My father, my father, this spring Monsieur de La Mothe sent us word that he barred the great river [to us], that he set a barrier there as high as the trees, that no one might make use of this way to come down here. But I said, why does Monsieur de La Motile block up this way against me? Is it not the way by which I go to see my father? What have I to fear since I obey him? And I passed through his barrier. I remembered, it is true, that this way had formerly been filled with ("ferdoches") and with weeds, and that through the wrong that I had done.
