介紹的方式來介紹他，正如你無須給你的鄰居介紹土撥鼠一樣。

　　他這人，還得自己慢慢來認識自己，就跟你得慢慢地才能認識他一樣。他什么事都不做作。人們為了他的工作，給他錢；這就幫他得到了衣食；可是他從來不跟人們交換意見。

　　他這樣地單純，天然地卑微，――如果那種不抱奢望的人可以稱作卑微的話，――這種卑微在他身上并不明顯，他自己也不覺得。對于他，聰明一點的人，簡直成了神仙，如果你告訴他，這樣一個人正要來到，他似乎覺得這般隆重的事情肯定是與他無關的，事情會自然而然地自己辦好的，還是讓他被人們忘掉吧。他從來沒有聽到過贊美他的話。

　　他特別敬重作家和傳教師。他認為他們的工作真是神乎其神。當我告訴他，說我也寫作甚多，他想了一會兒，以為我說的是寫字，他也寫得一手好字呢。我有時候看到，在公路旁的積雪上很秀麗地寫著他那故鄉的教區的名字，并標明了那法文的重音記號，就知道他曾在這里經過。我問過他有沒有想過要寫下他自己的思想來。他說他給不識字的人讀過和寫過一些信件，但從沒有試過寫下他的思想，――不，他不能，他就不知道應該先寫什么，這會難死他的，何況寫的時候還要留意拼音！

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