The first puffs brought talk of the weather, the coming spring, the state of the ice on Lake St.John and the rivers, of their several doings and the parish gossip; after the manner of men who, living far apart on the worst of roads, see one another but once a week.
"The lake is solid yet," said Cleophas Pesant, "but the rivers are no longer safe.

The ice went this week beside the sand-bank opposite the island, where there have been warm spring-holes all winter." Others began to discuss the chances of the crops, before the ground was even showing.
"I tell you that we shall have a lean year," asserted one old fellow, "the frost got in before the last snows fell." At length the talk slackened and all faced the top step, where Napoleon Laliberte was making ready, in accord with his weekly custom, to announce the parish news.

He stood there motionless for a little while, awaiting quiet,--hands deep in the pockets of the heavy lynx coat, knitting his forehead and half closing his keen eyes under the fur cap pulled well over his ears; and when silence fell he began to give the news at the full pitch of his voice, in the manner of a carter who encourages his horses on a hill.
"The work on the wharf will go forward at once ...

I have been sent money by the Government, and those looking for a job should see me before vespers.

If you want this money to stay in the parish instead of being sent back to Quebec you had better lose no time in speaking to me." Some moved over in his direction; others, indifferent, met his announcement with a laugh.