He threw in a corner the wet bag which had protected his shoulders from the rain, hung his hat on a peg of the chimney-piece, nodded to Charley, and put a kettle on the little fire.
"A big storm, M'sieu'," Jo said presently as he put some tea into a pot.
"I have never seen a great storm in a forest before," answered Charley, and came nearer to the window through which the bright sun streamed.
"It always does me good," said Jo.

"Every bird and beast is awake and afraid and trying to hide, and the trees fall, and the roar of it like the roar of the chasse-galerie on the Kimash River." "The Kimash River--where is it ?" Jo shrugged his shoulders.

"Who knows!" "Is it a legend, then ?" "It is a river." "And the chasse-galerie ?" "That is true, M'sieu', no matter what any one thinks.

I know; I have seen--I have seen with my own eyes." Jo was excited now.
"I am listening." He took a cup of tea from Portugais and drank eagerly.
"The Kimash River, M'sieu', that is the river in the air.

On it is the chasse-galerie.